#Lawyer!Chris Evans

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 31

Summary: Princess slowly recovers from her brain injury. Nguyen refuses requests for an interview, leaving many lingering questions hanging over the case. Lloyd makes a rash decision. 

Word Count: 3,175

Masterlist

Warnings: Depiction of healthcare settings and brain injury recovery.

Chapter 31

Sunlight filtered in through the casement window of the rehab center and warmed the back of your neck. You sat on the edge of a chair and focused on the buttons of your sweater. First, tilt the button to the side…slip it through the hole… your fingers trembled as you fastened the top button of the cardigan.

“Very good,” the nursing assistant said.

You hated her bright, cheerful tone. It was more suited to training a puppy than addressing an adult. The worst part of it was that the assistant appeared to be even younger than you. For some reason, that rubbed salt in the wound.

“How about you try the next button?” she coaxed.

It was on the tip of your tongue to refuse and say you liked it better with only the top button fastened, but you knew that statement would wind its way back to your occupational therapist before breakfast was served. So, with unsteady fingers, you began to work on the second button.

Dressing on your own was a victory in itself. A month ago you’d graduated from a hospital gown to your own pajamas. This month you’d reached the greatest pinnacle of success possible in a place like long-term rehab: wearing real clothes. It was a huge improvement over being tethered to beeping machines in a sterile white room at the far end of the hall, which was where you’d started your rehab journey before being slowly downgraded through the different levels of care at the center.

The weeks you’d spent in the ICU were hazy, and your memories of that place were colored with an intense feeling of frustration.

Those feelings came back in full force when the nursing assistant spoke. “Good job!”

Your eyes flicked toward her, and your lip curled up in one corner. It was rude, but controlling your emotions—and facial expressions—was still a work in progress. While in the ICU, you’d learned there was a term for that condition: emotional lability. Basically, it meant that your feelings were intense and volatile. Emotional regulation was a natural state for you, something you’d learned so young it was almost an innate ability. Not having that skill post brain injury was a new experience—an unpleasant one.

The nursing assistant went to the bathroom and collected your makeup bag while she rattled off your morning schedule and filled you in on who was coming to visit you today. Lloyd would be here in the afternoon, and so would your mother and Vivian.

You took the makeup kit and carefully unzipped the bag, mindful of your movements. It took focus to keep your hand steady, applying the correct amount of pressure. Everything was slow these days, and it was hard not to slap the makeup bag off your lap and scream. Or maybe cry. You’d spent quite a bit of time alternating between both reactions, but at least now you could button a sweater. Hopefully, the results would compound, and you’d finally get your independence back.

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

“You’re saying we can take her home?”

Lloyd cut through the long-winded social worker’s analysis, stating what he’d understood.

The social worker clasped her clipboard to her chest. “Provided there are no stairs to navigate and she has someone available to assist her during the day. She’s made significant progress, but there are still areas where she’ll need support—particularly with fine motor tasks and spatial awareness. It’s not ideal for her to be alone for extended periods.”

Lloyd glanced at your mother. Her lips were pressed into a thin line. Vivian, her hand resting on her pregnant belly, which was just starting to show, shifted uncomfortably. The tension in the room was palpable as the practicalities of Princess’ care weighed on everyone’s mind.

“There’s a bedroom at my house on the main floor,” Lloyd said. “There would be no need for her to deal with stairs.”

Your mother frowned. “I don’t want to impose. You’ve already done so much.”

“It’s not an imposition. It’s what makes sense. She’ll have the space and the supervision she needs.”

Vivian hesitated, glancing between them before she finally spoke. “Mom, there’s steps leading up to my house. Your guest room is in the basement. Neither of us could take care of her. Not safely.”

The doctor nodded. “Given her current limitations, Mr. Hansen’s home is better suited for her recovery. She’ll have outpatient therapy here at the rehab center three times a week, but I do think she’ll make more progress in a less regulated environment where she can relax and practice the therapy skills at her own pace.”

“She would,” your mother was quick to agree.

It was true that you’d reached the end of your patience with the structured routines of rehab. The daily therapy sessions made you cranky, not because you didn’t want to make progress, but because you resented constantly being told what to do and it was hindering your improvement.

“Then it’s settled. She’ll come home with me.”

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

Getting you discharged took three days. There were requirements to fulfill, like having a hospital bed installed in the guest room and arranging for in-home therapy equipment to be delivered. Lloyd handled it all with efficiency. By the time the paperwork was signed and your belongings packed, you felt more like a package whose delivery required a team of logistics experts rather than a human being.

The ride to Lloyd’s house was quiet. You spent it in silence, hoping that you’d start to feel like you were reclaiming your independence at some point along the journey. When you stepped into the guest room and came face to face with the hospital bed that had replaced the luxurious queen bed that used to dominate the space, you wanted to sit down and cry. This didn’t feel like a stop on the way back to normal. It felt like the rest of your life would be spent fighting for every zipper to unzip and every button to fasten.

“Princess?” Lloyd spoke from behind you as you stood in the doorway to the guest room.

“Did you put the bed in storage?”

“It’s downstairs in the basement. The hospital bed is just temporary, I promise.”

He wrapped his arms around you and the solid mass of his chest pressed against your back. “You know, graduating from rehab calls for a celebration.”

You snorted derisively, unable to stop yourself.

Lloyd released his hold on your waist and turned you around by the shoulders to face him. You lowered your gaze, but he took your chin and tilted your head up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” you broke off and closed your eyes. “I’m sorry. Thank you for doing this. I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he pressed.

Your eyes filled with tears, and you shook your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

“Come here.”

You sank into Lloyd, sagging against him, and soon the front of his shirt was soaked with tears.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said again when you’d cried yourself out.

This time you forced yourself to put the emotions into words, even though it was harder to express yourself that way now. Everything was harder now.

“I was thinking that celebrating couldn’t involve me eating because I can’t use most silverware right now. I imagined myself trying to cut a bite of food, and then I felt… upset. We can’t go out for martinis because I can’t drink on my medication. If we went somewhere I’d just get tired and fall asleep, regardless of the fact that I’ve had three naps today. I’m just feeling… hopeless. I’m sorry.”

Lloyd’s lips brushed your ear. “You are not hopeless. In fact, you’re the furthest thing from it.”

You bit your lip and choked down another sob.

“Luckily, my celebration doesn’t involve eating or drinking or going out. In fact…”

The rustling of tissue paper had you lifting your head from his chest. He’d reached around you to pick up a gift bag from the dresser beside the door. It was bright red and stuffed on the top with silver paper.

“Open it.”

You tore out the paper and dug into the bag to find a velvet box. It was large, surprisingly so. Definitely bigger than any jewelry box you’d received for your birthday or a holiday. Instead of trying to open it yourself, you handed it to Lloyd.

He lifted the lid of the case and revealed a pearl choker nestled in the middle of the silk-lined box.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Want to try it on?”

In answer, you turned around so he could access your neck.

The cool weight of the pearls settled against your skin as Lloyd fastened the clasp. You reached up instinctively, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the choker. It felt elegant and timeless. For a fleeting moment, you could almost forget the hospital bed dominating the room or the tremor in your hand as you felt the jewels.

“Perfect,” Lloyd murmured. He slid off the bed and stood to face you, inspecting the necklace. “It suits you.”

You looked in the mirror above the dresser to see your reflection. The pearls caught the light from the window, gleaming against your skin, and for the first time in ages, you felt like you recognized the person in the mirror. It wasn’t exactly the same person as before, but you weren’t as different as you’d thought you’d become.

“Thank you,” you said.

Lloyd smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. You wondered at the expression and then your own smile faltered at the realization that perhaps he was seeing the same thing you were—the lack of similarity between who you were before, and now.

“I thought you deserved something beautiful after everything that’s happened.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers still tracing the pearls. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“That’s all I care about,” Lloyd murmured.

There was something on his face you couldn’t figure out, but you could sense there was more to this gift than just what he’d said. Unfortunately, your brain was too tired, and a headache was forming in your left temple. You promised yourself that you’d puzzle it out later, but right now your body was too tired, your brain too fragile to process anything. His words hung in the air between you, their weight heavier than the necklace.

“You need a nap, don’t you?” Lloyd asked.

“Mmmhh.” You rubbed your left temple, sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m not very much fun right now.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll celebrate once you’re fully recovered. I promise. Now go to bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

“Tuck me into my hospital bed,” you grumbled.

“Suck it up,” Lloyd said, smirking when you pouted.

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

Weeks turned into months. The hospital bed in Lloyd’s guest room became a distant memory as grueling physical therapy sessions eventually turned into real progress. At first, the exercises were agonizing, breaking you down before you could rebuild. Small victories marked the way—cutting food without fumbling, fastening buttons without trembling, ascending stairs without clinging to the railing like it was a life preserver. Each milestone was hard-won, but by the time you were cleared to return to work, you’d reclaimed most of your independence.

