#< she is part of the richmond family so she gets the last name

[stellarwaffles]

Learning how to draw pigs just for Hamletta

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs | 3

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You and Terry's daughter, Jasmine, convince you to give him another chance and try to work things out.

warning: explicit smut (18+), angst, mention of nightmare, light submissive! terry, unprotected sex, foreplay, oral (f), squinting, hand job, choking, spanking, pet names { baby, baby girl, sweet girl}

note: the last part will be out soon; thanks again for your love for this mini-series. <3

series masterlist

You were staring out of the window, thoughts drifting away from this place and your heart elsewhere.

It's been at least a week, and you haven't been the same since Terry confessed his love and begged for another chance that night.

You tried to move on as if you didn't care, but you cared too damn much that it was affecting your relationship with Marcus.

You couldn't stop thinking about Terry that you had broken up with Marcus.

You wish Terry didn't have this hold on you. You wish you didn't love him, but the heart wants what it wants, and there's no stopping that.

You were lost in your thoughts when Jasmine's cry snapped you back to reality.

You hurried upstairs and entered her bedroom, where she was trapped in a nightmare—this had happened frequently.

"Sweetie, wake up," you gently said, wrapping her in your arms and giving her a slight shake to awaken her.

Jasmine opened her tear-filled eyes and exclaimed, "MOMMY? He didn’t turn around?"

Your heart sank as you asked, "Who, baby?"

"Daddy. He walked away because you pushed him away. You took him from me. Why? We need him; you need him," Jasmine cried, her words shattering your heart.

"Oh, baby...I’m sorry...I know the last few months have been hard, but I would never take your daddy away from you. Sometimes, we have to make choices that are hard to understand, but it doesn't mean we don't love you," you reassured her, gently stroking her back.

"Your daddy loves you so much, and so do I. We're both here for you, even if things are slightly different now."

Jasmine sniffled, nodding slightly as you held her close.

"But why can't we all be together as a family?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"It's complicated, sweetheart," you replied softly.

"How, Mommy? You love him, and he loves you. You two can make it work if you really want to. Are you just scared?" she asked, curious.

"I do...I do love him, and yes, a little."

"Don’t be scared, Mommy. I believe you and Daddy can make it work again. Can you at least promise to try for me?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in your heart.

"I promise I will try, sweetie," you replied, stroking her back one more.

"Just know if it doesn't go as well. We are still a family, no matter what. Families can look different and still be filled with love. We'll always find ways to be together, even if it's different."

She sighed, her tiny body relaxing a bit under your comforting embrace.

"Okay, Mommy, but you should invite Daddy over so you two can talk through it," she suggested, her eyes flickering with hope.

"Sure, Sweetie. Now come on, go back to sleep." you smiled, kissing gently on her forehead.

Jasmine nodded, a small smile forming as she nestled her head against your shoulder.

"Mommy, I love you."

"I love you too, baby," you said. You stayed with her for a little bit, watching her peacefully fall back asleep.

The situation is complicated, but maybe it's time to stop fooling yourself.

You always be in love with Terry, and you just hoped he still felt the same after you rejected him.

You and Terry needed to get y'all shit together for the sake of Jasmine's emotional well-being, as it was negatively impacting her.

With a deep breath, you tucked her in securely, then gently kissed her forehead before quietly leaving the room.

-

You paced back and forth through the living room, nerves getting the best of you.

Jasmine was at your parents' house for the day, and Terry was supposed to be here an hour ago.

You feared he wouldn't show up until you heard a knock on the front door.

You hurried to open the door, and he stood there looking tall and anxious.

You hadn't made much effort to see him whenever he came to pick up Jasmine, so this was your first time seeing him in a week.

His eyes told you everything you needed to know; Terry looked utterly heartbroken.

He still looked handsome, but the slight dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in days.

"Hi, Terry. Thanks for coming. Uh, come in," you said, stepping aside to allow him to enter the house.

"Where's Jazzy?" He asked, scanning the area, searching for her while maintaining a cautious distance from you.

"Uh...she's at my parents. I didn't call you for her; I called because I wanted to talk to you," you said, moving towards your leather couch.

"About what?" He asked with a frown, finally looking at you with his pretty eyes.

"You and me; please come and sit," you said, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch.

Terry took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and approached the couch.

He sat down next to you, and both of you sat silently, tension building between you until you broke it.

“I miss you, Terry.”

“Oh, really? What happened with you and ol' boy? It didn’t work out, huh?” He asked in a bitter tone.

You moved closer to him on the couch. “Don’t be like that, you know you miss me too...I can see it in your eyes.”

You reach out to touch his scruff cheek, expecting him to pull away, but he immediately leans into your touch, closing his eyes.

A smirk spread across your face as you leaned in to kiss his stubbled cheek, savoring the sensation of the little hairs tickling your lips.

Terry opened his eyes and gazed into yours. There seemed to be a lot going through his mind.

“You got me down bad, girl. I-I do miss you; even after you rejected me, I couldn't stop thinking of you. You hurt me a little bit, but I deserve it. I meant what I said before: I love you. I'm in love with you, baby girl, and I would do whatever it takes for another chance," Terry says sincerely.

“Then this is your chance to show me the best you know how. Fuck me like you never want to lose me again,” You said, leaning your forehead against his.

Terry didn't have to be told twice before he kissed you passionately, pulling you closer.

You both felt up each other's bodies, his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you to his lap.

Your tongues still danced swiftly with each other; Terry pulled away and began planting soft, lingering kisses on your neck.

"Terry!" you whined, feeling shivers down your spine. He lifted you and carefully laid you in the corner of the couch.

His gaze never left yours; he knelt down and pulled down your leggings, causing you to bite your lip.

"Shit...looks like this kitty misses me too? It's so wet, just waiting to be devoured" he asked in his sexy, deep voice.

"Yes...Terry! Now fucking eat it," You growled, pulling your soaking panties off before throwing them on his face, which made him chuckle.

You gasped, watching him lick at the wetness of your panties before tossing them to the side.

"Of course, beautiful. She's calling me," He said, kissing your inner thigh before slightly spreading your legs for him to lick up at your center, leaving you tingly.

You moaned in great pleasure, feeling him diving in like a hungry man, tongue thrusting in and out of you.

You gripped your plump breast firmly with your right hand while the other held the back of his head.

"So good, Terry. It feels good; eat this pussy Daddy" Legs rested on his shoulders as you whined, feeling him slurping hungrily at you.

It felt so damn good,

"Mmmm...you taste so sweet, baby." He moans before his fingers rub at your clit in rhythm to his licks.

Your pussy walls tightened as he pushed a finger inside of you, and your wall clenched around that finger.

His fingers were thrusting in and out of the right places, his tongue licking and sucking the life out of you.

"I bet he never made you feel like this, huh? Got you shaking and shit," he asked; his muffled words sent pleasure up your spine.

You threw your head, arching your back while a loud moan left you as you felt yourself getting close to climax.

"Ahh, never....Terry! You're the only man that makes me feel like this, the only man. Oh my...I'm gonna cum" You cried, feeling him focus all of his sucking your swollen, sensitive clit.

“That's right. Come on, baby, cum for me” He says, feeling you clutch onto his head. 

"Oh my god, Oh my…" You cut yourself off, feeling you cum harder than you have in a very long time. 

"Mmm, that's so good," Terry says with a smirk as your juices are all over his face, which makes you giggle. 

You and Terry removed the rest of the clothes you two wore, and you gasped, looking down at the sight of his big, throbbing dick.

It was much bigger than you remember, your mouth began drooling at the sight of it.

Terry began stroking himself before guiding it to slide up against your center.

You gently bit your lip and let him go for a moment, then stopped him and flipped him down onto the couch on his back.

Trail open-mouthed kisses along his neck, pausing to suck a hickey into his caramel skin.

You pulled away and took hold of both of his hands firmly, in one hand looking at him with a little bit of dominance.

"This dick is mine, right, Terry? No one else," You asked, looking into his eyes while firmly gripping his thickness in your hand.

Terry gazed at you with adoration and a hint of submissiveness. He understands your need for this, and he allowed it.

"Fuck, yes, baby, all yours. This dick is only for you," He said desperately, his tone conveying a desire for more from your hand.

"Nah...I need a little more than that, big daddy. You want this pussy; gotta beg for it," You whispered in his ear, slowly stroking him up and down.

"Baby, fuck, I need that pussy; I'mma crave it. Please, baby, what I gotta go," Terry pleaded intensely and urgently.

You could tell that he was enjoying just as much as you were, loving the desperation and needy look on his face.

"tsk tsk, tsk. I don't know, Terry," you said with a shrug, still stroking him but faster.

"Fuck, please...I need you so bad, baby girl fuck me, take whatever you want; I just need to feel that pretty pussy of yours," He moans profoundly and passionately.

You smiled, letting go of his hands before kissing him. You pulled away, sliding down on his dick, causing both of us to moan.

"Fuck, baby. You feel so good gripping my fucking dick with that pussy," Terry moaned, gripping your waist and watching you move up and down his member slowly.

You stop your movement, causing him to let out a low growl, and you giggle.

"I need you to fuck me, Terry. Fuck me until I forget my fucking name!" You whispered in his ear, and he lost it.

He began pounding, gripping your ass cheeks with both of his hands, lifting you up and down his dick.

You gripped thin air gasping, enjoying every minute of his dick pounding up inside your dripping, wet pussy.

Terry moved his hands to your waist, getting a better rhythm with his thrusting.

He smacked your ass in a harsh motion, "Just like this, right baby?"

"Fuck, yes, just like that, Daddy, oh fuck." You cried, throwing your head back, placing your hands on his chest.

Your plump breasts bounced wildly with every up and down motion.

Terry kisses you before wrapping his strong arms around your legs and lifting you from the couch.

His lustful eyes met your eyes dangerously while pounding in and out of you with this lift.

You can't help but chant his name out in a loud moan at the amazing sensation.

It might have been a minute, but Terry knew your body so well and understood what you wanted.

"I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, right?” He asked, panting heavily while holding your arm to your back.

“Yes, the only one, Daddy....ahh shit, fuck me," You cried, feeling yourself get a little emotional.

"Fuck, you're the best I ever had, you know that baby. I'mma treat you right this time cause you deserve the world" Terry says, kissing you, stopping his thrusting for a minute to lay you on your back on the couch.

Terry pulls away to hold both of your legs open, using them to help him thrust deep back into your pussy.

You moaned, licking your fingers, and started rubbing your clit in circles motion while looking deeply into his eyes.

"Ahhh, yes fuck me, Daddy! Ahhh, yes," You moaned, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

You unexpectedly felt a gust of fluid come out of you, making Terry pull out.

Your body was trembling from another intense climax that he had just given you.

"Shhh, I've gotcha ya, baby," He whispered, leaving small kisses on your neck.

Terry strokes your face softly, kissing your lips while watching you slowly come down from your high.

He kisses you again before turning your body around to face down on the arm of the couch with your ass up.

"Mmmm...Terry" You moaned, trying to plead with him, still trying to get your breathing under control.

"I'm getting much out of this pussy; I can, baby, you can do it." He says, thrusting hard into you.

He grabbed your box braids and fisted in one hand while he snapped his hips into your rear.

“Terry…fuck.” You whimpered, holding onto the couch arm for dear life.

He is determined to make you cum for a third time, so he keeps on pounding into you like a man on a mission.

“Take it, baby, take all over this dick,” Terry moans, grabs your neck, and tilts your head to look at him, arching your back harshly.

Your sweet spot gets hit repeatedly by his dick, making you clench around him and feel yourself closer to the edge.

"Fuck, baby, that's right....you wanna cum again, don't you? Clenching that dick for it," He asked, and you couldn't even form the words.

Tears began to fall from your eyes; it was too much to speak; it felt so damn good.

"Go ahead, baby girl, come on, cum on his dick, it's yours. Remember, make a mess, give it all to your daddy, sweetie." Terry moans, hammering his hips faster into your cunt.

"Terry" You screamed out his name, trembling as if you felt yourself cum on his dick.

"That's my sweet girl," He groaned, pulling out for a second, slapping his dick against your sensitive clit.

Terry pushes back in, three more deep thrusts, and cums with a low grunt, filling you up.

A few minutes later, he withdrew, lifted you up, and took you to the bathroom to clean up.

The two of you lay intertwined on the bed, bare and reveling in the delightful intimacy you two just shared.

"Hey," he called, glancing down at you. You sat up slightly, meeting his gaze with hope and vulnerability.

"I love you, baby, and I know I gotta lot work to do. I want to be better; I will be better. For you, for Jasmine, and for us," he said earnestly.

“I know...Terry...I believe you.” You said, reaching out and touching his cheek.

"We can figure this out one step at a time. It won't be easy, but I will try if you are."

"Of course," Terry nodded, a flicker of determination in his eyes. He gently squeezed your hand on his cheek.

You both knew it would take a lot of time and effort, but you remained hopeful about the possibility of healing and growth.

[kumkaniudaku]

At Last: Part Two

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Richmond make their union official.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: None

Part One

Under two Spanish moss trees, the two that towered highest above the rest like gods watching over their creations, Patrice and Terrence were due to share vows and declarations of love with a small crowd of family looking on as witnesses in less than twelve hours.

Her mother referred to the quick turnaround between engagement and nuptials as a “small miracle” as she and her elder sister meticulously planned details that even Patrice had overlooked in the haze of the evening. 

Truthfully, after all the fuzzy feelings and congratulatory bubbly had worn off, she was left with a gaping pit of confusion deep within her belly. Terry had promised one year to prepare for a life together. That amounted to 365 days to learn, grow, and get ready for eternity. A calendar year to decide if the eagerness of fresh love could bloom into something everlasting. Three hours ago, she didn’t need any more convincing. Now, having 365 days cut nearly in half with a wedding occurring on the other side of the sunrise had suddenly become suffocating. 

They hadn’t taken a traditional road, one paved with tangible milestones on the journey to name changes and legal titles. There was no high school sweethearts storyline to follow. They hadn’t awkwardly fumbled over kisses after a first date or met each other’s parents at a Sunday evening dinner. Terry never officially asked to be her boyfriend and she never really treated him as a man to date on the way to some serendipitous revelation that he was, indeed, the one. In her mind, they’d always existed as lovers, time moving in a flat circle back to him as the only man at the altar when she envisioned jumping the broom with a new last name.

But, even with all roads leading back to Terrence James Richmond, the cotton sheets beneath her tired body provided no refuge. She was restless in the dead of night, head pounding with uncertainty and throat raw with questions. She kicked at the thick duvet for some relief from the stifling heat in the bedroom of the tiny guest cottage she and Imani were forced to share for the night. 

Because, even if she and Terry didn’t adhere to tradition, the women of her family held strong. 

Next to her, Imani grumbled into her pillow before flipping the bedside lamp on with a huff. 

“Damn, Petey, what now? You must wanna look like Frankenstein at the altar tomorrow.” 

“I’m sorry. I can’t get comfortable.” 

“What I gotta do? My arms ain’t big as his but I can be the big spoon. Turn over.”

Imani jokingly cuddled up to Patrice, pretending to be Terry as she spoke to her in a dramatically deep voice. “I love you, girl. You the only woman in the world, girl. Kiss me a hundred times so I don’t melt away, girl!” 

Patrice couldn’t hold back her laughter at her cousin’s silly imitation of a man she’d only just met in person but managed to get his mannerisms down to a science. She was good like that. Always able to break the ice and calm Patrice with a joke, even through troublesome storms. 

Turning in Imani’s arms, Patrice faced her cousin to feel less alone in the world. Imani adjusted her bonnet and looked back with a faint smile. 

“Tell me what’s wrong. You nervous?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Anxious?” 

“Not that one either.” 

“Worried.” 

Patrice nodded and chewed her bottom lip before answering. “That’s the one.” 

“Spill. You already got me awake. Might as well make it interesting.” 

“I wish I could but, I don’t know what exactly I’m worried about,” she started, shifting to her back to search for answers on the vaulted ceiling. She found nothing. “You think this is all moving too fast? It’s only been a few months. We said we’d wait a year at least.” 

“A year? Three months? Who’s countin’. Those rules are made up.” 

“Yeah, but what about the courting? The whirlwind romance? Being held close while you dance in an empty jazz club tasting champagne on his lips while Etta James plays in the background? What about all that?” 

Imani watched her cousin jump from the bed, waltzing in circles with her head thrown back, treating the empty space between the bedframe and dresser like a palace ballroom. An amused smile tugged at her lips as she sat up to get a better view. 

“Girl,” she exclaimed, laughing and shaking her head to Patrice’s dismay. “None of that shit is real! You watched the Brandy Cinderella one too many times during the pandemic.” 

“Only four times. Five. Six if you count the time we watched it on FaceTime.” 

“That’s why it’s rotting your brain now. How many times you been in love?” 

“Once,” Patrice answered, her mind drifting to Terry and what he might be doing all alone in that room upstairs.

“It’s been three times for me. And guess what?” she questioned, not expecting an answer. “None of them had a formula. Love is illogical, girl. There are no steps or rules or movie scripts to guide you through this shit! It’s about the willingness to give yourself over to something incomprehensible in hopes that you found your person for as long as you can hold on to them.” 

Imani’s rant floated around the room until it began to burrow itself deep into Patrice’s ears in hopes of reaching her brain. She stood there, taking every word in, eyes intently focused on her wise older cousin, knowing she was right yet having a hard time turning that insight into something she could fathom for herself. 

She’d always had a plan that she followed to the letter. She thrived in logical next steps and absolutes. The black and white kept her organized. Routine was her center. But love with Terry? That was different. That was whimsical. That was girlish pining and a botched kiss when they pretended to be a couple for one night during senior prom. It was time away wondering what their bond had become amid infrequent communication and eventual radio silence. Their love was reuniting as adults and running so fast into dizzying passion that she hadn’t time to wrap her mind around what had happened over the last seven months. Their love was intense and scary, beautifully abstract with no rhyme or reason. Nonsensical even. But it worked. 

Scooting to the edge of the bed and standing to her feet, Imani mimicked a chivalrous prince, pulling Patrice into a silly little waltz around the room. “Create your own fairytale, P. Everything doesn’t have to make sense.” 

“You think he misses me?” Patrice asked, her voice so tiny and meek that it almost surprised Imani. “Think he’s thinking about me like I’m thinking about him right now?” 

“Only one way to find out.” 

A mischievous smile spread across Imani’s face as she dashed for her phone. Patrice chased after her, calling for her to stop what she was doing at such a late hour. 

Ordinarily, Terry would be asleep. He was never one to stay up too far beyond the early hours of the night, often dragging Patrice away from a good book to force her to sleep beside him. 

Peaceful slumber, however, had been elusive all night. The moon was too bright. The room? Too hot. He could complain about the bed being a hair too soft or the floorboards creaking too loud whenever someone would sneak down the hallway for a late snack, but all of those would be a deflection from the true issue - he missed Patrice. 

Just as his longing was reaching a tipping point, his phone buzzed against the solid oak nightstand. He had half a mind to ignore the sound. It was likely his mother confirming details yet again or one of his twin sisters finally responding to the engagement video, he thought to himself as he lay on his back staring at the constant revolution of the ceiling fan. 

Then another buzz came accompanied by several more to let him know this was a phone call and only people with emergencies call at that hour. 

He answered without looking at the screen to verify the caller.

“Hello?” He answered, slightly annoyed by the interruption. 

“Terry put some clothes on and come to the cottage. We got an emergency.”

“A what?” 

“Boy, just come on! Skip the third step from the bottom and go out of the side door by the kitchen.” 

Terry wished that sneaking around his fiancée’s family home was among the silliest things he’d done in the middle of the night for a woman. 

He carefully slipped into a hoodie and sneakers before tiptoeing his way down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out of that side door like Imani instructed. The moonlight provided the only guidance down the cobbled pathway leading to a tiny shack at the edge of the property with a little light flipped on in the bedroom. 

Imani watched through the peephole with Patrice hot on her heels, peering over her shoulder as if she could see too. 

Moanie shrugged her away with a harsh whisper. “Girl, get off my ass. He’s coming!” 

Patrice backed away with her hands up in surrender. The wait for his eventual appearance felt like forever. She fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, wondering if he would care that this was all a half-baked scheme to circumnavigate their forced separation. 

