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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 3 months

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ON AN AUGUST night in 2003, a young woman who went by the name Paulina sank into the sofa of her modest, rented apartment, opened up her laptop, and began talking about sex with a man she’d recently met in a Yahoo chat group. His name was Stephen Bolen. His first communications had been terse, but he soon warmed to Paulina. It didn’t take long for both of them to begin to open up.

Paulina had told Bolen she lived in the Atlanta area, that she had a three-year-old daughter, that her daughter’s father was no longer in the picture. Soon, she was sharing more intimate details: what it was like growing up a skinny white girl in a rough neighborhood outside of D.C.; how her dad, a Marine, had died by suicide two weeks before she was born; how her mom had been emotionally and physically abusive, and had never really shown her love. How she’d had a sexual relationship with her stepfather.

Paulina would put her daughter to bed and then she and Bolen would chat throughout the night, over Yahoo and sometimes on the phone. The back-and-forth could feel like dating, but with an added element of danger and risk: Both Paulina and Bolen knew they were tiptoeing up to a line to see if they trusted each other enough to cross it. It could take a while to figure that out.

Eventually, Bolen asked Paulina to send pictures of her daughter, and she agreed to do so, though the ones she’d shared were chaste — the little girl clothed and her face turned away from the camera or obscured behind an untamable halo of blond curls. After seeing the pictures, Bolen asked to meet. While a lot of the men Paulina had encountered in chatrooms like “Sex With Younger” just wanted to trade images and videos of children, to expand their illicit collections, Bolen was a “traveler,” someone looking to act upon his obsessions.

On Sept. 17, just as they’d arranged, Paulina sat on a bench outside Perimeter Mall with a stroller parked in front of her, scanning the parking lot nervously. Part of her hoped Bolen wouldn’t show. When he did, she could see he was handsome, a preppy guy in a pink polo shirt and khakis. “Paulina?” he asked eagerly. She nodded. As he smiled and pulled back the blanket draped across the stroller, he found himself surrounded, handcuffs slipped around his wrists.

“Paulina” watched his face fall, his confusion giving way to distress as FBI agents took him into custody. It was her first undercover arrest. It would be the first of many.

[long read]

IF ONE WANTED to hide in plain sight, one could do no better than the tidy, suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of St. Louis, where FBI Special Agent Nikki Badolato now resides. The well-tended, two-story homes are so pleasantly indistinct that I could hardly tell you what hers looks like, even if it were safe for me to do so, which it is not. Suffice to say that Midwestern comfort and conformity unspool around every gently winding curve. Here Badolato has raised her two children, a daughter who is now in college and a son who is a junior at a local high school. When planning a neighborhood scavenger hunt or tending the community garden, Badolato does not often mention her many years as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force, a joint effort between the feds and local law enforcement that targets some of the country’s most heinous crimes. Open a cabinet in her kitchen, however, and a government-issued Glock 42 can be found stowed away between the vitamins and mixing bowls.

On a sunny morning this past October, Badolato sat at her dining room table, scrapbooks and albums spread out before her on the dark wood. There was the acceptance letter she’d received from the bureau the spring of her senior year of high school, after a representative had shown up to administer a test in the typewriting room. “I chose to wear a red dress and red heels,” she says of her first day as an FBI mail clerk, two weeks after her 18th birthday. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I guess maybe I was trying to go in bold?” She pauses at a picture of herself on the gun range at Quantico almost 10 years later, her shoulders squared and her caramel hair pulled back into a ponytail as she fires off rounds. By then, she’d married a man she met just after high school, had a little girl, completed college at night, and been accepted into agent training in the heady days after 9/11. She’d seen her first dead body only a few weeks into the job, after the pursuit of a bank robber ended with a shootout in a Walmart. When Badolato got to the scene, the body was still warm, and the perp’s head was resting on a bag of cookies. “It was surreal,” she says. “How many times have you been in a Walmart and walked down Aisle 4, not really expecting there to be a dead person with his head lying on a bag of Chips Ahoy?”

Badolato wasn’t deterred. She felt like the bureau saved her, plucked her out of a shitty home life, and gave her prospects and purpose. As a new agent, she was intent on proving herself worthy. “My training agent told me, ‘You know, Nikki, it’s a marathon, not a sprint,’ ” she says. “I was like, ‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.’ ” She turned a few pages to show a picture of the 391 kilos of cocaine and 140 pounds of meth she’d recovered on a single raid during a stint with a cartel squad, then pointed out another in which she poses with a five-year-old child she’d rescued, the little girl’s hair cut short because the kidnapper had wanted her to look like a boy. But the keepsake she really wants to find is the card that Bolen’s wife had pressed into her hand at his sentencing, the one with the picture of their children — a blond girl of about three years and a tiny baby — and the words “These are the faces of the children you protect each day.” Bolen’s wife had been the only one she’d ever encountered who had lobbied for her husband to receive the maximum sentence. Some wives accused the FBI of planting evidence inside computers. Most seemed intent on clinging to their delusions. (Attempts to reach Bolen for comment were unsuccessful.)

“Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It is happening all the time.”

Which, Badolato has come to understand, is the way it goes with child trafficking and sexual abuse. She had invited me into her home — had agreed to speak on the record about her decades-long career working undercover — because when it comes to the crimes she’s spent her career fighting, she has had enough of the delusions people are under. She’s had enough of the way movies like Sound of Freedom both glamorize and trivialize the work she and her colleagues do, enough of the idea that swashbuckling white men burst through doors and rescue trafficked children with a Bible in one hand and a firearm in the other, enough of conspiracy theories about Hollywood and Washington that detract from the real root causes of why children are trafficked and abused. “Human trafficking is not the movie Pretty Woman — the girl doesn’t get the guy — and it’s not the movie Taken, where people are kidnapped in a foreign country and sold on the black market, or shipped in a container across the world,” one of the detectives who worked on Badolato’s task force tells me. “I’m not saying that doesn’t ever happen, but it’s not what we’re seeing.”

What they are seeing is a lot more insidious and a lot more homegrown. A report released in 2018 by the State Department ranked the U.S. as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking. While the Department of Justice has estimated that between 14,500 and 17,500 foreign nationals are trafficked into this country every year, this number pales in comparison to the number of American minors who are trafficked within it: A 2009 Department of Health and Human Services review of human trafficking into and within the United States found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that between 244,000 and 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked specifically in the sex industry. Heartbreakingly, many of these children are victimized not by strangers who’ve abducted them from mall parking lots but rather by people they know and trust: Studies have found that as much as 44 percent of victims are trafficked by family members, most often parents (and not infrequently parents who were trafficked themselves). Between 2011 and 2020, there was an 84 percent increase in the number of people prosecuted for a federal human-trafficking offense. Of the defendants charged in 2020, 92 percent were male, 63 percent were white, 66 percent had no prior convictions, and 95 percent were U.S. citizens.

Badolato started her career as an FBI agent in some of the earliest days that children could be bought, sold, and traded online. As the internet-porn industry mushroomed, its most lucrative branch turned out to be that of child sexual-abuse materials (the term “child pornography” is no longer used by those in the field, as it implies consent). And as demand for these images increased, so did the abuse that led to their creation.

In 2003, just a few months after Badolato graduated from Quantico, a Crimes Against Children squad was formed in the Atlanta office where she’d been stationed. By then, the FBI was starting to get a handle on the extent of the problem — if not exactly what to do about it. At a weeklong training in Baltimore, Badolato was given a tour of the darkest underbelly of fetish chat groups and then instructed to figure out how to infiltrate. “Everyone was a little nervous,” she explains of the directive. “It was a process, a direction that was new.” Agents were told that they would need to come up with a “persona” and a “story,” and that they would likely have to provide images of children to “prove” they had a minor on offer. They were also told that they could use images of their own children, if they were comfortable doing so (the FBI no longer endorses this policy).

Badolato’s unit with a kidnapping victim after her recovery in 2011. A Health and Human Services review found that roughly 199,000 American minors are sexually exploited each year, and that as many as 325,000 American youths are considered to be at risk of being trafficked in the sex industry.

Badolato developed “Paulina” based on her understanding that any persona would need to share most of her own backstory and traits. “That’s the only way you can really do undercover work,” Badolato says. “People can tell the sincerity in what you’re saying, so there has to be a level of genuineness, but then you just add this criminal element to it.” Most of the things Badolato had told Bolen were true: where she was from, her family background, the monstrousness of her mother, a woman who she says would pass out cigarettes and beers to Badolato’s 13-year-old friends in a state of manic permissiveness one minute and fly into a violent rage about a piece of lint on the floor the next. (Badolato’s mother declined to comment for this article, but a childhood friend corroborated Badolato’s account.) It was true that growing up in an unstable home with a string of stepdads, she had never really felt loved, true that she had divorced her first husband, true that she was raising their three-year-old daughter on her own. The only thing that wasn’t true was her tale of being molested, her initiation into the “lifestyle” — to use the chatroom parlance — that Paulina said she now wanted for her daughter. As Badolato had familiarized herself with the language and behaviors of the chatrooms, she’d honed that added criminal element, imagining what psychological conditions might believably lead a parent to traffic their own child and how those conditions could be grafted onto her real life story. She already had a history of abuse; it was not hard to extrapolate to a fictional stepfather who had seemed to provide a gentle counterpoint, showing her love and making her feel special when no one else had, even if others couldn’t understand. From there, it was easy to convince the chatroom participants that she shared their belief — or justification — that most people had it all wrong and that “child love” was natural, and could even be beneficial for the child.

Badolato estimates that she has arrested more than a thousand people; not one of those arrests has failed to end in a conviction. She didn’t know until she was in the thick of it that most agents refuse this sort of work, that most can’t even pretend to forge a relationship with someone looking to victimize a child. But she could. “Paulina,” she points out, is not a name she chose at random; it’s similar to her own mother’s name. Badolato says she had grown up learning to compartmentalize for the sake of her own emotional survival. She’d perfected the art of engaging with someone whose actions she couldn’t stand. Doing this work had felt like a way of taking her trauma and putting it to good use, of leveraging her past as a safeguard against her daughter’s and other children’s futures.

Of course there were moments that were hard to take — when suspects mentioned which brands of lubrication were best or whether or not a parent might hold a child down. There were times when she knew that even talking about these things was a turn-on for these men, times when the conversations made her nauseous, times when she’d lie awake all night or play back a recording and think, “Holy shit, I listened to this? I said these words?” But she kept faith in the mission. She reminded herself that the pictures she sent of her daughter — the beautiful, little girl sleeping in the next room — did not represent a real child on offer. “I was thinking, ‘If I send this obscure picture of my daughter and he acts on it, then he’s never going to harm my daughter or anybody else’s,’ ” Badolato says now. “I was presenting a fake girl to save a real one.”

KYLE PARKS SEEMED to think he could get away with anything. He seemed to think, for instance, that he could get away with running a brothel, a 1-900 sex line, and a housecleaning company out of the same Columbus, Ohio, office park and under the same oxy-moronic name, XXXREC and Hygiene Services. He seemed to think he could invite one young woman and five teenagers (four of whom he had only just met) on a road trip to Florida, but instead deposit them in two rooms of a Red Roof Inn in St. Charles, Missouri. When they piled out of the minivan — high on the drugs he’d given them — saw snow falling and asked to be taken home, he thought he could make a little money off them first. All it took was a few ads in Backpage — the Craigslist of sex advertisements — and men began showing up.

Even after things started going south for him, Parks couldn’t fathom that he wouldn’t prevail. When someone alerted law enforcement as to what was going on, Parks (who, according to legal documents, had been out getting food when the police showed up) burst into the precinct the next morning looking to bail his “friend” out. When questioned about the 88 condoms found in the back of his van, he said they had been prescribed to him by a doctor. After being taken into custody, he protested that he was being set up. Most people would have cut their losses and pleaded guilty, but not Parks. He thought he could take his case to court and win.

And it wasn’t impossible to imagine that he might. Badolato knew that even the tightest cases could go sideways when put before 12 people who would inevitably enter the courtroom with a cinematic sense of what sex trafficking was supposed to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the jury that Badolato knew she would need to convince; it was also often the victims themselves, young people who had internalized the exact same misconceptions about trafficking that the jury had — along with any number of other judgments society had thrown their way — and who were loath to submit themselves to a courtroom full of more judgment.

Of all of Parks’ underage victims, the hardest to pin down had been a 17-year-old we’ll call Sierra. Once she returned to Columbus, Sierra seemed to basically disappear. Calls to her mother’s number went unanswered. When one of the other victims managed to track her down in December 2016, a month before the case was to go to trial, Sierra agreed to meet Badolato on a blighted Columbus block with a string of dilapidated homes, climbing into the bureau’s Chevy Malibu with matted hair, dirty clothes, and a wary expression.

By this time, Badolato had remarried, had a second child, relocated to St. Louis, and taken over as head of the Child Exploitation Joint Task Force, which had become one of the most productive FBI teams in the country in terms of arrests and convictions. Meanwhile, as the internet streamlined the process of buying or selling any good or service, trafficking had become one of the fastest-growing criminal enterprises, estimated by the Department of Homeland Security to bring in $150 billion globally and considered by many criminals to be a superior business model: If caught, the sentences were often lighter than those for peddling drugs; and unlike crack or heroin, the same product could be “used” again and again and again.

Badolato taught her team of 20 how to do the online undercover work she’d trailblazed in Atlanta, tracking the movements of child-abuse material through the online underworld and then prosecuting those who distributed and produced it. Her new squad also initiated her in the type of undercover work it had been doing before her arrival: covert sting operations in which a detective would pose as a john, set up a “date,” and then meet said date in a hotel room fitted out with hidden recording devices while, in the next room over, a taskforce team listened in, waiting for the code word that would let them know that enough evidence had been gathered for them to swoop in and shut the op down. This had proved a very effective technique for getting convictions, but Badolato’s arrival coincided with both a growing sentiment that consensual sex work had been over-criminalized and an increasing awareness that what looked like consensual sex work might actually be trafficking, no matter what the “date” professed in that hotel room.

Badolato has a tendency to say aloud the things she notices — about you, about others, about situations — observations that are not at all unkind but are perceptive enough that most people would keep them to themselves. She points out when someone deflects, and she has a sharp eye for defense mechanisms. She once casually mentions my tendency to mirror other people’s vocal and speech patterns. She is not shy about bringing up the emotional and physical abuse she says she experienced as a child, and she is quick to comment when someone is making excuses for someone else’s behavior. It was soon clear to her colleagues that Badolato brought a trauma-informed mentality to the work, a tendency to look beyond what someone was doing and instead try to parse why they were doing it. And she was relentless: While some squads did one or two trafficking sting ops a year, her team was doing four or five a month. In addition to the hotel rooms reserved for the john and the team, they would have a social worker set up in a third room, ready to offer services to the victims. They would have lookouts stationed to see who might be dropping the date off. If that date was found to be underage, the case was automatically classified as trafficking. But even if they weren’t, Badolato’s team was primed to get to the bottom of what was going on, to figure out whether they were being manipulated or coerced, and by whom.