In January, stepping into your office for the first time since the accident felt like slipping into a favorite coat that had been left hanging in the closet too long. The fit was the same, the fabric still warm with familiarity, but there was a stiffness to it now, a faint scent of dust that made it feel a little less like home. The hum of voices from down the hall, the rustle of papers, and the faint smell of coffee grounded you. Flowers waited on your desk, accompanied by a card signed by the paralegals. For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to hope for a normal day.

Lloyd had seemed genuinely pleased to see you thriving, but the shadow you’d glimpsed in his eyes the day he gave you the pearl choker lingered in your mind, like a storm cloud on the horizon. In the four months since Shun Nguyen’s arrest, Lloyd had been busy with new cases and relentlessly pursuing an elusive interview with Nguyen, who was now a full-time resident at the Keen Mountain Correctional Facility. Despite Lloyd’s weekly requests, Nguyen refused to break his silence. 

Meanwhile, you’d been preoccupied with therapy and the slow crawl back to normalcy. Lloyd’s caseload meant he’d been working long hours, during which your mother or sister had stayed at the house. The gaps in your time together had felt like mere coincidences rather than anything more significant, but tonight’s dinner was meant to change that. You were back at work and that meant you wouldn’t just have your normal routine back, you’d also have Lloyd again, too.

The French restaurant near Logan Circle was dimly lit, its ambiance all soft candlelight and muted conversations. The semi-private booth Lloyd reserved offered a semblance of intimacy, but the space between you felt heavier than usual. He picked at his coq au vin, while you tried to fill the silence with stories about your first day back at work, therapy, and plans for the weekend. His responses were polite but distant, each word carefully measured.

“I’m proud of you,” Lloyd said abruptly, cutting into your rambling story.

You blinked, caught off guard. “For what?”

“For everything,” he said, setting his fork down. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, the shadow you’d seen before was unmistakable. “For how hard you’ve worked to get back here. For everything you’ve overcome.”

Your heart swelled, but before you could respond, he sighed, the sound heavy with regret.

“I wanted to wait to do this,” he began, his voice low. “I wanted to do it differently, but if I keep putting it off, it’ll never happen. And I can’t keep avoiding it.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Avoiding what?”

Lloyd’s mouth tightened as he looked away. His voice, when it came, was calm but unyielding. “We’ve been holding onto something that’s run its course. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances, and after what happened to you in September… you needed support. But this relationship was never meant to last this long or become so… involved. It’s not right.”

“Not right?” you asked, disbelieving. “You mean it doesn’t feel right to you.”

His face betrayed nothing. “It’s not about how it feels. It’s about what’s best for you, for both of us. We can’t keep pretending those are the same thing.”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “What are you saying? If you’re breaking up with me, just say it. Don’t dance around it.”

Lloyd was maddeningly composed. “I care about you, but this relationship isn’t working for me. And it’s not working for you, even if you can’t see that yet. I can’t give you what you need—what you deserve. And I don’t want to keep holding you back.”

“This relationship is over. That’s what you’re saying,” you said. “You invited me to dinner to tell me this?”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Shut up,” you hissed, your voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Don’t tell me you care about me and then say you can’t give me what I need. That’s bullshit, Lloyd. I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

“We need to be realistic about what our future looks like.”

You scowled. “It sounds like you’ve already decided what it looks like.” 

“Think about it. Right now I’m forty-one and our physical relationship is good, but what happens in ten years, when I’m fifty-one? In twenty years?” Lloyd shook his head. “You might be attracted to me now, but when I’m sixty and my age starts to show, that’s another story. It’s going to happen sooner than you think, so ending this now is for the best.”

“What about when I’m in my forties? Will you be attracted to me?” 

“Forty is way different than sixty. Trust me, I’m in a lot better shape now than what I’ll be when I’m sixty. My expiration date is a lot earlier than yours, for looks, energy, and time.” 

“That’s ridiculous!”

“I’m sorry,” Lloyd said, his voice firm. “This is my decision and I need you to respect it. Please.”

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

The ride back to your apartment passed in a blur. That night, you lay in bed, the scene at dinner replaying on an endless loop in your mind. By the time the sun broke through the blinds, you’d given up on sleep. You showered, dressed meticulously, and spent an hour perfecting your makeup to ensure no trace of the night’s turmoil showed on your face.

At the office, the cheerful bouquet on your desk felt like a cruel joke. The hollow ache in your chest burned with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. You felt like an open wound, raw and exposed. Unable to bear it any longer, you climbed the stairs to the top floor. Outside the patent department, you checked your watch. Ten minutes to seven.

The door swung open behind you. Bishop stepped in, brushing snow from his lapel. His brows lifted at the sight of you standing outside his office.

“Princess? How are you? How’s your second day back? You’re here early. Is something wrong?”

You drew a deep breath. “I would like to resign,” you said. “Effective immediately.”

Bishop froze, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “Princess, I hope this isn’t about Lloyd. Let’s talk about this—come into my office.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your words came out clipped, final, but you couldn’t stop the sting of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

He sighed, motioning for you to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his secretary’s desk. “Look, I get it. Things have been… difficult. But you’re one of the best researchers I’ve got. What if we found a way to make things easier for you here? A different role—less overlap with Lloyd’s team? How about working for Andy? He’d give his left arm to have you on his staff.” 

The offer was tempting, but every fiber of your being rejected the idea of staying at Bishop & Howard. “I appreciate that,” you said, “but this isn’t about Lloyd. It’s about me. I need to go.”

His frown deepened, but he nodded. “If that’s your final decision, I won’t stand in your way. Just know you’ll always have a place here.”

You rose to your feet and extended your hand. Bishop clasped it firmly, his grip tinged with the same reluctance that lined his face. No matter how much it hurt, this was the right decision. You knew Lloyd too well to hope that he’d change his mind and if you didn’t walk away, you’d never heal.

“Thank you for everything, Mr. Bishop.”

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

Next Chapter - Coming Soon

Masterlist

Tag List: see the replies

[bookishtheaterlover7]

Divorce lawyer reader encountering laurie again unphased y/n took andy frm him

Worth It

Andy Barber x Divorce Lawyer!Reader

a/n: Hey, An🫶n, and my other beautiful readers! So sorry it's taken me a while to post any new stories, asks, or anything remotely interesting other than my rants and shade. It's been a tough month... For now, this is going to, hopefully, be 1 of 3 fics before November. Let me just say, I'm insane for challenging myself like this, but ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Anyway, sit back and enjoy the fic!

WARNINGS!!! Some cursing (calling of slut, one mention of Fuck), pet names, mention of the car crash, mention of near death, mention of therapy, Andy is one seductive little shit, maternal figure!Y/N.

*Y/S/N = Your SurName

**F/P = Favorite Pastry

***F/C/D = Favorite Cafe Drink

Her alarm rang obnoxiously loud, but Y/N didn't seem to mind as she reached out to her bedside table to turn it off, before snuggling back into the man sleeping peacefully beside her. As they were in the process of effectively divorcing his wife, Andy had promised that as soon as it was all finalized, she can expect for there to be some of the biggest changes in her life. And safe to say Atty. Y/N *Y/S/N, wasn't disappointed, and may never get tired of it all.

She wrapped her arms around the slender torso of her boyfriend. They'd been together for about two years now, despite having a rocky start, their feelings blossomed into the most beautiful thing that neither of the two have ever experienced before. And that fact was once again proven, when the girl's snuggling and attempt at burrowing had pulled a reaction from the unsurprisingly gorgeous man.

"You know that will only make you late, if not later, than normal, Baby Girl, right?" Andy smirked, eyes remaining closed, hiding the mischief behind them.

"So... What if I do want to be late? Hmm?" Y/N replied, her cheeky grin growing with each second, as she took to placing light kisses on the side of her Love's neck.

"Then you'll have to explain to a very moody 16-year-old, why he missed at least three periods... And you know you can't reason with him, or his teachers." Andy laughed.

"Fuck!" Y/N sighed, laying flat in disappointment.

"We never get our mornings in anymore..."

"You know we could just send, Jacob on the bus... Be some bad parents for once..." Andy whispered, pulling his girlfriend close once more, allowing him to do so, sexily, in her ear.

"No. I can't risk Laurie approaching, and basically harassing him. Again." Y/N said, pulling away from his extremely tempting arms, and sitting up.

"You know we should let her see him, again." Andy said, a hand rubbing Y/N's arm, and eventually resting on her hip, pulling him to her, as he propped himself with one arm, and scooted closer to her.

"And we will. In neutral territory, under supervision." Y/N huffed.