Terry ambled up the dirt path with his normal scowl and fists pushed into his pockets to shield his hands from the wind chill. Imani timed his arrival perfectly, swinging the door open before he created a disturbance by knocking. 

“Everything good?” He asked, one eyebrow hiked high as Imani pulled him into the cottage by his arm. 

She stepped back and gestured toward Patrice who stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

“I just wanna sleep,” she sighed. “Take her, go in that room, and do whatever y’all do until the morning. Then you gotta dip because I’m not getting in trouble for y’all. My mama will still hit me.” 

Terry’s eyes drifted from Imani to Patrice, catching how she looked nervous under his gaze. He smiled and extended his hand for her to take. 

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

His voice, honied and soothing to her soul, gave Patrice her first rush of comfort in what felt like forever. She placed her palm in his and trailed behind him as he led the way. 

Imani called behind them. “Please, don’t have sex on the bed. I gotta sleep here until Tuesday and I don’t really need that image in my head.” 

“Can’t make any promises but, thank you. I’ll make sure you get the bouquet.” 

“Hard pass. Give it to Moon’s desperate ass. I like to let my fairytales unfold organically.”

She winked at her cousin just before Terry could close the bedroom door to block them from the outside world. 

Wrapped in the midnight hour, they’d finally found peace. 

Patrice watched from the bed as Terry stepped out of his shoes and pulled off his hoodie to expose bare skin to the night air. He slowly crawled in beside her, brushing his fingers against her midsection to guide her against the mattress the way he liked. He pulled her close to his chest to rest his nose in the crook of her neck for a deep inhale of her unique scent. She sighed and pressed even closer, at ease once eyelashes painted butterfly kisses where his warm breath fanned against her skin.

“How’d we get like this,” he laughed once they were settled.  “Can’t even fall asleep without each other.” 

“I still think you put a spell on me in that bathroom. I loved sleeping alone before then.” 

“Had to pull out all the stops for you, baby.” 

“I’m just that fine, huh?”

He chuckled and closed his eyes, already feeling slumber's clutches coming for him in the darkness. His grip around her waist tightened. She trailed her fingers up and down his forearm with her focus on the soft rustle of the linen curtains against the window. Her mind quieted. The room fell silent save for steady, deep breathing and the crickets making music outside. 

“You wanna know something?” 

Terry blinked himself awake to answer. “What?”

“They call me Petey because I had a big crush on Tobey Maguire as Spider-Man one summer,” Patrice admitted in the darkness. “I figure if you’re gonna be my husband by this time tomorrow, you should know.” 

No answer. Only the smack of his lips pulling away from the skin behind her ear in another kiss. He knew not to interrupt her fleeting moment of vulnerability with the silly joke on the tip of his tongue. So, he joined her confessional.

“I used to think Roxanne from A Goofy Movie was fine.”

“The animated dog?”

Terry scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know being attracted to a human spider was better.” 

Their shared laughter reverberated off the walls, uncorking the bottled-up pressure to be present as perfect beings to the world. Terry felt Patrice’s ribcage expand and contract in his embrace as she took a deep breath to release pent-up nerves, silently thanking God that he was the one allowed to mold himself into the curves and contours of her body every night. 

“I want to know more about you.” she requested, sounding like a child asking for a bedtime story. “Tell me something else.” 

So he did. With no hesitation, he told her secrets that seemed so daunting to share until she was the one listening. Anxieties about the future fell from his lips freely, receiving no judgment on the other side. He told her about his fear of clowns and felt his first dose of validation when she agreed that expressionless mimes shouldn’t be around children. The backstory of the small scar on his upper lip was followed by a giggly recollection of the time she put her brother in the dryer to see how long he could spin without getting sick which made him laugh until his abdomen ached. Together they shared uncomfortable memories that introduced intense insecurities, weird theories about the existence of intergalactic forms, and wondered if LeBron James was secretly an android. An elementary game of 21 Questions created a crash course in the entire history of one another. 

They lay there together in a pitch-black room drunk off the jagged, imperfect pieces of each other until their eyes burned with exhaustion and sleep was no longer an option. 

The last thing Terry whispered into Patrice’s ear was a promise to never stop learning about her, to never stop being curious about her likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams as long as they both lived. She could barely mumble out a worthwhile response but hoped that her gentle hum served as an oath to do the same.

By morning, he was gone. Out into the breeze by first light, leaving only his scent on Imani’s pillow and the fleeting memory of his fingers making a home between Patrice’s legs with whispered praise on his lips as evidence that his presence wasn’t an apparition in the witching hour. Patrice couldn’t resist burying her face into the sheets, squealing and kicking her feet beneath the duvet in elation. 

She was getting married. 

“Y’all are so cute,” Imani swooned, leaning against the bedroom doorframe as she watched her cousin hold a pillow close to her chest like an actress in a romantic drama. “We gotta get you ready, sis! It’s your wedding day!”

People whisked around all morning like busy worker bees, each one darting off to a new place around the estate to fulfill a purpose. Some balanced stacks of white chairs under their arms like magicians to turn a portion of the backyard into a wedding venue. Others hustled through the kitchen’s service door with mounds of ingredients for what could only described as a feast fit for royalty. Women giggled on their way out of the backdoor to meet Patrice and her small entourage to prepare her for a day she’d planned as a girl, but never saw coming together in a dizzying whirlwind such as this. 

In the cottage, women laughed and sipped tea in porcelain cups to go with their fancy hors d'oeuvres on fancier china. The soothing purr from an antique sewing machine placed careful stitches in a beautifully plain satin gown gifted by Imani and Rosalyn to ensure that the garment was made to Patrice’s exact proportions. She was a princess for the day, the world bending to her every whim.

Terry wasn’t so lucky. The bedroom was still too hot and growing even hotter with each unwanted guest moving in and out with more questions than he thought he needed to answer. He wanted a moment to write out heartfelt vows with pen and paper but found himself so frustrated with the whole production that he slammed his writing utensil against the writing desk in the corner and cursed at the wall. 

Another visitor tsk’d behind him. “Boy, you better not let Mama hear you talkin’ like that.”

”She’d pull that ear clean off the side of your head!” 

Equally raspy voices made Terry sigh with relief before he stood to his feet. As two almost identical copies of their mother, Zorah and Zanah were Terry’s first loves. He remembered the day they entered into the world. So precious and honey brown with striking chocolate eyes that could make him bend to their will without a word. He watched them mature through the world like their hired security, never letting harm come to a single hair on their head. He wiped tears, kissed scrapes, and played with dolls like a third parent. When they went their separate ways to grow into adults with individual hopes and dreams, he cried in secret like he’d been the one to birth them. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged his baby sisters but he knew he’d never needed their embrace quite like he needed it in that moment. They hugged him back, two sets of arms wrapping him up in a quiet group hug until he’d had his fill. 

“How is this supposed to be the happiest day of your life and you’re in here cussin’ and breathing all heavy,” Zorah, the oldest of the pair, asked as she cleared her brother’s face of invisible debris. 

She’d always acted as his surrogate mother despite being six years his junior. The everpresent pillar of stability, she left home as soon as she could to explore the other side of the country at UCLA in hopes of studying the ins and outs of music performance. Tall and athletic with long dark locs, her voice became her calling card, but her big brother knew her as a young lady that was once too afraid to sing in the children’s choir at church. 

“You know how Terry is. He think he Obama. All serious for no reason sometimes.”

“That’s not true.” 

“You’re right,” she conceded. “You never gon’ be fine as Obama.” 

Zanah was the hell raiser. Loud and full of energy with an afro big enough to block the sun, she lived to tease her older brother. A zest for bold flavors that could bring even the worst enemies together for a good meal sent her in search of the best culinary school their parents could afford. If you could dream it, she could make it appear in the kitchen with little effort. Terry admired her for her gift, but couldn’t stand her poking and prodding at his expense. 

He kissed his teeth and broke free from their short-lived period of civility. “Treece and the girls are out back. She’ll be happy to see y’all. Zo, get the rings from Daddy as soon as you can. You know how he gets.” 

The twins rolled their eyes at each other while watching Terry pout on his way back to the writing desk for another crack at his speech. Zorah was the first to move with Zanah bringing up the rear. 

She stood over his shoulder to take stock of what he’d managed to write in his time alone. Half sentences and scribbled words scratched through several times over littered the page as if a madman had gotten ahold of his journal. Something about how much he cherished her but with far too much Shakespearean language to be sincere made Zanah giggle behind him.

She sat on the edge of the desk, pretending to judge his work. “Are you writing your vows or the sequel to Romeo and Juliette?” 

“Zanah, please. Pick with me after all of this is done. I can’t deal with the stress right now.”

An invisible weight seemed to push Terry into a defeated hunch, forcing his head into his hands as he angrily rubbed at his eyes. His stress tick was back and more ferocious than ever. Zorah flanked his other side and gave her twin a look of concern before looking back at him.

“Wanna pretend we’re Patrice to practice?” 

He sighed. “No, not really.” 

“Don’t be like that. We won’t tell and you gotta get a move on these vows. It’s a win-win.” 

Terry sat back in his chair to mull over their proposition. A practice run couldn’t hurt. At worst, he’d rid himself of the useless mass of words clogging his brain. 

“Fuck,” he conceded, pushing back from the desk with a loud scrape across the wooden floor. “Look, be nice. If I say something stupid or too mushy just let me finish, alright?” 

“It wouldn’t be nothing we ain’t heard you writing poems about before,” Zanah laughed along with Zorah. 

Terry showed her both of his middle fingers with a smirk as he walked to the center of the room. His days as an amateur poet were a well-kept secret that only his family was forced to witness. One day, when he and Patrice were old and grey, he’d reveal a shoebox full of terrible musings in her honor.

Taking a needed inhale through his nose and long exhale through his mouth, Terry prepared to ramble through his feelings. 

“When I try to imagine my life without you, my mind goes blank. It’s kinda like when you get an error message on a computer or something. No images, no search results, nothing. Empty.” Terry began to pace, finding inspiration in the back-and-forth motion. 

Zorah pressed for more. “Why?”

“I’m not supposed to imagine life without you, Patrice. I don’t want to experience another birthday or Christmas, Earth Day, Juneteenth, shit anything if you’re not there. I prayed for you.” Terry didn’t anticipate getting choked up until the sensation brought with it a lump in his throat. All of the instances he’s asked God for guidance in matters of the heart came rushing back to his remembrance with only one answer at every turn. “Trying to imagine an existence without you feels like I’m telling God that bringing you back to me wasn’t enough.”

His eyes flashed up to his sisters, finding them in the throws of emotion right along with him. 

“Keeping going. Bring it home,” Zanah encouraged. “Give her the fireworks, loverboy!”

Terry laughed through misty vision. “I’m excited to spend the rest of our days together. Tonight, I’m promising you a lifetime of my protection, my devotion, and my desire to show up every single day to make our time together worth the wait. Thank you for choosing me, baby. Let me work on making sure you never regret that decision.” 

A slow clap took over the room, first from two sets of hands that Terry expected, making his shoulder slump from relief. 

“Shit, now I gotta remember all that.” 

“Don’t worry, we recorded,” Zorah assured.

But there was still applause. He whipped his head around to investigate the extra spectators and found his parents beaming from the room’s threshold. 

Diedra spoke up first as she made a beeline for her son. “Oh my God, oh my God! This is really happening. My baby is about to be somebody’s husband.” She claimed his face with her hands, distributing doting kisses on both of his cheeks. “Beautiful vows. Remind me of your father’s.” 

“Not nearly as eloquent,” Marvin laughed, joining the conversation. “Matter of fact, I don’t think I got past the to have and to hold portion without stuttering. The pastor had to move us along because I was so tongue-tied.” 

“Yeah, but the feeling is the same. Your heart’s in the right place.”

“Not right now,” Terry laughed before kissing her forehead. “My heart is in my ass, Mama. Stomach too.” 

The Richmond family laughed harmonious laughs, providing the first bit of ease Terry had felt all morning. 

Marvin reached out to grab his boy’s shoulder for a small squeeze. In all his wildest dreams, he couldn’t have imagined a better man than Terrence had become. All the rearing, the man-to-man talks, the tough love, and every stern redirection had become another foundational brick in not only a worthwhile man but a spectacular human. 

He looked around the room at his girls and wife, trying to hide the overwhelming rush of emotion tightening his chest. “Can you ladies give us a moment?”

Zanah released a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, here we go. They about to cry a river in here. Come on, y’all. Patrice says they’re opening another bottle of champagne and you know I don’t like to miss hearing a cork pop.” 

“You honestly need to talk to somebody about that.” 

“We talk all the time, Zo!”

Time winding down turned advice into a hot commodity, transcending social groups as the sunset drew closer. Everyone had an opinion, an unsolicited tidbit on how to navigate the peaks and valleys of marriage. A hodgepodge of dos and don’ts thrown out like casual information whether Patrice wanted it or not. 

Don’t go to bed angry. Have sex every night. Make sure there’s a separate account for personal emergencies. Keep the kids out of your bed. Some were helpful, others mostly nothing but projections and special circumstances veiled as some sage secret that Patrice and Terry should offer special thanks for receiving.

Nerves were turning into embers of annoyance. By late afternoon, they’d both requested for rooms to be emptied and questions to cease. They’d had enough. No more information. No more guidance. Anything left to learn was up to the test of time, not a bunch of people who meant well, but would ultimately return to their own lives with no say so in what went on between the newlyweds.

Reprieve came when the white chairs were in perfect rows on either side of a flower-lined aisle, ties were neatly draped underneath starched button-up collars, and dresses were pressed to perfection. The sun had begun to dive behind the clouds, leaving the sky full of pink and orange hues. A half-moon hung high in the sky as if it were invited to witness a show made especially for the cosmos. Guests took their seats without care given to which side belonged to the groom or bride. They were all family now. A beautiful mix of lineages and temperaments bonded for as long as Patrice and Terry saw fit. 

At the altar, Sybil stood under two Spanish moss trees towering high above the rest, her gray hair pulled up into an ornate headwrap that matched her dress. She smiled up at both trees as if saying hello to living, breathing beings before asking stragglers to take their seats. 

From the kitchen’s sliding door, Terry bounced on his toes, waiting on his cue to step into the early autumn chill. A tailored suit hugged him close, finally fulfilling its duty to carry him down a path lined with his love's favorite flowers to forever bond himself to the woman handpicked for his unwavering fidelity. 

This was the moment. Fate had willed it so. He wouldn’t turn back for any reason. Destiny had come knocking and he welcomed her in with open arms. 

Dreamy chords from a baby grand piano served as the soundtrack to his final walk as a single man. Measured steps carried him forward, his chest puffed with pride and his shoulders rolled back in the type of relaxed confidence only afforded to people who had no doubt that they were on the exact path they’d been ordained to traverse.

Candles and soft, white light from paper lanterns hanging nearby provided romantic theatrics to accompany his every step. Voices whispered, some calling his name, others leaving comments as he passed. In his periphery, he caught a glimpse of his family. DeeDee’s eyes welled with happy tears as Marvin rubbed her back for comfort. His sisters, both beside themselves with excitement, flashed Terry a look at the wedding bands as a final check-in on their whereabouts. 

At the altar, Junior waited for his arrival as his best man. Terry had requested his presence during a surprisingly heartfelt conversation where Junior had all but lifted his brother-in-law off of his feet to show his appreciation. 

“I love my sister, man.” He repeated over and over under the spell of brunch liquor. “I’m happy it’s you, T. I’m happy it’s you for my sister, man.” 

Junior tapped his right hand over his chest and nodded at Terry, jumping right back into the masculine display of affection that had escaped him when no one else was around. 

Patrice watched it all unfold as she carefully made her way into the kitchen at the tail end of a secret mission to hide her from her husband. Imani trailed her with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas in one hand and the train of her dress in the other. If not for her heels clacking against the black and white tile on the floor, Patrice was sure that her cousin could hear her heart thudding against her sternum. 

“Alright, girl, this is where I leave you,” Imani spoke, a small smile forming as she took another look at Patrice. She tucked a stray curl back into place and presented her with the flowers. “You look beautiful, P. Stunning. My friend is all grown up. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, Imani. For everything. Let’s not allow too much time to pass before we see each other again, okay?” 

“Of course. I’ll be back for Christmas. But, don’t focus on me. You gotta get down the aisle, Mrs. Richmond.” 

Patrice sighed and grinned at the mention of her new last name. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Believe it, baby! It’s time.” 

A final hug connected the two before Imani was out of the door and comically announcing the bride’s arrival before taking her place as maid of honor.

She stood behind that glass door, beaming as all in the area stood in anticipation of her entrance. 

You fix your makeup just so

Guess you don’t know that you’re beautiful 

Try on every dress that you own 

You were fine in my eyes a half hour ago

Terry had mentioned the song in passing once, commenting on how he heard it in a department store and found John Legend kind of corny. What he didn’t mention was that he was in the department store getting fitted for the very suit he wore as he watched Patrice walk toward him and how he took the song as a sign that he was doing exactly what God intended. 

That cheesy song from a cheesier artist was the reason he was dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his knuckles to stop the incoming tears. 

In a lovely satin dress with a high halter neck, Patrice was the center of attention. Imani had specifically chosen a white dress without any reverence for outdated tradition. If her girl was to be wed, she’d be in the appropriate color, no doubt. A split in the front was a personal gift to Terry, a peek at her oiled legs with each step immediately catching his attention.

Her bantu knots were unraveled, leaving behind shiny, bouncy curls that framed her face just right. Soft makeup enhanced ancestral facial features. Minimal jewelry kept the look tailored to her flare for the understated. 

When she waved at Terry, he waved back with a smile so wide that it made his cheeks burn. In all of her glory, every perfect inch from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, was his to cherish. 

And this evening, I won’t let the feeling die 

I never wanna leave your side

Before the music could fade to make way for the ceremony, Terry had already found himself unable to hold back emotion. His fingertips were damp with tears as he assisted Patrice onto the low platform. 

“Sorry,” he whispered while she pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to clean his face. “Think they got all this in the photos?”

“I hope so. Might get a couple wallet-sized prints to carry in my purse.” 

Patrice chucked as she tucked the pale blue fabric behind her bouquet’s stem and smoothed Terry’s collar. He captured her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. 

Sybil cleared her throat. “We aren’t at that part yet, but I love the enthusiasm. Should we get to the good stuff?” 

Patrice hoped the good stuff was captured in ultra HD on a camera somewhere. She couldn’t bring herself to care about the flowery words and intricate language. She tried her hardest to listen for her name to avoid embarrassing herself in front of everyone hoping to see something movie-like unfold in front of their eyes. But seeing the light etch beautiful reflections and shadows on Terry’s skin was all she could lend her focus to in the moment. 

Luckily, she made it through her vows without stumbling, even managing a joke that garnered a communal chuckle. 

“Honestly, we’re lucky this is happening now instead of at 18 like you said you wanted. I got to see Juicy J at homecoming one year and that wouldn’t have happened if I was chasing behind you in my 20s. You cute but not miss a Juicy J concert cute.”

She listened to Terry sniffle his way through heartfelt lines, occasionally wiping under his eyes to clear his vision. He gripped her hand tight and bathed her in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down her spine. 

What she was present for, however, was the grand finale. 

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?” Sybil asked Terry though she was already sure of his answer. 

His top lip almost disappeared from being stretched so wide in his smile. “I do.” 

Sure as he knew his first name, Terry affirmed his decision with two words and all of his teeth on display. Sybil looked to Patrice, finally seeing her niece as a woman and not the little girl that kept her on her toes every summer. 

She took a deep breath and then laughed. “Lord, now I’m crying!” The family laughed, some using the moment to wipe away their own tears. “Okay, I’m back. Do you take this man to be your husband -” 

“Yes! I do! I mean you can finish if you need to, but that’s my answer. One billion times, yes.”

There was no need. Under the twinkle of ancestors acting as stars and God showing his splendor in the marvelous brightness of the moon, man and woman became one. Mr. and Mrs. Richmond, free to jump hand in hand over a small, decorated broom to honor the folks that had come before them.

Well wishes came in abundance. Gifts big, small, and monetary spilled from a small table onto the rug beneath. Toasts became the preferred way to start a conversation. Buttons and ties had come undone from tight collars. High heels swapped for sensible shoes. Couples already squarely in the mature stages of partnership rushed to slow dance in the center of the communal area between tables. Pictures memorialized a wondrous occasion. They’d sign official paperwork another day. Tonight was for celebration.