“If I could put my hands on a pimp, that’s what I wanted,” says Jeff Roediger, a St. Louis county detective who was the “john” for many of Badolato’s sting ops and who makes clear that the team was not interested in policing voluntary sex work. “When I had those types of cases, and I knew they were being sincere with me, I wouldn’t book them,” he says. “It was all about talking to the girls. It’s not like in the movies where they come running to you. You know, ‘Thanks, you rescued me!’ It’s not like that. A lot of them try to bullshit you at first — ‘That’s my boyfriend, blah blah blah’— but once I talked to them for a while, they would become more forthcoming.”

Badolato’s unit was one of the first in the country to take on this “progressive and proactive” approach, as she puts it. Soon, St. Louis looked like a sex-trafficking capital — not because it was actually trafficking more victims than other cities but because the task force was so aggressively pursuing those cases, and classifying them as what they were. “I mean, I was working in vice for years,” says Roediger. “Back in the day, it was always ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution,’ ‘prostitution’ — until we started to figure it out a little bit, until we started digging a little deeper.”

Once they did, the task force found that roughly a third of the sex-trafficking victims they recovered were under the age of 17 — and they began to see the reach of the problem. Kids were being trafficked out of every hotel in the area, from the seediest roach motel to the fanciest Ritz-Carlton. They were being trafficked every time of day and by every socioeconomic group (“Before you go do brain surgery, you got to bust a nut real quick,” one underage victim told Badolato of her high-end clientele). Some of the victims were girls. Some were boys. Some were LGBTQ kids who’d been kicked out of their homes. Some were straight cis kids from the suburbs. “I tell people that I could probably name two or three [kids] in the school district they live in that have been trafficked,” Roediger says. “And they just can’t comprehend it.”

“If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work.”

There were kids who were about to age out of foster care (a particularly at-risk group, according to those who work in the field), kids who’d run away, kids who were being sold to pay their family’s rent, or to buy their family member’s drugs. There were kids who’d sit in the hotel room, backpack at their feet, dutifully working on their math homework while agents and social workers tried to figure out what to do with them. Was their home life safe enough that they could be returned to it? Would a residential program take them? Of all the imperfect options, which would make them least likely to be trafficked again?

The one common denominator was this: They all had a vulnerability that could be preyed upon. They all lacked a safety net — societal, familial, emotional, or some combination thereof — that might have broken their fall. Mostly, their stories weren’t dramatic; they were typical American tales of neglect, of abuse doled out casually, of a steady stream of letdowns by people and institutions who should have propped them up. Badolato found that she had a knack for getting them to talk about this, for getting them to open up to her. She didn’t look like an FBI agent — at least not what they’d imagined. She spoke softly, but with authority and a slight vocal fry. And she thinks that, at some level, they could probably sense that she’d once been a vulnerable kid too, that with only a few slightly different twists of fate, she could have become a trafficking victim herself — and that she knew it. “My trauma looks different than theirs, but it’s trauma nonetheless,” she says.

“And I think victims can feel that.”

AS THE TASK force learned more about the psychology of victims, they also learned more about the ways in which their vulnerability was being manipulated, and how those ways were evolving. It was known in law-enforcement circles that once a skilled trafficker set his or her sights on a vulnerable young person, they could be groomed in a matter of days: one day for an introduction, a day or two to make the victim feel special and cared for, and then the day when a “friend” comes over and he needs to be “cared for” as well. Sometimes violence was involved at that point; sometimes drug use was involved throughout. But emotional manipulation was the key element, which is why it was so easy for grooming to move online, for groomers to take advantage of the false senses of connection fostered on social media.

Of the victims who are not being trafficked by family members, the majority are being groomed in this way. “I would say that probably 75 percent of the initial grooming is happening online now,” says Cindy Malott, the director of U.S. Safe Programs at Crisis Aid International. “Recruiters used to have to work really, really hard to get access to kids, but now they’re practically sitting in a child’s bedroom. And kids put everything out there — what’s going on in their life, who they’re angry about, parents are going through a divorce, their insecurities about their body, about themselves, what they do, how they spend their time — so it’s like a gift to these predators.”

The ways to manipulate are legion: Get a kid to send a compromising photo, and she’ll do almost anything to keep you from sending it out to all her Facebook friends; find out a gay kid is still closeted, and the threat of outing him gives you incredible power. And predators aren’t just on Instagram and Snapchat; they lurk in the chat functions of Roblox, Minecraft, Grand Theft Auto. “They’re everywhere,” says Malott. “People think, ‘Oh, I just got to keep my kids away from those porn sites, those horrible places.’ Well, no, predators are gonna go where the kids are.” And once there, they’re going to zero in on the kids who are most vulnerable.

That’s what got to Badolato. In her online undercover work, she’d plumbed the psychology of pedophiles, but now she wasn’t just dealing with suspects; she was spending time with victims and seeing the same vulnerabilities in them that the traffickers had seen: the instability or poverty, the addiction or mental health issues or abuse that had been normalized in their lives long before the traffickers entered them. Sometimes Badolato couldn’t help but feel that all the conspiracies and misconceptions weren’t just a distraction from the truth of trafficking but rather some sick attempt to let society off the hook for trying to solve the much more intractable problems at trafficking’s root.

“People would rather stick their head in the sand than address the real problem, because then you have to face and talk about the societal issues,” she says. “With a movie like Sound of Freedom, it’s like, ‘Oh, this is in a jungle in South America. This isn’t actually in [my neighborhood].’ You know? It’s easier for people to ignore the problem than deal with the issues on a societal level.”

BY THE TIME Badolato was sitting in that Chevy with Sierra, on that blighted Ohio block, she knew that the rate of revictimization for children who are trafficked was as high as 95 percent, according to FBI reports. She knew that 90 percent of sex-trafficking victims have a history of child sexual abuse, that more than 75 percent had lived in foster or adoptive care. She knew that she could arrest one perpetrator, and another would pop up in his place, that she could send one pimp to prison and the same victims would show up to stings some short time later, run by a different crew. She knew that testifying was a way for Sierra to psychologically push back against what had happened to her, and she was right: After the young woman took the stand on Jan. 10, 2017, Parks was found guilty and sentenced to 25 years; while testifying, Sierra had seemed to transform, to channel and embody a sort of empowerment. But Badolato also knew that once her testimony was over, Sierra would go back to that blighted block. She wondered how long that empowerment would last.

She also wondered about her own trajectory, her own ability to continue doing this work. The youngest trafficking victim she’d ever recovered from a sting op — an 11-year-old who’d been recruited through Facebook — had been returned to her family in a house that had no heat (Badolato had used an FBI slush fund to get it turned back on). One did not become immune to the human misery of such things. They compounded, became harder and harder to compartmentalize. “It’s just a combination of all of those years — and it’s all awful,” she says. “But there are particular moments that, for one reason or another, you can’t get out of your head. I just don’t think it’s in human nature to be exposed to that for so long and it not start changing who you are.”

One night, at a restaurant near where Badolato lives, I ask her whether she thinks children are being sex-trafficked right then, in that very moment, in just the mile or two radius around us. She’s quiet for a long time, her gaze fixed downward at her glass of wine. By the time she looks up, her whole body is trembling. “It’s happening right now,” she says quietly. “Right now some little girl is being dropped off in the parking lot of a motel. There are three or four girls holed up in a hotel next to a McDonald’s. It’s not only when we think about it. It is happening all the time. And if I’m just sitting here, present, having dinner, not thinking about it, that means I’m ignoring a problem that I know is real.” Tears stream down her face.

“Many images have never left my mind,” she says. “It’s really hard to have worked your entire life in law enforcement with a lot of child crime victims and be at the end of your career looking at the situation where you realize you can only do so much to make a difference.” Badolato wipes back the tears with the palm of her hand and shudders her head, as if she can shake the thoughts away. “Damn,” she says. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be the one crying. I’m not the victim of this.” The veteran agent steels herself and repeats, “I am not the victim.”

THE HOUSE WHERE Korina Ellison says she was first sex-trafficked no longer exists. It once stood on an unassuming lot in a residential suburb of Portland, Oregon, that stumbles down to the banks of the Willamette River. Now, Ellison can’t quite bring the house’s features to mind. She was so young back then, maybe four or five. There is so much she’s repressed, or only pieced together after the fact. As a child, she wouldn’t have known what she now believes to be true: that her grandmother scored her drugs by offering up her youngest daughter, Ellison’s mom. Or that, once her mom was hooked on the meth cooked by the man who’d lived in that house, she’d known just what to do to get more. But Ellison does remember being inside the house, unclothed. She does remember how the man would touch her.

Her life unspooled from there. Her father died of a heroin overdose when she was six. Her mom lost custody for good. She bounced around foster care, then various residential institutions, then whatever shelter she could find. In the story she tells of how she was sex-trafficked again in her teenage years, there’s no moment of drama, no kidnapping, no clear coercion. There was just a random, rainy afternoon when she had no place to go and was alone in the street and a car pulled up. The man inside took her home with him, fed her, introduced her to his girlfriend. They took her shopping. They let her stay. When men showed up at the home to have sex with the woman, Ellison was invited to watch, but she wasn’t expected to participate — not at first, anyway. According to a statement Ellison later made to law enforcement, she just “realized that people aren’t going to take care of [me] for free.” Soon, the woman was posting Ellison’s services on Backpage — $150 for half an hour, $200 for a full one — and the trio were traveling the Midwest. For a long time, it didn’t even occur to Ellison, then 16, to leave. “Where would I have gone?” she asks. “I’d been missing for over a year. Nobody was looking for me.” When the man told her to call him “Daddy,” she complied.

That was more than a decade ago, near the beginning of Badolato’s tenure as head of the Child Exploitation Task Force. But by 2021, leaving it had seemed a necessary form of self-preservation. One of her last cases had gone well legally: The perp, a retired police officer from California who had produced child sex-abuse materials of three sisters in Manila, had pleaded guilty to such charges when he learned that Badolato had brought the girls to the states to testify against him. But the experience had been emotionally devastating for Badolato, who had wanted the sisters, then 16, 13, and 11, to have memories of the U.S that consisted of more than reliving their trauma in a courtroom. She took them shopping and to the zoo, invited them to her home to have dinner with her own family, saw them slowly start to open up and laugh and behave like the children they were. Then she’d had to put them on a flight back to Manila, back to the aunt who had allowed the man to abuse them and who Badolato had been unable to extradite. Fortunately, she says, their estranged father ended up intervening and taking custody of the girls, but that feeling of futility in the fight lingered.

“I stayed for a little bit longer after that trial, but it really was when I should have been able to look myself in the mirror and say, ‘Nikki, you’re done,’ ” Badolato had told me in St. Louis. “It became clear that I had been doing it too long.” She’d spend the last couple of years working national security, a position without the immediacy of child-exploitation work, but also without the heartache. “If I can be perfectly honest, I truly don’t believe that the FBI realizes what they put their agents through doing that kind of work. I just don’t,” she says.

And yet, here Badolato was in Portland, leading Ellison, now 30, up to her hotel room, telling her about all the announcements she’d heard in the Atlanta airport instructing travelers to be on the lookout for sex trafficking. “It’s like white noise in the background,” she says as Ellison settles into the sofa. “It’s a false sense of doing something to help.”

“Here’s the thing: Nobody knows what to look for,” Ellison agrees.

“And what about the victims who are in that airport, who are walking around and listening?” Badolato asks.

“I wouldn’t have even heard that announcement,” Ellison replies. “Because I didn’t feel like a victim. It goes a lot, lot, lot deeper than anybody realizes.”

That’s what she and Badolato both understand. That’s why they started talking eight months ago. Of all the teenage victims Badolato’s task force recovered, Ellison is one of the few who she knows has permanently extricated herself from being prostituted, though it took years for her to get to that point, years for her to see that what happened to her was not her fault but rather a fault in the system, a fault in many systems over the course of generations. Neither she nor Badolato can fix that.

Yet they can’t help feeling like there’s something they can fix — or at least try to. Under the umbrella of an organization she’s founded called Innocent Warriors, Badolato created a program for schools, instructing educators on the signs that might indicate a student is being trafficked and teaching kids how to avoid getting groomed online, which, she believes, is not about stranger danger but rather an awareness of subtle manipulation. Ellison has been working with trafficked youth through nonprofits like Children of the Night, the residential program where Badolato’s team sent her when she was 17. Together, they’ve been talking about having Ellison help train undercovers who are learning to do trafficking sting ops. They’ve also discussed starting a mentorship program in which children who are still being sex-trafficked are paired with young adults like Ellison who once were, providing a way for victims to begin to envision a different future for themselves and a path toward it even while being prostituted. Such a program may be retroactive rather than proactive, but it would capitalize on Badolato’s and Ellison’s experience and expertise — and it could help in the healing of mentors and mentees alike.

Badolato had traveled to Portland for the two to talk face-to-face about how the program might work. “You have to understand how they’ve been traumatized because sometimes, to a child, relating doesn’t sound like you’re relating. It sounds like you’re pointing out all the bad things in them,” says Ellison from the driver’s seat of her Nissan Pathfinder as she drives Badolato around to show her certain landmarks of her past after she’d left Children of the Night: the bridge she’d slept under for over a year after a boyfriend had gotten her hooked on heroin, the blocks downtown where she’d bounced between a children’s shelter and the needle exchange. It had taken a prison sentence for her to finally break her addiction and commit to a different kind of life, though that evolution had had less to do with not having access to drugs than with seeing her own mother cycle in and out of the same facility — like looking into her own future and witnessing how bleak it would be. Maybe, she thought, she could provide the inverse of that for kids in Innocent Warriors. Maybe she could reverse engineer her own escape.

“I just want to make it very clear that if you were a victim, you are a victim, and just to not have any shame in that,” she tells Badolato as they drive through Portland’s misty streets.

“What I anticipate and hope is that then we get survivors that are like, ‘They get it,’ ” Badolato replies. “And that it opens up doors to help, for people to recognize that there are people who get what’s really going on.”

“It took a really long time for me,” Ellison says of coming to terms with her own victimhood.

“It’s like reworking your thought process about some of those things,” Badolato agrees. “And that’s hard, and it happens slowly over time, and it looks different for everybody.”