"You're never forgiving her, are you?" Andy said, after placing a kiss on her shoulder.

"Absolutely. Come on, Andy, we're going to be stuck at traffic if we don't start moving now." She continued, looking at the time on the clock across from the right side of the bed.

"You don't want to be called old by our son again, do you?" She added with a chuckle, getting up, and turning around to walk backwards towards the bathroom.

"No, I definitely don't! Especially if I'm going to make sure his Ma will be carrying his sibling..." Andy said, smiling with a playfulness that alluded to something more.

And it stayed on, as he charged at Y/N. Filling their home with sounds of laughter and gleeful screams. With Andy silently hoping that he'd be able to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

Jacob had had an early day off from school, considering that his Physics teacher had cancelled class to be with his 6 year old daughter, who had fallen and injured herself in PE. Andy was stuck in his office, filling paperwork after paperwork for a case he was assigned, and he'd asked Y/N to fetch Jacob from school. And she was happy to oblige.

Jacob might not be her son by blood, and he had been accused of murder, but she loved him anyway. They'd formed a unique maternal bond, and she wasn't willing to give it up for anything. Especially when Jacob accepted that she could become his step-mother at some point.

Y/N decided it'd be fun to take Jacob with her to work, considering her caseload was light, and no one minded having a teenager amongst them. Plus, Jacob had asked her how and what did she do her job, at one point. That's why she decided to buy a few snacks from the stall right outside hers and Andy's office building.

"What would you like to have bud?" She asked, smiling at him, gently holding him up as he was still suffering from partial paralysis in his left leg, from the car crash. Therapy had helped, both physically and mentally, however, it had taken two years before some feeling came back and he was able to flex his foot. However, the rest of the leg will take some time.

"I don't know, Ma... Everything looks so good, I can't decide. Am I even allowed?" Jacob asked, his eyes sparkling in a way that Y/N has only seen happen in Andy's eyes.

"Ofcourse, you're allowed, Silly! Don't tell your father that I'm letting you take two, though." She giggled conspiratorially.

"My lips are sealed." Jacob laughed, holding his crutch in one hand, while he mimed a zipper with the other.

He later picked one chocolate frosted, with chocolate chips on top, and one white frosted, with colorful sprinkles, for his donuts, along with one Mocha-latte. Y/N ordered her usual **F/P and ***F/C/D, and was in the process of paying when she heard, a motherly voice, she was definitely not in the mood to hear today.

"Jacob! Sweetie, you look so big! You've grown so much in the past two weeks..." Laurie cried, her hands on Jacob's shoulders, before she pulled him into a hug.

"Laurie, get your hands off of my son. You don't get to see him until this Saturday, you know that!" Y/N exclaimed, approaching them with fury. Her own protective motherly instincts had awoken at the sound of that woman's voice.

"Your son? Y/N surely you can't be serious. Jacob is, and always will be my son. I gave birth to him. I raised him. I protected and defended him, when no one else did!" Laurie shouted, making Jacob flinch. Y/N took hold of Jacob, gently freeing him from Laurie's clutches.

"Yeah, you did a mighty good job at that, when you tried to kill him by crashing that car." She said in an eerily calm way.

"Jacob go inside, and wait in the Lobby."

"If he died in that accident, then you'd have Andy all to yourself, you slut!" Laurie said, not caring who hears.

"You know that what happened wasn't an accident, Laurie. You pressured Jacob into confessing to something he didn't do, because that's all you believed." Y/N countered, causing Laurie to eat her words.

"You believed the worst in Jacob, and didn't care that he was innocent in all of it. And you think you deserve to be called a mother? You tried to kill him! Your own son. You don't deserve to be near Jacob or the rest of my family." She gasped, finally letting out all that she thought of Laurie in the past two years.

"If it were up to me, I'd deny you any of your parental rights. But I won't do that to Jacob, or Andy. Those two mean more to me than anything else in this world, and I will do whatever it takes to make them happy and safe." She sighed, a heavy weight lifting off of her shoulders.

"Now, go home, Laurie. Before I smack you with a restraining order. We'll see you this weekend, if you manage to stay away for that long..."

Y/N had won. She not only gave Laurie a piece of her mind, she had actually spoken a truth she knew to be true long before Andy and her had made themselves official. And as she sighed with even more relief, and turned around, she saw one handsome face and the face of a boy that's been through hell but was right there smiling, that couldn't help, but make her smile.

"Jacob and I mean more to you than anything, huh?" Andy shyly smiled, his teeth peeking through his lips.

"You do. More than you'll both ever know." Y/N replied, as she ran to the arms of her family. Content with the life she's built for herself, that's worth everything.

So, I may have gotten, little bit overboard with the request, and wrote my first ever Andy Barber fic, feat. Jacob Barber😅. I hope you don't mind, An🫶n. Your request was too good of an idea to pass up writing a full fic!🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

I also hope that this fic was a fun distraction from all this mess caused by certain people. And stay tuned, I'm not done writing yet. Because this was, sort of an energizer for me.😁

See you in the next one, my Fellow Fan Girls and Boys🫶

Chris Evans Characters Masterlist

Andy Barber Masterlist

[jtargaryen18]

i just found / DEVOURED your barber&Weiss fic and… oh my goodness 🔥🥵🤤 i can’t wait to finish work so i can go home and scrub through all the rest of your amazing fics. excited for the newest update for Barber & Weiss!

Thank you so much 💕💕💕 You don't know how much I appreciate it.

When Barber & Weiss came up a few days ago, I have to admit I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I started working on the next one and I really hope to have it done to post in the next week.

You've been my muse. Thank you so much! 💕🖤💕

[oh-my-damn]

Seen someone tweet this today and thought you know who 😂

“I know why men date younger women, cause they done already annoyed the shit out of women their own age.”

This is factual and accurate and I support it and I would argue on behalf of it in court 🤷🏻‍♀️🫡

[novy2sirius]

The type of characters you’d play in films

— based on your moon

Actors Moon Placements:

The Moon in astrology is associated with emotions and emotional responses. It can show how your emotions come off. For this reason its closely associated with acting of course there are other planets that could come into play when discussing your acting style but I find the Moon to be most common in showing what characters and actor typically plays

Examples:

These are some western and sidereal examples

• Adam Sandler — Known for playing a lot of funny characters in comedy films. His Moon is in the sign Gemini in his Sidereal chart which is one of the signs most closely associated with comedy

• Tom Holland — Most known for playing the superhero Spiderman has a Scorpio Moon in his sidereal chart. Scorpio and Aries placements are commonly found in the charts of people who play superhero’s most likely because Mars and Pluto can be associated with crime/fighting. Also Robert Downey Jr, Scarlett Johansson, Chris Evans, Benedict Cumberpatch, etc have either their western or sidereal Moon in the signs Aries/Scorpio

• Penn Badgley — One of his most popular characters is Joe Goldberg in “YOU” who is a serial killer and stalker. Penn has a Scorpio Moon which is the sign ruled by Pluto the planet associated with things like stalking and death

• Jeremy Allen White — Plays aggressive characters really well such as Lip Gallagher in Shameless and Carmy in The Bear. He has an Aries Moon. Aries is ruled by Mars the planet associated with anger and aggression

• Emmy Rossum — Her most popular character was Fiona in Shameless who is a very broken character that has lots of daddy/mommy issues and must take on the responsibility of raising her siblings. Emmy has a Capricorn Moon which is why she plays this character so incredibly well

• Alexa Demie — Most famous for her character Maddy in Euphoria where she was Nate’s love interest. She has a Libra Moon which is the sign associated with romance since it’s ruled by Venus. Maddy is also big on fashion which Venus also is associated with. In Sidereal she’s a Virgo Moon which also aligns with the character as Maddy is very sassy

• Leonardo Dicaprio & Kate Winslet — Their most famous role was in the movie “Titanic” which is a romance film. They both have a Libra Moon, once again, ruled by Venus the planet of love

• Sarah Jessica Parker — Most known for her role in the show “Sex and the city”. Her Moon is in the 8th house which is the house of sex meaning she does well in more sexual roles

• Reese Witherspoon — One of her biggest roles was in Legally Blonde where she plays a regular college girl who aspires and is working to be a lawyer. She’s a Capricorn Moon in western which is the sign associated with your career/work and in sidereal she’s a Sagittarius Moon which is the sign associated with law (other than Libra) as it’s ruled by Jupiter the planet that represents justice

The best type of characters for you to play:

I recommend checking both your western and sidereal moon as I’ve seen both have accuracy

(1h/Aries Moon) They do best in films involving action, crime, or films involving war. They could do well playing characters that are a superhero, sexual character, athletic character, aggressive character, fighter, villain, and you could also do well in adventure films too.