While the party raged on, Patrice and Terry sat in the center of the table wrapped up in one another. His chin rested in the palm of her hand as he watched her lips move in time with the lyrics to a line dance song her parents led on the makeshift dancefloor. Her fingernails gently scratched at his jaw, an absentminded habit she’d picked up recently. He nudged her temple with his forehead like a cat begging for affection. 

“Hmm,” she hummed, not looking in his direction. He repeated his actions to receive the attention he craved. She finally looked over and giggled. “What, baby?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted you to look at me.” 

Patrice pressed her nose to Terry’s before placing a soft kiss on his full bottom lip. “Let’s get away from here for a second. Follow me.” 

Without question, Terry allowed Patrice to tug him along, past the throngs of dancing guests, away from music blasting out of jumbo speakers, down a shallow hill, and to a small lake shimmering in the night. 

He held her steady when she stopped short to remove her heels, saying something about needing to feel the grass between her toes. She jogged the rest of the way to the lake with Terry holding her shoes and taking long strides to catch up. 

She carefully lifted her dress before stepping into the water, only allowing it to cover the sides of her feet as she tilted her chin to the sky. Terry watched her with a placid grin and low eyelids. 

“You having fun,” he asked as he placed her belongings on a tree stump and stuffed his hands in his pockets. 

“Mhm. You?” 

“Yeah. I am.” 

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” 

He watched her for a few seconds more, admiring the way she seemed to salute every piece of nature in the vicinity. 

“You know, we didn’t get a first dance.” 

Patrice stopped creating ripples in the water with her toes and looked over at Terry. “Oh shit, we didn’t, huh? Wanna go back and do that? I don’t even have a song picked out. Slipped my mind, I guess.” 

“Nah, it’s cool,” he answered, still smiling. “We can dance right here.” 

He presented his hand for her grab, pulling her from the lake with care until she was up against his chest. They swayed to nothing for a second while Terry fiddled with his phone to find something worthy of their time. Patrice closed her eyes to listen to the breeze, more content with the wind as a soundtrack than she expected. 

Soon, Etta James came rolling through his phone’s speakers. 

Terry dropped one hand just above Patrice’s backside, the other wrapping around her back to lead them in a slow dance. A waltz of sorts in the blue moonlight. 

Her hands snaked up to the top of his head and pulled him as close as he could be, his nose so tight against her neck she could feel the slight suction and release from every breath. 

They stayed there, moving side to side under Etta James’s sweet song of found love until all distractions faded and left them in the fullness of each other. 

Patrice angled her head upwards as Terry kissed along her collarbone. Then her ear. Her cheek, her nose, and, finally, her lips. 

As he said I love you without words, Patrice tried to place the sweet taste of citrus and apple on his tongue. Was it dessert? Maybe her lip gloss or the fancy compote from their dinner plate? 

No, none of those. 

She closed her eyes tighter to taste more. There it was. The ghost of her fantasy. The secret marker of her one true love. 

Champagne.

---

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @hrlzy @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown

[its-time-to-write]

bored

Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been posting less. Life’s been busy and I’ve been tired. Here’s some angst. It’s very long.

bored

It’s not falling out of love if you still love him, right? It’s more…slipping away. You feel like you’re falling off a cliff, scrambling for a handhold and coming up empty.

You hate this part in a relationship. The slide away. The boredom that creeps in. It happened with your last relationship, too. His name was Joseph, and you were together a year and a half when he started pulling away from you. It was little things at first, not talking as much and kissing you less. Then it was missing date nights and only kissing you on the forehead and silent dinners. He buried himself in books and barely looked at you and you knew the breakup was coming, but you could’t bring yourself to be the one to leave. So you didn’t. You just waited until he dropped the news at dinner and pretended like you were ok with it, and not that you had been secretly packing up your things for weeks.

It broke you a little bit. The slow pull. The obvious boredom that he had. The dissatisfaction with you. 

The waiting was torture, the aftermath was worse. Your dad was worried as you continued to dwindle into a shell of yourself. Skin pallid, eyes hallow, never smiling.

Your aunt Eileen said you needed to get out of the country and into a change of scenery, which is why you’re on a plane on your way to live with her in England. 

You’re fortunate that your job in graphic design allows for remote work and an asynchronous schedule.

It’s fun to live with Aunt Eileen. She’s very loud and very Irish. She only lives in London to be near her sister, who married and Englishman (much to the chagrin of the rest of your family). Your dad, their brother, married an American which was better-received. You have your mom’s accent, which is mostly due to the fact that you grew up in America. You think maybe if you grew up over here it would be different. 

Eileen does not let you be sad. And, it’s easier to forget about Joseph when there are no reminders of him around. It’s a completely new place with completely new faces. 

Eileen takes you all over Richmond. You meet her friends and the locals, and begin to feel things again. Not happiness per se, but some positive neutral.

Eileen kicks you out of the house every Thursday evening. She says it’s so you can explore and have time to yourself, but it’s really when all her yoga friends come over for rosé and awful reality shows. You don’t really mind, you caught a minute of one and couldn’t handle the absurdity of it. You suppose that’s the appeal, it just isn’t for you.

So instead, you get out. You brings a small sketchpad and a pencil, and create.

You haven’t done analog drawing in forever, and it’s refreshing to be away from a screen. You draw whatever you want, whether it’s your mood or a sketch of your surroundings. Little by little, you find yourself again.

—

Richmond is a big football town. Everyone loses their mind when there’s a match, and the streets become a sea of red and blue. Aunt Eileen doesn’t watch football, and neither do you. Like reality tv, you just can’t get into it. Apparently the coach (or gaffer) frequents a pub that Eileen takes you too, and he’s American like you. He heard you talking once and came over to introduce himself.

“I’m Ted and this is Coach Beard,” he had said. “Nice to hear a familiar accent around here. What’s been the biggest culture shock for you? Mine has been the fact that the cars all drive on the wrong side of the road.”

You like Ted and Beard. They remind you of home, the good parts of home. You see them pretty regularly and they talk about coaching and football, and listen to you tell them about your designs and family.

“You takin’ new work?” Ted asks one day. “Could find you some projects around Nelson Road.”

So now you’re contracted by a woman named Rebecca to keep things up to date around AFC Richmond’s headquarters.

Rebecca is something else. She’s everything you want to be, confident and fearless. She charges ahead and takes what she wants, but does it with kindness and grace. 

You suppose the kindness is what gets you the most here. Eileen thinks it’s good for you to get out and work with actual people instead of remote on a screen, and you privately agree with her. There isn’t always a lot of work to do, but Rebecca set you up with an office and allows you to work on projects for your other companies. Her friend Keeley pops in from time to time, to chat and tell you that your designs need more pink.

“It’s objectively the best color, babe,” she says. “Makes everything else pop!”

Keeley starts becoming your friend, too. 

Rebecca takes it upon herself to become your mentor of sorts, and she sits you for a meeting after your first week.

“What sort of work do you really want to do?” she asks. 

You tell her you love everything. You love murals and sketches and passion projects and surrealism. You love pencils and paint and digital art, but hate watercolor and charcoal. You love artsy interior designs and posters and tiny stickers and large paintings. You love making things expressive and beautiful, in whatever capacity you can. 

A week and a half later, you’re redecorating Keeley’s office.

“You know what I like, babe,” she says affectionately. 

And you do. You’ve known her two weeks, but she’s made an effort to get to know you and to make herself known. You’re trusting people again.

—

Keeley bursts into your office in a flurry of sequins and fringe two days after you did her office, dragging someone by the hand. 

“Babe,” she says, breathless from her obvious run to you, “tell Jamie he fucking cannot wear socks and sandals.”

You look at this Jamie and see he is indeed committing a terrible fashion faux pas.

And… looking good while doing it?

You look back at Keeley. “Keels, why are you asking me?”

She looks at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you’re Richmond’s art person! You know what looks good and what doesn’t! And this one-” she pauses to pinch Jamie’s cheek affectionately, “won’t fucking listen to me.”

Jamie shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Sorry to bug you,” he says. “Know you’ve got other shit to do.”

This is interesting. This Jamie is looking sheepish, blush tingeing the tips of his ears. You don’t know him, but what you’ve seen of all the footballers, they have egos for miles. They’re all incredibly kind, but definitely confident. Embarrassment doesn’t even seem like something any of them are capable of, but here’s Jamie in front of you, all apologetic and shooting glances at Keeley with the clear message let’s go.

Keeley isn’t paying attention, just bouncing on her toes and waiting for your response. 

You assess Jamie and say, “Actually, he’s pulling it off.” You give him your name and he smiles a little, sticks out his hand, and says, “I’m Jamie.”

Keeley frowns at you (not a real one) then grabs Jamie’s hand and marches out the door in a similar fashion that she entered. Jamie throws you one last apologetic glance before he’s dragged out the door.

You sit back in your chair, processing what just happened. This is the first time you’ve actually met someone on the team, and it was not at all what you expected. 

—

You’re working through lunch on a side project the next day, when there’s a knock on your doorframe. 

“Jamie!” you say, looking up in surprise, “What can I help you with?”

He fidgets for a moment then replies, “Keeley sent me to make sure you weren’t working through lunch.”

Oh. That’s interesting.

You frown, though not at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not.”

Jamie squints at you. “You fucking lying?”

He says it so sincerely that you laugh, and put down your pen. “Yes I am, but if Keeley asks then no. I’m taking my required mental break and not working.”

Jamie moves from the doorway and plops down on the chair across from your desk.

“Whatcha working on?”

You spend the better part of thirty minutes telling Jamie about a redesign for a children’s center logo and the details of keeping the essence while modernizing it and revamping the color scheme, all while he nods and asks questions in all the right places. It’s not until your alarm goes off on your phone that you both jump and say, “Shit,” in unison.

“I’m late. Roy’s gonna fucking kill me,” Jamie groans.

You feel terrible. “I’m so sorry,” you respond sincerely. “Shit, I’m sorry. Tell Roy it was my fault.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, weren’t yours. Should’ve kept a better eye on the time.” 

He’s halfway out the door when he turns back and smiles at you. “I’ll tell Keeley you took a real break.” He winks and and disappears around the corner.

You make a mental note to ask Keeley about this whole thing later.

—

“Oh he’s into you, babe.” Keeley says, hours later when you’re at her house for drinks and dinner. 

“WHAT, no!” you protest, “He’s not! He was just- just-”

Keeley nods and smirks. “Can’t finish that sentence, can you? Y’know, I just told him to check on you. I didn’t say anything about eating lunch with you.”

Rebecca nods in agreement. “I also overheard him telling Ted that he didn’t think you were attractive at all.”

You and Keeley turn to her with matching quizzical expressions.

“He was clearly not telling the truth. I didn’t even have to see his face, I could hear it in his voice,” Rebecca explains.

“Ooh, right, yeah, Jamie’s a shit liar!” Keeley exclaims. “Oh my god babe, I literally can’t believe it. You’d be so fucking adorable together.”

Rebecca tilts her head and gives you an appraising look. “I can see it,” she says.

Your face is on fire but you’re laughing and shaking your head. “If Eileen didn’t have her yoga group over for drinks, I would be totally out of here.”

—

Rebecca was right. Jamie does like you and he asks you out the next week. 

He says, “I think you’re fucking amazing. Do you want to get dinner?”

He’s radiating so much confidence that despite yourself, you laugh and say yes. Eileen is beside herself, so happy that you are going out with “such a nice young man.” Keeley and Rebecca feel a similar way. Keeley’s boyfriend Roy just grunts. You like Roy. He’d never admit it, but he’s very kind. You know he threatened Jamie within an inch of his life when he heard you two had started dating, and the sentiment almost made you tear up. Almost.

—

You slip in to a pattern. Living with Eileen, spending nights with Jamie. Dinner with Keeley and Roy, drinks with Keeley and Rebecca. Walks in the park, early morning breakfasts, family picnics. Jamie is present for everything except girl’s night. (He makes a pretty convincing argument for why he should be included, if you’re being honest). 

It’s… scary. You’re still hurting from Joseph, but Jamie does his best to erase any trace of him. He tells you he’s going to kiss every inch of your skin, so that his lips are the only ones you think of. He brings you flowers and makes sure to tell you how much he loves you.

Eileen pretends not to notice that your bed is empty more nights than not, and you do your best to return that courtesy by keeping her in the loop of your comings and goings, so she knows if she should save you dinner. 

You and Jamie are together like this for four and a half months. It’s wonderful and terrifying and perfect.

You’ve almost forgotten Joseph ever existed.

Until one morning, Jamie has returned from morning training with Roy.

He walks in the door and you say, “Hi babe!” from your position by the coffeemaker. Jamie doesn’t respond, just absentmindedly kisses you on the cheek and grabs a cup. He doesn’t even smile at you. You look at him for a minute as he moves around the kitchen, waiting for him to acknowledge your presence. He doesn’t. He’s out the door again in a minute, barely even saying goodbye.

You chalk it up to the upcoming match. He always gets a little more focused than usual when it’s against Man City. You tell yourself he’ll be better by Sunday.

—

He’s not.

—

Jamie’s pulling away from you. 

It’s Joseph all over again.

You start to do little things to get his attention. You put on his favorite lingerie set under a “Tartt” jersey and greet him with it when he gets home. He kisses you on the fucking forehead and goes to grab dinner. He goes straight to the bed to sleep right after. 

You make his favorite dinner and set the table all fancy, candles and everything. Jamie says an absent thanks. You eat in silence.

He brushes off any attempt you make to kiss him, and you can count the amount of words he’s said to you on one hand. You feel like a child, the way he’s treating you and all of the sudden, in between bites of chicken, you know. 

Jamie’s bored.

This is ending.

You spend the night because it would be weird not to, but you lay in bed, awake the whole time. You’re under every single blanket Jamie owns, yet your blood is running cold. It’s the only thing you can feel, really, other than your heart beating furiously in your chest. The rest of you is just… numb. You pretend to be asleep when Jamie gets up at 3:30am for training, but the moment you hear the door shut you leap out of bed and collect your things. You successfully sneak back into Aunt Eileen’s house and sit on the floor of the bathroom until sunrise, knees pulled to your chest as you stare at the floor

There’s been a constant rushing in your ears since dinner with Jamie, one that accompanies you as you mechanically dress and head to Nelson Road. Your body is on autopilot as you head to your desk, past Ted and Beard, past Dani, past Sam, Nate, and Will. You know Jamie’s there, although you don’t see him. You spend most of the day glancing at your door, waiting for him to appear with lunch and an explanation.

He doesn’t.

—

It’s late, not too late but late enough that the boys are all gone, and you’re in the locker room making aesthetic assessments for Rebecca when you see it.

Jamie’s locker. 

The voice in your head screams don’t do it! but your legs are moving on their own accord, drawn by some strange impulse. You stop in front of his locker and look inside. 

Your picture is gone. 

It’s your favorite one. Eileen took it at dinner one night. You’re in the kitchen stirring something on the stove, laughing at something Jamie said. He’s grinning at you and looking at you with stars in his eyes. The love is palpable.

And it’s gone. 

Autopilot gives way to shock and your knees buckle. You’re on the floor and you’re not sure how you got there or how long you’re crying, but the door is opening and Nate is kneeling next to you and asking if you’re alright in a soft voice. You don’t respond, just keep crying, and next thing you know Keeley’s arms are around you as you panic on the floor of the Richmond locker room.

—

She drives you to Eileen’s, and you burst in through the front door. 

“Eileen!” you gasp, “It’s happening again, he doesn’t love me and I don’t know what I did-” you ram into something solid not he threshold.

“Fuck,” says Roy, although that’s not surprising because that’s roughly 80% of his vocabulary.

“Hi babe,” says Keeley in a small voice, hot on your heels, “Forgot this was yoga night.”

“What?” you ask, Jamie temporarily forgotten.

Roy just sighs and says, “Come on. Eileen’s got rosé in the kitchen. But you already fucking knew that, didn’t you.”

—

Turns out Roy is part of Eileen’s yoga group. You swear never to tell anyone.

He, in turn, succinctly grills you on Jamie.

“What the fuck did the little prick do?” he asks in his most growly voice yet.

You’re in the kitchen with him, Keeley, and Eileen. Aunt Eileen has let the yoga group know there’s been a change of plans, and they take it all in stride. Maureen herds them all to G-A-Y and they’re gone in a moment.

So now you’re here, eyes dry but red, explaining how Jamie is bored of you.

Roy says, “Fuck.” Aunt Eileen looks like she’s ready to murder someone. Keeley just looks sad. 

“You’re coming to mine,” Keeley says, in a voice that leaves no room for arguments. “We’ll put on pajamas and do face masks and Roy will make that fancy little cheese platter he’s so good at.”

Roy doesn’t even protest, just nods and slips his hand around Keeley’s waist. She settles back against him in a way that makes your heart squeeze, because it’s the exact same way you would settle against Jamie.

Eileen says, “I’ll go pack you a bag,” and then she’s bustling upstairs to your room.

—

You and Keeley have matching cucumber-mango face masks, and you’re in her bed watching Look Both Ways. You can hear Roy downstairs in the kitchen putting cheese, grapes, and whatever the fuck else on a tray. He brings it up and places it on the bed, kissing Keeley with an amicable grunt. 

“I’m headed the fuck to sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

You smile at him as best you can, which is really just turning your mouth into a straight line, and Keeley says “Bye, babe.”

Roy smiles (as big as he ever does) and leaves.

You reach for an olive and settle back on to the pillows.

—

You don’t sleep much, but you do sleep. Keeley is wrapped around you like a spider monkey so you finally drift off around 3am. It’s not lost on you that Jamie will be awake in thirty minutes, and that it should be his arms wrapped around you. 

—

You’re in your office for a grand total of fifteen minutes when Rebecca comes marching in.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asks.

“My job..?” you respond tentatively.

She shakes her head. “You’re getting the day off. As a matter of fact, you can take Monday as well. You do good work, and you’ve never missed a deadline. You can take a goddamn break.”

Oh. Keeley must have told her.

You nod slowly then get up to grab your bag.

Rebecca pauses for a moment, then pulls you into a hug. It’s incredibly calming.

Rebecca asks, “Do you need anything?”

You shake your head. “I think I’m just going to get my things from Jamie’s while he’s at training. I don’t want to make a scene. I’ll call him tonight and let him know we’re done, just so it isn’t prolonged anymore.”

Tears appear in your eyes and Rebecca hugs you again.

“Well,” she says, “just give me call. You know how to reach me.”

—

There’s a lot of things at Jamie’s, but fortunately you keep a box in the back of your car. You’ve cleaned out your tea from his cupboards, toiletries from his bathroom, and are now kneeling on the floor, emptying out your drawer. Your hands linger a little too long over the Tartt 9 jersey Jamie gave you when a voice says, “What the fuck are you doing?”

You jump. “Jesus, Jamie. Aren’t you supposed to be at training?”

“Coach said I had to go home. What the fuck are you doing?”

You skip over the fact that he didn’t elaborate on which coach sent him home and remind yourself to kill Roy.

You blow out a long, slow breath. Fuck. This was not how this was supposed to go.

“I um, I’m cleaning out my things.” You can’t look him in the eyes. You’re still on the floor, Jamie’s in the doorframe.

Jamie is silent so you continue.

“I just wanted to make things easier,” you tell the jersey in your hands. “I… know what’s happening. And it’s fine, really. I’m not…entitled to your love, you know? So… it’s ok. I just-” you sigh, body feeling so heavy all of a sudden, “I just wanna know one thing.”

You look at Jamie for the first time. “What is it about me that’s boring?”

Jamie opens his mouth to say something, but you barrel on. “You don’t have to lie, we’re probably never going to speak again, so just tell me. Because I’ve been over it a million times in my head and I can’t figure it out. I tried to figure it out with Joseph too. I get it if I were too clingy or too talkative or something, but what is it that makes me boring?” Tears have started streaming down your face at some point. God, this has been such a shit week. All this crying is making your eyes hurt.

There are tears in Jamie’s eyes, too.

“I- you- you aren’t boring,” Jamie croaks.

He could’ve fooled you.