Ellison grips the wheel tightly. “The truth does matter. It does. The truth is the fucking truth. And it’s been empowering to be able to talk about it because that’s another way that I’ve realized, like, ‘Man, I was a victim,’ is re-going over all of this. Because when it happens so many times, you do blame yourself. It’s a lot easier to just continue to live in a lie than believe that you were lied to.”

Still, Ellison and Badolato agree that the impressionability that makes children vulnerable is also what makes them open to guidance and mentorship if a relationship of trust can be established. “What do you think a parent does? They groom you. I’d been waiting to be guided and groomed,” Ellison says.

It’s been instructive to see that potential from another perspective, as a mother doing the guiding. As the afternoon wears on, Ellison stops to pick up her then-15-month-old son, who was being watched by a social-worker friend. She buckles the little boy into his car seat, ruffles his hair, and passes him a bottle. He grins widely and begins removing his shoes and socks, throwing them gleefully onto the floor of the car and then kicking his tiny feet in time with the music as Ellison glances back at him and smiles. “Kids are so perfect,” she says.

The last stop of the day is the large plot of land where the drug dealer’s house once stood. Now, it’s been turned into a playground, with brightly-colored jungle gyms, a covered picnic area, and a large lawn, where a couple leisurely walks their dog. Ellison and Badolato climb down from the car and stand at the park’s edge, as Ellison’s son toddles around the grass, oblivious to what had transpired in that very spot. There is some form of poetic justice in the land being earmarked for children’s enjoyment, but neither woman voices it. Mostly, they’re quiet. Night is falling, the air growing cooler, and the gray sky fading into dusk.

“You would never think a park could hide what it used to be,” Ellison says at last. And yet it did. Driving off with Badolato at her side and her son babbling happily in the back seat, Ellison glances in the rear-view mirror, but only for a moment. Badolato keeps her eyes fixed only on the road ahead.

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cranetreegang · 1 year

Text

The Polyjuice Ploy - Ominis x FemReader

Well... this got out of hand. This was a request made by this lovely person -> @mentosanu and here is the original post/request

Hopefully I have not gone too crazy and this is somewhat what you wanted lol. if not... my b.

Shoutout again to @isolight for reading this over <3 you da best

Music to enjoy -> Flight of Dragons

Summary: Sebastian and Ominis, after reading through an old textbook, get the idea of Ominis drinking a Polyjuice Potion to enjoy a day of sight and surprise a certain special someone ;)

Word Count: ~7,8-, (checks word count again... omfg) ~7,800 words

Warnings: angst/hurt, slightly heated kissing, comfort/fluff

Credit to the Harry Potter website and JK where I basically stole *cough* rewrote the description of what a polyjuice potion does and the affects of the polyjuice when ominis transforms

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

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Ominis rests his head into his palm with a sigh. His quill writes out the last sentences he needs for his essay and he couldn’t be happier to be nearly done. Footsteps echoing on stone catch his attention, followed by the gate of the Undercroft rattling open.

“Ah, was hoping to find you here.” Sebastian greets.

“Looking for me, were you?” Ominis spares Sebastian a grin in greeting. “I’m busy at the moment, but if you don’t mind waiting-,”

Something heavy drops onto the table Ominis is using, sloshing his pot of ink. Ominis frowns as he feels over the object in front of him.

“Why… what is this?” Ominis questions, tracing over the worn cover of a leather tome. He runs his other hand along the spine. The bindings of the book are exposed and he can feel the bumps of worn cords holding the loose pages together. Even the leather is peeling on the corners and edges. Whatever the title of the tome was, it’s long since faded as his wand can’t find a legible letter to decipher.

“Some light reading I need help with.” Sebastian states while he takes a seat next to Ominis.

Ominis sighs, “I don’t have time for this, Sebastian. I must finish this report for Profess-,”

“That can wait. This is far more pressing.” Sebastian shoves away all of Ominis’ writing utensils.

“Sebastian!”

“Ominis, you were the one saying I needed to find other ways to cure Anne. Well, this could be it. Now, are you going to help me, or sit there and complain?”

Ominis lets out a deep breath while he flips the book open, “Fine. But only for a little bit. Then I must finish my report.” Ominis stresses with a glare aimed towards Sebastian.

“Thank you, my friend. I won’t soon forget this.”

Ominis skims through the pages. Seems Sebastian procured an archaic textbook dated back to the first few years of Hogwarts - detailing the more illicit potions you could make. Elixirs ranging from the mundane boil remover to the far more deadly Eternal Sleep Draughts. Ominis doesn’t find much in the book to help Anne, not even a remedy to help with the pain. He flips to another page when he pauses.

It enables the consumer to assume the physical appearance of another person, as long as they have first procured part of that individual’s body to add to the brew. The effects of the potion are only temporary, and, depending on how well it has been brewed, may last anywhere from ten minutes to twelve hours. You are able to change age, sex, and race by taking the Polyjuice Potion, but not species.

The more he reads, the more his thoughts stray from searching for a cure for Anne. To take on the physical appearance of someone else and to change…

“Find something?” Sebastian questions, glancing over Ominis’ still wand digging into the page.

“No.” Ominis states and tries to turn to another section of the book, but Sebastian snatches the tome from Ominis’ grasp. He examines what has caught Ominis’ attention and Sebastian’s brows furrow at what he finds.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Sebastian looks over to Ominis.

“I’m sorry. I got distracted. Can we please move on and go back to the task at hand?” Ominis reaches for the book, but Sebastian keeps it just out of his reach and chuckles.

“Why’re you so interested in a Polyjuice Potion, Ominis?”

Ominis huffs with a shake of his head, “I’m not.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “You most definitely are.”

Ominis crosses his arms with a snarl, “And if I am? What of it?”

Sebastian reads over the passage again, a smile forming on his lips, “I can see why you would be. If I’m thinking the same thing you are.”

“It’s silly. I shouldn’t even entertain the thought.” Ominis dismisses.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to spend the day being able to see?”

Ominis frowns, “But, it wouldn’t be through my own eyes. It would have to be through someone else's. And I doubt anybody would be willing to give me a lock of hair for such a thing.”

Sebastian puts his hand on Ominis’ shoulder with a slight grin, “It’s a good thing I am that somebody.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I think we should make this potion and once it’s done, you can use my hair. It’ll be perfect!” Sebastian shakes Ominis in his excitement.

“Brewing a Polyjuice Potion takes time. And, far more importantly, skill. A skill I doubt either of us possesses.”

Sebastian leans back in his chair with a hum, “That could pose a problem. Unless, we found someone to make us the potion.”

Ominis cranes his head, “Who would be willing to-,” the words die in his mouth. His lips thin as he nods, “I know of someone. I’ll have to reach out to them though.”

Sebastian claps his hands together with a grin, “Excellent. This may be one of your better ideas, Ominis.”

Ominis snatches the book from Sebastain and goes back to researching, “We shall see, won’t we?”

===========================

Two weeks pass before Ominis receives word back from his contact. The letter is brief and Ominis is filled with excited trepidation as he heads to the Hog’s Head for the meeting. Ominis is relieved the transaction is quick, with few words exchanged. Ominis keeps the potion close to his chest as he heads to the Undercroft to stash it away until the right moment.

Three days later, Sebastian finds Ominis pacing in the Undercroft.

“Sorry I’m late.” Sebastian greets. “Ready for this?”

Ominis shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“What’s the problem? You seemed sure yesterday.”

Ominis stops, letting out a sigh, “Are you sure you’re okay with this? If you’re have any doubts, I-,”

“I want to do this, Ominis.” Sebastian interjects. “Now, where is that potion before you change your mind.”

Ominis reaches into his pocket and hands the potion over to Sebastian. Sebastain holds the palm-sized phial up to the fire’s light. He plucks out a few strands of his hair then he places them into the potion. A faint sizzling sound can be heard as Sebastian swirls the muddy liquid. Sebastian hands the potion back to Ominis.

“Drink up.” Sebastian grins.

Ominis holds the potion in his hand - willing away his nerves. He raises the potion up with a slight smile, “Cheers.”

He downs the thick liquid, refusing to allow himself to gag at the taste and consistency.

Immediately, his insides start writhing and twisting. He doubles over, wondering if he’s going to throw up the concoction. A burning sensation spreads rapidly from his stomach to the tips of his fingers and toes. It’s enough to bring him gasping to all fours, whimpering and moaning as a horrible melting feeling begins to overtake him. His skin feels like it’s bubbling. His fingers stretch out, growing larger and longer. He hears the popping of his joints as they shift into their new positions over the rushing of blood in his ears. His shoulders stretch and he’s constricted in his own clothes. He rips off his robe, flinging it away, and his legs and feet are in agony. His shoes are now two sizes too small and he could feel his hair resting along his forehead instead of being neatly styled back.

“Ominis! Ominis, are you alright? Answer me!” Sebastian demands, flipping Ominis over to his back.

Ominis spares him a nod, finding his tongue to be too heavy and thick in his mouth to speak. He no longer feels like he’s ripping apart and the nausea he felt has all but evaporated.

Sebastian chuckles, “Wow. I… this is absolutely dotty.”

Ominis’ brows pinch and Sebastian’s hands assist him into a sitting position.

“Ominis. Open your eyes.” Sebastian urges.

Ominis sucks in a sharp breath then slowly opens his eyes. A bright face grinning back at him is the first thing he sees. Ominis stares at the boy, taking in the sight.

“Sebastian?” His voice is not his own and Sebastian’s eyes widen.

“Whoa! Oh, wow, Ominis. You can see.” Sebastian’s grin is contagious and Ominis matches his excitement.

“I can see. I see you.” Ominis reaches up and touches Sebastian’s face, his eyes blurring with sharp tears burning his eyes and throat. Sebastian lets Ominis trace over his smiling face. It’s all so familiar. The bridge of Sebastian’s nose all the way down to the curve of his brows. Ominis didn’t expect his friend to have such dark eyes and dots all over his face. Sebastian’s hair is about how he pictured though - a thick mess on top of his head.

“Well? Am I what you envisioned, or have I disappointed?” Sebastian teases.

Ominis shakes his head, “You’re nothing like I envisioned. Yet, it makes sense. I-,” he turns his attention to around them. He gets to his shaky legs and laughs as he looks around.

The room is far less inviting than he imagined with the stone being a dull, dreary hue. The lights of the brazers and candles lures him closer. The warmth of their light takes his breath away and his hand reaches out to hover just over the flames. He turns his gaze to all the crates, boxes, and other items stored away down here. Some are covered in a fine layer of dust, while others are draped over with light colored sheets.

“This is the Undercroft.” Ominis mumbles to himself.

“Indeed it is.” Sebastian grabs each of Ominis’ shoulders and drags him over to a cracked mirror. “And here you are.”

Ominis stares at the two identical boys in the mirror. Ominis’ eyes widen and the boy across from him does the same. He tilts his head and so does the reflection. He touches over his cheek and drags his fingers down over the tanned, freckled skin.

He looks over to Sebastian, “How odd indeed.”

“I must say, this is probably the best you’ve ever looked, Ominis.” Sebastian smirks.

Ominis laughs, “I’m sure.”

Ominis stares at Sebastian, finding it unbelievable he can actually see his friend looking back at him with a devilish smile. He could always hear Sebastian’s smirks when he spoke, but to see how it affects his face, especially his eyes - illuminating them in a way Ominis doesn’t quite understand - makes him wonder if all people are this animated.

“Well, as exciting as being here is, there’s a whole bunch of things you ought to see before that potion wears off.” Sebastian states.

Ominis nods, “Yes. Of course. Where should we begin?”

Sebastian smirks while guiding Ominis towards the exit gate, “Sorry, my friend, but I’m afraid I can’t go with you.”

“What?! Why not? This was practically your idea.” Ominis scowls.

Sebastian raises a brow, “Oh? And tell me how good of an idea will it be for the both of us to be seen together right now? They know I’m a twin, but I doubt they’ll believe this.” He gestures over Ominis.

“Besides,” Sebastian slips off his robe and tosses it to Ominis, “you already have plans today.”

“I do?” Ominis shrugs on the robe, adjusting the sleeves and rolling his shoulders.

“Yep! You’re supposed to be meeting up with a certain special someone right about now.” Sebastian grins.

“What? You made plans with her?” Ominis crosses his arms with a frown.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, “By I, I mean, you, Ominis.”

Ominis’ brows furrow, “You mean to say you didn’t tell her what we’re doing.”

“No. It’s better this way - trust me.” Sebastian opens the gate and motions for Ominis to go through, “Now, go to the North Exit. And have fun today. I’ll be here waiting until you come back.”

Ominis wants to protest, but Sebastian slams the gate closed in his face and starts walking away. Ominis sighs, making his way out of the Undercroft.

He’s met with a near blinding light once he emerges from the clock. His eyes roam all over, taking in the sights of students passing by. He grips his wand and follows the familiar vibrations towards the North Exit, but his stride is slow. The sounds he’s heard all start to merge together. The paintings, the statues, the students, the smells of certain plants - all of it forms the full picture before him. He stops several times in front of vibrant paintings of faraway places, suits of armor shining in the light, and when he takes a bridge outside, he’s completely entranced.

The sky above is a color he finds the most pleasing. Blue. That must be the color blue, he realizes. With gentle clouds rolling by, he’s starting to understand how people can gaze up at the heavens for hours on end. Students zip by on their brooms and he laughs at how wonderful the sight is. The sun peeks out over the towering castle. He can’t believe how small the sun is - he always imagined it taking up half the sky considering how much the light reaches. He has to look away when his eyes begin to burn and dark spots blot his vision. He continues his journey to the North Exit, but as he gets closer and closer the more his nerves start to show themselves.

Seeing Sebastian for the first time was surprising, so he can only imagine how he’ll react to seeing her. His heart won’t slow down - it keeps getting faster and faster with every step closer he gets. His hands clench and unclench themselves and he’s practically grinding his teeth into dust. He’s tempted to turn around, hide in the Undercroft until the potion wears off, just to cease this torture. He’s at the stairway gripping the cool railing as he descends. Just before he reaches the last step, the vibrations of his wand pick up a familiar aura of someone. His stomach twists. He looks over to find a girl standing by the door.

She cranes her head and smiles with a light wave, “Sebastian! What’re you doing here?”

Ominis freezes in place - his mind barely able to shove his wand into his robe’s pockets. His heart hammers in his chest and he can’t breathe. She walks towards him with confusion lacing her eyes. Her eyes. He can’t stop staring at them. They’re a beautiful color he’s not familiar with. They almost seem to sparkle. And how she moves is enchanting. It’s like she’s floating right over to him. Her perfume reaches his nose and a smile stretches across his face at the familiarity.

