#Sophie Dries

[nerds-yearbook]

The second season premiere of Batwoman aired on January 17, 2021. The 1st season finale was the last episode of the series for Ruby Rose to play Kate Kane/Batwoman. Instead of casting a new actress to play the role, Javicia Leslie played the new role Ryan Wilder, who took over the mantle of Batwoman. The Batmobile made its first appearance in the series. It was meant to appear in the last season, but the season was cut short due to Covid 19. Dougray Scott, who appeared in the episode, was originally cast as Wolverine in X-Men (2000), but had to be replaced at the last moment by Hugh Jackman due to complications from Mission Impossible II. ("What Happened to Kate Kane?" Batwoman, TV Event)

[theoriginalsupermodels]

Dries Van Noten - Fall 1995 RTW

[dear-science]

Dries Van Noten S/S 15

ph. Lea Colombo

[tojisun]

it's a blip in nature, a freak event, but somehow simon's found himself face-to-face with someone wearing his face.

the man says that simon riley is his name too, but simon feels the ever so consistent cramping from the inside of his palm down to his wrist and uses it as means of finding balance in this startling... dream. the fake, ghost, says he isn't lying, grumbling with the same voice simon knows is sitting on the base of his throat.

simon would shoot to eliminate the threat because this, whatever this is, cannot be, but—

ghost is holding a babe, the little head snug in the cupped palm of the man. she is snoozing, tiny hiccups and little wiggles the only sign of life from such a quiet child, and simon can't even think about pulling his gun from its holster, not like this. not with her.

you're standing on the far side, angled behind ghost's bulk, and simon remembers how ghost had tugged you directly from his line of sight, shielding you from simon like he was the threat and not the fucker who has a civilian hostage pressed so close to his chest.

simon wants to rip the child away from ghost because she isn't safe there with him. you aren't safe with that man so please, love, come close to him and simon swears he'll find a way to protect the little girl too.

but you grip ghost's jacket, the fabric bunching up inside your fist, your body tensed with fear.

simon wants to cry. please, he wants you safe—

"riley," ghost barks out, and simon shifts his eyes back to him. "call your men off and we'll explain everything."

there's a shift in the shadows, but simon doesn't need to look at them to know that it's the squad, flanking the fake and his hostages. simon growls, fury bloating.

"you let go of the child and my—" wife "the civilian, and we won't put a hole in that head of yours."

there is a whimper, and it resounds in the small space where they've managed to corner the impostor. the sound of bodies whipping, along with the click of guns, echo in reply, cocking at the sudden explosion of uncharted noise, a new threat, only for everyone to freeze when they saw that it was—

it was you.

simon doesn't even remember how long it was since the two of you saw each other. the divorce had been difficult and tumultuous, ripping the two of you into the barest of fury, until all the love the two of you shared dried up. but in that moment, amidst all the arsenal pointed your way, the confusion ebbs into fear.

he sees the moment you see yourself.

"simon," you gasp out. "what's- what's goin' on—"

.

fuckin' multiverse travel. something about dimension hopping.

really, simon called bullshit but—

"this is sophie," ghost murmured, showing them all the bundled newborn. she is still tuckered out, unknowing of what's happening.

there were a few shuffling movements as the rest of the squad closed in on the dimension hopper to see the child, all of their breaths stuck in their lungs in fear it'd wake her up.

in the silence, ghost added, "our daughter"

he remembers jolting up in surprise, wild eyes frantic as they tore through the room until they finally landed on you. you were just as surprised, palm atop your mouth, and simon understood because why.

why was there a universe where things worked out?

ghost's face fell, like he could see the unspoken disbelief. you, the other you, had also been just as hurt, tears springing from your eyes like the crybaby you always are.

"fuck," simon whispers as he shuts his eyes close and let the memories flow.

he remembers how you looked—would look?—if things had just been better; how you took baby sophie from ghost's arms and tucked her close to your chest, quiet lullabies spilling from your quirked up lips. he remembers how ghost turned until you and sophie were bracketed by his arms—he was so obviously clingy.

but can simon judge him for that? he knows he would be just as insufferable if it had been you and him in their place.

then, he remembers when the other you had asked him, simon, if he wanted to hold sophie. there were no worlds, or universes apparently, where he would have said no.

sophie was a marvel. she was so small, worryingly so, but she was perfect. simon wished she was awake just so he could get a glimpse of her eyes because are they like his? a part of him hoped they were more like yours—such windows to your soul.

he remembers looking up and seeing the visceral pain in your eyes. the longing. and he wonders if...

if you would give him one more chance?

[onlyforsebastianstan]

Fractured Bonds and Fragile Futures

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:

Believing you betrayed him, Bucky vanished, unaware you were pregnant with his daughter, Sophie. Four years later, you’ve built a life alone in Queens, raising Sophie with fierce devotion, but a cruel reunion at a farmer’s market reopens old wounds.

📎Genre: Romantic Drama | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Family | Redemption

⚠️ Warnings:

→ Emotional Distress → Child Illness → Abandonment and Betrayal → Verbal Cruelty → Trauma and Guilt → Pregnancy and Single Parenting → Medical Themes → Mature Emotional Content

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

The rain fell in heavy sheets outside your Brooklyn apartment, a relentless drumbeat against the windows that mirrored the storm in your heart four years ago. You were a SHIELD analyst then, tasked with helping Bucky Barnes, the former Winter Soldier, navigate the labyrinth of his post-Hydra life. He was a man fractured by decades of trauma, his blue eyes haunted yet searching for something to hold onto. Your role began professionally, sifting through mission reports, analyzing data, offering insights during debriefs, but it evolved into something far deeper, a connection forged in quiet moments and shared vulnerabilities.

It was a late autumn evening when Bucky appeared at your door, soaked to the bone, his vibranium arm glinting faintly under the hallway light. A mission had gone south, and the weight of it clung to him like the rain. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line as he avoided your gaze. You didn’t hesitate, pulling him inside, your small apartment a haven of warmth against the chill of the night.

“Bucky, you’re freezing,” you said, grabbing a thick wool blanket from the couch and wrapping it around his shoulders. His vibranium arm was cold against your fingers as you adjusted the blanket, and you felt him flinch, not from pain but from the instinct to retreat from kindness.

“You didn’t have to let me in,” he muttered, his voice low, almost swallowed by the rain’s rhythm outside. He stood stiffly in the middle of your living room, water pooling at his feet, his eyes fixed on the floorboards as if they held answers he couldn’t find.

You knelt before him, brushing the wet strands of hair from his face, your fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Bucky, I want you here. Always.” Your voice was soft but firm, a promise you meant with every fiber of your being.

His gaze lifted, raw and unguarded, those stormy blue eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist—the rain, the failed mission, his past. His flesh hand, warm despite the cold, cupped your cheek, trembling slightly. “You’re too good for me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking on your name.

“No,” you replied, leaning into his touch, your forehead nearly touching his. “We’re just right.”

That night, his kiss was tentative, a fragile bridge between his fear and your certainty. It was desperate, too, as if he expected you to vanish like a dream. But you didn’t. You stayed, your hands anchoring him as you kissed him back, tasting the rain and the salt of his uncertainty. From that night, you built a life together, soft mornings tangled in sheets, the scent of coffee filling your kitchen, his rare but radiant smiles when you burned toast yet again. You learned the cadence of his laughter, the way he hummed 1940s tunes while washing dishes, his vibranium arm gleaming as he dried plates with care.

One summer night, you found yourselves on the rooftop of your building, the city sprawling beneath a starlit sky. Bucky was quieter than usual, his past a heavy shadow that never fully lifted. You sat close, your shoulder brushing his, the warmth of his body grounding you. The air smelled of warm asphalt and distant jasmine, and the faint hum of city life buzzed below.

“Talk to me,” you said, slipping your hand into his flesh one, your fingers intertwining with his calloused ones.

He sighed, his breath warm against your cheek as he pulled you closer, his vibranium arm resting lightly around your waist. “I don’t deserve this. You. Happiness. After everything I’ve done,” His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt as palpable as the summer heat.

“Stop,” you said, turning to face him, your hands framing his face. You pressed your forehead to his, your eyes locked on his. “You’re not the Winter Soldier. You’re my Bucky. I love you.”

His eyes glistened, tears catching the starlight, and he swallowed hard. “I’ll never let you go, Y/N. No matter what,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “I promise.”

You believed him with every part of your soul. That promise became the foundation of your world, lazy Sundays spent reading together on the couch, his head in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair; quiet evenings where he’d teach you to dance to old records, his laughter warm when you stepped on his toes; mornings where he’d wake you with a kiss, murmuring your name like a prayer. You thought it unbreakable, a love that could weather any storm. But promises, you learned, could shatter as easily as glass.

It was at a Stark Industries gala, a glittering affair of champagne flutes and chandeliers, that your world began to crack. You wore a deep blue dress, Bucky’s favorite, the fabric hugging your curves in a way that made you feel beautiful. You’d texted him a photo of yourself earlier, knowing he was on a mission but hoping to make him smile. The night was alive with music and laughter, but it turned sour when a drunk coworker, emboldened by too much wine, pulled you into a hug that lingered too long, his hand grazing your waist. You pushed him away firmly, your smile tight as you extricated yourself, but the damage was done. Bucky, back early to surprise you, had seen it all from across the room. His eyes darkened, not with anger but with something worse, betrayal.

“Bucky, wait—” you called, chasing him out of the gala into the rain-soaked street, your heels slipping on the wet pavement. The city lights blurred through the downpour, casting fractured reflections on the asphalt.

“I saw you, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice cold and sharp, cutting through the rain. He stood under a streetlamp, his leather jacket slick with water, his face a mask of pain and fury. “With him.”

“It wasn’t what you think!” you pleaded, your voice breaking as you reached for him. “He was drunk, I pushed him away—”

“I’m not an idiot,” he growled, stepping back, out of your reach. “I trusted you. I thought—” He stopped, his jaw clenching, his vibranium arm flexing as if to shield himself. “I thought you were different.”