(2h/Taurus Moon) They do best in romance or musical films. They could do well playing a character that is someone’s love interest, a chef/baker/cook, stubborn, determined, or that’s wealthy and materialistic.

(3h/Gemini Moon) They do best in comedy films. They could do well playing funny characters, a fraternal twin, a character that’s gossipy such as regina george, a character that’s popular on the internet, a character that’s crazy, a character in school, and characters that are neighbors to the main character.

(4h/Cancer Moon) They do best in family films or emotional films. They could do well playing soft, sensitive, caring, be a child star, a chef, be a mother, and roles literally involving lunar topics in some way such as Robert Pattinson who plays in Twilight. Twilight itself involves the Moon/Sun.

(5h/Leo Moon) They do best in thrillers, dramas, or romance films. They do very well as main characters or as characters that are sassy, as child-like characters such as Tom Hanks voicing in Toy Story, a famous character, sometimes as superheroes, and possibly flirtatious characters. They also tend to play gay characters sometimes like Cameron Monaghan and Noel Fisher for example.

(6h/Virgo Moon) They do best in dramas, comedy, or medical films and shows. They play very analytical and funny judgmental characters well or sarcastic ones. Sometimes even awkward characters suit them well like Jonah Hill in Superbad for example.

(7h/Libra Moon) They do best in romance, musical films, or even sometimes in Disney films such as Halle Bailey. They often do well playing romantic, charming, attractive, and artistic characters. Sometimes their character could be involved with law in some way such as a lawyer.

(8h/Scorpio Moon) They do best in action, crime, mystery, or horror films. They play dark characters really well, scary characters, murderers, and brave/ambitious characters good as well. They could even play good surgeons.

(9h/Sagittarius Moon) They do best in comedy, adventure and sometimes superhero films. A character that’s positive, humorous, blunt, seeking justice for others, or is in school would suit them well.

(10h/Capricorn Moon) They do best in historical films or films with sarcastic/dark humor. As sad as it sounds they play broken characters really well. I notice a lot of people with this placement play characters that have daddy/family issues as well. If not broken they can play hardworking characters or business men/women really well.

(11h/Aquarius Moon) They do best in sci-fi, supernatural, or just very unique films in general. Characters such as Neo in The Matrix played by Keanu Reeves, characters that are a bit of an oddball/weird, and characters that are the life of the party/party animals such as most of James Franco’s characters.

(12h/Pisces Moon) They do best in fiction or fantasy films. A character that’s a princess/ethereal, not human, musically talented, artistically talented, characters pretending to be something they’re not, and as characters that have a lot of secrets.

Note:

I do think sometimes the Sun can be more accurate with this as well since it’s related to self expression, drama, talent, and spotlight. Make sure to check your Sun placement as well

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 30

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Princess makes slow progress in her recovery. Meanwhile, Lloyd’s hunt for answers leads him into a trap.

Word Count: 1,550

Warnings: Adult content, cannon level violence, coarse language, 18+ readers only. 

Masterlist 

Chapter 30: The Spy in Apartment Five

Lloyd’s footsteps echoed off the cement walls of the stairwell as he climbed toward Princess’ apartment. The cinder block walls smelled faintly of mildew, and the chill of the metal railing under his palm hinted at how sharply the temperature had dropped. Gale-force winds had eased into spitting snow, and for once, Lloyd found the snow preferable.

Three-quarters up the third flight of stairs, his phone buzzed. Pausing, he glanced at the caller ID before answering.

“Phillip,” he said, wedging the phone against his ear.

“Hello, Mr. Hansen. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“It’s as good as any.”

“I’ve found the perfect item for you. It checks all your boxes—expensive, elegant, timeless. One of a kind. The pearls are perfectly matched, and the craftsmanship—”

“What did it appraise for?” Lloyd cut in.

“Just over $400,000.”

“And the value ten years ago?”

“It was last sold five years ago for $319,000. The craftsmanship is exquisite.” 

“I’ll take it. Have a courier bring it over around three.”

“Are you sure? Perhaps you’d like to see pictures. I can email them…”

“No. Just bill my account.” 

Lloyd ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket. He climbed the last steps, reaching the fourth floor. Moving quickly down the hall, he stopped at the fifth door on the right. Princess’ apartment.

He inserted his copy of the key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open with deliberate care. A faint mechanical click halted him. His breath caught and the familiar sound raised the hair on the back of his neck. Freezing, he peered through the narrow gap. A device sat perched on the edge of the foyer table, a fishing line running from its trigger to the door.

Lloyd’s gaze tracked the wire. A Claymore mine. A few more inches, and it would’ve been the end of him—and likely anyone within thirty meters.

He unhooked the wire from the door, keeping the tension steady, and eased inside. Wrapping the wire around his hands, he edged toward the mine, eyes glued to the pressure plate trigger. Finally, he was close enough to disengage the pins in the trigger device. After securing the wire and disarming the bomb, he rolled his shoulders out, breathing deeply as relief washed over him.

He crouched down and inspected the device. “M18 Claymore… half a pound of C4…” Lloyd shook his head. “Fucking over kill.” 

The destructive power would’ve leveled the room and thrown enough shrapnel into the surrounding apartments to kill any unfortunate occupants. Grimacing, he reassembled the trap exactly as he’d found it. The element of surprise mattered more than his personal distaste for the task and he promised himself that it was only a temporary measure.

Lloyd moved down the short hallway and stepped over a second tripwire, spotting another Claymore. “Asshole,” he grumbled, sneering at the booby trap. 

In the living room, he settled on the sofa. His eyes narrowed on a leather tote bag resting on the armchair. Princess’ work bag. The one missing since the car accident. On the coffee table, a file lay open. Lloyd leaned forward, reading the label. He scowled, sighed, rubbed his aching temples, and sat back to wait.

It didn’t take long.

The sound of the front door opening was followed by the quiet disarming of the first Claymore. Instead of coming down the hallway, the footsteps turned and went into the kitchen. Rustling takeout bags and the clang of a drawer signaled activity on the other side of the wall. 

Lloyd steepled his fingers and waited, staying perfectly still.

A man emerged from the kitchen holding a container of curry that smelled of fragrant spices. At the sight of Lloyd in the living room, he froze.

“Hello, Courtland.”

“Lloyd.”

“Nice setup with the Claymore. Overkill, but more contained than Prague.”

“Prague wasn’t me,” Court said, setting the box of curry on the coffee table.

“Cahill?”

Court nodded.

“Impressive.” Lloyd crossed his legs. “Go ahead, sit down. Your lunch is getting cold.”

“How did you find me?”

“Simple deduction. You needed a place to lay low, and Princess’ apartment was convenient.”

“How is she?”

“Awake. Mostly alert,” Lloyd said. “Her coordination and fine motor skills are off and her words don’t come easily, but she’s doing better.”

Court’s expression hardened, guilt flickering beneath the surface. Lloyd tried to enjoy it but found satisfaction elusive. He watched as Court took a few bites and then asked, “How much does she remember?”

“Bits and pieces. The doctors say that’s normal. Their long-term prognosis is optimistic, but it’ll take months of rehab to get her back to normal.”

Court studied him. “You don’t sound optimistic.”

“Looking at her now, it’s hard to see recovery as possible. It takes faith… more than I have.”

Court tilted his head. “You’ve never seen someone you love in pain before, have you?”

“No. Not like this.”

“Are you going to stick around for her? Or are you going to fall apart?”

“She doesn’t need me. I’ve done enough damage by dragging her into this.”

Court snorted. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Mind your own business, Gentry.”

Lloyd’s gaze shifted to Princess’ notebook on the table. “You always rifle through women’s things when you trespass in their apartments?”

“I’m a spy. So were you.”

“Touché.”

Court picked up a water bottle. “She left it in your office. I brought it here to keep it out of evidence lockup.”

“Reading it was part of keeping it safe?”

Court smirked. “Hey, I solved my mystery. You’re still chasing your own tail.”

“Nguyen was officially charged this morning.”

“He’s not the guy.  You’re overlooking the hospital staff. Anyone who worked there between 1999 and 2002 should’ve been investigated. Especially after you identified Li Wei Chapman. Look for a connection to those first victims and the hospital employees in the right time frame and you’ll find your killer.” 

“You killed Tafferty, didn’t you?”

“If I hadn’t the NSA or China would’ve.”

“Interesting that your definition of solving a mystery includes committing a murder of your own,” Lloyd said. 

Court rolled his eyes. “If I hadn’t, you would have, and then you’d be cooling your heels in prison. I did you a favor. The least you could say is thank you.” 

Lloyd curled his lips over his teeth. Fixing his eyes on a point over Court’s right ear, he spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable. “Thank you.”

“Mmhh. You’re welcome. Is that why you came here? To ask about Westin?”