“Then why have you been pulling away from?” you ask, voice small. “You kissed me on the forehead, Jamie. Like I was, I don’t know, your great aunt or something.”

Jamie rubs his face with his hand. “Shit, I- shit. I’m so fucking sorry. God, babe, I’m so, so fucking sorry. Roy told me to come here, said something about fucking shit up again, so I came here and found you like that on the floor and- shit, I just fucked up.”

He’s made his way over to you, slowly, like you’re a wild animal about to spook. He crouches down on the floor next to you and reaches out a hand to your cheek.

“It’s my dad,” he says finally. “He came ‘round, asking questions and shit, and he asked about you. And I fucking hated that. He knew your name and shit. Made some threats. I didn’t- I wanted to protect you. And I thought once you knew about him you wouldn’t want shit to do with me. I was fucking waiting for you to break up with me once you found out.”

Jamie’s voice is far too raw for this to story to be made up. The only thing you know about his dad is that he exists, and Jamie never talks about him. This… makes sense. It’s fucking stupid, but it makes sense. So you tell him.

“Jamie,” you say, “that is fucking stupid. It makes sense, but it’s fucking stupid.”

He hangs his head. “God, I know. He comes ‘round and I forget how to fuckin act.”

“Hey,” you say softly, tilting his chin up to meet his eyes. “This was shitty. But we’re learning. We’ll work on communicating, I promise. I’ll get better at it too. And as far as your dad goes, we’ll figure that out.”

Jamie laughs wetly and you bring his head close for a kiss.

You two will figure it out.

[libraryoffandomsuniverse]

you should be scared of me

masterlist part 1

Finally wrote a part 2!! This became a little bonkers. I've always thought that after 1000 years, the Originals should've been a little crazier and more ruthless. I get the MF gang had plot armour because Klaus and co were originally (ha) the season villains, but after being vampires for so long, you'd think their patience for enemies would be even less (at least, that's what I would do if I was an Original).

Warnings include: canon divergence, people dying who didn't in canon, MF gang and Klaus slander. Some Klaus feelings worked their way into this and I chose to roll with it.

You don't leave it there. Now that Klaus has completed his transformation, you 'keep the lines of communication open' as recommended by a book about nurturing and strengthening relationships that you read once.

The 90s were a weird time for you and you don't want to talk about it.

This means that you spam him with texts, calls and selfies from a number that him and his followers are unable to trace.

Partying in Cali just isn't the same without family.

It's me, Y/N. Hope you're having a nice day and when are you going to undagger our siblings?

Klaus groans every time he sees an unknown number pop up on his phone. He'd forgotten just how much of a little shit you could be and the years apart had only made you more annoying.

It doesn't help that you've rigged your number so that he can't call or text you to get the last word. He's secretly missed this kind of sibling interaction but he'll never admit it.

This combined with his hybrid problem makes him even more short tempered than normal.

You make contact with the Mystic Falls gang after Stefan steals the coffins.

You've always been careful to cultivate good relationships with witches and you've helped out enough covens and families over the centuries for them to keep an ear out for you.

Being dead doesn't stop some of them; in this case, you're contacted by a Richmond witch (descended from a very helpful ancestor you met 100 years ago), who tells you that there's Original shenanigans afoot.

You quickly reach out to the Salvatores and Elena.

The MF gang don't know what to make of you.

You're polite, but not as honourable as Elijah. Your remarks are even more cutting than Rebekah's and you have a temper, but you don't fly off the handle like Klaus. You don't even sound like you like your family, considering that you attempt to only get Kol back before Stefan refuses.

"In big families, there's always one sibling you prefer and Kol was always my favourite."

You decide to team up with them for the moment, if it's at Klaus' expense. You even suggest awakening Elijah, because of his influence on your brother.

You don't attend the dinner. Not officially. Instead you're the one to remove the daggers.

You don't trust either of your older brothers when there's an empty coffin with your name on it.

Your first words to your twin after nearly a century apart are "welcome back to the land of the living, idiot" followed by 2 blood bags being thrown at him.

When your siblings start attacking Klaus, you're right beside them filming the whole thing.

"Are you actually recording this?" "Consider it payback, Nik."

When your mother appears, you can barely look at her.

Why is she still alive with her magic to boot?

You don't trust her talk of reconciliation and, judging from the look on his face, neither does Kol.

You're proven right but you don't have the heart to gloat. Not this time.

While Damon bites Abby Bennett, you turn Bonnie.

Part of you doesn't like doing this to another witch. You still feel incomplete without your magic, even after 1000 years.

But the Bennetts went against your family and allied themselves with one of your biological creators.

And that is something you cannot, will not forgive.

You spend most of s3 with Kol helping him get used to modern society.

Both of you get up to mischief, especially now that Kol's no longer restricted to a spirit form.

You'd forgotten how much fun partying with Kol was when he wasn't stuck as a spirit.

Both of you return to Mystic Falls when Klaus tells you about a possible cure for vampirism and some folklore about a boogeyman called Silas.

You've never seen Kol look so terrified in his life. And he's not alone.

You'd helped him wipe out that coven that worshipped Silas centuries ago. You thought all mentions of the man were destroyed. Obviously not.

Despite you beheading Shane (and getting blood on your favourite jacket), it still doesn't stop the MF gang from going after the cure.

Everyone disregards your warnings and you're both getting sick of it.

The final straw comes when you narrowly save Kol from getting killed by the Gilberts.

You're furious, more than you've ever been in your life. You haven't spoken a word since the witch arrived and began to heal Kol. The look of fear on your twin's face, when you'd snatched him away from his would be killers, was utterly foreign and you never wished to see it again.

You hear footsteps come up to you and you notice Klaus out of the corner of your eye.

"They tried to kill Kol tonight," your voice is tight. "Our brother, my twin nearly died and you still think we're being dramatic about Silas?"

Your body is completely still apart from your hands, which are so tightly clenched that he can smell the blood dripping from the fingernail marks on your palms. Your gaze never leaves Kol, as his pained groans start to die down.

"I dont know why you've given that group so many chances. You've made exceptions for them that you would never do for your blood. They killed Finn and you never retaliated. But I kept silent because I thought there was a plan to lure them in. But you have allowed them to become too bold and made us look weak. We are the bloody Originals. We are the monsters people warn their children about."

You finally turn to face him. You continue to speak in such a quiet voice that Klaus feels a shiver go down his spine.

He will never admit this.

"This is what's going to happen. Apart from Elena Gilbert, I'm going to kill everyone involved in this Silas mess. I'm going to find the cure and shove it down that useless doppelganger's throat so you can continue making those hybrids you're so fond of. And then I'm going to burn this cursed town to the ground and you're not going to get in my way."

Klaus looks at you for a long time. You and Kol had always been inseparable as humans and that didn't change when you were turned.

He'd witnessed countless fights between you both during the centuries and just as many reconciliations. He'd seen you communicate without words, using a smile and a head tilt to say so much.

Part of him had always been jealous of your bond and how steadfast it was. It was an exclusive club that he felt shut out of. He's not alone in thinking this, Rebekah had complained in the past about how she felt like an outsider with you and Kol.

He is trying to let you go, trying not to hold on so tightly that you hate him. But his past actions have left scars on both you and Kol. Neither of you are quick to forgive him.

Maybe this concession could be a start.

What's the total annihilation of one town, he muses, in the face of forgiveness? What's the love of family compared to the slaughter of sheep?

"You have my blessing," he finally says. "I'll keep Rebekah and Elijah out of the way."

+++

The destruction of Mystic Falls becomes the subject of news channels and government departments for months. An entire town suddenly turning up dead is a mystery people have a hard time trying to solve.

But the supernatural community knows. Whispers spread about the Mikaelsons, about Y/N Mikaelson's revenge. And if they hold their loved ones tighter and look over their shoulder more frequently?

It isn't something that any of them will confess to.

[luciusspriggss]

listen, this is a whole other level of upset i have experienced when it comes to being disappointed and confused.

to me it felt obvious that something was wrong. i have only felt this way in my NIGHTMARES

where i feel lulled into safety and then completely thrown around, back to safety, and then it gets even worse

there were things i liked and things i did not like

the call-backs were TOO on the nose

why did jamie and roy turn into teenagers fighting over a crush? where is the roy that needed to tell keeley she is a boss ass bitch and to never let anyone make her feel any different? where is the jamie who was so sad and apologetic about the leak?

why did nothing get wrapped up for sam??? oh he is playing on the nigerian team? cool? HOW???? with a billionaire actively against him? what happened to the restaurant????? what happened to the CHEF at the restaurant???

what the fuck is up with trent?????? where were ted and trent's heart to heart??? i refuse to believe that the only criticism ted has is to change the name because...what??? ted is the reason for everything??? his hardwork??? the impact he made?????? he cultivated an amazing environment full of trust, honesty, and connection?? i just...where is the trent crimm monologue regarding the last chapter???

WHY IS TRENT ALONE in the end??? it seems like he was longing for connection and to be accepted as he is, to be part of a family, and he is ALONE?

we NEVER find out the boat guy's name????

rebecca finally understand the psychic's predictions about how richmond is her home and her family??? how she is a mother to everyone at the club?????

and then throw that all away to be like "haha just kidding it was actually about boat guy and his kid"

i just....everything feels disjointed

everything feels off

so much so i don't even believe it was just a dream on the plane, i feel like this whole episode was a nightmare scenario

and i acknowledge that part of me feels this way because of how i project my personal issues onto this show, it just...doesnt feel right

ted is with his son. his wife is there, who knows if they are together. but what we do know, is that ted is alone with no support network

ted is back to america, which isn't a great place (especially in kansas no offense), we never hear ted explain WHY he can't bring his family to london. we never see henry show any remorse or sadness for ted being at richmond?

be a goldfish???

okay so forget all the love and support you built and carry on in life with people who think you are "too much" and that you need to be more quiet and palatable for people to accept you back home???

all i see happening with this ending, and no resolution whatsoever, is ted becoming incredibly depressed

and eventually committing suicide, just like his dad

i'm sorry but resorting your happiness only to being a good father, is not fair to the kid

the ending is a tragedy to me

i genuinely have no idea what the fuck is going on

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Kepler Horror (Indruck)

The winner of the "weird mer" poll was: A mer who isn’t so much half-human, half-fish as all eldritch. This fill is NSFW and contains oviposition.

Content Notes: given the prompt, there is mild reference to body horror. There is also a brief reference to nonconsensual artificial insemination (for lack of a better word).

Men in fancy carriages are a rare sight in this part of the state, so all the neighbors are sticking their heads out the window to see what on earth could have brought one to the Newton’s front door. 

Duck’s father ushers the somber lawyer inside and his mother offers him something to drink, but he seems as uneasy with his visit as they do.

When they’re settled around the table, the man produces a paper, “This is the last will and testament of Alistair Cold.”

The four Newton’s trade a puzzled look. The Duck’s father snaps his fingers, “ah, yes, the fella my uncle Herbert worked for.”

“The very same. Mr. Cold passed away in the summer” he indicates where the paper is dated June 8th, 1872, “And was without any living family. This will stipulates his house, land, and all possessions and money go to his loyal servant, Charles. Except, Charles died the same night Mr. Cold did. Since Mr. Cold was insistent the state not come into possession, his will also lays out which servant to consider next. The two prior to your uncle flatly refused the offer and turned over their rights to it. And your uncle, as you no doubt know, passed in October. His own will named you his heir, which entailed only the bequeathment of a horse.”

“She’s a good horse.” His father replies. 

“The point is, Mr. Newton, the estate on the coast is all yours.”

His father turns his attention to Duck, “seems to me it’s high time my son had a place to call his own. The money won’t hurt none neither.”

“Mr. Newton, you don’t have a-”

“I know what I said.”

Duck smiles to himself, and lets himself daydream about his future home.

—------------------------------------------------

Indrid swims up, up, up the dark shaft, out of habit and foolish hope more than anything else. The hatch at the top is sealed like it always is. Like the futures say it always will be. 

He lets out a burbly sigh and sinks down, down, down once again. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck doesn’t believe in ghosts. But if there was ever a house to be haunted, it’s the one staring down at him now. 

The view of the sea is nice. It’s the creaking frame, rattling windows, and yards of spiderwebs he could do without. All the rooms are full of dusty ghosts, chairs and tables and fancy shit he has no name for peeking out from their shrouds. 

He bought new clothes in Richmond (his sister, Jane, came with him that far so he could buy her some too), mostly practical outfits for working on the house or in the–badly overgrown–garden. A few are for dinner parties or going out into the nearby town of Kepler, and maybe even for impressing a sweetheart. But before he can tuck them safely away in the wardrobes, he has to pull heaps of grim, unused clothing from the darkness. 

As he explores the house, he takes mental note of just how many things he can get rid of. No one needs this much china or this many silver nick-knacks. Not even their previous owner, going from how new most of them look. 

While in the library, he leans against the mantle of the unlit fireplace. When the stone beneath his elbow depresses, he momentarily panics that the whole damn place is about to come down around his ears. Instead, a panel opens in the floor of the eastern corner, revealing a sharply angled, stone staircase. 

He debates whether it’s safest to ignore the weird, creepy staircase or follow it to make sure there’s not something weirder and creepier lurking under his house. He decides he’d rather not be murdered in his sleep by, grabs the pistol his dad insisted he bring, and takes his lantern into the depths beneath the mansion. 

When he reaches the bottom, he gets a hunch as to what probably killed Alistair Cold. 

He’s in a laboratory straight from the penny dreadfuls Jane is always reading. Jars of sickly, green liquid line the shelves and there’s a rack of surgical tools that makes him shudder when he sees how sharp they were kept. There are also several large books bound in brown leather containing nothing but an alien language and pictures so upsetting he instantly slams them closed. 

“That’s enough of the creepy basement for today.” He says it aloud just to hear a familiar voice. 

As he turns to leave, he steps on a pedal at the base of a cabinet. Grinding metal fills the air and he braces for something to blow up or fall over. When nothing happens, he decides that the pedal must be disconnected from whatever it once controlled, and heads back to the daylight. 

—--------------------------------------------

Can it be?

Indrid tentatively presses first his tentacles and then his whole body against the hatch of the tunnel. It groans, then gives way, revealing the lab in a similar state to the last time he saw it. There’s no sign of the master of the house, and so Indrid keeps quiet; the previous instance when he tried to free himself and explore without permission, the human sunk a stake of hawthorn into his center. The damned thing was enchanted and twisted to conform to his shape no matter how many times he rearranged his body. 

Tonight it’s safest to sit on the rim of the tunnel, drinking in the sounds of the surface. Tomorrow he’ll brave the laboratory. And the night after, the stairs. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

Duck prides himself on being friendly and easy going. Which is why he’s trying not to take it too personally that no one in this tavern has looked at him since he mentioned where he was living. The shoulder he’s getting is colder than the freezing rain outside. 

As he’s wondering if he’ll have to eat his dinner standing, a young woman with black hair and a massive, black rabbit in her lap waves him over to her table. She introduces herself as Aubrey, and they chat about how he’s liking Kepler. When yet another diner gives Duck a wide berth, she rolls her eyes. 

“Ignore them. They’re all jumpy because you’re living in the Cold place. The guy who lived there before was a major dick. But that didn’t have anything to do with the house.”

“I feel like I’m gonna regret asking but: what actually happened to him?”

Aubrey slowly spins her spoon on the table, “He was doing experiments with magic; if there’s something beyond black magic, I’m pretty sure it was that. Nasty stuff, stuff that made people sick or disappear or…” she shudders “apparently he had a thing for kidnapping women who’d then give birth to kids they couldn’t remember wanting or conceiving. I only moved here two years ago, but I guess it’d been going on for a long, long time.”

“Jesus.”

“Right? I guess he eventually pissed off the wrong person or they figured out they outnumbered him, but a mob stormed the house, tied him to a tree, and burned him. And I get it but, like, it freaks me out that they’d just do that. Now I think everyone is treating your house like it’s this beacon of evil because weird stuff happens in Kepler all the time that they’re scared of.”

Duck’s mind wanders to the basement, “Weird stuff?”

“The fact that it rains all the time even though it doesn’t do the same one county up or down the coast, the freaky stuff people see while fishing, the ghostly shapes above the church every night, a higher than average number of witches, oh, and that guy, Stern,” she points to a tall, well dressed man who just walked in, “apparently he trained under a witch hunter? And then he got sent out here because there’s supposedly a giant, hairy monster in the woods that some people think is the devil but is probably a totally nice guy if I had to guess.”

The rabbit hops on the table and he pets its head, “And if a fella wanted to steer as clear of all that as possible?”

“Spend lots of time in your house? Like I said, as far as anyone knows, he was the only evil thing there. Or” Aubrey leans closer, “if you ever want to pal around with people who can help the weird feel less, um, threatening, come by Amnesty Lodge. It’s about a half-mile from your place, on the edge of the woods.”

Duck thanks her for the invitation and decides to avoid Amnesty Lodge as much as humanly possible. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is now certain Alistair Cold is no longer alive. As he trawls the laboratory, there’s no sign of him there or in any of the futures. This opens up so many possibilities his whole being shivers in excitement. 

The only reason he does not rush upstairs is he’s hungry, and if there is anyone else in the house he does not wish to embarrass himself by eating their entire pantry. And so he slithers back depths in search of dinner and leaves his exploration for tomorrow. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

There’s someone in the house. 

From his bed, Duck can hear them moving on the lower level, the odd bump of furniture and strange chirp interrupting the steady sound of whoever it is moving closer. When it reaches the stairs, instead of steps there’s a horrible, repetitive squelching until the monster–because there’s no fucking way this is a person–is on the landing. 

He knows for a fact he locked all the doors to the outside and, as a result, his bedroom door isn’t. If he moves, it might know he’s here and zero in on him. But if he gets to the door in time, he can keep whatever is stalking the halls at bay until he figures out what the fuck to do. 

The bedroom door creaks the instant his feet hit the floor. It groans open, the surrounding darkness offering no clues as to what’s on the other side. 

Tentacles come first, patting the walls and floor. Then there’s a horrible skitter as crab-like feet cross the threshold. The mass at the center of the body tips this way and that, and no matter how hard or long he stares he can’t make any sense of it. Milky eyes on what could be a neck give way to gaping gills lined with teeth but then they don’t and he’s looking at some new aspect of the horror. 

When the monster turns, floor wet beneath it and attention fully on Duck, he does the least helpful thing possible. 

He faints. 

When he comes too, it’s with a nose of dark, sea-salty air. Something alien is resting on his face, and he braces himself to discover he’s already being digested. 

The cool tissue on his face pats his cheek, which startles him into opening his eyes. He’s sitting on the floor, his back to the bed. There’s still a monster in front of him; its face is human, with silver-white hair falling around the angles of its cheeks and its glowing, red eyes. But the skin on its arms is mottled black and red, the texture too close to that of an eel for comfort, its hands are webbed and end in blood-red claws, and a frill of the same color sits behind its neck. Stranger still is the black fish-tail draped on the floor and the fact a patch of its chest is translucent, revealing an incomprehensible, teeming mass. 

It’s a mermaid from hell. Compared to what was in the room before, it may as well be a kitten. 

“Ah, you are awake!” The monster sits back and claps its hands, “I caught you before you could hit your head but I am never sure how long humans remain asleep when they faint and was beginning to worry.”

“You can talk.”

“Indeed. Oh, oh dear, where are my manners” he holds out a hand, “I am Indrid. You are Duck, yes?”

“How did you know that? And, and where did that other thing go?”

The monster cocks his head, “I am it. I can change shape to a degree, and I can see the future, which is how I know your name and that you are about to say you need a drink. I will fetch it.” Indrid tries to stand, frowns, and then his tail splits in two.

Duck looks away, stomach churning, until footsteps fade across the floor. He’d though Aubrey was exaggerating about what went on here but no, no it’s pouring rain outside and pinching his arm tells him he isn’t dreaming. 

The monster rejoins him on the floor and offers a cup from the dresser. Not knowing what else to do, he takes it. 

“You are afraid of me.”

“I, uh, I ain’t not-not, fuck, uh, I” he sighs, “yeah, okay, you got me, I’m afraid. Because a fucking sea monster turned up in my house!”