“Bucky, please, listen to me,” you begged, tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “I love you. I’d never—”

But he was already turning away, his boots splashing through puddles as he walked into the night. By morning, his apartment was empty, his phone disconnected. You were three weeks pregnant, planning to tell him that night, your hand resting on your stomach as you imagined his smile, his arms around you both. But he never gave you the chance. The pain of his abandonment was a knife, twisting deeper with every unanswered call, every silent day that followed. You stood in his empty apartment, the echo of his absence deafening, and whispered to the life growing inside you, “We’ll be okay.” But you weren’t sure you believed it.

The gala’s aftermath left you hollow, the memory of Bucky’s retreating figure burned into your mind. You’d stood in the rain outside the venue, your blue dress clinging to your skin, now heavy with more than just water. The city pulsed around you, honking cabs, distant laughter, the hum of neon signs, but it felt like a void had opened inside you. You’d tried to explain, to bridge the gap his assumption had created, but Bucky’s words “I’m not an idiot” echoed like a verdict. He’d seen you with that coworker, a fleeting moment twisted into betrayal, and he’d chosen to believe the worst.

You spent the night pacing your apartment, the same one where Bucky had kissed you under the rain’s lullaby years ago. Your phone glowed with unanswered texts: Bucky, please call me. It wasn’t what you think. I need you. Each message was a lifeline thrown into a void. By dawn, exhaustion forced you to sit, your hands trembling as you clutched a mug of tea gone cold. You were pregnant, a secret you’d held close, planning to share it with him at the gala, imagining his eyes softening, his arms pulling you close. Instead, you were alone, the weight of his absence heavier than the life growing inside you.

The days blurred into weeks. You went through the motions at SHIELD, analyzing data, attending briefings, but your focus was fractured. Colleagues noticed your pallor, the way your eyes darted to your phone, but you brushed off their concern with tight smiles. You visited Bucky’s apartment daily, hoping to find him, but the key under the mat was gone, the space stripped of his presence, no leather jacket on the chair, no dog-eared books on the shelf. You stood in the empty living room, the silence screaming his departure, and pressed a hand to your stomach. “He’s gone, little one,” you whispered, tears falling. “But I’ve got you.”

You pieced together what happened through fragments. A SHIELD contact mentioned Bucky had taken a covert mission, one he’d volunteered for, far from New York. He hadn’t told anyone why, not even Steve Rogers, his closest friend. You tried reaching Steve, but he was on his own mission, unreachable. Natasha Romanoff offered a sympathetic ear, but her eyes held pity you couldn’t bear. “Give him time, Y/N,” she said, but time only deepened the wound.

Nights were the hardest. You’d lie in bed, the blue dress folded in a drawer, its fabric a reminder of the night everything broke. You replayed the gala in your mind, the coworker’s slurred words, his hand on your waist, your quick push to free yourself. It was nothing, a moment you’d dismissed, but Bucky’s eyes had locked onto it, his trust crumbling in seconds. You wondered what he’d seen in you to believe you’d betray him. Hadn’t you shown him every day, in every touch, that you loved him? The question gnawed at you, eroding your confidence. You’d been his anchor, but he’d cut the rope without a word.

You started noticing physical changes, morning sickness that left you curled over the toilet, a faint swell in your abdomen. You went to doctor’s appointments alone, the ultrasound’s grainy image showing a tiny heartbeat. You clutched the printout, tears blurring the black-and-white image, and vowed to be enough for this child. But the loneliness was a tide, pulling you under. You’d sit on your couch, staring at a photo of you and Bucky from a Coney Island trip, his arm around you, his smile rare and bright, and sob until your throat ached. “Why didn’t you listen?” you whispered to the empty room.

You couldn’t stay in the apartment where Bucky’s ghost lingered in every corner. You moved to a smaller place in Queens, a one-bedroom with peeling paint but a sunny window for the baby’s crib. You left SHIELD, the memories of Bucky in every briefing room too much to bear, and took freelance data analysis work. It paid less, but it gave you flexibility for the baby. You packed away Bucky’s things, a sweater he’d left, a notebook with his handwriting, and sealed them in a box you couldn’t bear to open. You were building a new life, not for you but for the child you carried, the one you’d named Sophie in your heart, a name you’d once whispered to Bucky during a late-night talk about the future.

The move was exhausting, each box a reminder of what you’d lost. Neighbors helped, kind strangers who didn’t know your story, and you smiled through your grief, thanking them. You painted the nursery a soft yellow, hung a mobile of stars above the crib, and tried to fill the space with hope. But at night, alone, you’d clutch the ultrasound photo and cry, the weight of raising a child without Bucky crushing you. You didn’t know if he was alive, if he thought of you, or if he’d ever return. All you knew was the promise he’d broken and the life you had to protect.

Raising Sophie alone was a journey of love and sacrifice, each milestone a victory shadowed by loss. She was born on a spring morning, her dark curls and stormy blue eyes, Bucky’s eyes, stealing your breath. Holding her in the hospital, her tiny hand curling around your finger, you felt a love so fierce it scared you. “You’re my everything, Sophie,” you whispered, kissing her forehead. But the joy was laced with ache, the absence of Bucky a void you couldn’t fill.

Those first months were a blur of sleepless nights and endless diapers. Sophie’s cries filled your small Queens apartment, her needs a constant rhythm that kept you moving. You learned to soothe her with soft lullabies, your voice trembling as you sang songs Bucky had loved. Her eyes, so like his, watched you with a trust that broke your heart. You’d rock her in the nursery, the yellow walls glowing under a nightlight, and wonder if Bucky ever thought of you, if he’d sensed the life you’d created together.

Freelance work kept you afloat, your laptop glowing late into the night as you analyzed data while Sophie slept. The pay was inconsistent, but it let you stay home, sparing you the cost of daycare. Neighbors became your lifeline, Mrs. Carter next door brought casseroles, her kind eyes never prying, while young Tommy from upstairs played peek-a-boo with Sophie when you needed a moment to breathe. But the loneliness was relentless, a companion that settled into your bones. You’d see couples in the park, their laughter a reminder of what you’d lost, and force a smile for Sophie, who giggled at squirrels and dandelions.

Sophie’s first smile came at six weeks, a gummy grin that lit up your world. You snapped a photo, wishing you could send it to Bucky, imagining his face softening as he saw her. Her first word “Mama” at nine months, was a triumph that brought tears to your eyes. You clapped, cheering her on, but the empty chair across from you felt like a rebuke. Her first steps at a year old were in the park, her tiny hands gripping yours as she wobbled on grass, her laughter bright. You recorded it on your phone, your voice shaky as you narrated, “Look at you, Sophie, my brave girl.” But the joy was bittersweet, each milestone a reminder that Bucky wasn’t there to witness it.

You poured love into Sophie, reading her stories, building blanket forts, teaching her to count with colorful blocks. Her curls bounced as she danced to music, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. But at night, when she slept, you’d sit by her crib, clutching a photo of you and Bucky from that Coney Island day. His arm was around you, his smile unguarded, and you’d trace his face, wondering why he hadn’t listened. The misunderstanding haunted you, his assumption, his refusal to hear you out. You’d loved him wholly, and he’d walked away, leaving you to carry the weight alone.

The nights were your undoing. When Sophie’s soft snores filled the apartment, you’d sit on the couch, the silence oppressive. You’d replay the gala, the coworker’s drunken hug, Bucky’s cold voice. “I trusted you,” he’d said, and the words cut deeper each time. You wondered if he’d found someone else, if he’d rebuilt his life without you. The thought was a knife, twisting in your chest. You’d cry silently, not wanting to wake Sophie, your tears soaking the photo you couldn’t let go. “You’re enough, baby,” you’d whisper to her sleeping form, but doubt gnawed at you. Were you enough? Raising her alone, knowing her father believed you a traitor, was a burden that threatened to break you.

You tried to move forward, joining a moms’ group, forcing yourself to socialize. The other mothers were kind, sharing tips on teething and tantrums, but their husbands’ presence at picnics or playdates stung. You’d smile, nodding as they talked about shared parenting, while your heart ached for the partner you’d lost. Sophie’s laughter kept you grounded, her joy a beacon in the dark. But the weight of Bucky’s absence, the sting of his betrayal, lingered like a bruise. You’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, and wonder if you’d ever heal, if you’d ever stop loving the man who’d broken your heart.

The farmer’s market was a burst of color and sound, stalls brimming with apples, fresh bread, and flowers under a crisp autumn sky. Sophie, now four, skipped beside you, her dark curls bouncing, her blue eyes wide with delight. She clutched a small basket, eager to pick out apples for a pie you’d promised to bake together. You smiled, her joy a balm to the ache you carried, but the moment shattered when a familiar voice cut through the crowd, sharp and cold as a winter wind.

“Well, look who it is.”

Bucky stood a few feet away, his vibranium arm glinting in the sunlight, his face etched with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. A blonde woman clung to his arm, her smile smug, while Yelena Belova and Ava Starr flanked him, their expressions icy. John Walker and Alexei Shostakov lingered behind, their silence a quiet complicity. The market’s chatter faded, the world narrowing to the man who’d once been your everything.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you gripped Sophie’s hand, her small fingers warm against your trembling ones.

His eyes flicked to Sophie, then back to you, the smirk twisting into something crueler. “Playing happy family? She yours? Bet her dad’s long gone, right? The guy you picked over me?”

The words were a physical blow, stealing your breath. Sophie was his, her eyes a mirror of his own, but he didn’t know, couldn’t know, because he’d never given you the chance to tell him. Your throat closed, words trapped behind the pain of his accusation.

Yelena stepped forward, her voice venomous. “Pathetic, raising a kid alone after throwing away a good man. You’re nothing, Y/N.” Her blonde hair caught the sun, her sneer cutting deeper than her words.

Ava’s laugh was sharp, a blade in your chest. “She’s pretending to be a mom, but that kid’s just a reminder of her mistakes. Look at her, acting all innocent.”

John shifted, his eyes darting away, discomfort flickering across his face, but he said nothing. Alexei’s silence was heavier, his broad shoulders tense, but he didn’t intervene. The blonde on Bucky’s arm giggled, pressing closer to him. “She’s not worth your time, babe,” she purred, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Bucky, please,” you managed, your voice shaking as you stepped forward, Sophie clinging to your leg. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand,” he cut in, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “You broke us. You chose someone else, and now you’re stuck.” His gaze dropped to Sophie, his lip curling. “Cute kid, but she’s a mistake, just like you were.”