“Sebastian? Everything alright? Do I have something on my face?” She laughs, but her brows pinch together with slight worry at the thought.

“What? Um, no. I-, You look great. I-I mean, you’re-, It’s fine.” Ominis curses himself and decides shutting his mouth would be best for now until he regains control of his rattled mind.

She nods with her eyes slightly narrowed, “Well, um, have you seen Ominis?”

“Ominis?”

She laughs, “Yes, Ominis. You know, our friend? You said he’d be meeting me here to go to Hogsmeade. But, it looks like he’s running late.”

Damn Sebastian for telling her that. He probably thinks he’s so clever, Ominis seethes to himself.

“Well, actually…,” Ominis takes in her awaiting features, noting how much her face speaks for her - much like Sebastian’s. If only he could recognize what emotion she’s currently conveying with her pinched brows and slight frown. Perhaps Sebastian had a point about not telling her. He turns his gaze to the ground, “He said he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Oh.” Her frown fully forms and she looks away, “D-Did he say why?”

He curses himself at lying, but he can’t back down now, “He said he wasn’t feeling like himself.”

She nods, slow and disappointed, “I see. I should probably go check on him if he’s not feeling well.”

“No!” Ominis exclaims, making her eyes widen. “I mean, we could go to Hogsmeade together instead.”

She cranes her head, her eyes scanning over him as her mouth parts and closes several times.

“Ominis said I should take you.” He blurts out. “You know, as to not disappoint. He feels terrible about all of this.”

She spares him a small smile, “Ever the gentleman. Alright, if you don’t mind, I suppose it’d be nice to get away from the castle for the afternoon.”

He can’t stop his grin from forming and he holds out his arm for her, “Shall we?”

She raises a brow at him and he realizes all too late how odd this gesture is for ‘Sebastian’ to be making. He quickly lowers his arm and takes the lead with a hurried gait. She doesn’t follow immediately and it takes her a few long strides to catch back up. He opens the door and he’s taken back by the sight which greets him.

The lawn is a vivid pigment in contrast to the stone which cuts through it. The grass is lush and inviting. He kneels down and rests his hand on it. The grass ripples from the wind and he’s beguiled by how peaceful the motion is. He’s felt it a hundred times, but to see it actually happen as it moves in waves across the field makes his smile widen. He remembers Sebastian saying that grass is normally green. He takes in the color of green and how it paints the trees as well in a different shade - a more richer, green.

“Everything alright?”

He whips his head over to her, who watches him with a worrying gaze. He quickly stands back up.

“Fine. I apologize - I thought I saw something.” He walks ahead and she keeps up with him.

Ominis tries to keep himself from staring too long at the fountain as they pass. The water trickles and rings in his ears in a pleasant way, and he wouldn’t mind staring at the rippling water, but he forces himself to keep walking. They continue along the path and when they reach the bridge, he practically slams his chest against the railing to look at the river below.

The water rushes over the different colored rocks, taking various debris of leaves and twigs down stream. He follows the river until he sees the lake shimmering in the distance. He’s aware of her standing by him and her eyes are trained at where he was staring.

“Something caught your eye again?” She wonders.

“Yes, but it was nothing.” He dismisses.

She nods with a slight grin, “Are you sure you haven’t caught what currently plagues Ominis? You’re being quite odd today.”

“I’m fine.” Ominis smiles at her and she nods, but the way her gaze seems to be piercing right through him makes him feel exposed.

Despite doing his best to keep his eyes straight ahead instead of looking around, he can’t help himself. He can’t believe how beautiful the world is. He looks above them at the tree limbs overhanging the path. The sunlight filters through the canopy and he’s in awe at how such a simple thing could be so magnificent. He could actually see the rays of sunlight - he even reaches out to grab it. Little flying creatures flutter past them towards the bright flowers growing beside the path and he can’t quell his smile as he watches. The sound of the trumpet flowers makes him pause. While the flowers themselves were dazzling, their obnoxious noise masks any notes of admiration within him.

“You’re quiet today.” She says, bringing his attention to her. The sun illuminates her skin and hair, making her glow. He’s taken back by how captivating she is. His heart picks back up again and his stomach flutters and twists. He likes watching how her voice and lips work in tandem to speak. Then he realizes she’s said something else.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He mumbles.

She stops walking, making him do the same, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine, I assure you.”

She opens her mouth, but promptly shuts it. She scans over him again then resumes walking. There’s an emotion written upon her face, but he’s not sure what it is. He’s finding great difficulty in discerning anything she says, too. A task he had no trouble with before, but now his mind can’t piece together her face with what’s being said.

The path winds up the hill and as they reach the top, his breath escapes him at the sight of Hogwarts in the distance. He all but sprints towards the overlook and he lets out a slight laugh at the castle. It was grand. Truly, and utterly, grand. The lake surrounds the school - which seemingly emerged with the jagged rocks which encompasses it. The towering trees seem almost insignificant compared to the striking, massive castle.

“Quite a sight.” She says with a sigh while she joins him at the railing. “It never fails to give me goosebumps.”

A flock of birds fly in front of Hogwarts and Ominis nods, “Magnificent.”

She watches him and her lips try tugging into a smile, but she refuses to let it form. She pats the railing then turns towards the path.

“Come along. We’re nearly there.”

Ominis takes in Hogwarts for a moment longer before following after her.

He’s looking up at a tree with leaves that were not green, but a light, almost soft color. He’s perplexed by the idea of trees being more than just green when his eyes widen at the entrance to the town. Hogsmeade is bustling with students and patrons alike - some rushing to get to where they need to be while others stroll about with not a care in the world.

She turns to him with a slight grin, “How about checking out Gladrags first? I’m in need of a new pair of gloves.”

He nods, his eyes darting everywhere. So much is happening, it’s enough to spin his head. Hogsmeade has always been a bit overwhelming to his senses - so many smells, sounds, and people. It makes it hard for him to know what’s happening, or where he was at times. Now, he sees the chaos before him is just as he imagined. Cauldrons bubble over crackling fires, lively music plays in the distance, several conversations all happening at once - it makes him grin with how mad this whole place is.

A hand takes his and he doesn’t think twice about grasping it back, letting it tug him along as he looks around. His mind catches up to him after a few steps and he looks down to find her leading him. He’s about to take his hand back and come up with some excuse to his bewilderment, but she glances towards him with a soft smile. This smile is far different from the others she’s had. It reaches all the way to her eyes. For some reason, it makes his chest warm and his breathing choppy - he can’t possibly remove his hand now. Not if it means extinguishing this feeling.

Her pace is far easier than it was on the way here. It gives him plenty of time to take in the sights of the different shops as they pass by. He recognizes the scents of some, like Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, and others surprise him by their appearance, like Spintwitches. Birds fly overhead - which he figures out are owls due to the parcels they carry - and watering cans zip past to the different rows of blooming flowers. He notices the hanging lights overhead and he wonders what nighttime must look like.

Honeydukes’ display of assorted, bright candy is what brings him to a full stop. The candy is vibrant and comes in so many designs and shapes.

“Do you want to go inside?” She questions.

He slowly nods and she giggles - leading him into the candy shop.

He can’t contain his smile at the vast array of colors before him. There’s more than he could ever imagine and he feels somewhat annoyed by how little everyone has told him - giving him only basic colors and denying him the plethora of shades they come in. It makes what he saw at Hogwarts seem almost muted in tone by comparison.

They browse the vast selection of succulent candies, chocolates, and cakes until he finds his favorite - Peppermint Toad. He picks up the box with a grin. He’s always enjoyed the sharp mint taste and how the toad hops around in his stomach after. He finds the whole experience amusing - much to Anne and Sebastian’s confusion.

“Is there anything you would like?” He asks, glancing towards her.

She laughs, “You want to get me something?”

He nods, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

She bites her lip with a slight shake of her head, “I wouldn’t mind a Chocolate Frog then. Since you’re offering.”

He pays for their sweets and they head back out - making their way towards Gladrags. He stares at the toad-shaped treat, noting how the pattern swirls with two different colors which possess a slight shine, before he pops it into his mouth. He frowns for a moment at the peppermint taste not being nearly as predominant as he remembers. While the toad hops in his stomach, she’s already eaten her chocolate and is examining her card.

“Merlin’s Beard. I got Almeric Sawbridge. Again.” She huffs.

He laughs at her sour expression. Her frown melts away into a warm grin and she looks away.

“I didn’t know you liked Peppermint Toads.” She comments. “Thought only Ominis did.”

Ominis curses himself for not thinking about such an oversight.

“I… normally don’t. I only wanted to see why Ominis enjoys them so.” He says.

“And?” She smiles. “What’s your verdict?”

“They’re adequate.”

She giggles with a slight shake of her head.

They arrive at Gladrags and the smell of pigment and fabric greet them as they walk in. She wanders over to a dress on display. She skims over the fabric with a slight smile then looks over to him.

“What do you think of this orange?” She wonders.

The dark, rich color is almost regal in appearance. He touches the dress, following the seam down the bodice and enjoying the stiff material.

“It looks beautiful.” He says.

Her eyes are aflame and a wide smile comes over her. She bites her lip then turns away towards the scarves. She looks over them until she finds one. She holds it out to inspect it before turning back to him.

“Do you think Ominis would like this?” She asks.

The monotonous tone of the scarf doesn’t evoke anything in him until he feels the article of clothing. It’s soft and brings a smile to his face.

“I like it.” He comments then shakes his head. “So, I’m sure Ominis would as well.”

She laughs, wrapping the scarf around his neck, “I’m glad you think so. Mind holding on to it for me then?”

“I-, of course.” He can feel his cheeks heating up as she smooths down the scarf on his chest. When her eyes meet his, a gasp escapes him. He feels encapsulated in a warmth he’s never experienced before. All from one single look. He’s slightly thankful he can’t see her all the time for he’s sure he would never be able to speak a coherent sentence to her otherwise.

She pays for the scarf then grabs his hand again, leading him outside. She turns to him with a grin.

“What would you like to do today?”

The question takes him by surprise and he can’t form a single thought to reply back to her.

“Well, if you have nothing in mind, then I may have something we can do.”

He smiles, “Lead the way.”

She squeezes his hand and his heart soars at the twinkle in her eyes. She’s up to something, but he can’t find it in himself to care. She leads him through Hogsmeade until they’re at the park. He’s heard the dragon’s rumbles from the topiary before, but he finds great amusement in seeing it. It’s far more animated than he imagined. And the dragon itself, while somewhat cute, gives him a slight shiver at how powerful of a beast they are. The colorful, flowered trees rain down their petals and he reaches out to grab one, but it slips right through his fingers. She takes them to the overlook and he can see the train station below them. Over in the distance, Hogwarts stands noblely.

“Well,” he faces her, “what did you have in mind?”

She has a sly smile as she gazes out over the scenery before them. The wind ruffles through her hair and he’s momentarily dizzy due to his lack of breathing. He needs to cease his staring, lest he die from self-induced asphyxiation, yet he's drawn to her and he’s unable to break away.

“It’s a fine day for some sightseeing.” She reaches into her robes and pulls out a worn, leather duffle bag. She glances around to ensure they’re still alone before she opens the bag.

A whooshing noise, followed by a light, emits from the bag. Before his eyes, a giant beast emerges, followed by another similar beast with different colorings. The creatures chirp and scratch their sharp claws on the stone ground. His eyes widen and he’s quick to step away from them and be closer to her.

“Hippogriffs.” She states.

“What do we need them for?” He questions - not bothering to mask his apprehension.

She grins as she goes to one of the Hippogriffs that’s similar in coloring as the scarf she gave him.

“This is Highwing. She’s quite spectacular, isn’t she?” She holds out her hand and Highwing bumps her beak against her palm. “And the other one is her mate. Dashmane.”

“Dashmane?”

She giggles, “Yes, because he’s so dashing.”

The darker shade of the beast’s plumage shimmers in the sunlight. Ominis appreciates how stunning both of the creatures are.

“First things first, you must introduce yourself to him - by giving a low bow.” She informs him.

Ominis glances between her and Dashmane before he does as she instructed. He bows, his back low and his head even lower. His eyes dart up to the creature as Dashmane bows back to him.

“Excellent.” She grins as she goes to Highwing’s side then mounts the awaiting beast. She looks over to him expectantly.

“But, I-I don’t know how to fly.” He protests.

“You’ll be fine O-,” She pauses with a slight cough, “Sebastian. You’ll pick it right up.”

He gulps as he follows her movements and manages to jump then swing his leg over Dashmane. Ominis situates himself on the beast’s back. He looks over to her and she has a pleased smile. She appears relaxed - like this is natural for her to be on the back of a Hippogriff.

“Ready?” She wonders.

He examines Dashmane, “Where do I hold on to?”

She shrugs, “Anywhere you can.”

He frowns, settling on grabbing a hold of a few tufts of feathers near the nape of Dashmane’s neck. Dashmane lets out a startled squawk, rearing up and nearly sending Ominis sliding off. Dashmane gallops forward and his wings unfurl as he vaults over the stone banister. With a few mighty flaps of his wings, Dashmane is soaring over the train tracks and towards the train station. Ominis’ heart is pounding in his chest and his eyes are blurring through the tears streaming past his temple. He feels like he’s close to falling off Dashmane’s back at any moment - or at the slightest movement.

A screech gets his attention as she flies in front of him. She looks over at Ominis with a wide smile. She’s truly a natural flier with how at ease she appears to be. Her and Highwing take the lead. Dashmane lets out a chirp of his own as he tries to catch up. Bystanders below, waiting for the Hogwarts Express, all stare up as they pass overhead. She curves off to the left towards a waterfall before banking back towards the arched bridge, diving below. Ominis clutches onto Dashmane as he follows, his stomach flipping and his breathing erratic.

She turns Highwing away from the lake and over the tree line - following the lake’s shore. She spares him glances to ensure he’s still following as she takes them over the treetops. The tips shudder and move as they fly by they’re so close. She dives below the trees, with Dashmane doing the same, and they zip along the path until she takes them high above once more. His head turns every which way as he takes in the sight of the valley from above. The rivers cut through the growth of trees similar to the veins on his hands. He spots clusters of homes tucked away in the forest.

They head towards an old castle or keep of some kind, with a blooming tree of the same vibrant, soft color from Hogsmeade, where they fly over as they turn back towards Hogwarts. He stares at the ruined estate in wonder at what it could’ve been. He turns his attention back to her and he adjusts himself on Dashmane. He lowers himself and, as if reading his thoughts, Dashmane flaps his wings harder than before.

Dashmane finally catches up to her and Highwing. She looks over to them and she laughs.

“You’re getting the hang of it!” She shouts. “Now, try to keep up!”