Indrid flinches at the noise, “I did not know you were residing here. I only know the hatch was open once more and I was so very excited to visit the surface once more” A thin membrane blinks across his eye, “goodness, I forgot how overwhelming it is to take in so much of the world through my eyes.” He looks sadly at Duck, but scoots a good six feet back across the floor, “I am sorry. I do not blame you. All humans fear the creatures of the depths. Except for Alistair.”

Duck sets the glass on the floor, “Can we go back to the part where you came through a hatch?”

“It is in the laboratory. If you wish I will show you. And yes, I am aware that showing you means you would then know how to bar me from the house. But that is your right; I do not wish to bother you.”

Against all his common sense, Duck stands and follows Indrid down the stairs, through the secret passage, and into the lab. They come to a circular, metal hatch on the floor, inscribed with the same, strange letters Duck saw in Cold’s notes. Indrid opens it, then slides in and rests his arms on the edge. 

“Alistair made this to allow a creature from the depths to arrive at the surface in a matter of seconds. I was the one he was able to summon, and for a time he would let me marvel at the surface world while he asked me questions and wrote out formulas in his notebooks. Then one day, the hatch was locked and I could no longer visit. I did not miss him, but the surface world…I love it so, and I saw so little of it and when I found this unlocked I simply…I wanted…” he looks away and Duck discovers that same translucence on his chest races up his spine, “I am sorry. It was foolish of me to emerge. I will depart, and you need not see me again.”

Duck should let him go, seal the hatch, and then move to Australia. But Indrid’s honest, strange sorrow tugs at his heart, and he wonders what could make such a terrifying creature long for a life so different from what he knows. Wonders if Indrid, floating in the abyss, feels as out of place as Duck sometimes did on the street back home. 

“I’ll make you a deal. You can come visit, but we gotta get a bell or something for you to ring so I know you’re here and don’t have a heart attack when I open a door and you’re behind it. We clear?”

Indrid grins with several rows of teeth, climbs from the pool, and grabs a length of rope dangling from the ceiling. When he tugs it, a bell sounds in the house above them. 

Duck stares at the smiling monster, wondering what the fuck he’s agreed to, and says, “Yep, that’ll work.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The bell first rings two days later. Duck is at the dining table, rain battering the windows. It’s been so stormy the last few days that going into town carried a real risk of getting washed away or sucked into the mud, so he’s used his time to read up on wet-weather gardening and work on a model ship. 

When the bell sounds, he wonders if Indrid will even come to see him, since his interest was in the house and not with Duck. But after only a few moments, footsteps announce the merman (Duck can’t think of what else to call him) by the fireplace. Indrid waves, awkward but earnest, and comes to join him, swaying in his steps like a new sailor at sea. 

“Hello again.”

“Howdy. Uh, do you need anythin’ from me?”

“No. I do enjoy company, but there is no need to entertain me.” 

Duck nods and goes back to his work. Indrid looks at the books, then stands and begins wandering the room, returning to the window every few minutes to stare out at the rainy road and the town in the distance. When Duck asks if he’d like some coffee, he says yes and then dumps half the sugar bowl into it when Duck brings him some. 

“What do you do?” The merman sips his coffee. 

“Fuck all at the moment. I went from helpin my folks with farm work to bein a fella with a mansion and a bunch of money. I’ll get bored of it eventually, but right now it’s nice to just kinda drift around.”

“Drifting can be rather relaxing.” Indrid pads over to the finished ship, claws clicking on china as he studies it, “will this then go in a bottle? I have seen those in books.”

“Nah, that’s a whole level of fuss I ain’t willin’ to go to.”

Indrid offers a hum of understanding, then touches a hand to the table. A deep blue ocean of mist spreads from his fingers, catching the underside of the boat. Then Duck can see the outlines of whales and squid beneath the waves, all matching the scale of his boat. The mist unfurls across the table, his boat sailing it until it lands safely in his hands. The ocean lingers, curling around him so he can watch the schools of fish and stray mermaids swimming within it. When it dissipates, he turns, awestruck and grinning, to Indrid. 

“What was all that for?”

The merman shrugs, happily, “I wanted to see if I could make you smile.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

Since it’s a drizzle rather than a downpour, Duck is taking the afternoon to fetch supplies from town. As he’s un-tethering his horse, Winnie, from in front of the general store, his gaze falls on a heartbreaking sight; a child, no more than ten, sits on the corner, knees to her chest and her hand out. Her ears are shaped like coral and he spots a frill much like the one on Indrid. Most people who see her cross the street. 

“It’s tragic, isn’t it?”

Duck turns to find Joseph Stern behind him. 

“Where the hell are her folks?”

“Dead, I believe. The flu took them last year and the orphanage in Ashington won’t take her.” He steps beside Duck, “she’s not the only child in Kepler to suffer this way either. There are some with gills who cannot survive for more than a few hours away from water. Some with webbed hands, or teeth that mean their tongues struggle to speak in a way that others understand. A few are lucky and have family who protect them as they should. But many have been cast from place to place since they could walk. I believe Mrs. Cobb at the Lodge does what she can for them."

“The kids Aubrey talked about.” Duck murmurs. 

Stern’s blue eyes are now fixed on him, “Exactly. No one quite knows what Alistair Cold did up in that house. The women he kidnapped could never recall what happened. A few even got up the courage to ask him for help when horrified families or husbands turned them and the children out. He threatened to drown them.”

“Jesus.”

“My feelings exactly. Kepler harbors strange things. Some say evil things. They think that it rots anything it touches” Stern glances in the direction of Duck’s house, “Regardless of what forces he called on, I think Alistair Cold was rotten well before he came here. There’s no reason to make others suffer because of that.”

“So you don’t think those, uh, forces are automatically bad?”

“Not at all. Things can be strange to us without that making them evil. In fact, I find such gaps in our understanding fascinating. You’ll let me know if you ever encounter anything unusual up there, won’t you?”

Duck chokes out a “yep” and then tugs Winnie away before Stern can ask any more questions. 

—------------------------------------------------------------

It’s bliss to lay on the stone of the balcony while rain plinks on his skin. Indrid knows the constant storms are driving Duck up the wall, but he rather likes the damp, grey air. No birds are calling right now, but he can hear the shrieks of the McElroy children playing in the front garden. Duck had watched them as a favor to his nearest neighbors; their carriage had run off the road near Duck’s home and the wife had to accompany her husband to the doctor for a broken leg. When the children returned home hale and happy, the family was more willing to take Duck up on the offer to send them to play on his land whenever they wished. 

Indrid stays inside on those days, as it would doubtless alarm the boys to see him, even in his current, somewhat human form. 

That reminds him; he should show Duck that he’s almost able to make his hands look like they belong to a man. 

Hours pass and the children depart before he finally rises and slips inside the warmth of the house. Duck is in the kitchen, frying fish in a pan while toast cooks on the rack. There’s a chocolate tart from the baker in town sitting on the counter and Indrid is very much looking forward to eating it. 

It will soothe him after the conversation they’re about to have. It’s one he’s known was coming since Duck returned from town a few weeks ago looking rather grim. 

As the human sets dinner on the table, he says, “‘Drid? What exactly did you and Mr. Cold do?”

“At first it was simply conversation. He had found a book containing the secrets and the language of the depths, and by summoning me hoped to achieve a greater understanding. I assumed our interests were alike in that we each wished to know more of a world that was otherwise inaccessible to our kind. For two years, I would guide him through spells and help him devise formulas to combine human science with my abilities. He was so pleased with our work together that he would say I was like the son he never had and he was glad to know me.” 

Indrid picks up a fish and eats it because it’s something to do as the memories swarm him, “then one night he called me up and there was a woman in the laboratory with him. I was so excited, I wanted to meet more humans than him and his manservant. He knew this. But when I emerged it was in the form in which you first saw me and she screamed so loudly I panicked and dove back into the water. She was there the next night, too, but offering her this form did not calm her in the slightest. Nor did Alistair's insistence that I touch her.” He curls in on himself at the memory, “I refused and we argued and he shoved me back into the water and locked the hatch. A few nights later he tried again, this time with someone who was asleep when I emerged. He tried to tell me it was alright, that I could do as I wished. I wished to do nothing at all. I may live at the bottom of the ocean, but I was not born yesterday.”

Duck looks visibly relieved at this confession. 

“After that night, it all changed. I was forbidden from leaving the pool, and Alistair would only summon me to scrape secretions from my tentacles or pull my teeth and I would let him because I hoped, foolishly, that we would see eye to eye once more and he would no longer be angry.” His claws scrape on the table, “I am glad he is dead.”

The human reaches over and takes his hand, “I’m so fuckin sorry, ‘Drid. You deserve better than that.”

His frill ripples as he looks at Duck, “Yes. Yes, I believe I do.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------

He knows humans get ill. Indeed, one of Alistair's lies to him was that their research would help cure human ailments. But knowing they get sick and seeing his human laid up in bed are two painfully different things. 

Duck insists it’s just a mild flu, but Indrid insists on him resting as much as possible so it does not get worse. This does leave him to tend the house and make food for them both himself,  but so far he’s managing. 

Today he is making chicken soup, and has followed all directions except for how to dismember the chicken; the knife seemed unnecessary given his claws. It’s been simmering on the stove while he goes and makes sure Winnie’s stable and hay are still covered after last night's wind (and to feed her the sugar cube he always sneaks her). 

He has to slip back inside through the kitchen door, as the neighbor’s children are at the front one they’ve gone, he retrieves the basket they left on the steps. He can still hear them laughing and shouting down the road when he takes Duck’s tray up to him. 

“Sustenance!” 

Duck smiles groggily at him, “Thanks, ‘Drid. Was someone at the door?”

“Clint’s boys. They left us this along with a note saying they hope you feel well soon.” He holds up a jar of honey.

“That was nice. Kids’re nice.”

“Indeed.” Indrid sits in the wooden chair by the bed, “do you want children?”

“Yeah. And no? Don’t wanna have ‘em. People’d see me wrong. But a family could be nice.” Feverish, green eyes turn on him, “you?”

“From what you have told me I may already have some that I was not privy to the creation of.” He sneakily summons a cool tentacle to wipe sweat from Ducks’ brow, “beyond that…I do not know. My kind are few, and the last time I ran into a deep one who looked like me he tried to eat me.”

“Cause you're so sweet.”

“I suspect I taste like fish.” Indrid pours him a new glass of water before realizing the true meaning of what Duck said. He decides to leave it be, not wanting to read too much into what the human says while feverish, and adds, “now, eat up so you can be well and take me for a walk on the beach as you promised.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck’s definitely over his flu, but he took today easy due to still feeling a bit wobbly on his feet. Indrid left him a note saying he’d be spending most of the day in the sea. Duck’s glad; the merman spends as much, if not more, time at the surface with Duck than he does in the depths, and Duck has a nagging fear that one day he’ll spend too long on land and get sick. 

He turns in early, reading under the covers while the wind howls. When the tell-tale ding echoes from below him, he calls out to let Indrid know where he is. 

“You have a nice day?” Duck asks as the merman enters the room. 

“Mmm” 

Duck looks up at the whimpered answer. The first surprise is that the translucent patches on Indrid’s chest have turned into shining, pulsing scales. The second is that Indrid doesn’t sit once he reaches the bed. Instead he pulls the covers aside and wiggles under, pressing his front to Duck’s left side. 

“‘Drid? You ok-”

“No. No I am not. Being away from you all day has been agony. Every fiber of me ached until this moment.” He nuzzles closer, clicking and trilling, “and I do not know why my form changed without my permission. Perhaps it was caring for you these last few days but I, I” his claws fist into Duck’s shirt, “I cannot think of anything but claiming you.”

Duck’s not sure which is stranger; that Indrid seems so distressed at the idea, or that Duck can’t imagine not opening his legs for him right now.

He rolls onto his side, draws a finger along the new scales and gets a trill in reply, “Darlin’, is that your way of sayin you wanna fuck me?”

Indrid’s frill fans out, “It does not need to be that! Just holding you is enough for, for now.”

The red and black on his skin is swirling like storm clouds, and Duck smooths his palm along a patch, “And what happens when it ain’t?”

Indrid chirp-burbles something in his native tongue. 

“Didn’t quite catch that.” He hazards a grope to Indrid’s thigh. 

“Then I hold you down and do things to you humans do not want!” Indrid covers his face with his hands, “Worse still is that I want them, I want you but I know such acts with me are repulsive.”

Duck takes both hands, easing them away from Indrid’s face and kissing the webbing between the fingers, “Not to me they ain’t. Not when it’s with you, the fella who’s fuckin captivatin’ to look at and makes me laugh and still gets so damn excited when he sees the rabbits playin’ in the grass.”

“You would truly let me mate with you?”

“Long as it don’t produce anything, then yeah.”

Indrid shakes his head and nudges Duck onto his back, “I have looked at every conceivable future and in none of them do we create offspring. Indeed, I suspect what Alistair hit upon might be the only way I could have children with a human. All of which is to say: please take off your clothes.”

Duck laughs at the formality but obeys. The instant he’s naked in the lamplight, more parts of Indrid’s body than make sense begin rippling and twitching.

“Such a handsome human. Let us see what I have in store for you.” He leans down, bracketing Duck with his arms, and kisses him soundly. With his eyes closed, it’s as if Duck is feeling se spray on his lips, and when he wraps his arms around the merman and toys with his frill, the kiss deepens. It’s only when he feels something hard pressing into each thigh that he breaks it to look down. 

Indrid now has a second set of arms, more shelled than scaled, and is using them to force his thighs farther apart. 

“Do you like them? I feel they will be necessary to keep my mate from running off. And to make certain he takes all I have to offer.”

Duck moans at the menace in his voice, “And what do you have to offer, darlin?”

Indrid dips his head in reply and Duck looks lower to see the skin and scales of his groin rippling. Then reality jolts for a moment and something singularly unusual is extending towards him. Indrid’s cock is thick and flexible, with a ribbed line running down the lower third of it. 

“Holy fuck.”

“Is it still alright?”

Were it attached to anyone else, he’d say no. But right now his body is sending all his blood south at the thought of Indrid being so far inside him. 

“Hell yeah it is.”

The scales on Indrid’s chest pulse, “Wonderful. Because I am out of patience.”

Duck yelps as Indrid lunges forward, kissing him and sinking his cock into him at the same time. The shaft barely fits, and every time Indrid snaps his his there’s a thud as it bottoms out. 

“Ohhhhhh you are delightful.” Indrid trills as he forces Duck’s hips wider, the sound turning muffled as the merman kisses a hungry line down his neck to his chest. For a moment Duck fears the attention to his chest will prove too much, but Indrid contents himself with a possessive bite to each side before gliding his mouth back up to suck bruises into his collarbone. 

“Fuck, ‘Drid, this is fuckin amazing, you feel so goddamn good uh, what, what’s that.” He squirms as something presses between his asscheeks. 

“It seems my form adapts to fill as many holes as are present.”

“I ain’t ever had somethin-AH, oh, ohfuck” he bucks his hips as the second dick works it’s way in. There’s a strange pressure and heat to it, but it’s narrow and soft enough that he gets a shudder of pleasure instead of pain.

“That’s it, dearest, there is no need to fuss. I know how to take care of you. My heart, my soul, my very form will do whatever is needed to win and keep you.” Indrid grins down at him, licking his lips, “you were made to be laid in.”

Duck whimpers at the implication and tries to spread his legs wider. 

“Does that excite you sweet one? That my kind need somewhere warm and willing in order to lay a clutch?”

“Didn’t, didn’t even occur to me that’d happen. I, will, it won’t hurt right?”

A loving nibble to his throat, “Not at all. In fact I foresee you very much enjoying it. Which is excellent timing.”

Duck gasps as something soft yet solid emerges from the tip of Indrid’s cock. A moment later it’s inside him, rubbing against him as Indrid fucks him with increased vigor. 

“Yes, yesyes, that’s a good mate, there’s plenty more where that came from and you will take them all.” Both cocks pulse once, but only the one in the front produces another egg, “nnnf, this, this is selling me on the idea of a large family with you. Lots of space, plenty of money, we have all we need to care for several broods.”

“Ohgod, ohfuck, Indrid” the fantasy heats his blood as another egg pushes in.

“I’d take care of everything, look after them and the house if you decided to work. Mmm” he gropes Duck’s ass as the cock there fucks him deeper, “I do love the idea of you going into town bearing the proof of our evenings together. Everyone would see I’d claimed you. I would be the envy of the town once they knew you spread your legs whenever I wanted to breed you.”

“Fuuuck” He closes his eyes, losing himself in the image of Indrid on his arm in town, preening whenever someone notices the bites on his throat. The cock between his legs ripples, and now he’s full enough that it can’t fit all the way in when Indrid thrusts. The ridges and bumps of it catch his own cock, dragging him towards orgasm.

“Oh” Indrid’s sigh bubbles out of him, “look at you. So handsome, such a lovely husband to take me until you’re stuffed full.”

He cums at that, tightening around Indrid and digging his heels into the blankets. The merman is on him before he’s finished moaning, rolling them on their sides and releasing his thighs in favor of grabbing his ass and hips and forcing him closer. 

“I am not done with you, sweet one, so hold on tightly until I am through.”

Duck cries out as two more eggs pulse into him, Indrid only fucking him rougher as they do. The mer is everywhere, fucking him deep and splitting him open and sinking his teeth into his neck until there’s a trilling, watery cry and he cums so hard inside Duck that the force and the volume of the cum pushes his cock free. 

The other cock retreats as they pant in each others arms, Indrid’s frill rising and falling in time with his breath.

Duck raises his face form where he’s hidden it in Indrid’s neck, “You mean it when you called me your husband?”

“I did. If you would have me.”

He kisses his jaw, “You know I will. And not just because you fucked me so well I saw god.”

—-----------------------------------------

Spring in Kepler is still rainy, but the cluster of children waiting on the steps of what is now called Beacon House are all safely tucked beneath umbrellas. For those whose families did not abandon them, they will only be staying at the school until the afternoon before returning home (Aubrey will be teaching some classes and also driving the cart back to town). For those with nowhere else to go, they will be moving into the house for the foreseeable future. 

The group–eight in total–scurries across the threshold when Aubrey ushers them in. Mr. Newton waits for them at the foot of the stairs, smiling and genial in his brown suit. 

“We all here? Good. Mornin’ y’all. We're gonna get you settled into your rooms real soon. Uh, if you’re stayin here that is. If you ain’t, Aubrey will take you into the library so you can keep warm and read while the others put their things away. But before that, I want you to meet your other teacher” 

He gestures to the man coming down the stairs. A red scarf covers his neck, and all but his face and hands are covered by his black suit. 

“Mr. Cold here is gonna teach you some things Aubrey and I can’t. And make you feel right at home too.”

Still on the steps, Mr. Cold looks down at the children and smiles, ruby- tinted glasses slipping just enough to reveal glowing, red eyes.

[sortofanobsession]

Roy/Jaime with Keeley friendship: Established Roy/Jaime. Jaime goes to Manchester to see his mum and is going to take the train back. A horrific train accident happens and Jaime's name was on the passenger list. Everyone thinks Jaime is dead, Roy is beside himself. Jaime is in fact alive and on different train, totally oblivious. He comes home late and decides not to wake a sleeping Roy, just climbs in with him. Imagine Roy's shock when he wakes up to his very much not dead boyfriend in his arms

A/N: I liiiiiive for this type of request. This is similar to a buddie one I did a long time ago but different enough that I had soooo much fun writing it. I'm still new to writing this group but I'm doing my best. Please remember that I am a lowly Midwestern American gal that has never left the States (though my sister did just get back from Scotland). So if their are typos or errors I apologize. Not beta read.

Enjoy

Ao3

Ted Lasso Masterlist

Paring: Roy Kent/Jamie Tartt, Roy & Keeley (platonic), Jamie & Keeley (Platonic), the afc Richmond himbos being themselves.

Word Count: 5k+

Content warning: train wreck, mentions of death, grief and loss, angst (happy ending), mentions of abuse, mentions of paranoia, mentions of head trauma, mentions of alcohol abuse, self-deprecation, self-destruction tendencies. Swearing, lots of swearing (can't believe I forgot that warning in a Roy Kent fic...)