Sophie’s voice was small, trembling. “Mommy, why’s he so mean?”

You knelt, forcing a smile through the tears burning your eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s go.” You lifted her into your arms, her warmth grounding you as you turned away.

Yelena’s laugh followed, sharp and mocking. “Run away, Y/N. That’s what you’re good at, ruining things.”

Ava’s voice joined in. “Don’t expect Bucky to fix your mess. He’s moved on.”

You kept walking, Sophie’s head buried in your shoulder, her questions muffled. “Why don’t they like us, Mommy?” she asked, her voice breaking your heart further. You didn’t answer, couldn’t find words past the lump in your throat. You met Bucky’s gaze one last time, his eyes flickering with something, doubt, maybe, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “I hope you find happiness, Bucky. Truly,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside you.

The market’s colors blurred as you walked away, Sophie’s hand warm in yours, her questions echoing in your mind. Their words were a weight you carried, each one a stone added to the burden of your loneliness. You passed stalls of pumpkins and chrysanthemums, the autumn air sharp in your lungs, and focused on Sophie’s breathing, her trust in you. You had to keep moving, for her, even as your heart screamed under the weight of their cruelty.

Back home, you tucked Sophie into bed, reading her favorite story about a brave rabbit until her eyes closed. You sat by her side, watching her chest rise and fall, her curls splayed on the pillow. The market encounter replayed in your mind, Bucky’s cold eyes, Yelena’s venom, Ava’s disdain. You’d faced their judgment before, in whispers at SHIELD, in pitying glances, but this was different. They’d attacked Sophie, called her a mistake, and the pain was a fire in your chest. You wanted to scream, to confront them, to make them see the truth, but you were too tired, too broken. Instead, you kissed Sophie’s forehead and whispered, “You’re my miracle, not a mistake.” But the words felt hollow against the weight of Bucky’s rejection.

Thor found you in a park six months after Sophie’s birth, your world reduced to diaper bags and sleepless nights. You were on a bench, Sophie asleep in her stroller, her tiny chest rising under a knit blanket. Tears streamed down your face, silent but unstoppable, as you stared at the playground where other families laughed. The weight of raising Sophie alone, of Bucky’s absence, had finally broken you that day, the loneliness a tide you couldn’t swim against.

Thor, visiting Midgard for a diplomatic meeting, had been walking the park’s paths, his hammer disguised as an umbrella. He saw you, your shoulders shaking, and sat beside you without a word. His presence was a quiet mountain, steady and unyielding. “You carry much, lady Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low, like distant thunder. “But you are not alone.”

You looked at him, his blue eyes kind, his Asgardian armor replaced with a simple jacket. “I don’t know how to do this, Thor,” you admitted, your voice raw. “I’m trying, but it’s so hard.”

He nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Strength is not the absence of pain, but carrying it for those you love. You are strong, Y/N, for your child.”

From that day, Thor became your rock. He’d show up with groceries, bags of apples and bread balanced comically in his arms, insisting he’d “conquered the supermarket.” He’d play with Sophie, lifting her gently as she giggled, calling her “little warrior.” He listened when you needed to vent, his silence a gift that let you unravel without judgment.

Weeks after the farmer’s market, you sat with Thor in a cozy coffee shop, its walls lined with bookshelves, the air rich with the scent of espresso. Sophie, now four, colored at the table, her crayons dancing across paper as she drew a dragon from one of Thor’s Asgardian tales. Thor was mid-story, his voice animated as he described a mythical beast, when the door chimed. Yelena and Ava walked in, their eyes locking onto you, their sneers immediate.

“Well, well,” Yelena said loudly, her voice cutting through the shop’s hum. “The cheater and her new man. Moved on fast, didn’t you?”

Thor’s jaw tightened, his hand pausing on his coffee mug. “You speak without knowledge,” he said, his tone calm but edged with steel. “Y/N is my friend, nothing more.”

Ava snorted, crossing her arms. “Sure, big guy. Bet you’re the one who knocked her up. Poor Bucky dealt with her lies, and now you’re stuck.”

You kept your voice steady, for Sophie’s sake, though your hands shook under the table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave us alone.”

Yelena leaned in, her voice a hiss. “You don’t get to play victim. You broke Bucky. You deserve nothing.”

John and Alexei were at the counter, John avoiding your gaze, Alexei’s face unreadable. Their silence was a betrayal, a refusal to challenge the narrative Bucky had fed them. Sophie looked up, her crayons still. “Mommy, why do they hate you?” she asked, her voice small.

You brushed her curls back, forcing a smile. “Some people don’t understand, sweetheart. But we have Thor.”

Thor stood, his presence commanding, his eyes never leaving Yelena. “Enough. Your words are cruel and baseless. Leave, or I will ensure you do.”

Yelena smirked but stepped back, Ava following. Yelena’s parting shot echoed as they left: “Keep pretending, Y/N. You’ll always be the one who ruined everything.”

Thor sat, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You are stronger than their cruelty, Y/N. I am honored to stand with you.”

That night, after Sophie was asleep, you collapsed on your living room floor, the rug rough against your palms. The coffee shop encounter replayed, Yelena’s venom, Ava’s disdain, Bucky’s absence. You hadn’t cheated, but they’d painted you as the villain, their words a mirror to Bucky’s rejection. The loneliness was suffocating, a weight that pressed you into the floor. You sobbed, the sound raw and broken, your body shaking. “I can’t do this,” you whispered, the words a confession to the empty room. Sophie’s snores drifted from her bedroom, a reminder of why you had to keep going. You curled into yourself, the pain a tidal wave, but her existence was the thread that pulled you back from the edge.

The leukemia diagnosis came like a thunderbolt on a clear day, shattering the fragile peace you’d built. Sophie was four, her laughter a constant in your life, when a fever lingered too long, her energy fading. You took her to the doctor, expecting a simple virus, but the blood tests told a different story. “Acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but unyielding. “She’ll need aggressive treatment, possibly a bone marrow transplant.”

You sat in the hospital’s sterile waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing, Sophie curled in your lap, her face pale but her smile brave. “Will I get better, Mommy?” she asked, her blue eyes searching yours.

“Yes, baby,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear clawing at you. “We’ll fight this together.”

The hospital became your world, its antiseptic smell and beeping monitors a constant backdrop. Sophie endured chemotherapy, her curls falling out, her small body tethered to IVs. She’d smile through the pain, drawing pictures of you and her holding hands under a rainbow. You stayed by her bed, holding her hand, reading her stories, your voice a lifeline for both of you. But each beep of the monitor was a reminder of time slipping away, the donor list a dead end despite your endless calls and research.

You barely slept, your days spent advocating for Sophie, your nights researching clinical trials. Friends like Mrs. Carter sent meals, and Thor visited, bringing Sophie stuffed animals and tales of Asgard to make her laugh. But the fear was relentless, a shadow that grew with each failed donor match. You felt you were failing her, the guilt a weight heavier than any you’d carried before. “I’m sorry, baby,” you whispered when she slept, her hand limp in yours. “I’m trying so hard.”

Desperate, you sought Bucky at a dive bar in Brooklyn, its dim lights and smoky air a stark contrast to the hospital’s sterility. He sat alone, a whiskey in his hand, his eyes shadowed. You approached, your heart pounding, every step a battle against the pain of his rejection.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice trembling. “Sophie’s sick. Leukemia. She needs a bone marrow transplant. You might be a match. Please, test for her.”

He laughed, a bitter sound that cut through you. “Nerve, Y/N. Why should I help you play house with your kid and her deadbeat dad?”

“She’s not—” You stopped, the truth too raw to speak. “She’s my daughter, Bucky. She’s dying. Please.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes cold. “You made your bed, Y/N. Lie in it.”

He walked away, leaving you standing in the bar’s dim light, sobs wracking your body. You sank into a booth, the world blurring, hope slipping through your fingers like sand.

Sam Wilson had always been a quiet supporter, checking on you and Sophie with calls or visits, his kindness a steady presence. He found you in the hospital hallway, your face pale as you stared through the glass at Sophie, her small form hooked to machines. The ICU was a cold, sterile place, its silence broken only by the rhythmic beeps of monitors.

“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but firm, his hand on your shoulder.

You told him everything, Sophie’s leukemia, the failed donor search, Bucky’s refusal at the bar. Your voice broke as you spoke, tears falling. “I don’t know how to save her, Sam. I’ve tried everything.”

Sam’s eyes lingered on Sophie, her dark curls matted, her blue eyes closed in sleep. He froze, his brow furrowing as he studied her face. She looked like Bucky, the shape of her jaw, the hue of her eyes. He didn’t say it, but the resemblance hit him like a punch. He didn’t ask if she was Bucky’s; he assumed, the pieces clicking in his mind, and he resolved to push Bucky without spelling it out.

Sam found Bucky at the Avengers compound, his fists slamming into a punching bag, sweat dripping down his face. The gym was quiet, the air heavy with Bucky’s focus.

“Hey, man, we need to talk,” Sam said, leaning against the wall, his tone casual but insistent.

“Not now, Sam,” Bucky growled, his punches harder, the bag swinging.

“Yes, now,” Sam shot back, stepping closer. “Y/N’s in the hospital with her kid, Sophie. She’s dying, Buck. Leukemia. And you’re here beating up a bag instead of helping.”

Bucky paused, his chest heaving. “Why should I care? Y/N made her choices.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t mention Sophie’s resemblance directly. “You sure about that? You saw Y/N with some guy for two seconds and decided she betrayed you. Did you ever ask her side? Or did you just run?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his fists still. “I know what I saw.”

“Do you?” Sam pressed, his voice sharp. “You’re so damn stubborn, you’re letting a little girl suffer because you won’t face your own mistakes. Go to the hospital. Look at her. Tell me you don’t see something worth fighting for.”

Bucky shook his head, but Sam’s words lingered, sowing doubt. “You’re wrong,” he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Am I?” Sam said, stepping closer. “You’re scared, Buck. Scared you got it wrong. Scared you walked away from something real. Go see Sophie. Just look at her.”

Sam kept at it, dropping by the compound daily, his comments subtle but relentless. “Heard Y/N’s still at the hospital. Sophie’s fighting hard. You gonna keep hiding?” or “Y/N’s alone, man. You ever think you misjudged her?” He never said Sophie was Bucky’s, but his persistence chipped away at Bucky’s certainty, the image of Sophie’s face, those eyes, so like his, haunting him.