Ominis’ eyes widen as she careens towards the river below. He tightens his grip then does the same. They soar across a river until they’re back over the Black Lake. He can’t stop his heart from beating wildly, but he’s finding the rush to be too thrilling to suppress. He leans himself over enough to catch his rippled reflection in the lake. He frowns at Sebastian being the face looking back at him. He focuses back on their flight.

She’s taking them towards Hogwarts, flying higher and higher as they near. Ominis can place what some of these areas are - like the boathouse where he arrived his very first year. Feels like only yesterday when he made the climb up all those steps and entered the Great Hall for the first time.

She takes them over the ramp and heads straight for the courtyard leading to the Great Hall. Ominis can make out the students below with some of them pointing up at them as they near. Highwing angles upwards before taking a dive right past the courtyard. Ominis’ eyes widen as Dashmane follows the route and dives after them. His heart is in his throat and his stomach drops. They’re heading right into a stone bridge and his whole body tenses up. Dashmane closes up his wings and zips through the archway.

Ominis lets out a breath as Dashmane follows along the river, keeping his wingspan small enough to navigate the narrow crevice. Highwing zips through then banks sharply to the left at the divide. He emerges from the river just as she turns back towards a waterfall underneath the castle. As they turn out to trail along the embankment of the lake, she leads them towards another cascading river towards the old wooden long bridge.

She flies them underneath and leads them up the waterfall, flying higher and higher over a stone bridge, until she turns to the left towards a plateau. She lands at a clearing with various rocks set up in a large circle around the area. He manages to bring Dashmane into a gentle landing, prancing up to be next to Highwing.

“See. I knew you could fly.” She grins at him, her hair windblown and her face radiating.

“I think you were trying to get us killed.” He retorts with a smile.

She laughs, dismounting from Highwing then him dismounting as well. She brings out the strange leather bag again and opens it. The bag sucks both Highwing and Dashmane inside. She puts the bag away then motions with her head towards the edge of the plateau. She takes a seat on the rock, her legs draping over the edge. He sits next to her and he takes in the sight before them.

The sun is beginning to set behind them, casting a pale, but brilliant, glow upon Hogwarts. Birds fly around a tower, which he realizes is the Owlery.

“I’m glad we got here in time.” She whispers, her eyes set towards the sunset. “I wanted your first sunset to be special.”

“It already is-,” the words die in his mouth as he pieces together what she just said.

“I-I mean-, what do you mean my first sunset?” He tries to play off.

Her eyes roll over to him with an amused grin playing on her lips.

“Do not play coy with me now, Ominis. I know it’s you.”

His eyes widen and he can feel a burning heat overtake his face. She giggles, placing a warm hand on his.

“While I was irritated you did not tell me of your ploy at first, I figured you must have your reasons to keep me in the dark on this.”

His head falls with a sigh, “No. Not a good reason by any sort of means.”

She laughs again, “I assume Sebastian must be involved.”

“This was his idea, if that’s what you’re implying.” He looks over to her, “When did you figure it out?”

She hums, “I had a feeling something was wrong when you looked at the grass like you’ve never seen it before. Then again, when we got to Hogsmeade, you were completely taken away. And Sebastian most certainly doesn’t look at me the way you did today. But, what finally confirmed my suspicions, was when I asked what you thought of that orange dress. Which was very clearly purple, by the by.”

He closes his eyes with a soft groan, “You are far too clever of a witch at times.” He looks over to her with raised brows. “Does that mean that harrowing flight was to get back at me?”

She bites her bottom lip, “A bit. But, to also show you as much as possible before that Polyjuice Potion wears off.” She sighs, “I wish you would’ve told me. I could’ve made today special for you.”

“It has been special.” He takes her hand in his with a smile.

The look upon her face sends him spiraling once more. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows how it makes him feel. She’s the first to look away and she’s back to gazing at the sunset.

“You don’t want to miss this.” She says in a quiet voice.

He looks off towards where the sun is setting behind the rolling mountains. The hills in the distance are draped in a fog and the colors begin to bloom across the landscape.

“What colors are these?” He wonders.

“Well, do you see there?” She points towards a large patch of a bright pigment which echoes across the sky. “That’s actually orange.”

“Orange.” He laughs. “I see my mistake now.”

She smiles as she points to another section of a softer color similar to some of the vibrant trees he saw, “That there, is pink.”

His lips stretch into a smile, “Pink. I think I do like pink.”

“And over there,” she points toward a darker color, far richer than the rest, “is purple. And there, where the sun is, is yellow, or actually, more accurately, gold.”

He sucks in a deep breath, taking in this new knowledge. He wants to engrain this picture before him into his mind. The clouds hold a vast array of pigments like a field of flowers. And he can see so far - miles upon miles with no end in sight. It all evokes a well of emotion within him. And when he looks down at her, the sunset reflecting upon her soft features and in her eyes, he all but breaks.

“I wish I could see this everyday.” His voice wavers.

She looks over to him - her lips parted in concern and her smile fading. She wants to say something, the anguish is clear. His hand cups her cheek and her eyes close at the contact.

“I don’t mean to cause you distress, love. I only mean to say - I envy Sebastian, and everyone else, that’s able to gaze upon you. I would love to do nothing more than to sing you ballads about your beauty.” He strokes her cheek, her eyes remaining close as she places her hand over his to press him closer to her face.

“You don’t need to serenade me, Ominis.”

“I know.” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to.”

His other hand joins in and he feels over her face - an action he has done several times. But, to see what he’s felt, elates him. It’s almost terrifying how strong the notion is. Her eyes remain close as he traces over her cheeks and down her nose then all the way to her jawline and lips.

“I hope I’m what you were expecting.” She whispers, her brows knitting together as she slowly opens her eyes.

He smiles as he tucks away the wild hairs framing her face, “More than I could’ve ever imagined.”

The light begins to fade away and they’re soon swathed in a darkness he’s all too familiar with. He’s amazed he’s still able to somewhat see. Hogwarts illuminates in a soft glow and a sense of coziness strikes him. She leans closer to him, resting her hand on his chest.

“Lay with me.” She whispers while she pushes him back towards the ground.

He lets her push him, falling back onto the cold stone beneath them. He watches her as she tucks herself next to him and she faces up towards the sky. Her eyes shift towards him and she laughs.

“Look up.”

She stares at him as he obeys her command. The sky is no longer a bright blue, but a darker, far richer shade. But what catches his eyes are the shimmering dots which twinkle in various prismatic colors. A gasp leaves him and she giggles.

“Those are the stars. And over there is the moon.” She points in front of them and he follows her finger towards the most breathtaking thing. The moon, once described to him as silver, seems almost unreal as it hovers in the night sky. Its light is cold compared to the sun and he finds himself in awe at its majesty.

“It’s all so beautiful.” He whispers while he hugs her closer to him.

Something shifts within him. He lets out a gasp then looks at his hand. His fingers and knuckles are shifting before his very eyes.

“No. No, not yet.” He curses.

She’s about to question what’s wrong when her eyes widen, “Ominis. Your hair. It’s… the potion.”

He sits up - her doing the same- and he looks around. He doesn’t want this to end, but already the darkness is beginning to cloud his vision. He looks to her, pulling her close to him. He cups both sides of her cheeks and she holds him closer.

She smiles as she says, “I love you, Ominis.”

Seeing her lips move, the genuineness in her expression, and the softness in her gaze sends him careening. He stares at her, taking in every little piece of her, while the darkness consumes more and more.

Then, she’s gone.

He lets out a shaky breath and a coldness seeps into him. He’s still - unable to move.

When she presses her forehead to his, he can no longer contain himself. Tears stream down his cheeks and she’s quick to embrace him, holding his head into the crook of her neck as he sobs. She strokes down his back while her other hand soothes his hair. There’s a whirlwind of emotion raging through him and he doesn’t know how to calm himself down. He’s thankful she’s not chastising him for acting this way - so pathetic and broken. Her gentle movements ground him from fully sinking into the numbing coldness which threatens to drag him deeper into an endless abyss.

She whispers soft words, but he’s so lost he doesn’t understand what she’s saying. All he can notice is how warm she is and how tightly she holds him. Never once letting him go.

The chaos slowly quells and he’s exhausted himself.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse and quiet. “I-I should have better control over myself. I-I didn’t anticipate how-, how much I-,”

“It’s okay, Ominis.” She kisses his temple. “It’s okay.”

She kisses his tear-stained cheek then the corner of his lips. He’s practically ravenous as he hooks his fingers into her hair to guide her into a searing kiss. A whimper escapes him at the rawness of her lips against his. When she parts, he opens his eyes in hopes he would catch just a faint glimpse of her.

But no… all he has left is the memory of today. The vibrancy of the world and the breathtaking beauty she possesses.

He sighs, “There’s a part of me that wishes I could do this everyday.” He pauses, brushing the tip of his nose against hers and tangling his fingers further into her hair. “But, another part is glad to be back in my own skin.”

She lets out a soft hum of agreement, “I very much like you being back. It was quite odd having to hold Sebastian’s hand today.”

He laughs, “I can imagine.”

“I do love you, Ominis. All parts of you.” She says.

His throat tightens, but he’s done shedding tears. He brings her into a much softer kiss this time then he whispers, “I love you, too.”

The words feel lacking. They aren’t enough to convey the strong feelings he has for her. But, how else could he describe the way she makes him feel. How else could he even come close to explaining that she is so very precious and dear to him. So, he settles with what he can for now.

“We should head back. We’ll have to sneak into the kitchens if we’re to get any sort of dinner tonight.”

“We should get Sebastian as well. I’m sure he’s dying to leave the confines of the Undercroft by now. Although, maybe it’s good for him to be locked away for a while.” Ominis muses with a slight smirk.

She giggles, “Certainly keeps him out of trouble.”

They head back to the castle with her practically glued to his side as she explains all the questions he has about the things he saw today. His fingers occasionally twisting the soft fabric of the scarf draped across his neck. He smiles as he knows exactly what color it is.

==================================

It’s not until the next day when the rumors around the school finally reach Sebastian that he corners Ominis just before Charms class.

“What’s this about ‘me’ flying a bloody Hippogriff over the school yesterday?”

Ominis can only smirk in response.

----------------------------------------

AN: Bruh i just can't help myself but add some flying INTO EVERYTHING!! I HAVE A PROBLEM! Like, when I saw the scene of Dany and Jon in GoT doing their dragon flight when i was searching for music, i just knew i had to do it here. LOL i even went flying around the world in game trying to find the best route as well.

You can find the plateau where this takes place below by the Merlin Trail:

and here's my horrible, low quality, sunset pic via the pic i took of my tv from my phone lollll.

Anyways, I really wanted to capture the thought of Ominis not having a clue what the heck colors are and most def not being able to understand certain more obscure facial expressions (like suspicion). And I really liked the idea of leaving the Fifth Year in the dark about the Polyjuice Potion... idk why. i just thought it was fun LOL.

Hopefully it wasn't too weird about her holding his hand as 'Sebastian' but I was going for the 'yeah she's figured out it's ominis' type vibe. idk hopefully that's conveyed

Thanks again for reading! Feedback always appreciated <3

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earlgodwin · 1 month

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"In none of the numerous despatches of the day is this suspicion mentioned, although in a private letter of Malipiero's, dated Rome, June 17, 1497, and in one of Polo Capello's reports, allusion is made to the "rumor" regarding the criminal relations of Don Giovanni and his sister. Could the fact that Lucretia never engaged in any love intrigue—at least she is not charged with having done so—with anyone else, when there were in Rome so many courtiers, young nobles, and great cardinals who were her daily companions, have given rise to these reports? It is a fact that nothing has been discovered which would indicate that this beautiful young woman ever did engage in any love affair. Even the report of the ambassador, who, writing to Ferrara, not from Rome but from Venice, states that Lucretia had given birth to a child stands alone. She had at that time been separated from her husband Sforza a whole year. But even if we admit that this rumor was well founded, and that Lucretia did engage in some illicit love affair, are not these relations and slips frequent enough in all societies and at all times? Even now nothing is more readily glossed over in the polite world." — Lucretia Borgia, According to Original Documents and Correspondence of Her Day, Ferdinand Gregorovius (January 1, 1904)

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nikkisheep · 2 months

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To Be Alone With You (Part Five)

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST, Benedict and reader gets closer, reader is heartbroken, so much crying, talk of betrayal

Summary: Weeks after Anthony "dumped" you so he could be more serious in his courtship with your sister, you finally tell him that it is time that you both move on in an emotional confrontation.

I'm so sorry that it got so long. I hope that it's good given that I wrote this at like 12 am.

Song that I feel relates to it in a sense:

Illicit Affairs (Taylor Swift)

Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna, @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @sydney-m, @theantiquehobbit, @theroyalmanatee ,@urfavnoirette , @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a

The days passed. The days turned to weeks. The weeks turned into two months. Your days drug on as you prepared yourself for the next outing with your family. You faked a smile, beaming at the right time. Looking at your sisters, smiling and giggling over the hundreds of letters that Anthony wrote to Edwina.

You were staring out the window when you heard your name being called.

"Dear sister, have you read this new letter that Lord Bridgerton sent to me," Edwina beamed like a girl in love.

You turned your head to her, a small sad smile graced your face.

"No, I hadn't."

"I most certainly do not want to." Is what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell her how Anthony only makes those promises of love to you when you are both wrapped at the waist in the sheets of his bed.

Instead you tell her that you were overcome with sleep and preferred to go back to your bedroom. Standing up, you leave the room and put your hand over your mouth as a sob threatens to escape.

You sighed against the bedroom door when it closed and you let the tears fall. You sob right there on your bedroom floor, your dress creating a pool around you as you sank to the floor because your knees couldn't handle the weight of you standing.

You don't try to keep the tears in. You had been waiting to be alone to let them fall. You didn't understand why Anthony couldn't love you.

Why did it have to be you?

Why won't he end the courtship with your sister?

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

-----

The next few days carry the same thing. You smile. You nod. You pretend that you weren't silently dying inside because that is how you should be feeling. You should be happy when you see Anthony kiss Edwina's hand because that is her soon to be husband. He is respectful. He is a gentleman.

----

Your family arrives at the Featherington's house for the annual Featherington ball. Many families of the ton had arrived and were all gossiping to each other in small groups. When the Bridgertons walked in with the Sharmas, the entire room looked over in their direction. All of the Sharmas were there except for you. You had said that you were not feeling like going to the ball. When in fact you had to get ready in your dress that was going to be the best at the ball and you knew that.

You were getting your shoes on when you looked at the window. The night was set and you saw the carriage that waited for you. Stepping out of the house, your deep purple dress trailed behind you a bit. Your dress in the shape of a ball gown that had gems embedded in the fabric. Every time you moved, your dress sparkled. Your hair had one curl that laid gently against your collarbone.