“No. I’m here with a message. Don’t ever contact Princess again or it’ll be your corpse in an alley. You understand? Don’t drag her into your investigations or whatever little drama you kick up in the future. Stay very, very, far away from her. Forever. Are we clear?” 

Court nodded. “Yes.”

Lloyd stood up. He grabbed Princess’ bag and the file, shoved the folder into the bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

“Stay here if you must, but clean up before you go. Princess doesn’t need to know you were ever here. And she never finds out about the Claymore you rigged to her door. You know you could kill everyone in a thirty meter radius with that thing.”

“Unlikely. It only has half a pound of C4,” Court said.

Lloyd sighed. “Awesome. That’s just… wonderful. Make sure to lock up when you leave.”

Outside, snow flurries danced in the air as Lloyd headed to his car. Traffic was light and he made it back to Bishop & Howard in record time. He paced in his office, flipping through Princess’ notebook and comparing her notes to his own. There were plenty of clues, but the facts refused to align. At 2:57, a knock on the doorframe broke his focus. A courier handed him a velvet case. Lloyd opened it briefly, inspecting the necklace, and checked an item off his to-do list before filing the jewelry box away in his bottom desk drawer.

Court’s comment about the hospital staff lingered in his mind, refusing to let up. It felt like a long shot, but there were no other moves left on the board. Not with Shun Nguyen stuck in prison, refusing visits from investigators, and even from Peter Shaw. He wouldn’t give an account of his actions or offer up an alibi. It was like 2002 all over again. Lloyd set aside his pride and dialed Annabeth Greene’s number from memory.

“Dr. Greene’s office. Laura speaking.”

“Hello Laura. This is Lloyd Hansen. Can you pass along a message for me? I need a crosscheck for any link between Li Wei or Zoe Chapman and Forest View Hospital staff from 1998 to 2003. I’ve emailed Dr. Greene a list of names.”

“I’ll let her know.”

Hanging up, Lloyd swiveled his desk chair around to face the window. Snow was falling in steady sheets, though it was only the fourth of October. He watched the flurries dance in the air, and for the first time in weeks, his mind felt still. Answers were coming. They had to come because Lloyd was certain of one thing: Shun Nguyen had not kidnapped Laine Cruz. Whoever had done so was still out there, a free man.

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

Next - Chapter XXXI

Masterlist

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

[semperama]

Snippet Sunday

I was tagged by @playinginthunderstorms! Thanks, friend. <33 I'm not sure if this is going anywhere, but I was just jotting some stuff down last night and this is what happened:

With the first paycheck he got after forty feet of mud collapsed on top of him, Eddie opened a new account at his bank and socked away two hundred bucks. It was more than he could afford to save. Even with the assistance Carla helped him get, the lease on the house and the cost of Chris’s school stretched him thin. And he’d just dipped into his savings to see a lawyer, change in his will, Evan Buckley in permanent ink. But—this was important to. He ate bologna sandwiches for dinner every night and stopped arguing when Buck wanted to buy the beer, and he made it work. After Shannon had died, he thought, briefly, about leaving LA. It felt like his fault somehow. He shouldn’t have brought Christopher here. He shouldn’t have let Shannon back into their lives. He shouldn’t have let himself believe they could be a family again—or for the first time, really. Leaving would be a kind of penance, an apology to for thinking happiness was meant for him. But then Buck got crushed by a firetruck. And then Buck saved Chris from a tsunami. And then there was a Christmas at the firehouse and a warmness in Eddie’s chest he’d never felt before, and that was all Buck’s doing too. And then he almost drowned, and in those moments when his lungs felt like they would burst, when the life he would be leaving behind flashed behind his eyes, it wasn’t just Christopher he thought about. So he opened a new account. He started to save.

Tagging @lookforanewangle, @wimbledon2008, @sonofatoasterwaffle, @frightfullytreeish

[cassiopeia-grimm]

Imagine

Check out what the sheriff posted on the account.

[bookishtheaterlover7]

Home to all of the fics and asks concerning the hottest Assistant District Attorney, I've ever seen.

🔥= NSFW 🖤 = angst ❤️ = Fluff 🫠 = somewhat spicy but not quite yet ❓= ask

Andy Barber x Divorce Lawyer!Y/N

The beginning 🖤🔥❓

Introducing Y/N ❓

A little taste of what's to come🔥❓

When they're feelings become the purest thing in their lives🔥❤️❓

"Worth it" 🫠🖤❤️❓

[whatwouldeddiedo]

Hi, Jamie! My brain won’t stop thinking about your Buck/Shannon snip from the other day. Does Buck find excuses to hang around and talk to her at the coffe shop until he realizes he’ll look desperate if he names one more reason he can stay? Or y’know any other Thoughts you might be having about Them 💞

I keep thinking about her having to go back to work in the afternoon and she doesn't really want to go because they're having such a great conversation. She hasn't really talked to any guys since she left Eddie and they got divorced via lawyers (because they're divorced here it's less messy), and Evan Buckley is sweet and funny and okay very very hot, and he's a firefighter! He saves lives. So when he asks for her number, she's like. a little hesitant because she's still working things out for herself and trying to get the courage to work her way back into Christopher's life, and maybe dating is the last thing she needs to do. But she says yes anyway because it's just nice to be flirted with. eddie was her last relationship and she was never flirted with in the end. it was never really good in the end. all they did was fight. so they meet for coffee a couple more times before he gets up the courage to ask her on a real date, and he ends up taking her to a really nice place and they talk about their exes - his a woman that left him and then just stopped texting him, hers an ex that was complicated and confusing and she's honest about just walking out but she maybe leaves out chris because she wants him to like her before she finds out he's kind of a horrible mother.

The thing is he really likes her and she likes him and he's kind of a gentleman. She tells him she hasn't dated in a while and he lets her take it slow. They kiss after the first date, on her doorstep, like fucking teenagers whose parents are waiting inside. It's so *nice*. And so they start dating.

And sometimes Buck mentions her at work but for some reason it just never dawns on Eddie that Shannon is his Shannon. Shannon is a common name, you know. But after a few dates when they finally sleep together, he says, hey, you should stop by the station after work some day. I'll show you around. You can meet the crew. They're family! It's basically home!

And so she does. She stops by on a random Wednesday. It's a normal day! They've been going out for about a month. She wants to meet his friends. She doesn't really have many people to introduce him to at the moment. Maybe Chris, some day, if she can get the courage to tell Eddie she wants to be back in their lives.

But then she asks to see Buck and the nice man who greets her goes upstairs and she hears Buck say

"Come on, man! You're going to love her. She's so beautiful. Just wait."

And Buck is coming downstairs with another man, and --

"Oh fuck."

"Shannon." Eddie just blinks at her.

"Hey, you know Shannon already?" Buck smiles. He goes over and greets her with a kiss to her cheek. "Eddie's my partner and best friend."

Of course he is because Shannon is very very unlucky.

"Buck." She frowns. "I know Eddie because he's my ex-husband."

"But that - that means you're - "

"Shannon is Chris' mother."

--TBC!!!!

[lover-of-mine]

“As a recovering buddie fan, i come to conclusion that they only like Eddie because of Chris and nothing more. But wanting Chris to come back is very toxic for me because that kid needs stability and Eddie can't give it to him anymore. I think that he will lose custody of his child and im happy about it because he doesn't deserve his child since he didn't care about him at all. And them thinking that Evan will use his "legal guardian rights" to fight for Chris and help Eddie be with him? Crazy. Helena and Ramon have better lawyers and mostly they want Chris. Also, i don't think Evan will go to this lengths for them. He's in a committed relationship with the love of his life and he needs to dedicate all of his attention to Tommy. Eddie isn't capable of being a father and Shannon shouldn't have given him full custody.”

they need to hope to never have an encounter with me

"Recovery buddie fan" wow.

The way that some people actually think Buck has any legal power over Chris is actually kinda funny to me. There's only one adult alive with legal rights to Christopher and that's Eddie. Also, Shannon is dead? It's not like she gave up custody? They didn't have a legal agreement and then she died, a dead person can't take care of a child? Eddie's parents don't have any legal standing and they know it, if they had it, they would've sued for Chris' custody already. And Eddie's will is a suggestion, Buck doesn't currently have any legal say, he's not Chris' legal guardian, that would only kick in if Eddie dies and even then he would have to go through the whole process to keep Christopher and Eddie's parents would be allowed to sue for custody because of the blood relationship. Buck has no legal say. Eddie's parents have no case. Imagine going to a judge and saying "my son is unfit to raise this child and we want custody" "what did your son do?" "he dated a woman who looked like his wife" anyone would laugh. And Chris is old enough so that his opinion would be taken into consideration and the idea that Chris would sit through his grandparents dragging Eddie to court and not go back to Eddie is laughable. And the idea that Buck wouldn't pass the bar himself to get Chris back to Eddie if had to. They prove they haven't watched the show every time they talk about Eddie. From the moment Buck found out Chris existed, he's been doing everything he can to help Eddie. He would never just stand by and let Eddie lose Christopher. They sound so much like Eddie's parents I wanna throw hands, dude. What exactly about Eddie created a toxic environment for Chris? The way he's been killing himself to be the past parent he can? People are acting like Chris somehow walked in on Eddie fucking Kim doggy style in the living room couch and that Eddie orchestrated the situation. That man was trying to deal with his own grief and he made one bad decision that led to a domino effect no one could've predicted. This is.............. Imagine misunderstanding Eddie this badly.