Dead Phones and Train Wrecks

Jamie Tartt had always wanted his mother to be proud of him. Roy Kent had told him he'd never know if she was unless he got over the bullshit his dad did and went to see her. And as usual for Jamie, Roy was mostly right. So Jamie had gone to Manchester the week before training started for the new season. It would have been better if Roy had come with him, but someone had to look after Phoebe, and he needed to prepare for the new season. Roy had said that they would go earlier in the off-season next time. And that was enough to get Jamie to not put it off any longer. And he had a good week, despite having a few awkward run-ins with former Man City teammates and the occasional disgruntled fan. He didn’t care much about those. He was just glad they managed to avoid his dad. That was usually easy by avoiding the pubs and not eating at the same place regularly. It was annoying to have to keep such a paranoid schedule, but Jamie just told his mum it was because of the paparazzi. She didn't need to know that was only part of it. They just enjoyed trying new places, and thankfully, no one gave them too much trouble.

Jamie had decided at the last minute to take his mother to a restaurant in Liverpool she loved but rarely went to. His dad had never wanted to go that far when they were still a family, and Jamie hadn't had time once he got picked up for training. It was an underrated and easily overlooked cafe she would visit with her family when she was young. So Jamie had decided to have one last meal with his mum before he headed back to Richmond. Another new memory his dad couldn't taint or take from them. One for just Jamie and his mum as they try to fix their relationship. 

The one thing Jamie didn’t account for was losing his charger and his phone dying. He didn’t think too much of it because Roy already knew he was going to be taking the train back and he didn't need to pick him up. And it would be late by the time he got in. Roy had to be at training the next day. Jamie did too, but if Jamie was tired, he could manage. He'd played in far worse conditions, thanks to his old man. Roy was grumpy on a good day. A bad day? Well, Jamie wouldn't be the reason the team ran laps til they puked, this time at least. Making sure Roy got sleep was a big part of that. So he told Roy over and over that he'd be fine. Jamie could survive having a dead phone for a few hours if he had to. He would be bored out of his mind, but he would suffer through it if it meant he could see Roy at the end of the day. He could catch a train after dinner and be home in a few hours. Roy wouldn’t get too mad, he hoped. He said goodbye to his mum outside the Lime Street station, got a new ticket, and managed to make the 7:30 train to London. He’d probably have to catch a cab or train home from there since his phone would be useless, and uber was not an option.

Roy couldn't breathe. He just alternates between staring at the news story on the TV and his phone. The train Jamie was taking home from Manchester was now a derailed heap of twisted metal and flames. He'd talked to Jamie just a few hours ago. But now he wasn't answering. No texts. No calls. 

Roy had thought the day he'd retired from football had been the worst day of his life. But he'd give up his career, really anything and everything, to just go back a few hours and hear anything but that fucking voicemail message when he called Jamie's number. He looks at the headline again. The story updates, and the casualties number just keeps going up. Fuck. This cannot be how it ends. This can't be how Jamie Tartt’s story ends.

His phone rings in his hand, and his eyes snap to the screen with hope. Hope that is shattered when it's not Jamie calling. It was Ted. He doesn't have it in him to answer. He doesn't think even Ted Lasso's trademark optimism can help here. He can't let that damn yankee give him hope. Because Jamie had a recognizable fucking face. If he had been among the group they had rescued, that would have been news. Every news site was all over this story. Especially after someone at the train station had leaked that Jamie Tartt had been on the passenger list. Roy's phone kept going off with alerts and messages. But they were not from the one person he needed them to be. He looks up at the TV. The news just kept repeating the same thing. Casualties are high. First responders are searching, but it's a grim and solemn site. Thoughts and prayers. They just keep saying that their hearts go out to the families and friends. And that makes Roy want to scream. He wants to hit something until his knuckles bleed or his bones break. To feel something other than the pain in his chest and the ice-cold grip of fear on his heart. 

His doorbell being rung, followed by knocking, finally drew his attention away from his TV and phone. 

“Fuck off!” He growled when he threw the door open.

“I would if you’d have answered your phone,” Keeley says. She isn’t mad that he spoke to her like that. Roy was usually abrasive, but she knew right now he was the human equivalent of a live wire in water. ”Be glad it’s me and not everyone else.”

“Right now is-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“I know,” she says, her tone sad. 

Roy doesn’t have the energy to fight her, so he lets her in and returns to his living room. She follows him.

“Oh babe,” she says as she takes in the state of the room. The lamp that sat on the table was in pieces across the room. A few other things were not where they used to be and were probably among the other shards of ceramic and glass around the room. The one thing that was moved but wasn’t broken was a framed photo that usually was on a shelf. It was laying on the sofa next to Roy’s phone. It was a photo Phoebe had framed for Jamie’s birthday. It was of Roy and Jamie at one of Phoebe’s matches they’d been able to make. Phoebe got red carded and both men for sticking up for a teammate that had been fouled. Roy had been proud. Jamie had told her he’d do the same. Her teacher had texted Roy the picture with a reminder they were not supposed to encourage getting tossed from the game. Roy hadn’t cared. Sticking up for her team was more important than how many minutes she’d missed. Jamie had kept the photo for his lock screen for a while before it was gifted to him. Keeley set the photo on the table. It would crush Roy if anything happened to it now.  Roy was never great at handling his emotions, especially the more painful ones. She glances at the news coverage. She grabs the remote and lowers the volume but leaves it on. She knew he would lose his shit if she turned it off. She didn’t want to make this harder than it already was, but she couldn’t just let him brood and spiral until he a broken shell of the man he was. Jamie had always brought so much out of Roy. For better or worse, Jamie had always made Roy feel, even when he didn't want to.

“When did you last hear from him?” She asks. He grunts as he picks up his phone.

She bites back a sigh. “He texted me last night, but I haven't heard from him today, have you?” she tried again.

Roy rubs his eyes but knows she will get it out of him eventually. 

“He was at lunch. Fucking prick…” Keeley didn’t miss the way his voice broke as he said it. His fists clenched and opened repeatedly as he continued. “Lost his charger and didn’t know if his battery would last, but he’d try and stay off of it. Told him to get a new one. He said he’d be with his mum, so it wasn’t like he’d actually need to be on it. I told him that was stupid. That he was being stupid. Keeley, one of the last things I said to him-I didn’t mean to-he…”

“I know,” she puts a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he knew that you didn’t mean it.”

“Doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t. He’s dead.” 

“We don’t know for sure that he-”

“LOOK AT IT!” Roy shouts as he points at the TV. “IT’S A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!”

“I know, but we don’t know anything yet, Roy. He could be fine, he-”

“If he was unharmed, he’d help. That’s just the shit he does now. Wants to help. And that would be on the news. He’s Jamie Fucking Tartt.” Roy sat down like it was taking all his energy to just exist. “If he’s injured, someone would have called, some hospital. And that would be news. The only other option is that he’s still in there. In that…fuck.” He pushes his palms against his eyes. His head hurt, and his eyes ached. Part of him just wanted to lie down or pass out. Maybe when he woke up, it would all just have been a fucking nightmare. Jamie would text him and say he was fine, and Roy would drive to wherever Jamie was and never let him go anywhere without him. But the more realistic and cynical part of Roy Kent knew this was real. There was no waking up from this hell. 

“Okay,” Keeley says. She knew he had a point, but she just couldn’t let herself think that yet. If she did, she would lose it. Jamie was her friend. Roy was her friend. She needed to focus on keeping Roy at some sort of functioning baseline. Roy’s phone lit up. Ted was calling again. Roy just groaned and shoved it away. Keeley picked up.

“Hey, Ted,” She says as she goes into the kitchen. She’d make some tea. That will at least be something she can do to help.

“Keeley? You with Roy?” Ted asks.

“Yeah,” she answers. 

“How is he doin'?” Ted asks. “Need one of us to come over? Because we can-”

“It’s not good,” she admits. “He just keeps checking the news. He’s already assuming the worst.”

“Maybe I should-”

“You just deal with the team, training starts tomorrow, and since they all are back, I'm sure they know. Colin and Isaac have already been texting me. You handle that. I’ll deal with Roy Kent.”

“Oh, okay,” Ted seems a bit hurt. 

“I know you want to help, but I don’t think he wants anyone to see him like this. Not even me, but Jamie…I’m sure the team is struggling too. You focus on them. Leave this to me for now.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll see if any of Rebecca’s connections or Trent’s buddies know anything they aren’t sharing yet.”

“That would be great. I'll let him know someone is at least trying to do something."

"We're all trying. Let him know he's not alone."

"I will. Thanks, Ted.”

“Call me or Beard if you guys need anything or if you hear anything. If he…they’ll find him.”

She finishes making the tea as she ends the call. She pulls her own phone out and tells the team she is with Roy and that she’ll keep them in the loop. Text her, not him. 

She hands Roy a mug that he takes almost on reflexes alone it seems.

“Ted says to call if you need anything,” she tells him. She sets his phone down on the seat beside him. “And I told the team I was here and to text me. Should give your phone a bit of rest.”

Roy grunts, eyes barely leaving the TV. 

“Ted’s going to see if Rebecca and Trent can get any information that they might not be releasing publicly.” That had Roy’s attention snapping to her. 

“Do you think they’d be able to find out if…”

“No guarantees, but I’m sure they’ll try if they haven’t reached out already. Have you talked to Jamie’s mum?”

“I can’t…not yet. I-”

“You don’t have the answers she’ll want. I get it, babe.” She sets to clean up the broken lamp and other debris. 

“You don’t have to-” Roy starts, but she stops him.

“You drink your tea, I’ll do this, and then we get some food.”

“Not hungry,” Roy grunts.

“Still need to eat,” she says as she tosses some bigger pieces in a bin bag. Roy doesn’t say anything. It’s only after she finishes cleaning up that he thanks her. She waves it off. 

An hour or later, Keeley almost called Beard for backup. The passenger list had been leaked before Keeley had even come over. So Keeley hadn't been surprised to find James Tartt Sr. making the whole damn thing about him. How his son had lost his way, and it's a tragedy that he'd never make a comeback. The audacity of that man to talk like that. It made it seem like Jamie was confirmed dead, but Keeley knew better than trust anything that came out of that man's mouth. He was an abusive and manipulative bastard. Roy had been enraged, and it had taken nearly 20 minutes to calm him enough to make a few phone calls. Rebecca was already looking into what could be done about Tartt Sr. Trent hadn't any new information, but he would make sure the reputable press knew the man was a pathetic old sod that knew nothing about Jamie. 

“Jamie might be fit as fuck, but even he can’t survive that,” Roy says nodding at the screen when she came back into the living room. She looks over to see what is surely helicopter or drone footage of the charred carriages of the wreck. She sits beside him and nods. 

“All we can do is wait,” she admits and settles in to wait with him.

Roy kicks Keeley out when it gets late, and it’s clear there isn’t anything new being reported. She only goes because he says he is going to turn in for the night. He gives in and crawls into bed. He pulls Jamie’s pillow closer, and the normally comforting scent of Jamie has fresh tears and sorrow rising in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Roy falls asleep from exhaustion on Jamie’s side of the bed. 

Jamie was completely knackered by the time he reached London. People were saying the entire rail system seemed to be a fucking mess because of one train derailing. Jamie cursed himself for not having a working phone to look into it himself. Roy was right. It was stupid to have let it die. Jamie’d actually resorted to reading a book his mum gave him out of boredom on the train. The train got in over an hour later than normal, so he caught the first cab and would just pay the stupid fare. He just wanted to go home. See Roy and sleep in his own bed. He isn’t surprised the lights are all off by the time he lets himself into their flat. With practiced ease, he navigates the familiar layout. Leaves his shoes by the door after locking up. Silently making his way through the quiet hall to his room. He grins as he carefully sets his stuff inside the room. The lights from the street gave the room enough light to see Roy fast asleep on Jamie’s side of the bed. It makes Jamie’s chest feel warm and fuzzy. They were used to spending all day, every day together. They live together. They work together. Jamie is still shocked Roy hadn’t gotten annoyed with having him around 24/7. That Roy hadn’t gotten tired of Jamie’s shit and sent him packing. And here the man was, sleeping on Jamie's side of the bed, using his pillow like he really, truly, missed Jamie. He doesn’t have the heart to wake Roy now. And he’s honestly too fucking tired to chat. Jamie just quickly changes and carefully crawls into bed. Feels weird to be on Roy’s side, but he’s just happy to be home and in his own bed with Roy.

Roy was sure he had lost his mind when he woke up to the warmth and weight of an arm across his torso and legs tangled with his. His heart was pounding. What the fuck had he done? Had he gotten into the liquor before he went to bed and called someone? Had he gone out because being in their shared flat was excruciating, knowing Jamie would never walk through the door again? Was he that fucked in the head that he would do something this fucking heartless before even getting any confirmation, any closure? Roy was a fucking prick, and he couldn't even remember doing it. He just remembers going to bed and missing Jamie. But someone was here now and in their bed. It pains him to think of anyone else in his and Jamie’s bed. He just wants Jamie. He takes a shaky breath. He was almost afraid to open his eyes. The weight seemed so familiar. When he inhaled, he nearly choked. That scent was so very much the scent of home. Like Jamie fucking Tartt. And it broke his heart because there was no way this was Jamie. But part of him wanted to enjoy the insanity of the moment. Embrace the delusion his brain created at the idea of Jamie being alive and wrapped up in bed with Roy like he never left. Like he never went to Manchester. A sob caught in Roy's throat as he buried his face in his bedmate's neck. But the part that loved Jamie enough to still see this as a betrayal won out, and Roy couldn't stand it. He opened his eyes and was about to pull away and cuss out whoever it was when his world ground to a halt for the second time in less than a day. He'd recognize that fucking gorgeous face anywhere. That little scar on his brow and those perfect fucking lips. It didn't just look and feel like the familiar presence of Jamie Tartt. It was him. Either Roy had cracked up, and he was having the most vivid hallucination ever, or by some miracle, Jamie was right fucking here. Roy couldn't hold back the sheer amazement any more than he could hold back from touching Jamie. He needed to know this was real. That this wasn't a dream. He hadn't done something stupid and gotten himself brain-damaged. Fuck. Please let this be real. He carded his fingers through Jamie's hair. Brushed his fingers over Jamie's cheekbone and jaw. He gripped Jamie's face and placed a hesitant kiss on his lips. It all felt so impossible, but here he was. He could feel Jamie's muscles move as he stirred. Roy can't keep in the happy sob that rips its way from his chest as Jamie's eyes blink open. Fuck, those eyes were often his undoing, but this time Roy would happily get lost in them for eternity if it meant he got to keep Jamie with him.

Jamie wakes up with a hum as he feels fingers in his hair and featherweight touches to his face. Then a barely there kiss Jamie could have easily just dreamt of. It was gone so fast. He smiles as he blinks his eyes open and sees Roy looking at him like he'd never looked at him before. Like Jamie was some sort of fragile masterpiece or rare treasure. But something in that look had alarms going off in Jamie's head, and at first, he isn't sure why. He gets a good look at his boyfriend and can't even process the number of emotions Roy seems to be struggling with. But he knows one thing for sure. He had missed that man more than he thought he could for being gone for just a week. 

Something in Roy shutters when Jamie's eyes open. Jamie smiles at him, and Roy thinks his heart might explode. It's a sleepy smile that always does things to Roy. Fuck, he didn't think he'd ever see those eyes in person again. Never see that smile. And the combination now makes his stomach flip, and his heart soar. Between the warmth of Jamie's skin under Roy's hand and the fact that he could feel Jamie's breath on his wrist. It makes the air catch in Roy's lungs, and his hands shake. Jamie was there. He could feel tears falling for once, and he didn’t care if anyone saw. Jamie was home. He was alive. Roy hadn't lost him.

Jamie was starting to get worried. Roy hadn't said a single word yet. And Roy fucking Kent never cried, but there were tears now. He'd cried when he announced his retirement from football, but Jamie had never seen it happen again. Jamie cried on occasion, but not Roy Fucking Kent. What the fuck was going on? “What’s wro-” Jamie starts to ask but is cut off when Roy kisses him. It’s a desperate and needy kiss this time. It wasn't anything like the ghost of a kiss he'd gotten before he opened his eyes. It was dizzying. Part of Jamie doesn’t want to end, but most of his brain is still confused as fuck. Roy was literally shaking. He pulls away to look at him again.

“How the fuck-” Roy starts but stops when Jamie reaches up and brushes tears off Roy’s face. Roy resists the urge to close his eyes and melt into Jamie's touch.

“Rough night?” Jamie asks.

“You’re alive,” Roy says it like it is genuinely magic. His eyes shone with what would call joy, maybe shock. Though Jamie couldn’t figure out why he was so shocked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Jamie grins. “I know I took a bit longer getting home, and you were out cold when I got in. I was knackered. Why would you think I wasn’t? I know my phone was dead, but not me.” 

Roy grunts and sits up. He pulls the covers back to get a good look at his boyfriend. even moving his shirt out of the way to check for bruises or worse. Jamie just goes with it. He knows when Roy gets like this; there is no point in arguing. Roy could be a hell of a mother hen when he thinks someone he cares about is hurt or sick. Apparently, now was one of those times. 

"Roy, why-" he starts to ask.

“Because your fucking train crashed!” Roy’s heart hammers in his chest as his hands move to check Jamie over again. Jamie is as solid as ever. Nothing seemed broken or even bruised as far as he could tell. He had to remind himself that Jamie was here and didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. 

“We hit a few delays, but…” Jamie says. Roy can see the moment the gears seem to click, and Jamie realizes what happened. “Oh shit, the train from Piccadilly was the one that-okay now, that makes alotta-”

“Jamie,” Roy’s voice held more emotion than Jamie was used to as he grips the back of Jamie's neck, pulling him in until their foreheads touched. Whether it is to get Jamie to focus or to ground himself after thinking he'd lost Jamie, well, Jamie wasn't sure even Roy could answer that right now. But he didn't hate it. “What the fuck happened?” Roy finished saying.

“I went to dinner with my mum in Liverpool. Caught the train from Lime Street. Fuck, Roy, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

Roy cut him off by hauling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Everyone thought you were dead,” Roy manages to say, "your fucking old man, he said you were…fuck, Jamie, I thought I lost you." But it’s mumbled by the fact he’d buried his face in Jamie’s neck. Jamie’s grip tightens at the mention of his father. Bunching the fabric of the shirt Roy hadn’t even taken off when he went to sleep. Jamie hadn’t noticed the night before but it had been one of his, not one of Roys. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Jamie apologizes, “My stupid phone-”

“Fuck,” Roy growls. “Never. Again.”

“What?” Jamie is confused by the swift change from having his arms full of a desperate boyfriend to an angry one. 

“You’re never going anywhere without me again,” Roy grits out.

Jamie lets out a shocked laugh. “Well, that’s not very realistic. You can’t be with me every second of-” Roy kisses him again and again. And Jamie lets him. 

“Fucking watch me,” Roy says when he finally pulls back but keeps Jamie tight against him like if he lets him go, he will disappear. 

“I usually do. We have a mirror. You’re fucking fit, like have ya-” Jamie is cut off as Roy’s phone starts to ring. Roy growls at it. Jamie huffs a laugh and looks at it over Roy’s shoulder. “It’s Keeley.”

“She can fucking wait,” Roy says, pulling the younger man back down to him. Jamie hums as Roy removes Jamie’s shirt. And Jamie almost forgets about the phone call, almost. Because it rings again. Roy grumbles something about throwing the damn thing out the window. Jamie chuckles as it goes to voicemail. 

“Ya know, if everyone thought me dead, then we should probably-” Jamie is cut off again when Roy moves and pins him against the mattress. 

“She. Can. Wait.” 

“Sure, yeah, she can wait,” Jamie grins as Roy’s mouth moves to his neck. The rest of the morning is spent with Roy proving to Jamie that he needs him more than Jamie ever thought possible. And Jamie couldn't help but fall even harder for the man he'd spent years looking up to.

The AFC Richmond locker room has an uneasy silence as Keeley walks in. Morning training had been a dismal affair. It was like there was a black hole in the lineup where Jamie Tartt should be. Roy had told Keeley to meet him there. She looks around the room. Everyone looks devastated. They all knew that Jamie’s train had derailed. They knew the crews were still working on recovering the dead. It broke Keeley’s heart all over again seeing Dani Rojas wipes away tears and trying to avoid looking at Jamie's name on his cubby. Rebecca and Higgins were talking to Ted, Beard, and Trent.