----

Stepping inside the Featherington's home, the entire building went silent as they awaited your next move. Your gloved hands came to rest by your sides and you picked up your dress. You then took a step forward and soon the entire room opened itself up as you cast a smile that could blind anyone who looked too close.

Making your way to the lemonade stand, you bumped into Benedict and you gave him a smile as you looked up to him. You pat him on his arm and he smiles to you.

"You, Miss Sharma, look absolutely gorgeous. I need to have a talk with your Lady's Maid because you look," He said. "Like money doesn't know the price."

You smile and let out a laugh.

"You are too kind with your words, Ben." You set down your glass and then preceded to grab his arm. "Come. Come dance with me."

He leads you to the dance floor, holding your gloved hand. You get in line with everyone else and then preceded to dance. You hand was on his shoulder, his on your hip and holding your hand. You smile at him when he nearly bumps into someone, too busy looking into your eyes.

"Miss Sharma," He started. "I was wondering if you would be interested in another art session."

"As in the same as last time?" You giggle, raising an eyebrow.

"Not quite," He laughed. "I wanted to give you actual art lessons and perhaps actually finish the drawing that I was working on."

"I feel like that can be arranged," You laugh.

"And if anything happens like last time, I may have to marry you."

Your smile falls and you drop his hand.

'Miss Sharma?" You can barely hear him. Your heart was beating too loud.

"Have I said something to offend you?" He asked, confused.

"No, it is not you."

"I feel as though it was. I am terribly sorry for my words that have conflicted hurt onto you."

Just before you could reply, Anthony walked up and greeted his brother.

"I was not aware that you were escorting Miss Sharma to the dance floor," Anthony said. "After all she said that she wouldn't be attending tonight."

He finally turned to you and smiled. You didn't smile back. You eyes were dull. The light had faded from them when seeing Anthony.

"Good evening Lord Bridgerton," You bow quickly.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, Miss Sharma."

You looked at him and wondered if you should even react. You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to talk. But really, you did. You wanted to show him that you were perfectly fine without him.

"You look lovely tonight," he said. " Your dress is beautiful."

He was trying to get a reaction. He wanted to see you swoon for him. At least that is what you thought.

"You look decent." You don't look him in the eyes, knowing that you would fall back to where you started.

"Why thank you. Can I have a dance?"

You nod and you both go to the dance floor. Edwina, Kate and Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury all stand to watch.

Anthony takes your gloved hand and he placed your other hand onto his shoulder. He places his other on your hip and begins to move. His touch burns into your dress. You might as well have had nothing on with how warm his hands felt.

Your eyes are locked with his as you move. His eyes were so full of love and adoration that you almost had to look away. Your hand on his shoulder slides up to cup his neck as you both move along in the steps of the song. Your head comes to rest closer to his shoulder and you could feel his breathe fan over the loose curls on your neck. He brings his hand with yours to his chest and you can feel his heart beat.

When you look back in his eyes, it feels like it's just the two of you and no one else was here. It was the two of you and you would stay like this forever. His eyes told you everything you had whispered into the night together.

"I love you more than you will ever know."

---

"Don't they look like they are having fun?" Edwina asked. "I knew that if they spent time together that they would grow to like each other."

The other ladies looked at her.

"I do believe that they do make a good dancing couple," Lady Danbury said.

"A handsome dancing couple," Edwina agreed.

She soon left as Kate was left with the two women.

"Kate, tell me, has your sister always been terrible at hiding her feelings?" Lady Danbury said.

Kate looked confused.

"Her feelings about what?"

"It's more about who." She said as she turned Kate's head gently to the direction in which you were dancing with Anthony.

"Lord Bridgerton?" Kate asked.

"Indeed it seems that they have feelings for each other."

"Lady Danbury you believe that anyone around Lord Bridgerton is in love with him," Kate said.

"Not everyone. You are not."

"Well....no."

"Just keep an eye on them and see what I see," Lady Danbury said. "Now run along."

Kate left to find a glass of lemonade.

"Lady Bridgerton, your son is absolutely enthralled with that girl." Lady Danbury said with a knowing smirk.

"Miss Sharma and my son are not in love," Violet said. "They can't be. He is engaged to her sister."

They look back to you and Anthony. Your eyes seem to never leave each other. Both of your lips were parted slightly as you look like you can't see anything else but each other.

"The eyes can't tell a lie, Violet."

---

"I am sorry for how I left things between us," Anthony said.

"Why?"

"I didn't want things to end that way."

"But they did and now it's over. We are over."

"Over?"

You look at him for a second. You see a man who doesn't realize that he did this to the both of you.

"You ruined us when you decided to court my sister."

"I was courting her before I met you."

"Then you should have never gotten involved with me."

"I wasn't the only one who was involved," He said, pulling the two of you outside away from others. "You were also there in that lake when this all started. I asked you if it was okay and you said yes."

"I didn't know that-"

"You knew that you were betraying your sister and dishonoring yourself but you still did it so do not stand here and twist the blame onto me. I am not the only one who betrayed Edwina."

"You told me you loved me. You promised me that you loved me."

"And I never lied," He said, emotion slipping in. "You were..."

"Then why does it feel like a lie?" You started to feel emotional. "Why did you have to propose to my sister? Why did you have to make me love you?" You fall against him as you sob into his chest. Your hands ball up into fists and you slightly smack them against his chest.

"Why did you make me love you? You sob again. "Why am I not good enough for you to marry instead?"

"You are good enough. You are way too good." Anthony said as he holds you in his arms as your body shakes with sobs.

"What does she have that I don't?" You cry. "What makes you want her to marry her but not me?"

"I can't love her because she isn't you."

Your face is red with tears streaming down your face as you wipe your nose with the back of your handkerchief. You blankly stare at him with tears in your eyes.

"I love you. Can't you see that I'm doing all of this because I love you," Anthony said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"You love me and yet you are still going to marry my sister," You cry. "Someone you do not even love. Why can you not marry someone you love?"

"I have my reasons," He said, thinking of how his mother was after his father died.

"I need to stop loving you," You said.

"You....what?"

" I need to be free of the torment that you have inflicted onto me," You say, calming yourself down. "I need to be with someone else. I'm sorry."

"Wait-"

"Good night, Lord Bridgerton."

And you left the ball without looking back.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton angst #anthony bridgerton x reader angst #bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton x reader

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quasi-normalcy · 11 days

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Actually, you know what? Ever since I learned that Ira Steven Behr signed that grossly unfair letter against Jonathan Glazer, I've been forced to kind of reevaluate some of my interpretations of things in Deep Space Nine.

Like Section 31. I was willing to suppose that it was always and only intended to be villainous. But knowing as I do now that the showrunner who included it is perfectly willing to turn a blind eye to genocide, I'm forced to wonder...was it critical? Was it?

Like, let's consider canon here. In "Statistical Probabilities", Bashir and the other augments calculate, in no uncertain terms, that the Federation can't win its war with the Dominion. Their model even accurately forecasts things that happen later in the series: the Romulans declaring war on the Dominion; a full-scale revolt on Cardassia Prime. The end of the episode kind of pooh-poohs their model, like, "Well you couldn't even forecast what Serena would do in this room" but like...(1) the premise is basically lifted from Asimov's psychohistory concept, which works on populations rather than individuals, and (2) there's even a line of dialogue in the episode saying that the models become *less* uncertain the further you go in time. And indeed, the Federation ultimately wins the war not because any of their assumptions were wrong, but because there was another factor that they weren't aware of: the Changeling plague. The plague that had, of course, been engineered by Section 31 to exterminate the Changelings.

So again you have to ask: *was* this critical? Or was the real message that a black ops division willing to commit genocide is necessary to preserve a "utopian" society, no matter how squeamish it makes a naïve idealist like Bashir? And yeah, the war is ultimately won by an act of compassion, but only *after* Bashir sinks to S31's level by kidnapping Sloane and invading his mind with illicit technology. So...is this really a win for idealism?

And then we have the Jem'Hadar. They're a race of slave soldiers, genetically engineered to require a compound that only the Changelings can give them. By any reasonable standard, they're victims. And yet, the series goes out of its way, especially in "The Abandoned", to establish that they're irredeemable. You can't save them. Victims of colonialism they may be, but your only choice is to kill them, or else they--preternaturally violent almost from the moment that they're born--*will* kill you. And of course, I've long assumed that this was just a really unfortunate attempt to subvert what had become the standard "I, Borg" style Star Trek trope where your enemies become less scary once you get to know them, but like. I would say that there's pretty close to a one-to-one correspondence between this premise and the ideology excusing the mass murder of children in Gaza.

Or the Maquis. There's this line at the start of "For the Uniform" where Sisko tells Eddington that he regards the refugees in the Demilitarized Zone as being "Victims of the Maquis", because they've kept alive the forlorn hope that they would ever be allowed to return to their homes and...Jesus, when I write it out like that, Hello, Palestinian Right of Return. [The episode of course ends with Sisko bombing a Maquis colony with chemical weapons, though it is somewhat less objectionable in practice than I'm making it sound here].

And you know what...I get that DS9 is a show that's intended to have moral complexity, and to be kind of ambiguous in a lot places, and not to give you simple answers and so on. And I'm *not* trying to do the standard JK Rowling/ Joss Whedon/ Justin Roiland thing where a creator falls from grace for whatever reason and people comb through their oeuvre to show that they were always wicked and fans were stupid for not seeing it earlier or whatever. But I will say that these things hit different when you know that the series was show-run for five seasons, comprising every episode that I've just named, by a man who would go on to sign his name to a letter maliciously quoting Jonathan Glazer out of context to drag him for condemning an active genocide. And given that I've been a fan of DS9 for basically my entire life, this is deeply unsettling to me.

#long post #star trek deep space nine

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cinnamongorll · 4 months

Text

'a fragile line' - masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

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Inspired by ‘Strangers’ by Ethel Cain, ‘Haunted’ by Taylor Swift, and ‘Francesca’ by Hozier 🫀

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read on ao3 - currently 30 chapters (139k words) & usually updated every 1-2 weeks!

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read on tumblr:

chapter 1 'Marked for death'

chapter 2 'Put it on me'

chapter 3 'Twice'

chapter 4 'Something in the way'

chapter 5 'Way down we Go'

chapter 6 'Hearing Damage'

chapter 7 'Slipped'

chapter 8 'Killer + The Sound'

chapter 9 'Carolina'

chapter 10 'Salt and the Sea'

chapter 11 'Tulsa Jesus Freak'

chapter 12 'The Night We Met'

chapter 13 'First Defeat'

chapter 14 'Who We Are'

chapter 15 'Bloodstream'

chapter 16 'Villain'

chapter 17 'NFWMB'

chapter 18 ‘Funny’

chapter 19 'Strangers'

chapter 20 'No Sound But The Wind'

chapter 21 'I'm Your Man'

chapter 22 ‘Running Up That Hill’

chapter 23 'My Tears Ricochet'

chapter 24 ‘Safe and Sound’

chapter 25 'House Song'

chapter 26 'My Body is a Cage'

chapter 27 'Happiness is a Butterfly'

chapter 28 'Illicit Affairs'

chapter 29 'The Last Time'

chapter 30 'If You Lie Down With Me'

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #the last of us #Spotify #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #tlou #tlou hbo #joel the last of us

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stylesispunk · 5 months

Text

"Last Christmas"

No outbreak! Joel Miller x f! Reader

Summary: Last year Joel and you crossed your own boundaries leaving a lasting impact on both of you. Now, that you're back in the city what would happen between you both when all the odds aren't in your favor?

Warnings: Age gap (Joel is 42 and reader 27) Christmas angst, emotional cheating in the slight.

Word count: 7k>> long one.

a/n: Hi! In the beginning, I wanted to write a fic about the "Last Christmas" song by Wham! but I ended up writing something different. I kept the name though. In this story, Joel doesn't have Sarah, so he is a lonely man. Part II may be in the works depending on how this one performs. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, I hope you enjoy this, happy reading💌

Part ii

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

A year ago, you had left Austin, leaving no trace behind you, not even footprints for those who wanted to remember you. You become a gosht for some, for others a persistent torment.

No letters.

No souvenirs.

No goodbyes.

You just simply left behind every trace that reminded you of Joel. From a chilly winter night, following the gathering of your family’s Christmas Eve party, that used to have people together, when you found yourself waking up under the sheets of your father neighbor’s, and friend's bed.

You couldn’t lie and say there wasn’t anything between you two. Your father had introduced you both at a dinner party for your mother’s birthday. From that moment your paths crossed in an incandescent glow, painting the gray skies in a multicolor universe you hadn’t had the chance to meet before.

And it was that night, at the Christmas Eve party, when you met sin. The exchange of gazes was a secret in a crowded room, with nobody getting the idea about you and him. At that moment, his eyes were on you and he made everyone disappear, building up an electric friction between you. A spark, a connection that transcended the glow of the twinkling lights and laughs around.

He spoke a language that only you were able to understand.

All the months of passing back and forth, blossomed into a romantic interaction that made you understand Joel was just not a passing spark; he stroked the flame of your starved heart and you refused to let it be extinguished.

But when you both disappeared that night, breaking the rules of your illicit affair under the sheets of his bed, you lost him.

When the morning came, you couldn’t face the consequences of what had happened, nor was he staring out the window instead of your face, detached and distant. The gravity followed a blind faith and left you both in broken pieces with neither of daring to face the aftermath of your promise being broken.

Nothing beyond these kisses can happen between us. He said one day.

His voice, the way he said it still echoed in your mind. And you both were crazy to think that something between you both could work when the world around you was against it.

And he knew you would eventually leave this town to follow your dreams, but he didn’t know you would do it too soon.

Two days after no communication, you left him behind.

Without a warning, without a last chance to look at your face or to kiss your lips. You just simply vanished from his touch.

You disappeared with his love as a forbidden secret.

You never were able to break a heart until you broke his.

Now, as Christmas approached once again, you found yourself back in your hometown, nestled within the protection of the walls of your parents. The air was thick with the essence of the spirits you hid in the closet before leaving this town behind, the same now were plotting to escape and ruin your stay in this place you used to call home.

As you entered the house, the scent of holiday pastries and the picture of mixed decorations enveloped you. Your mother with joy, welcomed you with open arms. Your father, a man of few words, gave you a nod, acknowledging your return.

Sitting in the living room, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, your mother couldn't help but sense the heaviness that lingered in your eyes. She looked at you with a mother's intuition, sensing that there was more to your return than a simple visit.

"What's on your mind, dear?" she asked gently, her eyes filled with both curiosity and concern.