Sam’s persistence was a slow, steady pressure, like water eroding stone. He didn’t let up, cornering Bucky at the Avengers compound day after day, his words sharp but never direct about Sophie’s parentage. “You’re hiding, Buck,” he’d say, leaning against the gym’s doorway as Bucky lifted weights. “Y/N’s fighting for her kid’s life, and you’re here acting like it’s not your problem.” Or at the mess hall, over coffee: “You ever think you got it wrong about Y/N? That maybe you walked away too fast?” Sam’s eyes would bore into Bucky, searching for a crack in his stubborn resolve, planting seeds of doubt that grew with each encounter.

Bucky tried to shrug it off, his jaw tight, his vibranium arm flexing as he worked on his bike or cleaned his weapons. But Sam’s words haunted him, conjuring Sophie’s face, those blue eyes, so like his own, the dark curls that reminded him of his mother’s old photos. He’d seen her at the market, a fleeting glimpse, but it was enough to stir something he couldn’t name. Sam’s relentless prodding “Go to the hospital, man. Just look at her. Tell me you don’t feel something” chipped away at his certainty, the memory of Y/N’s plea in the bar and the rooftop encounter echoing alongside Sam’s challenges.

Finally, Sam’s patience snapped. He found Bucky on the compound’s rooftop, staring at the city skyline, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. “This is it, Buck,” Sam said, his voice low but unyielding. “Y/N’s breaking, Sophie’s dying, and you’re up here drowning in self-pity. Go to the hospital. Look at that little girl. If you can walk away after that, fine. But you owe it to yourself to see her.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the bottle, his knuckles white. “You don’t get it, Sam. She betrayed me.”

“Did she?” Sam shot back, stepping closer, his eyes fierce. “Or did you see what you wanted to see because it was easier than trusting? You’re scared you got it wrong, and you’re letting a kid pay for it. Go look at her, Buck. Stop running.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but Sam’s words burned, a fire he couldn’t extinguish. That night, he found himself at the hospital, his boots heavy on the linoleum floor, Sam at his side. The ICU was a maze of beeps and sterile light, the air thick with antiseptic and fear. Sam led him to Sophie’s room, stopping at the glass window. “Look at her,” Sam said, his voice soft but firm. “Tell me you don’t see it.”

Bucky looked. Sophie lay in the bed, her small body dwarfed by tubes and monitors, her dark curls matted against the pillow, her blue eyes closed. But her face, her jaw, the shape of her nose, the faint freckles, was a mirror of his own. His knees buckled, his breath catching in his throat. “No…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Sophie’s condition had deteriorated, her small body rushed to the ICU after a fever spiked uncontrollably, her breathing shallow and labored. The hospital’s sterile halls were a maze of despair, each fluorescent light casting harsh shadows on the polished linoleum. The doctors’ words were a relentless drumbeat: “We’re running out of time.” Their faces were kind but grim, their eyes betraying the dwindling hope they couldn’t voice. You’d begged Bucky at the bar, his bitter laughter echoing in your ears, his refusal a final blow to the fragile hope you’d clung to. Sophie, your light, was slipping away, and you were powerless.

You’d spent the day by her bed, her small hand limp in yours, the monitors’ beeps a cruel metronome to your fear. But the pain of watching her fade became unbearable, her pale face framed by tubes a silent accusation of your failure. You needed air, a moment to escape the suffocating weight of the hospital room. You slipped out, your sneakers silent on the floor, your face streaked with tears, your breaths uneven. A nurse, one who’d seen you night after night, watched you go, her brow furrowed with concern, but you didn’t notice, your mind a fog of grief as you climbed the stairwell to the rooftop.

The metal door creaked as you pushed it open, the cold night air hitting you like a slap. The city sprawled below, a glittering web of lights under a starless sky, the distant hum of traffic and faint music a cruel reminder of a world that kept moving while yours crumbled. You stepped to the edge, the concrete ledge rough under your trembling hands, the wind whipping your hair across your tear-streaked face. Sophie was your everything, the reason you’d survived years of loneliness, Bucky’s abandonment, the cruelty of Yelena and Ava’s words. But now, with her fading, the weight was unbearable. You’d failed her. The thought was a blade, twisting with every memory, her giggles in the park, her small hand in yours, her voice calling “Mama.” You’d begged Bucky to help, and he’d laughed, called her a mistake, just as he had at the market. The years of pain, the isolation, the judgment, it crashed over you, a tidal wave drowning your will to fight.

You leaned forward, the void below beckoning, a promise of release from the agony. “I’m sorry, Sophie,” you whispered, your voice breaking, the words lost in the wind. “I failed you.” Your eyes closed, the city’s hum fading, your heart screaming to let go, to end the pain that had consumed you.

Bucky’s voice cut through, low and rough, laced with a panic you’d never heard before. “Y/N, step back.” He stood a few feet away, his leather jacket slick with the night’s mist, his vibranium arm glinting faintly under the rooftop’s dim lights. His blue eyes were wide, haunted, his face pale as he took a cautious step closer, his hands raised as if approaching a wounded animal.

Bucky had come to the hospital that night, driven by Sam’s relentless prodding, the image of Sophie’s face, those eyes so like his, burning in his mind. He’d stood outside her room, watching her through the glass, his heart twisting at her fragility, his doubts about you warring with the guilt Sam had stoked. But you weren’t there, your chair empty, Sophie alone with the monitors. A nurse, the same one who’d seen you leave, approached him, her voice soft but urgent. “She’s not herself,” she said, her eyes worried. “I saw her head to the stairwell, crying. I think she went to the rooftop. You should check on her.” Bucky’s stomach had dropped, fear propelling him up the stairs, his boots pounding, his breath ragged as he pushed through the door and saw you at the edge.

You turned, your body shaking, sobs tearing from your throat. “Bucky,” you choked out, your voice raw, barely audible over the wind. “I can’t do this. She’s dying, and I’m not enough. I begged you, and you laughed. You called her a mistake. I can’t save her.”

He flinched, your words hitting like a punch, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer, his boots heavy on the concrete. “Y/N, please,” he said, his voice cracking, his flesh hand reaching out but stopping short, as if afraid you’d shatter. “I didn’t know—God, I don’t know what I’m doing, but you can’t do this. Sophie needs you.”

“You don’t get to say that!” you cried, your voice rising, raw with years of hurt. “You left me, Bucky. You believed I betrayed you, walked away without listening. You called our daughter a mistake. I’ve been alone, fighting for her, and you laughed in my face when I asked for help. I’m not enough, and she’s paying for it.”

His face crumpled, guilt and pain etched into every line, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I was wrong,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling. “Sam’s been on me, making me question everything. I saw her at the market, Y/N—those eyes. I don’t know what’s true anymore, but I know you can’t give up. Sophie needs her mom. Please, step back.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face, the wind cold against your skin. “I’ve tried everything—doctors, donor lists, you. She’s slipping away, and I can’t stop it. I’m so tired, Bucky.”

He closed the distance, his hands gentle but firm as he gripped your shoulders, pulling you back from the edge. “I’m here now,” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “I don’t know if I can fix this, but I’m not letting you go. Not like this. Sophie needs you, and I—” He stopped, his breath hitching, his eyes locked on yours. “I need you to stay.”

You collapsed against him, your sobs muffled in his chest, his leather jacket cold and damp against your cheek. He held you tightly, his vibranium arm a solid anchor, his flesh hand cradling your head, letting you break without pulling away. The wind howled, but Bucky’s warmth was a shield, grounding you. “I don’t know how to keep going,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “She’s everything, and I’m losing her.”

“You’re not losing her,” Bucky said, his voice low, fierce. “She’s fighting because of you. You’re stronger than you know, Y/N. I was a fool to ever doubt you. Stay for her. Please.” He guided you away from the edge, his arm steady around you, leading you back to the stairwell. You clung to him, your legs weak, his words a faint spark in the darkness, urging you to keep fighting.

Back in Sophie’s room, you sat by her bed, her small hand limp in yours, the monitors’ steady beeps a cruel reminder of her fragility. Bucky stayed outside the glass, his silhouette a shadow in the hallway, his eyes fixed on Sophie. You didn’t look at him, your focus on your daughter’s pale face, her dark curls matted against the pillow. You memorized her features, her lashes, the curve of her cheeks, the faint freckles across her nose. The fear of losing her was a constant ache, but Bucky’s words lingered, a fragile lifeline. “I’m here, baby,” you whispered to Sophie, squeezing her hand, her warmth grounding you. “I won’t give up.” You didn’t know if Bucky’s presence meant anything lasting, if his doubt would lead to action, but for now, you held onto Sophie, resolving to fight another day.

Bucky’s gaze dropped to Sophie, her small form so fragile, and a sob tore from his throat. “I’ll get tested,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Now. I’ll do it now.”

You nodded, your shoulders sagging, the weight of years of pain and fear etched into your face. “Thank you,” you said, your voice flat, as if the effort of speaking drained you.

Bucky followed a nurse to a lab, his mind a storm of guilt and fear. The needle was a small pain compared to the ache in his chest, the realization that Sophie was his daughter, that he’d abandoned you both. He sat in the waiting area against the wall after, his head in his hands, replaying every moment, your pleas at the gala, your tears in the bar, the market where he’d lashed out, the rooftop where he’d seen you break. He’d been so sure, so blinded by his own insecurities, that he’d missed the truth staring him in the face. Sophie’s face. His face.

Sam sat beside him, silent for once, his presence enough. “You did the right thing,” he said finally, his voice low. “Whatever happens, you’re here now.”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor, the weight of his mistakes heavier than ever. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him, if he’d ever forgive himself, but for Sophie, he’d try. He’d do anything.

Bucky’s bone marrow was a match, a miracle that felt like a reprieve from the universe. The transplant was grueling, Sophie’s small body enduring more than any child should, but she was a fighter, her spirit unbroken despite the pain. You lived in the hospital during her recovery, sleeping in a chair by her bed, your hand never far from hers. The monitors’ beeps became a rhythm of hope, each one a sign she was still with you. Slowly, her color returned, her laughter echoing in the sterile room as she drew pictures of rainbows and dragons, her curls growing back in soft waves.