Also the insistence on calling Buck "Evan" all of the sudden is getting on my nerves.

[packagecfgirlyevil-a]

"And how do you think I was looking at you, Ethan?" Her lips purse as she fights off a grin - she's merely looking, she knows better than to think she can touch, for now at least.

"No you are!" Ethan's not easily flustered but for some reason... "Just not like that."

[the-penguin-of-baskervilles]

Chapter 29

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: In the aftermath of the incident, Lloyd grapples with his emotions and begins to wonder about their future.

Word Count: 4,605  

Warnings: Mention of adult content such as sex and drug use. Non-explicit references to child abuse, which is made clear by a character’s reactions and implied by their internal reflection, but not discussed in specific or graphic terms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for coming back to read this, despite my long absence! Full Author’s Note can be found here.

Masterlist 

Lloyd wasn’t where he should be. 

He should be sitting at your bedside, like men did when the women they loved were injured. Instead, he stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the leafless silhouettes of the tree branches outside, drawn there because if he was looking at them he wasn’t looking at you, swathed in bandages and draped in sheets that bore an unsettling resemblance to a shroud. 

Injured felt like too plain of a word to describe your condition. You’d rammed a car head-on into a concrete barrier at high speed and a moment later, Westin Tafferty had shot you in the head at close range. The doctors said the bullet had grazed your parietal bone and fractured your skull, triggering internal bleeding. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital you’d been rushed into the operating room for an emergent craniotomy.

Now, you were sedated in a coma and no one could say if the surgery had been successful or not. The carefully titrated medications flowing through your I.V. masked any sign of improvement or deterioration. As long as the sedatives infused, you remained trapped in a stasis where no one could tell if you were healing or slipping away. Until they dialed back the drugs the state of suspension would persist. He’d asked, but no one was willing to estimate when they’d begin tapering off the medication–or if that was even part of the plan. 

Behind him, the ventilator hissed. Lloyd twisted his neck, trying to ease the tension as his eyes drifted over the landscape. Your room overlooked the courtyard, which wasn’t much to see, especially after the weekend’s turn in the weather. Skeletal tree branches stretched toward the sky, stripped bare by last night’s windstorm, which had brought in an unexpected cold front that settled into a hard frost. Just yesterday, the leaves had been turning yellow. Today they were scattered in a thick carpet over the grass. Your day nurse had told him it was the earliest frost since 1979. Lloyd hadn’t offered a response. 

In fact, he’d barely registered her remark at all. Information hadn’t been sticking in his mind lately. Between the car accident, the shooting, and the discovery that Westin Tafferty had been stalking you all along, his brain had short-circuited. The machinery in his head was broken. Synapses fired sluggishly, like a circuit board trying to transmit a signal through frayed wires. His thoughts flickered, dimmed, then disappeared.

He twisted his neck and scanned to the left, his gaze colliding with a reflection in the glass. The image was distorted but he could make out your form lying in the hospital bed directly behind him. Monitors were packed around your bed. A screen displayed your vitals, another showed wavy lines related to breathing, and one monitored intracranial pressure. A drain connected to your skull through a thin tube—that was a left over from the operation. He’d been curious about it but hadn’t asked. After two days in the ICU, he’d learned it was sometimes better not to know. On the other side of the bed, an infusion pump was hooked to the I.V. in your forearm, along with a ventilator.

The machine noisily breathed for you. He’d grown so used to its rhythmic—whoosh, thump…pause… hiss—that the sounds faded into the background. Looking at your reflection in the glass was easier than actually looking at you. It softened the bruises that had deformed your features and hid the traction splint on your left lower leg. But the ventilator’s whir was a constant reminder that a machine was all that stood between you and death. Lloyd inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. He took a long breath, drawing the air in deep to ease the sudden wave of nausea. His phone buzzed.

Expecting it was your mother or Vivian, Lloyd fished the device out of his pocket. The message was from an unsaved number.

I’m at the nurse’s station. Which hallway should I take?

Lloyd frowned and scrolled through the messages. He’d exchanged about a dozen texts with this number over the weekend, the details of which were fuzzy in his memory. It took some scrolling to realize the number belonged to Jen Kyzansky. Right. He remembered now. Jen had promised she’d stop by after work and it was five o’clock. He’d asked her to visit after an exchange with your day nurse, who confirmed that coma patients could sometimes hear people. Not always—but in some cases. 

He could barely stand to look at you in this condition, let alone speak, so he’d called in reinforcements. For all his personal dislike of the woman he was supremely confident in her ability to carry on a one-sided conversation. She would keep it positive and upbeat and talk about things you’d enjoy. You needed Jen right now, not him. 

He sent instructions to guide her through the maze of hallways and stepped outside the glass booth the ICU considered a “room” to wait for her arrival. A moment later, someone carrying a giant vase of flowers rounded the corner. Though he couldn’t see the person’s upper half, he recognized the tailored oxblood trousers. Jen shifted the flowers to her hip to read the room placards. Before he could call out, she spotted him and picked up the pace. When she was an arm’s length away she stopped, her gaze sweeping up and down his form. 

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t smirk, as he’d expected. “When was the last time you slept?”

Lloyd shrugged. He tried to sneer–after all, it was the customary greeting between him and Jen–but his features wouldn’t cooperate. To his dismay, her expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like sympathy.

“Go home. Take a hot shower and a couple Benadryl. Once you’ve slept, you’ll feel better.”

“Will I?” He’d been aiming for sarcasm but a waver of apprehension snuck into his voice instead. 

Her chin lifted. “Yes, you will. Call someone to drive you home, or at least drink some coffee. Driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.” 

Lloyd obeyed. At the end of the hall, he glanced back to see Jen sitting beside your bed. Jealousy cut through him. It was irrational, given that he had all afternoon to do what Jen was doing now, but unfortunately he couldn’t look at you for more than thirty seconds without wanting to throw himself off the roof. 

At the elevator bank his gaze drifted to the window as he waited for the car. It offered a different perspective on the same barren trees he’d stared at from your room. In a few months they’d be reborn, sprouting new buds and leafing out. Nature healed itself, even after the most brutal storms. He had no such ability. His wounds didn’t heal; they stayed with him, out of sight, but always festering under the surface. Lloyd scrubbed a hand over his face. Wallowing in self-pity didn’t do you any good. It wasn’t good for him, either, as painful emotions tended to corrode his self-control. He could feel the chaos welling up and worried that he wouldn’t be able to contain it much longer. The stitches of his composure were straining, threatening to tear apart. 

How could he ever support you if he couldn’t control his own emotions? He’d sent Jen in as his substitute for a task as basic as sitting by your bed and talking. He was useless—he couldn’t even look at you! You needed him right now, and he couldn't even look at you. He was a coward, and not because of the fear, but because he was letting it dictate his actions.

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

The elevator took him down to the lobby. As Jen suggested, he stopped by the coffee shop and ordered a London Fog. It was late afternoon, and aside from him and the barista, the shop was empty. That made sense. At five o’clock on a Monday most people were still at work, stuck in traffic, or picking up their kids.

Nothing played over the speakers and the weight of the silence pressed down on him. Lloyd sat down at a table to wait. He listened to the hum of the espresso machine, the soft clatter of metal instruments as the barista stirred his tea. His thoughts drifted back upstairs, comparing the quiet sounds of the coffee shop to the symphony of whirling, hissing, and beeping that filled your room. If you were here, you’d have ordered something so sugary and caffeinated that it ought to come with a Surgeon General’s warning. 

“Lloyd, your London Fog,” the barista called.

He collected his drink and turned to face a jarring sight—a group of nurses gathered in a loose semi-circle on the other side of the glass partition separating the shop from the hallway. They all wore the same unmistakable shade of green. Over the past few days, he’d learned the color coding system of the hospital’s scrubs: navy blue for ICU nurses, burgundy for lab techs, pale blue for surgical staff, and a garish shade of sea-foam green that identified this group as trauma nurses. His grip tightened around the cup, the heat seeping through the paper doing nothing to thaw the sudden chill in his fingers. The sight of the trauma nurses triggered a flood of memories, sharp and uninvited. 