“Is this about losing Jamie?” Sam asks when he sees Keeley. It seems almost painful for him to ask. It’s like he avoided saying his best friend was dead.  

“Yeah, did they find him?” Colin asks. Clearly, avoiding the words as well. 

“Where’s Kent?” Rebecca asks as they all leave the office and join the locker room.

“Roy said he was on the way,” Keeley says, glancing at her phone to ensure she hadn’t missed an update. “And yeah, said he wasn’t going to repeat himself, so everyone better fucking be here.”

“Everyone’s here but him…and well…Tartt,” Isaac says. “Obviously.”

“Maybe we shoulda donnit in text,” Jamie says as Roy kills the engine. He looks over at the player’s entrance at the dog track. Nervous that everyone would be pissed they didn’t tell them sooner. Or that he was playing a trick on them or something.

“They wouldn’t have believed it, and it’s always better to do this type of thing in person. Although I wouldn’t mind keeping you to myself a bit longer,” Roy admits. 

Jamie grins. “Later,” he assures. “Because I feel bad they still think me dead. And I just keep seein this mental image of Dani looking like a kicked puppy, and I can’t live with that.” 

“Fine,” Roy grunts. “Let's go.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Is the first thing they hear when they walk into the locker room. Jamie flinches. 

“Fuck off, Isaac," Roy glares. His hand goes to the back of Jamie’s neck to anchor him. It is silent for a moment before everyone seems to start asking questions at once. Some of them are not even in English. Jamie's eyes go wide for a second, but he shakes it off. These were his friends, and they clearly had been feeling his loss.

“Jamie?” Keeley asks, and despite the chaos of the room, including Roy shouting at everyone to give them a fucking minute and they’d get their answers, Jamie hears her. He goes over to her. 

“I’m sorry, Keeley,” Jamie says. “I didn’t know. My phone was dead, an’ I-Oof-” She half lunges at him and hugs him before he can finish his apology.

“You scared me,” she says when she looks up at him. 

“Didn’t mean ta,” Jamie insists. 

A loud whistle has everyone wincing and covering their ears. Jamie covers one of Keeley’s ears and presses her against his shoulder to cover the other. She can’t help but smile to herself. Can't keep the tears of joy away, either. He always surprises her these days. And not just by not being dead. He was so kind. He was easily one of her best friends. The whistle is followed by silence. 

“Fucking hell,” Roy glares at Rebecca. She had taken Ted's whistle and blown it.

She shrugs. “Worked, didn’t it?

“You alright, Jamie?” Ted asks him when Keeley nudges Jamie and Roy further into the room. She sits on the bench in Jamie’s spot.

“Yeah, Coach,” he nods.

“Now I know you all have questions,” Roy says. “And they can fucking wait. Just listen.” He looks over at Jamie. Jamie’s nervous, and his hands are in his pockets

Roy just nudges him on. 

“So you all know I went to visit me mum, haven’t seen her in years. Roy had me plan the whole week, but well, since when have I ever followed directions for that long?” Jamie grinned, earning a few chuckles.

“Yeah, I was set to be on that train from Manchester. Was supposed to spend the whole time in Manchester, but the less time I spent anywhere near those Man City pricks, the better. Seen too many of em over the week. So I had taken me mum to a cafe in Liverpool she likes. I took a later train from there. My phone was dead-”

“Of course, it was,” Sam shakes his head. “How did you survive before coach?” 

"Feigned indifference and being overly cocksure, that’s how," Keeley answers. "But he's better now."

Jamie grins at her before continuing. “Right, so the mess out of Manchester delayed the whole fucking system, but no one was sure what train was the one that caused it, so by the time I got in, it was late, and I just went to bed. Didn't bother checkin’ or wakin' anyone."

“Must have been one hell of a shock for you, Roy,” Ted comments. Roy just grunts. 

Jamie nods. “Pretty sure he didn’t think I was real, but that didn’t last long.” Jamie laughed. “Think he felt more in less than a minute than he knew he could.”

“Fuck off,” Roy says, but any impact the words might have had were undercut by the fact his hand was on the small of Jamie’s back like he was afraid to not have a physical connection to the man he thought he had lost. 

“You knew all morning and are only telling us now?” Jan asks.

“If I had my way, you’d still all be in the fucking dark," Roy admits. Still not happy to have to share Jamie's attention so soon. "Don’t owe you shit when I'm at home."

That got a number of negative reactions from the players.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Ted says in an attempt to calm them. Roy grunts. Ted continues, “I know we all feel lucky to have you back, Jamie. Fellas you can ask him all the questions you want after training. Yesterday was a dark day, but today is brighter. Suns out, let’s get out there and get the ball rollin’.”

The players complain, but they go. Most patting Jamie on the back or hugging him in Dani’s case. Jamie laughed and hugged him back. 

“Take your time, but not too much time,” Ted told Jamie as he followed the team out. 

“You good?” Roy asks Jamie. 

"Yeah, coach," Jamie nods and grins. 

“Sure you want to train today?” Roy questions.

“You going to be fine if I do? It's a big pitch, and you haven't let me outta your grip since you woke up.” Jamie counters. Roy was still coming to terms with the emotional whiplash of the past day, and Jamie knows it. They had called Jamie's mum and Roy's sister when things had settled. Phoebe had been devastated when she thought Jamie was gone. Jamie had spent a good ten minutes convincing her that he was fine and they'd come to see her in a couple of days. Roy had barely let Jamie out of his sight the whole time. Roy just rolls his eyes and leaves him to change. Although Roy kept glancing over at him as he did. Roy goes over to where Keeley is talking to Rebecca and Higgins about a press release letting the fans know Jamie is fine and a statement about the accident. Maybe even getting some pictures proving Jamie was back training with the team. Rebecca had approved the idea, and Keeley had already texted a photographer friend to come round. 

“None of that thought and prayers bullshit,” Roy tells them. “Empty fucking words.”

“He has a point. Maybe do a donation to the families or the workers. Thoughts and prayers seemed meaningless when he’d nearly thrown his remote at the tv when they started reading tweets about it on the news. Would have needed a new one if I wasn’t there,” Keeley says. 

Jamie chuckles as he laces his boots and checks his shin guards. “Didn’t save the lamp,” Jamie grins.

“You didn't give a shit about that lamp. Could have been your stupid rabbit sculpture. That thing is-” Roy starts to say but stops when Jamie stands up and walks over. 

“Fuck off,” Jamie grins. “Going to train, or you joinin’ the PR team?”

“Fucking Prick,” Roy grunts but goes with Jamie to the door. 

“You fuckin’ luv me,” Jamie smirks. 

“I fucking do,” Roy easily agrees. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Never,” Jamie gives him a kiss before they head out to join the team. 

[vasilissadragomir]

the finale got mixed reviews but tbh i feel like the goal of the episode wasn’t to be the conclusion of afc richmond’s story. so much of it was wrapping up ted’s story while leaving everyone else’s open-ended. here’s a few reasons why i think that while ted lasso may have ended, this is not the last we’ll see of the lasso universe:

-before the season premiere and throughout the season, there have been partnerships with major brands (nike, the FIFA game, man city, etc) which are undoubtedly a huge money-maker for apple tv. i don’t think they’re ready to give all that up yet just because jason sudeikis is leaving

-ted himself did not have much screen time for several episodes this season. this season was focused heavily on the rest of the cast, and honestly felt like an ensemble dramedy/comedy more than a show with a titular MC

-afc richmond itself has some big moves to make—they dedicated a lot of time this episode to explaining that afc richmond is now part of the champions league, which was not strictly plot-necessary. we’ve not seen many players get shuffled around the league, and many of their stories have wrapped up. there’s an opportunity for fresh characters and understanding how they fit into the established environment created by the lasso leadership, especially in the new kent era. i think that’s the biggest plot-based signal that the team’s story isn’t over yet

-rebecca found her foretold “love” and potential daughter, but there’s still so much of that story to be told. also, she chose her family at afc richmond as her new ambition, and is excited to work with keeley on the prospect of a richmond women’s team. what does this new and improved rebecca look like without rupert hanging over her head?

-keeley chose herself and her ambitions over her love interests, and roy decides to earnestly work on himself by going to therapy, but their love story—and, of course, jamie’s role in it—is still very up in the air

-nate, beard, and roy are now in charge of richmond, but in what capacity? sure, nate had a redemption arc, but will he be satisfied in the long-term not being in charge when just last season he was running his own club? especially since he’ll be subservient to roy, who he saw as a strong threat to his authority in season 2?

-on the cover of trent’s manuscript, ted literally suggests changing the name because it was never about him. the show is named after him, too. if afc richmond’s success wasn’t about him, then that’s a signal it’s time for a new direction with the story

-DR SHARON THE ICON IS BACK. I NEED MORE

[itsclydebitches]

Am excited that boat guy's daughter can now join phoebe and crimlet as friends

Idk if you're the same anon or not but these are getting paired up <3

In all honesty I'm kinda on the fence about it? I loved the boat guy, thought he had fantastic chemistry with Rebecca, and I adored that the writers let an older woman have a sexy, romantic adventure to contrast the fit footballers deciding to have a pillow fight instead of going to a sex show.

But a large part of my enjoyment stems from the ethereal nature of the meeting, with the temporary-ness adding to the allure. Having boat guy return changes the situation from "Cool and mysterious meeting that's romantic precisely because they never learned each other's names and their relationship is forever confined to the realm of fantasy and possibility, making it inherently perfect" into "Another show is ending which means we need to quickly pair everyone up in heteronormative relationships, so here's the handsome guy again, this time with a cute little girl for Rebecca to raise." Plus, I think the rest of the finale exacerbated that feeling for me. Dani has the poly relationship with two women (which, to me anyway, comes across as very player-esque since we don't know either of them) instead of Keeley getting that with Roy and Jamie, Trent never even has an inkling of a canonical romance, Ted goes back home to his ex-wife and child, Beard marries his abuser and it's implied they're having a kid too, Higgins remains happily married to his wife and 4+ kids... now Rebecca's man shows up with a child despite the finale arguing that she's already symbolically a mother to the team/Richmond fans. Can't leave it at that, gotta give her a nuclear family too! Other than Colin getting to kiss his guy, the finale felt so traditionally romance focused -- in a show that spent three seasons hyping up a number of queer alternatives -- that it soured the Rebecca/boat guy relationship for me in a way I wasn't expecting.

I mean hell yeah, I love the idea of there being more cute kids to cause shenanigans -- I just wrote a fic about it!! -- but, canonically, it feels kinda... barren? Henry, the kid we arguably know best, is off in Kansas with the montage implying that he and Ted remain distant from the community for several years at least. The Crimmlet doesn't have a name, let alone a personality. Boat guy's daughter is similarly a total blank slate, existing purely to draw mother/daughter imagery by having the same blonde hair as Rebecca. That just leaves Phoebe as the one kid who's around and has any personality to work with. As someone who prefers writing fic over original work, I find it hard to connect to blanks slates like that. The two youngest girls aren't characters yet, just visual dolls you can choose to play with if that's your preferred method of play. Except Trent's daughter doesn't even have a canonical appearance :/

I totally get where you're coming from though. The boat guy's daughter is a very sweet addition to the story on the surface, I just wish she'd arrived in a different finale and had been treated as a character, not a means of introducing Rebecca's True Love at the last possible second.

[rebeccasbiscuitbox]

Okay, I wanna take just a second to talk about things I actually liked in the finale. (In roughly chronological order because I can't remember exact timing of some scenes.)

Stuff I already mentioned: The last ride of the Diamond Dogs, with Roy finally joining the pack! COLIN KISSING HIS FELLA AT THE END OF THE MATCH! Rebecca choosing to keep Richmond and share it with the fans! A women's team!

1.) Higgins and Keeley trying to get Rebecca to talk about Rupert's divorce. I relate to the mixture of trying to be a supportive friend, wanting the tea, and wanting the opportunity to trash someone you hate.

2.) Ted and Rebecca sitting right beside each other in a sea of empty seats. It was kind of romantic, but I also liked it as a callback to Ted and Roy sitting together in one of the earliest episodes. So I would've liked a little callback to the "This is what my ticket says" line which is an underrated joke, IMO, and would've helped the tension, but that's fine.

3.) I love Rebecca outlining how Henry could come over to England, and having a plan for Michelle, too, because she doesn't just want to pull him away from his other parent. She really cares about Ted's family. But then she doesn't mention Jake at all cause fuck that guy.

4.) Ted's approval of the team's good-bye dance leading to a completely over-the-top celebration complete with Trent taking off his jacket and whirling it in the air. It was so ridiculous.

5.) The return of Shannon! Did we see her in any other episode this season?

6.) Sassy roasting Rupert one last time. I love it. I love her.

7.) Beard going a little too hard on the good-bye video and everyone starting the match crying.

8.) Barbara.

9.) I really like how much of the match we got to see. I feel like it took up half the runtime or so? Which feels like a lot more than we usually get and I feel like that makes sense given what a big part of the ending it was.

10.) I love Dr. Sharon getting so into the match. She really loves that team. And her coming back to head up a whole mental wellness department was so lovely.

11.) The whole part with the BELIEVE sign and the fact that they kept the pieces close to them. I was a little skeptical at first cause, like, it sure didn't seem like enough pieces to go around but yeah, it got me in the end.

12.) Higgins seeing that Isaac is taking the kick and immediately trying to protect his wife.

13.) Rupert being chased off the pitch by thousands of people calling him a wanker. Poetic cinema.

14.) Ted doing the same dance that he did with his former team.

15.) The return of the Ussie Guy!

16,) The snowglobe!

17.) KBPR! Complete with that one guy! I forget his name but I liked him.

Hey, that's a longer list than I expected, tbh.

Okay, back to complaining.

[arachnidiots-a]

TANYA PARKER & LIAM KAZ.

liam’s mentioned parents absent from the stands, a cousin and confidant, and even their former teammate turned best friend. their parents aren’t nearly as frequently mentioned as the other two, and rightfully so. unlike the latter, they’ve never made it to a richmond game. she’s never been too vocal about the disappointment it brings, and, at this point in her life, it’s easiest to simply not be. she doesn’t have the time to keep being bothered.  they’ve got other people who they can be thankful for. 

they’re pretty proud of martin, constantly proud of roxy, and they’re certainly names that are known by anyone whose known liam longer than a week. but a brother? 

“i think a happy bunch would be the last thing i ever call us, but i’m NOT the cheeriest in the family. emmett,” liam’s never mentioned this kid before, “has that title secured, and he’s probably had it since he was born. he’s constantly smiling, saying hi, all that shit. i have no fucking clue where he gets it from. i used to think he was weird for it, but now i’m—“ they interrupt themself during the exit of some facility staff members walking past the doorway to wish them all a nice weekend, head poking out of the room to wave. circling back, they join tanya at the center of the room where the two of them are probably part of a small few still left in the building. “now i’d be a damn hypocrite for it,” laughing, “he’s still got me beat though.” 

a starter for @parker66

[weirdohippiefreaky]

(dictating so it’s going to be all over the place ) OK, I had finally gotten a match on bumble. It’s a woman named Barbara from the country of Georgia. She actually swiped right on me because the first American man she dated was also a deadhead. And she seems to have liked the whole scene. It really seemed like she was interested… But, turns out she’s still hung up on this guy. Pretty annoying considering I met her on a freaking dating website and win you get as few matches or responses as I do and you have as much anxiety as I do it makes it even more annoying because now again, I’m not talking to anybody.

i’ve been having a lot of anxiety ridden dreams at night. Last night I dreamt that Bridget and I were taking a trip somewhere together. We randomly ran into Spencer flowers. Spencer looked like a teenager, though, because I haven’t actually seen him in 30 years. I don’t think we saw him very long, but shortly after that, Bridget began hanging out with these two random men and at one point, she comes back to me and says something about she doesn’t wanna hang around me anymore and she’s gonna go be friends with these guys instead and then just kind of walks away, leaving me alone in the room wherever we were. I tried to tagalong, but I was stopped at the door being told that I didn’t have an appointment and they did. I have a feeling that the main source of my anxiety about people ditching me really came from when I was in Farham. Specifically, the first year I was there. now, I have always had anxiety that people didn’t like. And that’s probably because a lot of the time they didn’t. I like to believe it was only because of my anxiety which made things awkward and weird sometimes. But, I think it did the most number on my head. (at least it’s left me with the greatest impression) the way, my so-called friends at Farm literally never included me with almost anything. no one ever thought to invite me when they left for dinner at the café. no one ever knocked at my door to see how I was doing, or just hang out in my room. Sara, of course was the absolute worst with this. I really had a tough time excepting that she really was indifferent to me and it’s yet again another example of how my life would’ve been so much better if I had a drivers license. I was just thinking today as I was driving back from Walmart about how I could possibly have less anxiety if I had gotten a drivers license as a teenager instead of in my early 20s. I was just remembering all of the really awkward situations that I had to put myself in in order to get a ride places specifically with my mother or Sara. And it’s really weird that this random woman I haven’t seen in like well over two decades could have such an effect on my anxiety. but it was of course, that time when she said she would give me a ride from her parents house back to Fareham and this is after she had already reneged on driving me to her parents house I end up getting a ride with my buddy Jack, and then taking a train from Richmond to Philadelphia. but she said she would give me a ride back. So on the day before I was supposed to go over. It was a Saturday night. I called her to make sure everything was still going as planned. She told me on the phone in a very nonchalant way. Oh yeah I’m leaving tomorrow morning. This is always bothered me. I guess because it is the most straightforward example of indifference that I had always feared people had toward me. I guess Sara was just the type of person who didn’t know how to NOT make it totally obvious that she just did not care at all. like it’s seriously didn’t occur to her to apologize at all.

The other part of my dream was, I was going on like a vacation with my family, including my mother. This is one of the few dreams where my mother appears, but it’s not strange that she’s alive. Usually, when she appears in my dreams at night I know that she supposed to be deceased, but for some reason she’s still alive. I theorized that’s because to me she’ll always be in my head. Apparently my sister has the exact same dream. It’s just that mom is somehow just still alive and has just been hiding or just has gone away for a long time but now she’s back and all seems so oddly normal. my sons were there too, but all I remember is that it was in some kind of cabin that was mobile. But it was attached to this lake roller coaster kind of track at some point. The only other thing I really remember is us packing up to go home and my dad who looked a lot younger said he was gonna drive us home but first thing he needed to do was get a six pack of beer… Which alarmed me because, you know, he doesn’t drink. So I said that I would drive instead. The only other thing I remember is gathering up my brothers, my Father’s and my glass bowls. They all appeared to be unused, but I rushed to put them away, so my mother did not see them.

nat call me the other day and he actually just got out of two months of rehab for alcohol addiction. As a result, he’s not coming to the rock lake trip in a couple of weeks. Which I’m totally bummed about. I was looking forward to hanging out with them, he really is a good friend. He was always cool. He was never a dick. Never tried to really make fun of me or put me down anyway. I feel bad that I’ve used to talk trash about him when I was a teenager. That was 30 years ago, but still, I feel bad about it.

 oh yeah, I started talking to Kristan again. She had a kidney infection and it drew me back in. We’ve talked a few times since, but I don’t really feel the need to talk to her as of now. She really fucking hurt me and it still gives me anxiety. I’m still bothered that Carly Jane so coldly said she never wanted to see me again after what I thought was a great date and we had spent like 2-3 weeks chatting daily laughing and getting along great. Oy oh well, what are you gonna do?



[crazyblondelife]

This & That and Life Lately

I’ve been a little MIA lately because life has been very busy!

I have a new granddaughter…her name is Stella McRae Cummings and she’s the cutest little thing ever! She was born on September 24th at 3:11 am and she weighed 7 pounds 12 ounces! She is so cuddly and I can’t wait to get back to Richmond and see her again this week! We couldn’t be happier to welcome Stella into the family and are so excited for her to meet her crazy boy cousins!

Four grandchildren…how in the world did that happen so quickly?! I’ve really been thinking so much about the next phase of my life and what it will be, there are certainly unknowns and I know the the days will fly by, but, one thing is for sure… will most definitely keep showing up here as The Crazy Blonde!

This is going to be a long post, so grab a cup of coffee and enjoy!