Bucky was there, too, but you kept him at arm’s length. He’d sit outside Sophie’s room, watching through the glass, his eyes haunted but determined. He brought her gifts, stuffed animals, books, a small music box that played a 1940s tune. Sophie’s face would light up, her voice calling “Bucky!” with a joy that twisted your heart. She didn’t know the pain he’d caused, the years he’d been absent. To her, he was a kind man who read her stories and made her laugh, and you couldn’t take that from her.

One afternoon, Sophie sat up in bed, her cheeks pinker than they’d been in months, a peony in her hand, Bucky’s latest gift, tied with a blue ribbon, a nod to the flowers he’d once brought you. “Look, Mommy!” she said, holding it up, her blue eyes sparkling. “Bucky says peonies mean good luck!” You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes, the memory of Bucky tying ribbons around flowers for you a lifetime ago. Sophie’s joy was pure, untainted by the past, and you wanted to protect that, even if it meant swallowing your pain.

Bucky was learning her, memorizing her quirks, the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed, her love for strawberry ice cream, her insistence on drawing stars on every picture. One day, she called him “Daddy,” the word slipping out as he read her a story about a brave knight. He froze, his eyes meeting yours through the glass, a mix of awe and guilt in his expression. You turned away, focusing on Sophie’s drawing, your heart a tangle of gratitude and grief. She deserved a father, and he was trying, but the wounds he’d left were too deep to heal.

Bucky tried to reach you, his efforts quiet but persistent. He left notes on your doorstep, slipped under the door of your temporary hospital housing, simple messages like “Thinking of you” or quotes from poems you’d once read together, their words etched in your memory. “I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart),” one read, a line from e.e. cummings that you’d whispered to him on that rooftop years ago. You’d find them in the morning, your fingers tracing his handwriting, but you’d tuck them away, unable to face the emotions they stirred.

One stormy night, echoing that first night years ago, he stood outside your hospital housing, rain soaking his jacket, his hair plastered to his face. You opened the door, the wind carrying the scent of rain and asphalt, and saw him standing there, his eyes pleading. “Y/N, please,” he said, his voice rough, barely audible over the storm. “I know I messed up. I was wrong about everything, the gala, you, Sophie. I was a fool, and I’m so sorry. Let me make it right.”

You stood in the doorway, your arms crossed, the rain a curtain between you. His face was open, raw, the man you’d loved still there beneath the pain. But the hurt was a wall, built from years of loneliness, his cruel words at the market, his laughter in the bar. “I’m thankful for Sophie,” you said, your voice flat, numb. “You saved her life, Bucky, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But what I felt for you died the day you called her a mistake. I can’t... feel that again. I don’t have it in me.”

He nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, the rain masking them. “I’ll keep trying,” he said, his voice breaking. “For you. For her. I’ll be here, Y/N, as long as it takes.”

You closed the door, leaning against it, your breath shaky. The storm raged outside, mirroring the turmoil inside you. You wanted to believe him, to find the love you’d once had, but it was buried under too much pain, too many scars.

You were a shell, moving through the days with mechanical precision. Sophie’s recovery was a miracle, her laughter a light that should have warmed you, but you were numb, a ghost of the woman you’d been. You’d sit by her bed, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling, and feel nothing but gratitude tinged with emptiness. You’d smile for her, braid her hair, sing her lullabies, but the joy was distant, like a song you could hear but not feel. Thor’s visits, his warm hugs and Asgardian tales, brought fleeting comfort, but even his kindness couldn’t fill the void. Sam’s check-ins, his quiet support, kept you grounded, but the love you’d had for Bucky was gone, buried under years of hurt, its absence a hollow ache.

At night, you’d stand by the hospital window, the city lights a blur, and whisper to Sophie, “I’m here for you, baby.” But the words felt like a lie. You weren’t sure who you were anymore, only that you had to keep going for her, even if you were broken. You’d touch the peony on her bedside table, its petals soft, and wonder if you’d ever feel whole again.

One evening, Sophie woke from a nap, her eyes bright despite the hospital’s dim light. “Mommy, tell me about when you and Daddy were happy,” she said, her voice curious, unaware of the pain it stirred. You hesitated, your heart clenching, but her hopeful gaze pulled the words from you. You told her about Coney Island, the ferris wheel lights, Bucky’s laugh as he won her a stuffed bear. You left out the gala, the betrayal, the years alone, focusing on the love that had created her. She smiled, clutching the peony, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of warmth, a reminder of why you fought. But when she slept, the numbness returned, a silent companion you couldn’t shake.

The truth about Sophie’s parentage spread through Sam’s intervention, a ripple that reached Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei. They arrived at the hospital one gray morning, their faces pale, their eyes heavy with guilt. The waiting room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of coffee and antiseptic, the hum of the hospital a constant backdrop. You stood by Sophie’s room, watching her sleep through the glass, when they approached, their steps hesitant.

Yelena spoke first, her usual sharpness softened, her blonde hair pulled back, her green eyes downcast. “Y/N,” she said, her voice low, almost breaking. “Sam told us everything. About Sophie, about Bucky’s mistake. I believed him without questioning, and I was cruel. I said things I can’t take back. I’m so sorry.”

Ava stepped forward, her dark eyes glistening, her hands clasped tightly. “We were wrong,” she said, her voice trembling. “I called Sophie a mistake, mocked you for being alone. I didn’t know the truth, but that’s no excuse. You didn’t deserve our words. Can you ever forgive us?”

John cleared his throat, his broad shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I saw your pain at the market, in the coffee shop, and I stayed quiet,” he said, his voice rough. “I should’ve spoken up, questioned Bucky’s story. I’m sorry, Y/N. I failed you.”

Alexei, usually boisterous, was subdued, his red beard framing a face etched with regret. “I didn’t ask questions,” he said, his Russian accent thick. “I stood by, let them hurt you. I should have been better. I’m sorry.”

You looked at them, the hurt still raw, their words from the market and coffee shop echoing in your mind. Yelena’s venom, Ava’s disdain, John and Alexei’s silence, they’d painted you as the villain, their judgment a weight you’d carried alongside Bucky’s betrayal. Sophie slept behind the glass, her breathing steady, and you drew strength from her presence. “You broke me,” you said, your voice steady but laced with pain. “Your words, your assumptions—they cut deeper than you know. I was alone, raising my daughter, and you made it harder. But I don’t want hate in Sophie’s life. She’s been through enough. Be better. For her.”

They nodded, their faces solemn, and promised to try. Over the next months, they showed it through actions. Yelena brought Sophie books, colorful stories about brave girls, sitting by her bed to read when you needed a break. Ava helped with errands, picking up groceries or prescriptions, her quiet apologies in every gesture. John started fixing things in your apartment, a leaky faucet, a wobbly shelf, his way of making amends. Alexei, with his booming laugh, told Sophie silly stories, making her giggle even on hard days. Their efforts were slow, tentative, but genuine, and Sophie’s smile when they visited was a small step toward healing.

Word spread beyond them, the truth shifting how others saw you. Mrs. Carter, your neighbor, baked cookies for Sophie, her eyes soft with understanding when she heard the story. The moms’ group you’d joined rallied, organizing a meal train for you and Sophie, their support a quiet apology for the times they hadn’t understood your pain. Even Natasha Romanoff stopped by, her presence a reminder of SHIELD days, her apology simple but sincere “I should’ve checked on you more, Y/N. I’m here now.” The hospital became a hub of quiet support, a network rebuilding around you and Sophie, but the scars remained, a reminder of the years you’d faced alone.

You stood by Sophie’s bed one evening, watching her draw a picture of you, her, and Bucky holding hands under a tree. “This is us,” she said, her voice bright, unaware of the complexity. You smiled, but the ache was there, the memory of their cruelty mingling with their apologies. Forgiving them was hard, not because you wanted to hold onto hate, but because their words had deepened the loneliness you’d carried. You wanted Sophie to grow up surrounded by love, not resentment, so you let them in, bit by bit, for her sake. But at night, when the hospital was quiet, you’d sit by her side, your heart heavy, wondering if trust could ever be fully rebuilt.

Sophie thrived, her laughter filling your small Queens apartment as she danced to music, her curls bouncing, her blue eyes bright. The hospital days faded into memory, replaced by park visits and bedtime stories, her strength a miracle you held onto. Bucky was a constant now, taking her to the park, pushing her on swings, learning her favorite ice cream flavors. She called him “Daddy” with ease, her trust in him growing with each visit, her drawings now featuring him alongside you and her. Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei became allies, their actions, books, errands, laughter, mending the wounds they’d caused. Thor remained your rock, his visits filled with Asgardian tales and warm hugs, while Sam’s quiet check-ins reminded you of his role in bringing Bucky back.

But you carried scars, invisible but deep. Watching Sophie, her smile so like Bucky’s, stirred an ache of lost love, a reminder of what could have been. You functioned, cooked her favorite pancakes, braided her hair, cheered at her school plays, but inside, you were hollow, the love you’d had for Bucky buried under years of pain. You’d see him with Sophie, tying ribbons around peonies, and feel a pang, the memory of his love now a ghost. You wanted to feel again, to find the woman who’d laughed with him on rooftops, but she was gone, replaced by someone who survived for Sophie.

Mornings were a whirlwind of cereal bowls and Sophie’s chatter, her voice filling the apartment as she planned her day. You’d walk her to preschool, her small hand in yours, the autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Bucky would meet you there sometimes, his smile tentative as he waved to Sophie, his eyes searching yours for a connection you couldn’t offer. You’d nod, polite but distant, and watch as Sophie ran to him, her joy a contrast to your numbness. Afternoons were spent working, your laptop humming as you balanced freelance projects, Sophie’s drawings taped to the wall beside you. Evenings were for her, reading, playing, tucking her in with a kiss. But the nights were yours, and they were lonely, the silence a reminder of the love you’d lost.

One evening, you sat on your balcony, the city lights a soft glow below, a glass of wine untouched in your hand. Sophie slept inside, her stuffed dragon from Thor clutched in her arms. You thought of the rooftop, the edge you’d nearly stepped off, and Bucky’s voice pulling you back. You thought of his notes, his rain-soaked plea, his efforts to rebuild what he’d broken. You thought of Yelena and the others, their apologies and actions, their slow return to your life. The pain was still there, a quiet companion, but so was Sophie’s laughter, her warmth, her trust. “We’re enough,” you whispered, the words a mantra you were starting to believe.