The drive into the city. Detective Roth’s hands tight on the steering wheel as he wove through traffic. The flashing dash lights in the silent car, no wail of sirens overhead because those were only for official emergencies…Walking past the destroyed trauma bay, its floor littered with the debris of plastic packaging and soiled gauze, as a gray scrubbed man mopped blood off linoleum tiles. Meeting your parents in the waiting room of the surgical suite. The doctor entering, asking if anyone was ready to see you. Your mother, crying, too distraught to accompany your father to the post-anesthesia unit… Vivian suggesting Lloyd go with him instead…

Dishes clattered in the sink, snapping him back to the present. Lloyd pulled his gaze from the nurses and moved to a table, deliberately facing away from them, but the image of those green scrubs lingered in his mind.

For the past seventy-two hours, he’d clung to the hope that you would wake up, that somehow you’d shake off a traumatic brain injury as if it were nothing more than a common cold. The sheer absurdity of such magical thinking grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t stop the optimistic thought from creeping in. Being irrational didn’t change the facts, though, and two days later your diagnosis remained unchanged: critical but stable.

The word “stable” circled in his mind. He rolled the word silently over his tongue, as if repeating it would make it easier to accept. Stable meant things weren’t getting worse, but it didn’t mean they were getting better either. It was a fragile reassurance, one that only made him more anxious the longer he sat with it. The fact that you were stable didn’t offer any hint of what came next, whether you’d recover or languish in this state forever. Instead of easing his fears, the thought of your impending recovery opened up an uncomfortable set of questions, chief among them: where did your relationship go from here? 

Recent events had solidified one fact—whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t casual. Not anymore. He couldn’t deny it, not when he’d spent days by your bedside, received updates from your family, and been added to your list of emergency contacts. The lack of questioning about his presence from either of your parents symbolized how entrenched your relationship had become. Vivian likely played a role in that, but it reinforced the same point: he was more than just your friend. What exactly he was remained unexamined as of yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There was an eighteen year age gap between you. While he’d packed for college, you’d turned two weeks old. Your future was filled with hope and potential, any path was open and ready to be explored whenever you craved something more. He’d wasted his future already, thrown it away on bad decisions, mental instability, and addiction. The gap between you wasn’t just measured in years but also by directions; your lives were moving along different paths. You had spent this spring considering your options for law school and Lloyd had mapped out a tax-efficient withdrawal plan for his retirement funds. 

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the age gap was part of what had drawn you to him. You’d wanted sexual experience, and he had plenty to offer. His sophistication and confidence were traits you appreciated in him, even as a friend. Sometimes he wondered if it was him you were drawn to, or the feeling of security he provided. You’d had too many responsibilities handed to you too early. He was good at taking charge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the attraction stemmed from. Doubt gnawed at him. Did you want him, or did you just want someone competent, who made you feel safe? He wasn’t the only man who could meet those needs. Lloyd wished he could pretend otherwise, but he couldn’t see how both your futures could coexist in the long term.

The chime of the door announced the admission of two new patrons to the coffee shop. A pair of nurses in pink scrubs entered, giggling at some private joke as they formed a queue at the counter. Labor and delivery nurses, Lloyd guessed, judging by their uniforms. Their conversation quickly confirmed his assumption and in the tight confines of the shop, he couldn’t help but overhear them. 

“I almost called him her dad,” the brunette said. “He’s like three times her age, it's the obvious way to go!”

“Melanie flagged the chart with a note.” 

“Yeah, but by the time I saw it the word ‘dad’ was already halfway out of my mouth.” 

“You really called him her Dad?!”

“I tried to change it to Dale. The transition was not smooth. Not at all. They stared at me like I was crazy. Then I made up some B.S. about how he looks like a Dale—”

Her friend snickered. “Girl…”

“Shut up! The man has white hair! He’s lucky I didn’t call him Grandpa.”

The other shook her head. “Can you imagine having a kid with a guy that old?”

“No thanks. You?”

“Pfft, absolutely not.” She wrinkled her nose. 

“Neither of them thought this through. The risk isn’t worth it.” 

“Hell no,” her friend agreed. “The odds of all that scary genetic crap is like six times as high with fathers over forty.”

“What about fathers over eighty?” the brunette giggled. 

“You know it’s harder for guys to get someone pregnant once they’re over forty?”

“It’s like nature’s way of cutting the old timers off.” 

“Not if they’re persistent!”

They both laughed. 

Lloyd pulled out his phone and pretended to be occupied. The nurses quickly exited the shop after their orders were filled, but they’d given his thoughts a new path to wander down. There was a good chance that you’d want a family someday, given how healthy and tight-knit yours was. You were good with children. The idea of you not being a mother was somehow unfathomable to him. A chill ran down his spine. He could easily imagine the same story he’d just overheard being told about him. 

It wasn’t wise to become a father after a certain age, Lloyd mused. He cringed and shook himself, disturbed by the seriousness of the thought. There was no reason to consider such things. He had decided long ago that he didn’t want children. The Hansen line would end with him, and there would be no heir to carry on the family curse.

His mind drifted to Zach’s comment about vasectomies and his insinuation that Lloyd was keeping his options open by not getting snipped. Suddenly, that accusation hit too close to home. Being in a relationship with a much younger woman opened the door to that possibility, and you’d both been complacent by relying on only one form of birth control for the past few months.

What if you asked him for a baby? Would he be able to deny you what you wanted, even knowing the risks? He winced. No. He couldn’t be a father. He didn’t have the temperament for it, nor the energy it demanded.

You deserved to be with someone who could give you the full experience of parenthood—someone younger, willing to endure sleepless nights, with the stamina to chase after a toddler. He couldn’t picture himself running after a child at his current age, let alone keeping up with a teenager. By the time your child graduated high school, he’d be at least sixty, if not older. You needed someone with more life ahead of them than he had to offer.

Maybe you didn’t want children. For a moment, the thought sparked a flood of relief. But guilt came fast on its heels, crushing the tiny flicker of hope. How could he even think that? It wasn’t his decision to make. He had no right to wish you’d give up something as fundamental as motherhood just to accommodate his shortcomings. You might be willing to accept the limitations brought on by his age and past, but he couldn’t ask that of you. Your future didn’t need to be burdened by his realities. 

He wished he didn’t have to think of these unpleasant things, that time could freeze everything as it was and your relationship could stay vague and undefined forever, but time marched on and there was no escaping the truth. Being with him came at a cost, and you’d already paid the price. If not for your friendship with him, Court Gentry never would have known your name. If Lloyd hadn’t turned down Court’s request for help—not once, but twice—you wouldn’t have been drawn into his reckless scheme to expose the spy at Bishop & Howard. 

Then there was Westin Tafferty. His grudge against Lloyd had made you a target. Without that connection, Tafferty wouldn’t have spent months harassing and stalking you. He wouldn’t have tried to kill you. The worst part was that Lloyd still couldn’t remember meeting him; whether Tafferty hadn’t made much of an impression or Lloyd had been too high to recall their introduction was up for debate. But Zach had confirmed the truth: Tafferty had spent twenty years working for the NSA and he’d crossed paths with Lloyd on more than one occasion. Detective Diskant had recovered the flash drive you’d hidden and spent the weekend piecing things together. There was plenty of evidence, enough for three life sentences, but Tafferty had vanished.

Even forgotten memories from his past haunted him—and by extension, you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t untangle the past from the present. You’d had a brush with his past in Singapore, then again in Qatar. Apparently, those close calls hadn’t been warning enough, because this time the consequences had really caught up and now there was a machine breathing for you. 

Lloyd’s tea had gone cold, but he was still deep in thought when Zach entered the coffee shop. His leather jacket creaked, stiff from the cold, as he sat down in the opposite chair. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Zach said, unzipping his jacket. He regarded Lloyd with a knowing gaze. “You look like you’re plotting something. Care to share?”

“I’m not plotting anything.” 

Zach’s eyebrow twitched, and Lloyd sighed, amending his statement. 

“Not now at least.” 

Zach leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. “Alright.” 

Lloyd grunted, picked up his tea and sipped, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Is that tea?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting.”

“It’s one less addiction to manage,” Lloyd said. 

“Mmmhhh.” 

Silence fell. Zach didn’t speak. He maintained the same relaxed posture but his eyes watched Lloyd with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. It was a pressure tactic that worked wonders in the interrogation room. Lloyd disliked having it used on him and felt ridiculous for wanting to fill the lingering silence, yet the thoughts bouncing around in his head had to go somewhere. He weighed the risks and decided that Zach was the safest option.

“Do you ever think about…kids?”  