Your mother studied you for a moment, her gaze penetrating through the layers of your facade. She could sense the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, but she chose not to press further, respecting the boundaries you set.

"If you ever want to talk, remember that I'm here," she said, her voice carrying the comfort of maternal understanding.

“Yes, you can start by explaining why you left the city without a warning” your father spoke, a tint of sadness and anger in his words.

You took a deep breath, grappling with the internal turmoil that had led you to this moment. The ghosts of your past, once neatly tucked away, seemed to stir, threatening to break free from their confines.

"It's complicated, Dad," you began, the words hesitant but genuine. "I... I needed to leave. There were things I couldn't face, mistakes I made that I needed to distance myself from."

He sighed, a mixture of understanding and frustration in his eyes. "We all make mistakes, but leaving without a word, without letting us know if you were safe, that hurt, Honey. We're your family."

The weight of your actions settled in, and you nodded, the guilt evident in your expression. "I know, Dad. I should have handled it differently. But at that time, I couldn't see any other way."

Your mother reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "We just want to understand, dear. It's been hard for us”

“But I’m here now, and New York has treated me well”

Your mother offered a gentle smile, relieved to have you back within the folds of the family. "We're glad you're here, sweetheart. New York is a big city, and we were worried about you navigating it alone."

You took a moment to reflect on your time in New York, appreciating the opportunities and challenges the city had presented. "It's been a journey, for sure. The city is fast-paced, and there's always something happening. But I've been learning a lot and, overall, things have been treating me well."

Your father's stern expression softened as he listened to your words. "Just remember, we're here for you, no matter where life takes you. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you have to face everything alone."

The warmth in your mother's touch and the understanding in your father's words brought a sense of comfort, a reassurance that, despite the complexities of the past, your family remained a big support.

“Your brother and sister are arriving soon, why don’t you go to rest a bit?” your mom said.

You nodded, appreciative of the suggestion. "Yeah, maybe a short rest would do me good. It's been a long journey."

Your mother gave you a tender smile, her eyes filled with maternal concern. "Take your time, dear. We're just happy to have you home."

As you made your way to the guest room, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The familiar surroundings of your childhood home embraced you like a comforting blanket, and the echoes of laughter from the living room reminded you of the shared joy of family.

Closing the door to the guest room, you let out a sigh, allowing the weight of the past to settle for a moment. The bed, adorned with a quilt your mother had made years ago, seemed to invite you into its embrace.

As you lay down, the memories of New York and the complexities you left behind in Austin played like a film reel in your mind. The warmth of your mother's touch and the understanding in your father's words provided a glimmer of solace, a reminder that, despite the unspoken secrets, the bonds of family remained resilient.

And you fell asleep thinking about how after a year, only a door separated you from Joel now.

A few hours later, you were gently stirred from your sleep by the soft voice of your niece. The warm sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the room announcing the darkness of the night was arriving.

"Aunt! Aunt!" she exclaimed; her excitement palpable.

You blinked, adjusting to the daylight, and smiled at the sight of your enthusiastic niece. "Hey there, little one. What's going on?"

With uncontainable joy, she announced, "Mom and Dad are here! Uncle is here too!"

Your grogginess melted away as you realized what those words meant. Your family has reunited together again, a moment you had been looking forward to since you moved to another a year ago.

With your energy back, you joined your nice as she led the way to the living room, where the air was already buzzing with the chatter and laughter of your siblings and brother-in-law. Once your figure emerged in the room, your older sister Emma and big brother Andy greeted you with big smiles on their faces.

"Look who's finally awake!" your Emma exclaimed, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Andy, with his characteristic humor, added, "Thought you were going to sleep through the whole reunion." He spoke, going for a hug as your sister pulled away “I’ve been missing you so much big baby”

"I've been missing you too, big brother," you replied, returning his hug. All the sadness bubbling inside you melted away with the warmth of the family reunion.

Your niece, still bubbling with excitement, chimed in, "My aunt was sleeping like a bear, but I woke her up!"

Your brother-in-law, joining the playful banter, teased, "Sleeping beauty finally awakens."

“Hi there Troy” you smiled at him, hugging him.

"Hi, you," Troy replied, returning the hug with a friendly pat on the back. The room echoed with the easy banter and laughter that characterized the unique dynamics of your family.

As you settled into the reunion, you all sat around the table eating dinner your mom and dad had cooked for this moment. The atmosphere of the night went back and forth from playful conversation to the serious tone of the real adult life you all were living. Emma, always worried about you, asked you about your life in New York and the adventures you have lived since you left Austin.

"It's been a journey," you shared a reflective note in your voice. "New York is a world of its own, but I've been learning a lot, both about the city and myself."

Troy chimed in, "I've seen your updates on Instagram. Big city life suits you; it seems."

You nodded, appreciating the support "It has its challenges, but I've found my way. And how have things been here?" you asked, turning the focus back to your family.

Emma shared stories of family adventures, your niece animatedly described the school, and Troy added humorous anecdotes. The room resonated with the warmth of shared moments, creating a tapestry of memories that wove together in the past, finding its way to the present.

As the lively dinner conversation continued, your family members took turns sharing anecdotes and updates about their lives. Laughter echoed through the room, creating an atmosphere of familiarity and connection.

Your dad, sitting at the head of the table, finally chimed in with a gleam in his eye. "Speaking of repairs, Joel stopped by yesterday and helped me fix the leaky faucet in the kitchen. Handy fellow, that one."

The mention of Joel's made your heart skip a beat, causing a subtle shift in your demeanor.

"Oh, really?" you replied, your voice carefully neutral. "That's... helpful."

Your father continued to tell you all about the unexpected repair session, praising Joel's handy talents and charming demeanor. The words hung in the air, and you were unable to ignore your sister, sitting opposite you. Her curious glance briefly met yours, and you could sense her interest bubbling underneath the outer layer.

As the dinner conversation progressed, Emma successfully directed the conversation to more general topics, including everyone in a discussion about Christmas preparation and traditions. Her attentive eyes, on the other hand, suggested a level of awareness that went beyond what was visible to everyone at the table.

Emma's focused gaze, on the other hand, continued to indicate awareness, and you couldn't shake the sense that she was puzzling together the puzzle. The affair between you and Joel had left a mark, and the holiday reunion had become a delicate dance of concealing and disclosing, and you were concerned that your illicit affair would eventually come to light.

Later in the evening, as the rest of the family dispersed around the house, you and Emma found yourselves sitting together with cookies and tea in hand. The festive decorations adorned the living room, casting a warm glow on the surroundings.

Emma's focused gaze hinted at the questions lingering beneath the surface. The casual conversation about Christmas preparations and traditions gradually gave way to a more personal inquiry.

Sipping her tea, Emma finally reached the subject. "So, how's love life in New York? Anything interesting happening?”

You pulled a smile amid your anxious flutter. "Oh, you know, the usual city hustle and bustle. My romantic life, on the other hand, has been relatively quiet.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Quiet, huh? I find that hard to believe. What about that guy you were seeing last year?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you struggled to maintain composure. "Guy? What guy?" you asked, faking innocence.

Emma leaned in, her expression holding curiosity. "Come on, don't play coy with me. I noticed something was going on between you and Joel last year. Don't tell me I was imagining things."

Feigning nonchalance, you attempted to divert the conversation. "Joel and I were just friends. You know how it is people misinterpret things."

But Emma wasn't easily swayed. She raised an eyebrow, a skeptical expression on her face. "Just friends? The way you two looked at each other went beyond friendship, and I'm not imagining things."

You sighed, realizing that you couldn't dismiss her observations easily. "Okay, maybe there was something more," you admitted reluctantly. "But it was complicated, and I didn't want to bring unnecessary drama into the family."

Emma's expression softened with understanding, but a hint of concern remained. "Complicated how?"

“Come on Emma, he is fifteen years older than me and Dad loves him, imagine how fucked up for him to know her daughter was dating his friend who happens to be his neighbor.”

Emma's eyes widened with realization, and she nodded in understanding. "Oh, I see. That does sound complicated."

You continued, your voice carrying the weight of the unspoken challenges. "And there were other factors too. Career aspirations, the age difference, and the fear of disrupting the family dynamic—it just wasn't sustainable."

She placed a reassuring hand on yours. "I get it. Relationships can be messy, especially when they involve people close to home. But, darling, you can't carry all of that on your shoulders alone. We're family, and we're here for you."

You offered a small smile, appreciating Emma's support. "Thanks, Em. It's just been a lot to process."

You hesitated, weighing your words carefully. "We knew it wouldn't work. There were too many obstacles, and we decided it was best to end things."

Emma studied your face, her gaze searching for the truth beneath the surface. "And now? Have you moved on?"

You nodded, a sense of resignation settling over you. "Yes, I've moved on. New York has been a fresh start for me, and I've been focusing on my career and personal growth."

Emma's gaze softened with empathy. "I just want you to be happy, you know? If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here for you."

“Thank you, Em,” you said, holding her hand.

The following day, with your parent's Christmas party approaching, you, your father, and your brother made your way to the supermarket to buy the groceries. The upcoming celebration was a tradition for your parents and the joy of this day has been filling the air, since your arrival, so the three of you navigated the aisles of the supermarket, filling the cart with the essentials.

When your father and brother went to another aisle, you started looking for some drinks. Your attention momentarily deviated, and you collided with someone. The impact jolted through you, and as you steadied yourself, you found your eyes locking with someone you wanted to avoid,

Joel.

And there, in the middle of the aisle, time seemed to stand still. The echoes of your past encounters resurfaced. Joel’s gaze held a mix of surprise, and for a moment both of you were silent, not knowing how to react.

"Hi," Joel finally said, breaking the silence. His voice carried a weight in his words, and you could feel the venom.

"Hi," you replied, your voice tinged with shame and sadness. The supermarket aisle suddenly felt like a confined space, threatening you.

When Joel was about to say something else, your father and brother joined you in the aisle, noticing Joel standing there in front of you.

“Joel!” your father exclaimed with a smile “Fancy meeting you here, I suppose you’re coming tomorrow?”

"Hey!” Joel greeted them, reciprocating the smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it”

“Great because- “

Just as your father was about to say something, a woman appeared behind Joel, breaking the moment “Joel, love, I found the sauce for our lunch”, she announced with a bright smile.

Love, you thought, the nickname ringing in your ears.

Your heart sank, that meant he moved on from you. Joel’s eyes briefly met yours, and you could sense them burning on your skull.

Before anyone could say something, you excused yourself, stammering, "I, uh, forgot something for lunch. I'll catch up with you guys later."

As you rapidly made your way out from their view, you navigated through the crowded supermarket, you felt a mix of emotions. The encounter had brought forth the reality of Joel's life moving forward, and the endearing nickname from the woman emphasized the distance that had grown between you.

You still feel his, but he wasn’t yours anymore.

Perhaps, he never was.

When the darkness of the night enveloped Austin, you excuse yourself for a moment to go out and breathe the cold air of the night in the backyard. The air was crisp, and a light dusting of leaves crunched beneath your feet as you made your way to the bench beside the tree. The solitude felt like a sweet balm for you as a temporary escape from the bustling movement inside the house due to the upcoming party.

Settling onto the bench with a mug of warm tea in your hands, you gazed up at the winter sky, the stars twinkling in a vast expanse. The coldness was something you had grown accustomed to in New York, but for some reason, here felt colder in your bones.

As you lost yourself in the eerie night, it seemed like you weren’t the only one with the same idea. You sensed a presence closer. Turning your head, you saw Joel stepping out to his backyard, only the wooden fence separating the two of you. His eyes met yours instantly and you felt how the air felt colder.

Choosing to avoid direct eye contact with him, you shifted your gaze back to the sky, the mug in your hands offering a comforting warmth through your body. The silence between you and Joel felt heavy, laden with unspoken words and the weight of a shared past.

The distance between you was both physical and emotional, and the fence that separated the yards seemed to symbolize the barriers that had grown over a year of no talking.

For a moment, you pondered the complexities of the past, the changes in both your lives and the uncertain future that lay ahead. As the coldness of the night seeped through, you couldn't help but wonder if this unexpected encounter under the stars would be the catalyst for facing the unresolved emotions that lingered between you and Joel.

The silence between you and Joel stretched on, the only audible sounds being the hushed whispers of the night

"It's been a long time," he said, breaking the quietude of the night.

You kept your gaze fixed on the night sky, a silent acknowledgment of his observation.

"I see you’re in town," Joel continued.

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his words without turning to face him. "Just for the holidays.”

A subtle pause followed, as if both of you were navigating the weird stage of talking again. The memories of that chilly winter night and the unspoken promises lingered beneath the surface.

"Today at the supermarket," he admitted, breaking the silence once again. "Didn't expect to run into you like that."

The mention of your previous encounter woke up something within you, you finally turned your gaze toward him, your eyes meeting his for the first time since your return.

"Yeah, it was... unexpected," you admitted, the unspoken tension lingering in the air.

The backyard, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, became a stage for the reunion of two individuals who once shared something deep. As the coldness of the night surrounded you, the shared gaze under the stars held the potential for understanding, closure, or perhaps the beginning of a new chapter in the journey you both had embarked on separately.

Joel took a deep breath before speaking again. "I heard you are happy in New York," he remarked, his gaze still fixed on you.

"Yeah" you hummed "I saw you have a girlfriend"

Joel's expression shifted, surprise and discomfort clouding his features.

"Yeah," he replied cautiously, "we've been together for a while."

The revelation hung between you like an unspoken challenge, and a heavy silence settled over the backyard. The night, once serene, now felt charged with the complexities of your shared history and the stark reminder that life had moved on for both of you.

You took a deep breath, attempting to compose yourself, to regain the equilibrium that had momentarily slipped away. The night air, however, seemed colder now, mirroring the chill that had settled within you.

"I should go back inside," you said, your voice softer but still tinged with the residual bitterness.

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment before turning away. As you retreated from the backyard, the wooden fence once again became a symbolic barrier, separating the present from the past.

The door closed behind you, and the warmth of the house enveloped you, but the encounter under the stars lingered in the recesses of your mind. The complexities of the night had illuminated the unresolved emotions that still needed time to settle, and as Christmas approached, you found yourself grappling with the unexpected twists of this unwanted reunion. The echoes of love and loss that remained entangled in the tapestry of your shared history.

Amidst the festive chaos of the Christmas Eve party at your parents' house, the air thick with laughter and the mingling of guests, you found yourself needing a moment of solitude. The house echoed with the warmth of shared joy, but the weight of unspoken emotions lingered within you.

As you made your way outside carefully, you deeply knew you were doing everything at your had to avoid at the party, and being outside would be a start.