You stood, leaning against the railing, the cool metal grounding you. The city hummed below, alive and indifferent, but your world was inside, in the small girl who’d fought so hard to live. You didn’t know if you’d ever love again, if you’d ever trust Bucky or the others fully, but for Sophie, you’d keep going. You’d build a fragile future, one day at a time, her smile your guiding light.

One day, Sophie ran to you with a drawing, a family under a rainbow, you, her, and Bucky holding hands. “Can Daddy come for dinner?” she asked, her eyes hopeful. You hesitated, the pain flaring, but her smile softened it. “Maybe,” you said, your voice soft. “We’ll see, sweetheart.” It wasn’t a promise, but it was a possibility, a crack in the wall you’d built. For Sophie, you’d try, even if your heart wasn’t ready. You hugged her, her warmth filling the hollow spaces, and felt a flicker of hope, fragile but real.

[fawnymeadows]

The Huntsman and the Doe // Oh Sion 18+

Pairing ▸ huntsman!sion x deer!reader

Word Count ▸ 1.6k words

genre ▸ fantsay, fluff (if you squint), mature themes, suggestive, light sexual content forbidden lovers, angst?

warnings ▸ mentions of death, blood and weaponary, manipulation theme

a/n: Sion introduces himself to reader as a bard. He is also a manipulative bastard purely for this piece of fiction! This is a re-upload, because I did not like the original draft yikes. Re-blogs are appreciated greatly!

♪ coquette habit - Sophie Woodhouse ♪

The forest was quiet—except for the soft drip of dew from ivy-covered branches and the murmur of a stream that had forgotten where it was going.

And it was here that Sion found you.

You were crumpled against the roots of an ancient elm, sobbing in a way that cracked the stillness. A sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. Your body shook, arms wrapped tight around your knees, your bare feet dirt-streaked. Your hair spilled in damp, tangled waves, clinging to your face as you trembled with every breath.

Sion didn’t mean to stop.

But how could he walk past a weeping poem made flesh?

He stepped forward slowly, carefully—quiet as a deer. His lute was slung over his back, his cloak brushing against the ferns. His breath caught when moonlight hit your face.

You didn’t look entirely human.

You looked like the forest had shaped you—skin kissed by dappled sun, eyes the color of frozen tears, lashes wet with dew. But you cried like any girl might. Like someone wild-hearted and breaking.

“Why do you cry, little fawn?” he asked, his voice soft as fog.

Your head snapped up. Your eyes widened. You froze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

He knelt beside you—not too close, but close enough to offer something. A presence. A witness.

“Neither should you,” he said. “And yet... here we are.”

You stared at him, blinking like a startled animal. Fragile. Unsure. “Are you real?”

He smiled. Not big. Not smug. Just... tender.

“I was about to ask you the same.”

You hiccuped, shoulders still shaking. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing your hand. You didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to be seen.”

“I didn’t mean to see you,” he said gently. “But I’m glad I did.”

Time passed. He told you stories. Sang soft, aching songs. His voice stitched something warm and golden into the cold air. You listened like you were starving. Clung to every note like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

You talked about stars. About music. About how lonely it feels to be forgotten by the world. Your tears dried, but sorrow still clung to your eyes.

He walked with you under the trees. You showed him where the violets bloomed the thickest, where the ferns curled like shy little hands.

“You remind me of a mourning dove,” he said once, watching the way your fingers fluttered when you talked about dreams.

“Why?”

“You coo for comfort... even as your heart breaks.”

You laughed—quietly, unsure. But you smiled. Soft. Real.

He asked your name.

You paused, thoughtful. Then said, “Names are the first thing you forget when you become part of the forest.”

“Then what should I call you?”

You hesitated. And then, trusting him fully, said, “Call me Y/N.”

He tried not to flinch. But he knew that name.

He’d read it in the old texts. Heard it whispered through myth.

Y/N, the spirit of the glade. The one whose heart, if delivered under full moonlight, would keep his kingdom safe.

He played for you often—songs of ruined knights and fading queens. Of deer hunted in shadow. You cried for every story. And each time, he touched your cheek, brushing away your tears like he had the right to.

Manipulation is just another kind of song, he told himself.

But the longer he stayed, the harder it got to breathe around you. The lies started to feel heavy. The words he’d practiced alone by candlelight came out all wrong.

You leaned on him like he was something sacred.

Your eyes looked at him like he was real.

He should’ve left.

But instead—he stayed.

And one night, he touched you. He kissed you.

And you kissed himback.

That night, the hush of the forest was not peaceful.

It felt like the breath held just before a sob.

You and Sion sat close beneath the ancient elm, where its roots curled like ribs around the clearing. The moon hung low and fat above the trees, casting your faces in pale light. You had been laughing—soft, breathless. Something about the way he tripped over a root earlier, cursing so gently it made you cry with mirth.

But now, the laughter had settled.

He looked at you like he was memorising the moment. Like he didn’t trust the world to keep it safe. You looked back with the same fear.

Without a word, he reached for you.

Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, dragging him close. He came easily, lips parting against yours like a promise. The kiss wasn’t slow. It wasn’t rushed, either. It was urgent. Not with lust, but longing. Your mouths moved like the world was ending tomorrow and this—this—was the only way to leave a mark behind.

When you pulled away just enough to breathe, your foreheads pressed, your noses bumped, your lashes fluttered.

“I don’t want to disappear,” you whispered, like a confession.

“You won’t,” he said, though his voice cracked.

You kissed again. Deeper. His hands found your hips, the small of your back, the pulse at your throat. You pushed him down to the moss, climbed into his lap, trembling. Your shift fell away, and when his hands met bare skin, he froze—only for a moment—but long enough for you to see it. The awe. The fear.

He touched you like he’d never be allowed again.

He guided you with shaking hands, and when he entered you, it wasn't gentle—it was careful, yes, but full of need. The kind that tastes like mourning. The kind that makes you sob into the crook of someone’s neck because you know you’ll never feel this way again.

You clung to him, hips rolling, arms wrapped tight around his neck, your mouth open against his collarbone, gasping his name like a prayer you didn't know how to finish.

“I don’t want this to be a memory,” you choked.

He held your face, his thumbs wiping tears before they could fall.

“It won’t be,” he lied.

You moved together like you were trying to memorise each other with your bodies. Like if you loved him hard enough, you could anchor yourself to the moment. Like if he kissed you deep enough, he could pretend he wasn’t going to tear the world in half.

When you came, it wasn’t quiet.

And when he followed, he made a sound so soft, so broken, it didn’t sound like it came from a man at all.

After, you collapsed into each other, limbs tangled, skin damp, breath caught between silence and sobs. Your fingers dragged through his hair, through the sweat at his nape. His hand lay splayed across your ribs, where your heart pounded.

You didn’t speak.

He just held you.

As if you could keep each other whole.

You lay with him afterward, curled into his chest, fingers tracing the ridge of his collarbone like you could write your name there and make it stay.

The forest didn’t move. It just watched.

You whispered something—soft, half-asleep, half-afraid.

“Sion... I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He held you tighter.

Then, he kissed you.

Not out of hunger, but grief and some sort of twisted love

It was slow, full of something too big for words. You kissed him back like he was home, like you didn’t feel the way his hand had started to tremble.

Your lips still brushed his when he moved.

His other hand—quiet, practiced—found the hilt of the blade tucked beneath his cloak.

He didn’t drive it in like a soldier. He didn’t strike with rage.

It slipped in slow.

Clean.

Cruel.

You gasped—just once—and pulled back, blinking like you weren’t sure what had happened. Then your hand went to your ribs, and came away wet.

“Sion...?”

He held you up even as your knees buckled, even as your mouth opened in shock, then pain, then something deeper. Betrayal.

“You lied,” you whispered, voice splintering.

His jaw clenched. “I did.”

You stared at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Or maybe like you couldn’t see him at all.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d... look at me like that. Love me like that.”

Blood soaked your gown. It crept between your fingers. You pressed against him, shaking, not to fight—just to hold on.

“You were never real,” you said. “Were you?”

His eyes filled.

He didn’t answer.

You were already fading.

Still, your hand reached up, brushing his cheek with what little strength you had left. Your touch was featherlight. Forgiving.

“I would’ve stayed,” you whispered, breath catching. “Even knowing this.”

And then—you stilled.

Completely.

He caught you, arms tightening, as though that might undo it. As though grief could rewind time.

Your blood warmed his chest. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your body slackened in the cradle of his arms like sleep.

But it wasn’t sleep.

He rocked you gently, forehead pressed to yours. His mouth moved, but no sound came. Not yet. His lute sat untouched in the grass, silent.

Later, when the moon had crested and the moss felt cold, he buried you beneath the elm, where the roots curved protectively around the earth.

He didn’t cry.

But when he sang again—days later, weeks—his voice sounded different. Hoarse. Hollowed.

Each night he returned.

Each night he played.

Not in penance.

Not in mourning.

But to remember the mask he’d worn so well.

And you—the innocent, devastating deer girl who believed that Oh Sion’s love was real.

[graciegoeskrazy]

jump then fall

Sebastian Stan x StepDaughter!Teen!reader

wc: shmall/776

summary: y/n comes home drunk but Sebastian is there to make sure she’s okay.

warnings: alcohol, step parents(???), one mention of teen pregnancy, lemme know what i missed plz.

a/n: hiiii wrote this last night. thought it was cute. this is unedited so sorry in advance. will i fix it? no prob not.

You got your friend to drive you back from the party. You made her turn the headlights off and drop you off a couple of houses down from your home. “Holy Shit!”

“”Language, young lady.”

“”What are you doing up?” You said, trying not to slur your words. It was no use though.

“Waiting for you.” Sebastian said, leaning against the door frame. He hadn’t married your mom yet but he moved in with you and your mom. Over time the relationship between you two grew very deep. It was evident he cared for you. Not growing up with a father figure, you weren’t sure how this was gonna go, but you were thankful for Sebastian being there whenever you needed him to be. He was more than willing to step up.