Zach braced his elbows on the table. “No. I settled that issue a long time ago.” 

Lloyd rubbed his jaw, scowling at the itchiness of the three-day stubble he hadn’t found time to shave off. 

“Nurses were just in here talking about congenital issues with older fathers, the odds of it and such, that’s all.” 

Zach waved his hand. “You’re borrowing trouble.” 

“I’m not saying I want kids,” Lloyd rushed to clarify. 

“Spare me the bullshit. Let’s talk about it. You’re twisting yourself up over statistics without considering the rest of the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Gulf War vets, who were exposed to God-knows-what in Kuwait, had kids? And most of them were fine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ve researched it for decades and still can’t find a strong link. Genetic problems depend on a lot of factors.” 

He must not have looked persuaded because Zach continued. 

“How many twenty-five-year olds vape? Eat a diet of pure junk food? You’re healthier right now than most younger men could dream of being. Hell, you’re drinking tea.” 

Lloyd scoffed. “I don’t drink coffee so I’m off the hook?”

“And you eat turkey bacon, which is pathetic and un-American, but to each their own. Seriously, if it’s bothering you, get your sperm tested.”

“Do what?”

“Get your sperm tested,” Zach said, as casually as if he were reminding Lloyd to check his tire pressure. 

“Sperm testing? They do that?”

“Yeah. I had mine tested before and after my vasectomy.”

“Checking it right now wouldn’t matter much. Princess and I are in different places in life. By the time she’s ready to have kids…” Lloyd trailed off. 

“Deposit it at a sperm bank, they’ll put it on ice for later. Of course that’d take all the fun out of things, but it heads off the worst-case scenario.” 

Lloyd let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Zach’s logic cut through his spiraling. 

“Get your head on straight and focus on what you can control,” Zach said. 

“Which would be?”

The blond man’s face turned serious. “I have news.” 

Lloyd arched his brow. 

“Westin is dead.” 

“Since when?” 

“His body was found this afternoon—a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

Disgust hit first, followed by a surge of regret that twisted into concern. The disgust came from the fact that he hadn’t brought about Westin’s death by his own hand. Regret came from knowing, intuitively, how Westin’s death had played out. His eyes locked with Zach’s who read the unspoken assumption in them.. 

“I didn’t do it.”

“The others?” 

“No.”

“What about…”

“Possible,” Zach said. “No one knows where Gentry disappeared to, but I have a source that thinks he’s still in the city.”

“I might have something on that.”

“Care to share?”

“No.” 

“I take it you’re going to try and talk to him one-on-one?”

“Maybe.”

Zach snorted. “Because that went so well last time around.”

“Has anyone claimed the body?”

“No. They asked Bishop to identify him. Diskant said the scene was clean. There were no fingerprints other than Westin’s on the gun.” 

“There are still loose threads,” Lloyd said. 

“If you mean Aiden, he’s been arrested. Bishop has a friend at the district attorneys’ who says he’s going to be charged with espionage tomorrow.”

“Not the loose thread I was thinking of, but that’s good to hear.” 

“Tell me where the other loose thread is and I’ll take care of it,” Zach offered. 

“No. He’s worth more to us alive than dead.”

”Are you up to talking to him? Because you look like shit.” 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Screw you.” 

He shoved back from the table, snagged his empty cup and headed for the trash can. At the counter, he was about to toss it when something in the gleaming back panel of the espresso machine caught his eye. His blood froze at the sight of a familiar face staring back at him.

Joe. 

Somehow, Joe Hansen had crawled out of the grave and back up to the land of the living. There was no mistaking that face. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the dry, reddened skin partially hidden by a heavy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes from too much whiskey left Lloyd paralyzed for a moment. When his mind kicked back into gear, his first thought was almost smug: I knew you were too mean to die. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one behind him. Zach had stepped out to take a phone call. The shop was empty. His gaze turned back to the reflection. The eyes weren’t brown. They were crystal blue. 

It wasn’t Joe. It was him. 

He hadn’t shaved since Friday and had the scruff to prove it. A sleepless weekend explained the bloodshot eyes and dark circles. The wind and cold, combined with neglect of his skincare routine, had stripped his skin raw, leaving it cracked and red like a drunk’s. He looked as if he’d gone on a three-day bender instead of spending the weekend in a hospital room. He looked like Joe Hansen—even more so than usual. 

Lloyd stared at the reflection until his eyes couldn’t focus anymore. It didn’t make a difference. The image was burned into his brain. It wasn’t just their physical resemblance, it went deeper. The need for control, the volcanic temper. The chaos he’d spent his whole life trying to keep at bay. He crumpled up his cup and tossed it into the canister with more force than he’d meant to. A heavy weight settled in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to outrun it, Joe’s blood still ran in his veins. He’d rather die than admit it, but the truth, that he and Joe were fruit of the same tree, was inescapable. 

He stepped out of the coffee shop into the cold. Its icy bite was nothing compared to the pain of the knowledge that was sinking into his bones. He couldn’t keep you in his life, not in good conscience, not knowing the evil that lurked inside of him. The leaves crunched under his feet and the sound was like a physical reminder: nothing lasts forever. Your relationship had already stretched long beyond its season. No matter how much he wished otherwise, soon the pieces of your lives would no longer fit together. You’d outgrow him. Once that happened, any attempt he made to patch up the seams would cause it to unravel further.

The revelation cleared his mind, though his heart felt ten degrees colder. His chest throbbed, but at least the mental storm that had raged for days finally broke, leaving a hollow stillness in its wake. There wasn’t a choice for him to make, only a truth for him to accept. Your relationship was temporary and it would soon draw to a close. He couldn’t risk holding you back or allowing his past to endanger you again. The facts were clear cut, black-and-white. There was a wrong decision and a right one.  If he wanted you to have the future that you deserved he had to do the right thing.

He had to break things off. Whether it broke his own heart didn’t matter.

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

Next - Chapter XXX

Masterlist 

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Taglist: @denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess

@amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @terry2227 @jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire @maylaysia109 @liecastillo @unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @namelesssav @yiiiikesmish @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038 @lokislady82 @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @thewritergremlin-rae @raven-blue3000 @samfreakingwinchester

[weclassybouquetfun]

While there are people latching onto comments from WB Television president Channing Dungey recent comments about the possibility of more TED LASSO / TED LASSO universe,

I am going to focus on what is real. Like, the reality of how gorgeous Hannah Waddingham is.

This weekend Hannah had a FYC panel for her AppleTV+ Christmas special HANNAH WADDINGHAM: HOME FOR CHRISTMAS at Paramount Studios.

She obviously had a ball.

What's going on with some of the other AFC Richmond babes?

-Brett Goldstein's lawyer was featured in this week's Hollywood Reporter.

-Phil read letters as part of D-Day's 80th Anniversary commeration.

He looks good in a uniform.

He looks good as a cowpoke.

-Also commemorating D-Day was Tom Hendryk and his father.

-James Lance will be part of Chris Evans' (not *that* Chris Evans) -

This Chris Evans.

Annual charity event CarFest which supports UK Children's Charities. Also on the lineup is Sam Ryder,

who reunited with Kola Bokinni recently.

-Stephen Manas continues embodying Richard Montlaur. The most interesting French man alive.

-Max Osinski gassing up Charlie Hiscock.

-Ellie Taylor is back on a new series of BAKE-OFF: THE PROFESSIONALS, after finishing up her little bun in the oven.

-Speaking of babies.... Baby Moe Hashim never lost his smile.

[septembcrsblog]

22 | she/her | gmt+3 | fxm romance writer fandom or fandomless rp | booklover

looking for new partners on discord. I prefer double ups writing both female and male characters, absoulutely love small town rps. I am medium to high activity especially for plotting. I don’t like writing nsfw so please okay with fade to black/skip the scene. I don't like ghosting so if I'm busy or not interested in rp anymore, I will let my rp partner know and I expect that from my rp partner. I have a few wanted tropes and opposites below, if you are interested dm me or like this post!

Wanted tropes: Best friends to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, strangers to lovers, exes to lovers, high school/college sweathearts, summer fling, summer plots, winter plots, arranged marriage, celebrity couple, celebxnon celeb couple, psychiatristxpatient, client/inmate x lawyer, brothers best friend, any thriller plots, based on Taylor Swift songs

Wanted opposites: Thomas Doherty, Drew Starkey, Chris Briney, Chase Strokes, Austin North, Hero Fiennes, Dylan O’brien, Evan Roderick, Joseph Morgan, Chace Crawford, Madelyn Cline, Whitney Peak, Carlacia Grant, Lola Tung, Rain Spencer, Josephine Langford, Katherine Langford, Alisha Boe, Victoria Pedretti

[cassiopeia-grimm]

Imagine

Andy, seriously?