Once you stepped into the backyard, you let a deep breathe escaped from your lungs. The crips winter air embraced your bare shoulders, but you didn’t mind the coldness, the air felt like a breeze allowing you to breathe.

But for your surprise, things not always worked out for you. Joel sat there, a few steps away, seemingly seeking the same solace as you. The silence of the backyard contrasted with the buzzing inside the house, creating a space for reflection and solitude.

It seems like the universe wanted to pull you together somehow.

"Hey," Joel greeted, his voice carrying a hint of the familiar fire that once resonated between you two.

"Hi," you replied, offering a small smile noticeable under the dim lights of the backyard.

The backyard became a silent witness to the unspoken secret story shared between you two. Here one year after you both knew each other in a way that was invisible to others, you stood again, face to face.

The air became thick with charged energy of unspoken words, and for a moment, you stood in a tightrope suspended between what was and what could have been.

As you exchanged glances, a mutual understanding passed between you. The complexities of your history, the unspoken words, and the lingering emotions were present in the shared gaze.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Joel nodded, and together, in the quiet solitude of the backyard on Christmas Eve, you found a moment to breathe, allowing the weight of the past to settle in the hushed conversations and shared glances under the glow of festive lights.

The cobblestones beneath you felt cold, contrasting with the warmth of the festive lights overhead. You and Joel sat side by side, shoulders touching, and despite your bare arms in your dress, the friction of Joel’s touch against your skin sent a familiar warmth throughout your body.

That silence spoke volumes. The shared secret increased a palpable tension, but in the quietude of the backyard, the beatings of your hearts were the only thing you could hear.

After a while, Joel broke the silence. "It's been a year," he said softly, his gaze fixed on the distant lights.

"Yeah, a year," you replied, the words heavy with the unspoken emotions of the past.

Joel turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "I never got a chance to say goodbye properly. It just... ended and you were gone."

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, the echoes of the past filled the space between you. "I know," you whispered, the weight of regret in your words.

The Christmas lights above flickered, casting a soft glow on both of you. In that quiet moment, under the canopy of stars, you and Joel sat in shared contemplation, a bittersweet reminder of where the path of love and love met.

“Your girlfriend?” you asked, out of the blue. Those words slipped from your lips without previous thinking.

The question hung in the air, pregnant with the weight of unspoken emotions. Joel's gaze lingered on the distant lights for a moment, and then he turned to meet your eyes. The pause felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

"I broke up with her” he began, his voice carrying sincerity and hesitation. "It was never gonna work”

"I'm sorry to hear that," you replied sincerely, even though a part of you couldn't help but feel a tinge of conflicting emotions. The shared history, the unresolved feelings, and the present reality collided in this moment.

Joel nodded, his gaze returning to the distant lights. "It needed to happen. We both knew it. It was just a matter of time."

You nodded, understanding the mix of emotions all too well. The silence settled between you again, the unspoken understanding weaving a fragile thread in the quiet night.

"I never wanted to hurt you," you added, your voice soft with remorse.

"I know," he replied, offering a small smile. The intricacies of your shared history had left scars, but in this moment, there was a sense of acceptance for what wasn’t meant to be. “We’re different”

The last words broke your heart a little, you just wanted to go back to those meeting behind the eyes of witnesses. Back when you were still sharing stolen kisses and glances, tracing patterns on the palm of his hand. Back when you weren’t two strangers without nothing to say.

“Do you love her? you asked, blandly.

“I care about her” he said simply.

“Have you ever loved someone?” you inquired, again.

The question lingered in the air, and for a moment, a subtle vulnerability crossed Joel's features. As if the question found him with no warning. He met your gaze with a certain intensity, his eyes revealing emotions that words were incapable of capturing.

"Yes," he replied, his voice soft, the unspoken acknowledgment hanging between you. The weight of the unspoken love that once connected you both seemed to fill the space.

You have never said those three words before, but the secret language seemed to be doing its job, and the Christmas lights overhead cast a gentle glow on the emotions laid bare in your eyes and Joel's.

Joel's gaze remained fixed on yours, his eyes revealing the emotions that transcended the limitations of spoken language. The unspoken confession echoed between you, creating a fragile bridge that spanned the gap between the past and the present.

"I don’t want to forget," Joel whispered, breaking the silence once again. The admission held a touch of vulnerability.

"I don’t want to forget either," you replied, your voice carrying a mixture of nostalgia and acceptance. The shared understanding between you two seemed to bridge the gap, if only for a moment, allowing the remnants of your shared history to find a place in the present.

You felt the need to break the killing silence that enveloped you both. "I should probably head back inside," you said, your voice carrying a soft tone.

Joel's gaze lingered on yours, and for a moment, it seemed as if time stopped, and as you began to turn away, Joel gently caught hold of your hand.

When Joel finally released your hand, you felt a subtle tug at your heart. It was a bittersweet reminder of the intimacy you once shared, and the reality of the present settling in.

With a final look, Joel nodded, his eyes conveying a mixture of emotions. You turned away, leaving the quiet backyard and the echoes of the past behind.

Once inside, you felt a lump in your throat and air seemed unable to leave your lungs. You felt suffocated.

Emma, being as perceptive as always, noticed you in distress. She approached you with a concerned expression. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes searching yours for answers.

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "Just... nothing” you managed to say, attempting to downplay the effect of Joel on you.

Emma's gaze remained fixed on you, her intuition sensing that there was more beyond that answer. However, before she could press further, Joel stepped inside the house. A subtle tension filled the air as Emma's eyes met yours, and in that shared look, understanding passed between you.

The unspoken language between sisters didn’t need more words. Emma realized the weight of the encounter in the backyard between you and Joel, the echoes of a past that had not completely faded. The acknowledgment passed between you two without a word, an unspoken understanding of the complexities that lingered in the air.

As Joel moved further into the house, Emma offered a reassuring touch on your arm. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here," she whispered, her eyes reflecting the sisterly bond that had always been a source of support.

You nodded appreciatively, acknowledging the unspoken offer of solace. The Christmas celebration continued around you, but the encounter in the backyard had cast a shadow over the festivities, a poignant reminder of the intricate dance between love and loss.

You had broken his heart that night, but you also broke yours in the process.

As the hour passed, you found yourself engaged in polite conversation with some friends of the family and a friend of your father who seemed eager to play matchmaker for his son. The well-intentioned attempts at setting up a date had created a temporary diversion, but once they left you alone, you sighed in relief.

You weren’t really into dating right now, not when you heart belonged to the man next door.

And as if you had called for him, Joel appeared by your side again, his presence unobtrusive but noticeable.

"Can we talk?" you felt a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

Nodding in agreement, you both found a quieter corner away from the festive chatter. The Christmas lights overhead cast a gentle glow on the space between you, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away, just as if a director were shooting a scene for a movie.

“Can we go to my house?” he rather asked, after a while.

“No..” you said unsure “You know what happened last time I was there” you added.

Joel's gaze remained earnest, and you could sense the vulnerability in his eyes. The invitation to go to his house carried a weight of history, a place where memories of your shared past were etched into the very walls.

"I know," he responded, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "But there are things we need to talk about. Closure, maybe."

The word "closure" hung in the air, a bittersweet promise that tugged at the edges of your emotions. The Christmas lights overhead flickered like stars, casting a cinematic glow on the unfolding scene. You didn’t want this to be the end. You didn’t want to go back to being strangers without anything in common.

After a moment of contemplation, you sighed and nodded. "Okay, let's go."

You both stepped away from the celebration, the night embraced you with its quietude. The air was cold, carrying the essence of winter, and the soft glow of the Christmas lights seemed to guide you through the familiar streets.

Silent footsteps echoed between you, each one carrying the weight of unspoken words and unfinished stories. The walk to Joel's house next to yours felt eternal surrounded by the silence.

As you reached the doorstep, Joel hesitated for a moment before opening the door. A rush of memories flooded your mind, carrying you back to that pivotal moment a year ago. The air held anticipation, and as you stepped inside, the warmth of his home embraced you like an old, familiar friend.

As you entered, Joel closed the door behind you, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. The hushed whispers of shared secrets and stolen glances lingered in the air, creating an electric tension you couldn’t resist when you were alone.

Joel's eyes met yours, and a silent pleading between you. It was a dance you both knew well, one of unspoken desires and forbidden affairs.

He closed the distance between you with deliberate steps, his gaze never leaving yours. The air crackled with anticipation as he cupped your face gently, his touch tender yet possessive. And then, in that intimate space, he kissed you.

back against the wall, hands roaming through your body, finger interlocking the curls of his hair…

Back in the present, the door closed with a soft click, snapping you out of the memory. Joel's hesitant gaze met yours, and the echoes of that forbidden night resonated in the silent space between you, a reminder of a love that once burned brightly but had since been extinguished.

Joel led you further into the house, the familiar surroundings triggering a cascade of memories. The living room held echoes of shared laughter, whispered conversations, and stolen moments that were now frozen in the sands of time.

As you both settled into the present, Joel gestured towards the sofa. "Please, have a seat," he said, his voice carrying a blend of nostalgia and present reality.

“Do you want some wine?”

“I quit drinking” you said, a tint of humor in your voice.

“Since when?” he asked.

"Since I left," you replied, a trace of solemnity in your tone. The decision to quit drinking had been one of the changes you embraced in the wake of your departure from Austin. A symbolic act of shedding the old skin, leaving behind the habits that were intertwined with memories of the past. With the memories of Joel.

Joel nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the transformations that had taken place in both your lives.

"I've been thinking a lot about us since I saw you" he admitted, his gaze fixated on a point in the room, as if the walls held the answers to the questions lingering between you.

“You saw me yesterday” you replied.

Joel let out a small chuckle, a mixture of nervousness and amusement. "Yeah, yesterday. And it brought back a flood of memories, you know? The good and the... complicated."

You nodded, understanding the intricacies of those memories. The room seemed to pulse with the weight of shared history, each corner holding fragments of a past that was both beautiful and painful.

"I never got the chance to properly say goodbye," Joel continued, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that echoed your own. "Things just ended abruptly, and I never had the closure I needed."

The word "closure" hung in the air again, a theme that seemed to weave through this conversation. It was evident that both of you were grappling with the untied threads of an illicit relationship that had left wounds unhealed.

"You didn't have to leave like that, you know," Joel said, his voice carrying a note of regret. "It felt like you vanished, and I had no way to reach out." He paused, “I should have stopped you."

The admission hung in the air; skipping a beat in your heart, a confession tinged with remorse. Joel's words echoed the sentiment that perhaps, in the haze of emotions and unspoken words, there had been opportunities missed, moments where the trajectory of your paths might have been altered.

"I should have stopped you," he repeated, his eyes holding regret and longing.

You took a deep breath, the weight of the past and the complexities of the present settling on your shoulders. "Maybe it was for the best, Joel. We both needed space, time to figure things out."

“No” he answered, closing the distance between you. His forehead touching yours, nose touching yours, as if seeking a way to hold you for a little bit more of time before you leave again.

"I've changed," you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of self-discovery. "Leaving was about finding myself, understanding what I wanted and needed."

The room held a charged silence.

"I want us to have closure, Joel," you said, breaking the silence. "To understand and accept what happened, and find a way to move forward."

He still didn’t pull away from you, grasping your face with his hands to prevent you to go away before he got the chance to say goodbye. He leaned closer, almost savoring the taste of your lips again.

“I can't," he admitted, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The reality of his current relationship had momentarily faded in the magnetic pull between you two.

You gently pushed him away, creating a necessary distance. "Joel. I won't be the cause of hurting someone else."

His gaze lingered on yours, a silent acknowledgment of the boundaries that needed to be respected. The room held a heavyweight, a mix of the emotions that had lingered for far too long.

"I should go," you said, breaking the silence. The room seemed to exhale as you stepped away, creating a physical and emotional space between you and Joel.

As you turned to leave, Joel's voice cut through the silence, filled with regret and a genuine desire to understand.

"Don't go," he implored, his eyes searching yours for a connection. The magnetic pull between you and him seemed to intensify, and the room, despite its physical boundaries, felt like a battleground of conflicting emotions.

You paused, your hand on the doorknob, torn between the longing for closure and the fear of rekindling a flame that had once burned so brightly. Joel's plea echoed in the quiet room, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and the unspoken desire to break the gap between the both of you.

"I can't, Joel," you replied, your voice carrying a blend of vulnerability and determination. "It's not fair to her, to you, or to me."

Joel took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "I just need to understand, to talk. Please."

Your internal struggle played out on your face as you considered his words. The desire for closure, for a resolution to the unfinished story between you two, warred with the knowledge that reopening old wounds could lead to more pain.

"Okay," you finally relented, your voice barely above a whisper. The decision seemed to hang in the air, a delicate agreement to navigate the complexities of your shared history.

Joel's expression softened, gratitude and yearning evident in his eyes. The room, once heavy with tension, now held the promise of a conversation that could bring understanding and, perhaps, a sense of closure.

Joel took a deep breath, breaking the silence that had settled between you. "I know there's an age difference," he began, his voice carrying the weight of acknowledgment. "And I know your parents would be disappointed."

The reality of the situation hung in the air like an invisible barrier. The societal expectations, the judgments that might come, and the potential disappointment from your family added layers of complexity to an already intricate web of emotions.

You nodded; your gaze fixed on a distant point in the room. "It's not just about age, Joel. It's about the choices we make and the consequences they carry."

Joel's hands gently cradled your face, with tenderness and longing. The warmth in his eyes sought connection, an unspoken plea for you to give in.

"Let me enjoy this week with you," he implored, his voice a gentle caress. "Before you go back to New York. Before we part ways again”

The vulnerability in his plea resonated with the unspoken desires that lingered between you two.

"Let me call you “baby” again” he asked, his gaze searching yours for permission, a request to reclaim a term of endearment that had once been an intimate part of your shared history.

Your gaze met Joel's, a silent language between your eyes. You found yourself torn between the desire to hold onto the fragments of a love that once was and the understanding that the consequences of those choices were complex and far-reaching.

"I don't know, Joel," you replied, your voice a delicate whisper. "It's not that simple”

Joel's hands lingered on your face, his eyes searching yours for a sign, a connection that transcended the complexities of the situation.

"Let's spend Christmas together," Joel pleaded, his voice carrying a mixture of longing and resignation. "And then I'll let you go, even if it breaks my heart once more."

As you gazed into Joel's eyes, the unspoken understanding between you two seemed to transcend the complexities of the situation. In that moment, under the soft glow of Christmas lights, you found yourself leaning into him, into his touch and caring that echoed the flames of your shared affair.

"Okay, Joel," you whispered, your voice carrying the weight of this compromise. "Let's enjoy this week together."

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