“You don’t have to do that.” Trying to act nonchalant.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Make sure you’re not drunk.”

“Well, no need to worry because I am nethier of those things.” You proceeded to give a weak thumbs up. Sebastian walked over to you after a second. Arms crossed. “How many drink did you have?”

You sighed and looked down, defeated in your drunken state. “like 5.”

“Y/n!”

“But, I was very responsible! We had a designated driver. We did nothing but talk at Sophie’s house. We even gave each other emergency contacts! I gave them your number just in case!” His heart secretly swelled.

“Please, whatever you do, please don’t tell mom?”

He sighed and paused for a bit. But finally released a simple “Ok.”

You were shocked. You didn’t think he would let you off this easily.

“What? Ok?”

“Listen, She’s gonna find out. You think she’s an idiot? And even then she’s not gonna be upset. She’s been in your shoes before. We both have! Your mom knows what it’s like to be a teenager and have fun. She got pregnant with you as a teen for Christ's sake!”

“I don’t intend on doing that.” You said slurring.

“That might get you in a little more trouble.”

You hid your head in your hands, both out of embarrassment and out of pain with your oncoming migraine.

“So you’re not mad?”

“No. Of course not. I just wanted to make sure you’re ok and not too drunk.”

“Well i’m ok and super drunk.” you said almost falling in his arms before he caught you.

“Ok we need to get you to bed.”

“But im not tiiiired!”

“Yes, you are.”

“Ok, I’m very tired.”

Sebastian led you to your room. You immediately flopped on your bed with a grunt. Sebastian chuckled to himself as he walked over to your closet to find some pjs for you to wear. He found a set and threw it on your bed. “Get changed into this, I'll be right back.” You just moaned and layed still for a good minute before getting a spruce of energy and sitting up to change. You took of your layers of jewelry and put them in your side table before you heard a knock. “Enter.” You said, as you flopped back down on your bed. Sebastian laughed as he sat down beside you. “Come here.” He grabbed your arm and pulled you up. You just grumbled which only made him smile more. He had a makeup wipe and proceeded to wipe away the dried mascara and and anything else that was left after the drunken night. Once he let go of your arm, you fell back down on the bed again. He smiled. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“WAIT!”

He turned around. Your eyes were half open as you managed to get yourself under the covers. “You have to tuck me in.” You said matter of factly. “Ah of course.” He returned to your bed and sat beside you, helping to move the covers up. You talked as he tucked you in.

“Sebastian?”

“Hm?”

“Am I gonna be hurt tomorrow?”

“Hurt? Well maybe, but it’s nothing time and some advil can’t help.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes sweetie.”

“I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Drinking is for disgusting people.”

“But I drink does that mean i’m disgusting?”

“Eh…you get a pass.”

“Thank you.”

He plugged in your phone, turned the light off, and gave you your final tucks.

“Sebastian?”

“Hm?”

“Can you stay?” You looked at him with longing eyes. He climbed into bed without another word. He turned on some random disney movie for background noise. After a while, your head fell on his chest and your breathing slowed. He kissed the top of your head.

“I love you baby.”

You snuggled deeper. “I love you too dad”

[skulla-rxcks]

we met on the rooftops.

Paring: simon henriksson x fem reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: SA, S0mnophilla, s3lf harm & su1cide mention.

You meet Simon right after Sophie’s death and stick together in this horrifying world, later that night his lust takes over and does something that he’ll regret.

“Hey. Are you okay?” I call out, seeing a clearly ‘disturbed individual’. “I..she just..” he struggles to get his words out as he looks down from the rooftop we both are on.

I walk closer to him, taking in his rushed and beaten up appearance. “My friend she just.. jumped.” He mutters, his expression cold, frozen almost. Clearly trying to take in what just happened.

“you mean she just, killed herself? Did she say any reasonings?” I ask. He shakes his head in response; “not really.”

I help him up, holding his hand, beginning to walk down from the roof with him. “do you.. do you see them too? My friend she.. didn’t. I feel like I’m going insane.” His grip on my hand tightens. “You mean the monsters..?” I question, receiving a nod from him. “Yeah, the monsters, whatever the fuck they are.. I thought I was going crazy but thank god you see them too.”

We make our way down and decide to go and rest in an old abandoned apartment, due to the coldness outside getting more chilling by the second.

“when do you think this will end..?” the man murmurs. “I’m not sure. there has to be some way” I sigh, digging through all of the drawers and cabinets trying to find something to snack on, or at least some supplies to keep us going for the meantime.

“I didn’t catch your name by the way.” I say, taking out some instant noodles I found in one of the draws. “simon.” he responds, laying down on the bed.

“I found some noodles can you look around for a kettle?”

“alright” Simon groans as he gets up, Cleary not in the mood for looking around, just wanting to sleep. “found it.” He brings it over to me after filling it up with water. I plug the kettle in and turn on the switch, waiting for the water to boil. Once it does I pour some of the contents into a bowl, placing it next to Simon who is now lying on the bed, having taken off his hoodie to allow himself to relax.

He starts eating his noodles while staring into nothing and I sit back, leaning against the wall behind me. “you said you saw the monsters before.. did you ever try to kill yourself?” He asks once he swallows his food.

I don’t even think about it before responding.

“why does that matter?”

“I’ve only seen like 2 people.. and they, they only see stuff if they’ve tried it seems.. I don’t know.” Simon mumbles, stuffing his mouth with food, he probably hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“well yeah I have.. if that answers your question.” my gaze turns to his wrists, he’s scratching at what seems like self inflicted wounds, I decide not to say anything. “I’m gonna see if the shower works.” He tells me, before heading into the bathroom.

After eating I decide to go to sleep, knowing Simon will join me shortly after.

he finishes washing himself, whimpering slightly as the hot water makes contact with the cuts on his wrists and thighs. he dries himself off and gets changed before coming out of the bathroom. I’m already sound asleep already, so quickly somehow.

he lays down next to me, pulling the sheets over the both of us, he can’t help but stare at my pale thighs on show under my skirt as he moves the blanket slightly. “fuck.” he grunts as he feels a familiar tent in his pants forming, a tent that he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, it feels like it’s been ages since he’s let alone touched himself, or, touched someone else.

“I shouldn’t.. not now but, fucking hell..” he mutters, gently taking his dick out of his boxers. he begins to stroke himself soft but roughly, watching as his precum leaks out of the tip of his cock. “I’m so sorry. I.. I need to..” he apologises repeatedly and pulls my skirt and panties down in one tug, I’m not aware that any of this is happening. Simon positions himself at my opening and pushes inside of me with one painful thrust.

He lets out a handful of moans as he feels the tightness of my cunt around him. “shit..” Simon starts thrusting hard inside of me, groaning as he gets closer and closer to his release. “need to.. feel all of you..” his hands slide up my shirt and massage my breasts, squeezing them roughly as he fucks me in my sleep.

I squirm slightly in my sleep causing Simon to cuss at himself. “no don’t wake up fuck.. no.. not. now.. not while I’m..”

“S-Simon.. what are you… mmgh!!” my words are cut off as he wraps one of his hands around my neck and squeezes it gently, bring his face into mine and kissing me roughly while continuing to force his cock inside of me. “I’m sorry.. I’m so Fucking sorry..” he repeats, but this time against my lips. “Mmfh.. Simon.. why… why are you.. ahh..” I moan, trying to get my words out but they’re replaced with whimpers as he continues the assault inside of my cunt.

“I’m so, so Sorry...” he says again and again, his breathing uneven and his voice raspy from crying. It takes everything I have left to not let the tears fall and give in to my own pleasure.

“d-dont cry just… ow.. it hurts. Simon s-slow down!!” I beg, trying to get him off me in the kindest way possible, But he doesn’t listen. “shut up! just let me fuck you.. I need this..” he scolds me, his grip on my throat getting tighter and tighter, making me squirm underneath him. “I.. I can’t breathe, SIMON!!” I yell out, ripping off his hand from my neck and gasping for air, but he still fucks me.

“you’re hurting me..”

“just be quiet and let me have this..Please.” he cries, tears dripping down onto my neck. “just let me use you.” I nod, knowing that either way he’s going to continue. His thrusts get faster and rougher, causing me to bleed occasionally every time he hits my cervix. “Ow..”. “S-Stop whining!” he threatens, pounding me harder and harder.

“i.. I..”

“Shut Up and Let ME FUCK YOU!” he yells, tears forming and spilling down his face.

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, trying my best not to let out any sounds so he doesn’t make it more painful for me.

Tears also stream down my face uncontrollably, as the pain in my chest intensifies and my vision goes blurry.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it to end, but it never does.

With one final thrust he cums inside of me, filling me with his warm seed. “I’m sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry I.. I didn’t mean to go this far I just..” he pulls out, mumbling his words against my shoulder, he hugs me tightly and keeps apologising to me. “why.. why did you do this to me.”

“it’s been so long since I’ve.. you know. please look at me.. are you mad at me? please don’t go.. im sorry im really sorry..”

“Simon.” I sigh.

[nerds-yearbook]

Ruby Rose starred as Kate Kane/Batwoman in the first season finale that aired on May 17, 2020. The season had to be shortened due to Covid. In the next season, Javicia Leslie took over the lead as Ryan Wilder/Batwoman. ("O'Mouse!" Batwoman, TV Event)

[byshayana]

Thramsay & clothing kink.

Ramsay makes Reek wear the clothes of the girls he’s killed. He especially loves lacing his useless little pet into corsets, until already fragile bones start to creak, and coos,

“Look at you — such a grown-up girl, Reek. Your tits are coming in nicely.”

Ramsay stares at his neckline like he’s entranced.

Special thanks to Sophie Turner, for saying at Comic-Con that in the wedding scene, Theon is wearing Robb’s clothes — the very ones he died in at the Red Wedding. Reek can feel the blood in the places where knives pierced Robb’s body, even though the outfit is clean, elegant. It makes him look like a lord. When Ramsay invites Reek to his chambers, he hopes his master will rip the cursed garments off of him — but Ramsay only lets him take off his shoes. He likes to pick at the nail-wounds on Reek’s feet. Ramsay says he should have given Reek Robb Stark’s head. When Ramsay touches him — chokes him, hits him, slices the fabric just above the last untouched nipple — he keeps Reek in front of the mirror, so he sees every moment of it.