Life Lately

Stella was the most life changing event for our family, but another big change for us is that our youngest daughter Sarah, moved back to the United States from Germany. She and her family are living in Columbia, South Carolina and it’s only 3 hours away! I’ve absolutely fallen in love with Columbia and hopefully will get around to a city guide soon! If you’re looking for the best place to stay, you’ll want to book a room at The Chesnut Cottage Inn! The owners, Ken & Chrystal will spoil you and you’ll never want to leave! I was there last weekend to celebrate Sarah’s birthday! I stayed at the Chesnut Inn and we ate at a fabulous restaurant called Smoked in downtown Columbia that I highly recommend! We ordered a seafood tower with oysters, shrimp, lobster and a crab salad (yum) that was delicious and beautiful!

Of course, we did a little shopping at the best boutique called Slate on Devine and I got the cutest Michael Stars chocolate brown dress that is so perfect for fall! I can’t wait to wear it out to dinner soon! We also shopped at The Gourmet Shop which is the best place to stop for cheeses, wine and prepared foods, plus they have a great restaurant that’s always packed because it’s so delicious!

Fall Decor & Favorites

I have had the hardest time finding plants to live and thrive on my front porch! It’s a deep porch and very shady. Back in the early spring, I bought preserved boxwood balls that were kind of expensive, thinking they would be an easy solution, but they turned brown and looked horrible after just a few months. I’ll spray paint them gold for the holidays and hopefully they’ll be a pretty part of my holiday decor! However, this story has a happy ending…I found faux boxwood balls (plastic is the best word) on Amazon that actually worked. When they first came, I really thought I would send them right back but decided to try to put them together. They came in 2 halves that snapped together to make the ball. They weren’t the easiest things to assemble, but after getting out my trusty pliers, I was able to manage and tried them out in my planters. I kept looking in disbelief…you actually have to be really close to them before you realize that they’re fake! i never in a million years thought I would have plastic (let’s call them faux) boxwood balls on my front porch, but I do, and I love them! No watering and no worry! You can see how they look in the picture below! The ferns need to be repotted because they’re so root bound and since it will probably be warm here until mid November, I’ll probably try to repot them. If anyone has tips on this, I would love to know them!

I recently did a post on my favorite fall candles and have discovered another way to scent our home…it’s the Hotel Collection Scent Diffuser! You simply add a bottle of oil to the diffuser, plug it in and it scents over 400 square feet of your home! There are larger diffusers if you have a bigger space! I ordered the Dream On Fragrance Oil and also ordered the Dream On candle because there’s just something about burning a candle! Next, I want to try the Midnight In Paris Scent! If you’re thinking about holiday gifting…these diffusers and candles would make amazing gifts for most anyone!

I haven’t really talked about this until now, but we are planning a big kitchen, master bathroom and closet renovation in the spring! I have always loved to cook and our kitchen just isn’t conducive to having a large family and cooking for social media! I won’t even begin to tell you about our bathroom and my closet because it’s needed to be redone since we moved in! Anyway, I’m very excited and will share more soon! This is going to be a big deal in our lives for months but I’m ready to get started!

In the meantime, I’m trying to get organized because since I started sharing more and more recipes, my kitchen has gotten more crowded with dishes, serving pieces, ingredients (spices) and other props that I use to photograph my food! I have totally outgrown the space! I ordered these glass spice jars so that hopefully my spices will be easier to find. I’m going to alphabetize them so finding what I’m looking for will be easier! That’s a task for later this afternoon! The jars come with labels and bamboo lids so they’re not only useful, they’re aesthetically pleasing!

Speaking of storage…my daughters gave me this absolutely fabulous wooden salad bowl for my birthday and i’ve been putting all of our salads in it this season! I call it my Caesar Salad bowl, but obviously, it’s great for any salad and I get compliments every time I use it! The bowl came from a beautiful little French shop in Richmond, Virginia called Creme de la Creme! Everything in the store is from France and I could spend hours perusing the perfectly displayed items and many dollars shopping! If you’re in Richmond, be sure to stop by and tell them the Crazy Blonde sent you! For more recipes, check out the Food & Drink section of the blog and here is the recipe for the Butternut Squash Salad below!

I have been wanting to change up my fall decor this season and I’ve had very little time to think about it, but one of the things I’m considering is hanging eucalyptus wreaths with pretty fall colored velvet ribbons! The scent of eucalyptus is divine and they’ll last for years! This one from Williams Sonoma is so pretty!

Fashion

I was gifted this darling Stadium Bag from Hampton Road Designs and it is the perfect bag for football games and any event where you need a clear bag! These bags come in so many different colors and designs and I love them all! So many clear bags just aren’t pretty and can easily ruin a well thought outfit, but these bags can actually make the outfit! Check out their website and their Instagram to see more of these cute bags!f

Since discovering Brucho Walker this past summer, it has become one of my favorite clothing brands! The clothes are beautiful, well made, luxurious and sustainably made.

Since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Brucho Walker has created a line of pink clothing called “Think Pink” and they are donating 20% of net sales to the Breast Cancer Alliance to fund breast cancer research! The pink sweater I’m wearing above is part of the “Think Pink” line and it’s so soft and yummy! The blouse is sewn into the sweater, making it so comfortable and easy to wear! I paired my sweater with black coated jeans and a pair of Gucci platform sandals for a very chic look!

Another Brochu Walker favorite is this pair of suede booties that go with everything!

And about this jacket! I’m dying over the new J. Crew collection for fall and this silver metallic jacket is at the top of my wish list! I love it paired with the grey sweater and trousers and the gold jewelry! It is an amazing look!

I’m adding a few of my favorite J. Crew pieces to the boutique below so be sure to keep scrolling!

Fall Food

Fall is one of my favorite times to cook and there are so many recipes to try! It is just starting to get a little cooler here in North Carolina and I can still get beautiful tomatoes at the farmer’s market and it seems that a a lot of summer produce is still available at least for a little longer! My basil is growing like a weed and tomorrow is pesto making day! I probably have enough basil to make a gallon of pesto and that just makes me so happy! I’ll put it in the freezer and pull it out on nights when we need a quick dinner, or I’ll stir it into a pot of soup to add incredible flavor! I don’t think I’ve ever posted my pesto recipe, but I’ll be sure to snap some pictures tomorrow and post it this week!

I have every cookbook Ina Garten has ever written and I love them all! The older ones are stained and worn from use and easily fall open to my favorite recipes. The newer ones are in much better condition because admittedly, I use the internet too often these days! I do still love to open a cookbook and find a new recipe to try and Ina Garten’s recipes are fail safe and always perfectly delicious! Just in time for the holidays, Ina has released a new boxed set called the Barefoot Contessa Collection…this collection is her first three cookbooks in one beautiful package! I think this set would make an amazing gift, especially for a newly married couple or someone who is just starting to cook.

Speaking of delicious food, I’ve been wanting to try this recipe for Creamy Tortellini Soup (pictured below) from The Endless Meal! It looks like a perfect recipe to make for an evening by the fire!

Healthy Living

I’ve been doing a bit of a detox over the past couple of weeks! My goal was to cut out sugar, unhealthy carbs, and alcohol and I’ve done pretty well. Weekends are the hardest and I’m trying to give myself a little grace when I stumble. One of the best things about this detox is that I’ve started juicing again. I got a new juicer not long ago and it’s so much easier to use and to clean than my old one! The new juicer is the Kuvings Whole Slow Juicer Elite and it has made this detox much easier! I do love a freshly made juice with lots (and I mean lots) of fresh ginger.

I’ve also added several other supplements to my daily regimen that have helped keep me feeling full, hydrated and healthy. I’ve been using Isagenix Collagen Elixir twice a day for a couple of years now and it is a daily must for me. I also take Nutrafol for my hair (this was endorsed by my doctor), magnesium, Welleco Super Elixir green powder, and Goop Glow Vitamin C powder. I’ve added 2 products from Pique Life that I’m loving…the BT Fountain Beauty Electrolyte which helps with which helps to improve skin elasticity and reduce the appearance of fine lines and the Sun Goddess Matcha which supports skin clarity and brightens. These products come as a set along with a little blender tool for the Matcha. It might sound like a lot to take everyday, but I just put all of the powders (except the Matcha) in a glass with water and drink them together! It’s like a vitamin cocktail and it’s pretty delicious! I split up the Nutrafol and take 2 capsules in the morning and 2 in the evening. I also take the Magnesium in the evening. On the days when I’m very busy and don’t eat as well as I should, a green juice (or beet juice) along with my supplements keeps me feeling energetic and healthy.

Did you know that 95% of your actions and reactions (for most people) come from your subconscious mind and only 5% come from your conscious mind. The goal here is to intentionally be more conscious and change behaviors intentionally. You create by changing your energy and being present in the moment! Mind your Mind!

Shopping the Amazon Prime Sale

Amazon Prime Day starts today and runs through the end of the day tomorrow! Below is a boutique with some of my favorites from the sale! Now is a great time to shop for holiday gifts and find deals on amazing things in every category!

[polyhexian]

My grandfather was born just before the beginning of the great depression. When he was eight his father died and his mother remarried and left him and his siblings at different orphanages, where he stayed until he was fifteen. She collected him and sent him to work as an apprentice to a printer, the money being sent back to his mother while he lived alone. He was drafted into the Vietnam war and struggled with PTSD and alcoholism before he died. My uncle told me stories about him, how he essentially adopted a teenager after her father, his long time friend, disowned her at 15 for getting pregnant, and never spoke to him again. He told me about how he was once offered 10,000 dollars by "the mob" (I'm told) and a car to pick up a family member from jail after he was arrested for related crimes. A red car with the money in a briefcase appeared on the lawn overnight. He picked him up but didn't touch the car and it vanished the next night in silence. I never met him. It's a lot of stories Ive heard but little is recorded. I don't know much, or what's true.

I asked my family about his father some time ago and was told many stories. His father had passed when he was eight. We have a baseball card framed in my mother's house and last year I finally actually looked at it and said, hey. His uniform says South Carolina but he lives in Washington DC in Virginia. What's up with that?

I spent weeks researching. I emailed museums and historical societies and baseball websites. In the 1910s, 1920s there were a great many different baseball leagues, so there was a great amount to research. I called my uncle who loves baseball to ask him about his grandfather and what he knew. He gave me a new name, a nickname he went by that wasn't his birth name. He also gave me more strange information. Apparently he spoke six languages. He was secretary to president Taft. He played professional baseball. He once lived in Africa.

I looked up secretaries for president Taft. His name wasn't there. Six languages...? It seemed... Unlikely. The more I researched baseball in the 1920s the less likely it seemed a minor league player would be doing this professionally as his primary source of income. I couldn't find his name anywhere. I couldn't find his birth or death records. I couldn't find any evidence this man existed as I was told he did. Finally I found the card that was in my mother's house- South Carolina. To a different man's name. At a time when my grandfather lived in Richmond.

And now I was sure... This was never my grandfather. Who was this man? I don't know. But my grandfather was an orphan. His father died when he was eight. The outrageous stories? The baseball card?

It occurred to me... Maybe my grandfather made it all up. He didn't know his father, but he made up stories about how he was important, he played baseball and worked for the president, he spoke six languages. Here, I have a photo- it's a baseball card from a pack of gum.

My whole family was crushed, but we all agreed this... Was likely true.

But then, on a whim, perhaps, I checked just a little more. And finally, on an obscure website of ancient baseball player scores I found him. The man from the card. And here, I found everything.

The name he was under? It listed his real name. He played for two separate teams, one of them in South Carolina while he lived in Richmond. He played under a pseudonym for whatever reason for this team. It linked me to his first team in Richmond tho, with his real name and nickname my uncle had given me. He DID Play professional baseball for a random minor league. That was his real job. I found a second baseball card from that team and I found a photo of the whole team with him in it that I emailed a museum about getting a copy of. As part of this I found out he did actually speak at least two other languages because it was mentioned in his bio- and, well, he DID live in DC. And he'd been in the army, maybe he DID go to africa. Suddenly... I don't think everything was made up.

I don't know what's true. Its a work in progress. But I know at least my great grandfather DID play baseball for two different teams and I know what names he played under. And I have three photos of him. And I know this, about my family, because someone cared about the stats of minor league baseball players from over a century ago. Because someone collected minor league baseball cards from gum packages and scanned them in, linking them with player stats. My uncle recalled to me listening to stories from his father about his grandfather in the 1960s and only now, this year, does he know any of it is true. My mom and her siblings got to see two more photos of their grandfather for the first time in their lives because someone scanned in, again, minor league baseball cards that were packed in with gum in the 1910s. It was produced for a single printing. He was a nobody. His cards have no value. But someone scanned them in, notated them, and added them to searchable archives. Baseball card collectors.

That matters. It's important. It brought something to my family. It meant something to me! What difference is there between collecting obscure baseball cards and writing niche stories for a small community interest? In a hundred years when your great grand nephew hears your name and wonders if you were real, what will remain of you? What will they find? Will they find an article in the newspaper about your death? The stories you wrote as a teenager that tell me what you cared about? What you did? Who you knew? A baseball card? A drawing?

It matters. It matters it matters it matters!

Archiving is something extremely important to me and it's not just archiving "important" things... Archiving old fandom zines? It's archiving the history of a social space, of people's lives, of a culture that precedes culture, it doesn't matter if it's the history of game creation or the United States or transformers fanfiction doesn't matter, it's the history of Human experience, the history of people's lives, what was done and the affect it has. Just think about the domino effect of it for a moment. MTMTE is a comic that's had a big effect on the people that read it... He brought it the first major LGBT story arc in the franchise. The first LGBT representation in this space can be traced back through this comic to this author to a history of fan material and then to the fanfics that HE read that influenced Him. A culture that empowered this kind of storytelling and diverse character expression that he brought with him. And how many people were greatly touched by his work? I have been. Any work I made is influenced by his because it's profoundly affected that way I write. If I make something that touches someone else you can trace that back from them to me to him and then further to others. Do those contributions not matter? What makes the history of sports more important to record keep? Or industry? It's peoples lives. It's their experiences. It's dominoes and cause and effect. It's pieces of paper that changed people's lives that will vanish if no one keeps them. It burns a whole in the link. An end to the story. The most important documents to historians are not the times kept by kings but the diaries kept by shepherds. It's not "smaller" or "lesser" than others. It's important. It IS.

[double-hoe-seven]

AFC Richmond as boyfriends

Here’s a lil headcanon collection of our favorite himbos as boyfriends.

I did it again for the staff (: AFC Richmond Staff as partners

A/N: Definitely didn’t put everyone but these were my top ones and it’s 2 AM so imma leave it here.

Sam Obisanya

The absolute sweetest man you have ever met

Such a softie, very concerned about making sure you’re happy and comfortable with whatever choices you make together.

He always picks the most random times to surprise you with things; showing up at your work randomly for lunch or with coffee/tea, random little souvenirs from his away games.

He’s always putting himself second and sometimes you have to remind him “hey, babe, you can do things for yourself, you deserve nice things too.”

Just, compliments galore with him. He’ll always find a way to compliment you on something.

The most cuddly person ever, he loves public affection (hand holding, piggy backing, hugging, kissing if it’s not raunchy, etc), he really just likes showing you off because he feels like the luckiest man in the world to have you.

He takes his time with your relationship, letting it bloom and grow at it’s own pace.

There aren’t many fights between you, hardly ever, the last “fight” you had was because you couldn’t unanimously decide which dog to rescue. The solution? You adopted both, now you share a one-eyed Jack Russell Terrier named Starro and a three legged German Shepherd puppy named Harry (Pawter. He was so proud at his pun when he showed you the then 3-month old puppy.)

Again, just the sweetest, more romantic man you’ve ever met and ever will meet.

thesexisgoodtoo. hesaverygentleandgivinglover

Isaac McAdoo

Man’s stubborn.

I mean it, he is as stubborn as a mule.

I’M DEAD SERIOUS, he once pouted for 5 days when you accidentally ate the last Rolo in the flat.

But he’s also romantic in a sort of rugged way?

He won’t go shopping with you but he knows what colors look best on you, he knows what styles look good on you, and he has your sizes and shades memorized.

Bear.

Mr. sometimes-crank-teddy-bear over here.

He’ll say he doesn’t want something but he will eat half of your food if given the chance. If you step away from your food to get a drink or something, there will be a good part mission when you get back.

Its a tradition to go on a date the morning of a game, and snuggle up with a movie after the game.

You have had more than a few drunk texts from him, all of them equally funny and full of sexual innuendos.

You don’t address his Rolo addiction. It could be something much worse anyway.

Richard Montlaur

So many visits to the goat farm he was raised on!

He really has to drag you back to London after visiting his parents because you don’t want to leave all the precious goats (and you and his parents get along famously).

You spend alternating holidays with each others families (except for Bastille day, you always spend that either together or with his family.)

There are always roses in your shared flat.

It’s a constant battle over his facial hair.

He has a grudge against the way the English make French pastries.

He has a habit of falling asleep on the couch or in uncomfortable positions and then wondering why his back or neck hurts.

Little spoon.

He’s teaching you French.

This man is a smooth operator, master at flirtation and romance. He’s good at planning romantic dates and outtings.

Dani Rojas

You 100% believe his mom when she says he was born caffeinated.

One of your first dates was a Mumford and Sons concert which was an interesting experience.

Soft boi hours with him. He’s a lil puppy dog.

Does this man ever sleep? Rarely.

He rises with the son and wants to get the day started immediately but he’s mostly letting you sleep in now.

He LOVES trying new things, exploring new places, generally having new experiences.

His absolute favorite thing to do when he’s not training is playing football (or any game, really) with the kids in your neighborhood. They all love him.

He’s a sweet boyfriend, not as sweet as Sam but he’s a close second.

You alternate who plans date night. You split the chores 50/50 but divvy it up if one of you is sick or has more work to do.

There’s so much alcohol in your flat its unreal.

You usually go to sleep before him but he has a bad habit of throwing himself into bed and partially waking you.

He makes the best breakfast most mornings.

And don’t forget the trips back home to visit his family in Guadalajara.

After a long day of training, he loves just laying down with his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair.

Jamie Tartt (Season 1)

FUCK NO

Jamie Tartt (Season 2)

On your first date you got drunk and bonded over shitty fathers.

Not that either of you really remembered the next day, you were both too hungover to immediately recall the night.

His love language is kind words.

At the start he needed a lot of reassuring that you did care about him for who he was, warts and all.

He’s slightly awkward when it comes to romantic gestures so most of the date planning falls on you don’t mind.

He still has some high maintenance behavior but he’s working on it and you’re proud of how far he’s come from the prick he used to be.

Your fights are usually over petty shit like where to eat for dinner or what movie to go see.

He will not hesitate to buy your feminine products for you. He knows your preferred brands and sizes and what treats you like when its that time.

He’s good at those rigged carnival games, the many little stuffed animals in your closet can attest to that.

He talks in his sleep. It’s all nonsense.

He has a soft spot for the neighbor’s cat (and cats in general).

Roy Kent

Rugged.

He’s great to snuggle up to.

The man is honest to boot. He doesn’t sugar coat anything at all.

10/10 times he will go down on you if asked. He’s a giver.

He is the heaviest sleeper in the world. You don’t know why he bothers setting alarms.

Phoebe has a room at your flat and spends so much time with you both.

Many nights have been spent reading different books on the couch together.

He has to clean the drains since 75% of it is his.

Fuck is a very versatile word in your home, used daily.

Not the most romantic man alive but he has his moments.

Date nights are usually relaxed and proper but sometimes you can make the old man have a little fun.

He growls at least a dozen times a day, it’s his main response.

Jan Maas

My beloved

My sweet, beloved Jan who can’t/won’t use a filter to save his life.

He’s blunt in everything and sometimes it makes you want to slap him.

Jan is still getting used to English ways and mannerisms.

He has good intentions but sometimes needs a little help with wording.

He likes going on Aquarium dates.

The more tired he is, the clingier he is and it’s too cute.

Once after a game he plopped onto the couch next to you and basically tried to curl up in your lap.

He can make amazing pancakes.

Thats it though.

You’ll do most of the cooking if you value living in a flat that’s not on fire.

He’s a sweetheart though.

Mostly good intentions though.

Doesn’t mind nudity and had to quickly be reined in by the team. Not at home though.

At home he can easily be found lounging in boxers and a t-shirt while he sips coffee.

He knows what he’s doing.

Tag Team: @bdffkierenwalker​