“I wonder,” Ramsay whispers,

“do you feel like your precious Robb Stark is watching you from the mirror?”

Reek cries harder than usual. Ramsay tries to leave as much of the clothing intact as he can. When it’s over, the fine garments Reek wears smell like dried blood and still-sticky cum.

Wait… did I tortured throbb again???

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 23 [Mack x David]

A/N: I LOVE THIS ONE!!!!! She be long, but a lot is happening here to set up a future for the family in a post-hockey world. Also, Sophie Hischier fans, this one is for you 😉

Word Count: 7.1k

(David)

The dog days of summer are no joke for David Carlson this year. 

Frustration bubbles in his chest as beads of sweat rain down his spine as him and a few of the hands try to haul a sunken tractor out of the mud. A torrential, summer thunderstorm had flooded out one of the fields completely earlier in the month. The team thought with the hot weather it had dried out enough for the big machinery to not get stuck. They thought wrong.

“Fuck!” David snaps. He throws his hands into the air when the latest pull doesn’t work. He takes a few deep breaths like he’s learned over the years. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to get it out. He looks towards the West, hands drilling into his hips, seeing how far down the sun is. 

He missed dinner with Mack and the kids again. Probably bed time too.

He hates that.

“Alright, y’all.” David says after a final deep breath. “We are done with this for the day. Let’s just leave it. Come back to it in the morning. I’ll ask Bob if we can borrow his loader. See if that helps give us some leverage with rested minds.” David gives his head a disappointed shake.

The farm hands look relieved, all of them beat down from the day, frustration, and the Iowa sun.

“Thank you all for your work today.” David softens his tone. “I appreciate everything you’re doing right now. Lunch is on me on Friday, okay? We’ll get some tacos and lemonade in here.”

The group perks at that, clearly liking the concept of free food and appreciation from their boss. As the hands begin to disperse to their vehicles lining the road, Felix comes over to David, clapping his back.

“Why is everything so hard right now?” David asks him, shaking some of the dried mud off his hat. “It’s like I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“It’s that time of year. Not much goes right in June.” Felix shrugs. “You’re doing a good job.” David shakes his head, not really believing what the older man is saying. How is he supposed to do this without Felix soon? He wants to retire and travel with Lorena once David is done playing. What if David doesn’t have it in him to keep this going on his own? What if all this success has been because of Felix and David was just the fiduciary piece? “Come on, now. Nothing left to be done.” Felix calls back as David lags behind overthinking.

David sighs, looking back over at the stuck tractor coated in mud. Then he lifts his middle finger at it. Felix lets out a loud belly laugh.

“That feel good?”

“Hell yeah it did.” David laughs, showing off his first grin all day.

David and Felix ride back in the same truck. They chat through the plan for tomorrow morning, just incase David is late to the daily huddle. He used to be late because him and Mack were rolling around in bed. Okay, sometimes it still is because of that, but mostly it’s cause he’s trying to help get the kids situated in the morning before disappearing all day. 

“I’ll call Bob. Get in to Mrs. Mackenzie and the boys.” Felix insists. 

“Alright. Thank you. Text me what he says?”

“Yeah.” Felix answers. David shuts the truck door, then heads up to the porch. Through the screen door, he can hear the TV going on some baseball game Nicky left on. No babies are in the living room. The house is too quiet for them to be awake, which bums David out. He saw them at lunch today, but that was it. He was hoping to play cars, or jungle gym, or get bedtime snuggles at the bare minimum. 

I guess there’s always tomorrow, he reminds himself, trying not to get upset again. 

Mindful of not disturbing the quiet, David takes off his boots, socks and shirt on the front porch. He leaves his hat out there too. He’ll let it all dry then shake it off tomorrow before putting it into the laundry room to be washed. His jeans are mostly okay thanks to the high boots he was wearing. They have a few splatters, but nothing different than his normal farm days. 

“Hi babe.” Mack whispers as she walks by with a sleeping Beau in her arms. In her fingers is an empty bottle and Beau’s blanket that he loves to sleep with. 

“Oh!” David exclaims quietly. “I’ll take him, I’ll take him!” He ushers her to hand over their youngest. They work together to ease him into David’s bare chest. David can feel all the frustrations fall from his body with a baby in his arms. Then he heads upstairs to tuck him into his crib. Nicky and Knox are in the same room now because Beau has an earlier bed time. 

David will have to check in with mama on why Beau was up after the two older boys. He palms at his son’s forehead, feeling him to be slightly warm, but nothing of concern. Could just be hot from the weather and laying with Mack to eat. Selflessly, David puts Beau into bed instead of rocking him in the chair like he wants to. He needs to get in the shower and rinse off before heading to see what his wife may need help with. 

He rushes through a limited shower and pulls on some new underwear and shorts. Then he heads back downstairs with still wet hair and a non-shaved face. He has to get to that tomorrow morning. The itchy stubble is driving him nuts. 

The list grows longer by the minute and David feels more tired about that than usual. He has so many plates in the air; it seems inevitable one will be crashing to the floor soon. Or two.

David walks into the kitchen, seeing Mack at the sink washing dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. He slides his hands onto her hips, running them forward to her stomach. He puts his nose against her cheek, then kisses down her warm skin. 

“Mmm.” Mack bites her lip, then turns her face to kiss him. “Hi.”

“Missed you today. Sorry I was out so late.” He rubs at her sides apologetically. “Let me take over here.”

Mack doesn’t argue with him. She knows better by now. Instead, she goes to the fridge, grabbing both of them a beer to drink while they talk. 

“How was your day? Tell me everything.” He requests eagerly.

David listens intently as he washes the dishes from the day. His eyebrows get lower and lower as he hears Mack talk all about the boys and the various activities she did with them to keep them out of trouble and entertained. He glances over at her, seeing how tired she looks and sounds. About as tired as he feels after his day too. Being a parent is a full-time job and she has been taking the brunt of that job a lot since they got to Iowa this summer.

“Then the boys took a 2.5 second nap in the living room. I tried to clean up around here, but I didn’t get to it. Knox was up first and it took all I had in me to keep him in the house. Then Beau got really fussy around dinner. He was grabbing at his ear too. We have to watch that. I did put some drops in there tonight just in case, but I don’t know.” Ah, that explains why he was still up and a bit warm.

“He seemed a little warm to me when I had him. I’m worried about the trouble he’s having with his ears so young.”

“I gave him Tylenol. I agree though. Maybe we should take him to a specialist in New York when we get back if this continues through the summer.” She shakes her head. They had thought it was allergies or the changing of the seasons, but it could be more and getting it checked out isn’t a terrible idea. “His previous ear infection just cleared up. I can’t tell if it didn’t go away completely? Or if it’s a brand new one..? I don’t know. But be prepared for me needing to take him to the doctor tomorrow.” 

“Okay. I’ll have my phone on me.” David promises. He can take the older boys no problem with the tasks on his list tomorrow. Silence takes over the kitchen for a moment except for the sounds of David washing the remaining stainless steel pans. 

“How was your day?” Mack asks him after a pull from her beer.

“Frustrating. I don’t care to get into it. Just wanna forget it.”

“Okay.” Mack nods, respecting that completely. She comforts him by threading her fingers through his hair, then kissing his bicep before she goes to the kitchen table to take a seat.

In the quiet that follows, David’s mind begins to churn on a couple of nagging thoughts. He’s stuck on the idea of Mack being tired and taking care of the boys so much without him and then he thinks back to a conversation they had early on in their relationship about her not wanting to only be a mom and a wife. Now here she is- and they made her into that with a few deliberate and unexpected choices. He glances over his shoulder at her. She is watching a commercial advertising for a cruise line through the Caribbean- all to places she went to in her previous life- while stroking the label on her glass beer bottle.

Again, she looks drained.

David looks away, back to the dirty water in the sink and he frowns. 

Does she miss that? Is she watching that commercial, yearning to get away from all this to go there? Their life has grown into a big life, full of love for sure, but it’s not what either of them envisioned for themselves when they got married in said Caribbean seven years ago now. Mack’s yawn reaches David’s ears as he shuts the running water off. He reaches for the hand towel, clearing his throat where it has thickened with nervousness.

“Wanna ask you something.” He takes a sip of beer to wet his dry throat. 

“Okay?”

“This is enough for you?” David asks her, continuing to dry his hands off with a towel after setting his beer down.

“Hm?” Mack asks, confusion on her face. Her purposefully blank looks tells him she’s lying.

“You heard me.” David says quietly. “This is enough for you?” 

“It’s… a lot, but good.” Mack says. 

“Right. But do you feel fulfilled with where you’re at in life right now?”

“I mean, yes? I don’t know how our family works without me being present like this. Especially while you’re finishing out hockey.”

“I didn’t ask about that.” David murmurs, tossing the towel onto the counter. He pushes off from his spot at the sink, walking over to her at the table. He bends down onto one knee to the side of her. “I asked if this was enough for you. Not me. Not the boys. You.”

Mack sighs, putting her head into her hands tiredly. She rubs at her forehead as she contemplates what he is really asking her. She inhales deeply, then finally pulls her face away to look at him.

“Not for the rest of my life. But for now, yes.” She answers as honestly as she has words for right now. “I don’t only want to be their mom… or your wife… forever. But I can do this for now.” She trails off, hating the way that sounds.

“I don’t want that for you either, honey. I’m listening to you talk about your day and it sounds like there is nothing about that for you. I hate that. Let me take the boys tomorrow or the next day. You go do something for you.” 

Mack smiles at him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“I love you. Thank you for seeing me.” She murmurs, leaning in to kiss him. Her thumbs stroke both of his cheeks lovingly as she searches his green eyes with hers. “I wanted to talk to you tonight about going on a solo trip.”

“Yes. Go. Please, go. Have fun. See you when you’re home.” He immediately tells her. Mack keeps her hands on him, stroking his jaw with her thumbs now as her fingers creep down his neck.

“I really love our life, babe.” She tells him. “Every part of it.” Her thumbs stroke comfortingly with each word, careful to maintain a soft eye contact with him.

David drops his face into her thighs. His nose smushes into her lavender scented skin. 

“I needed that.” He sighs into her body.

“Yeah, I can tell.” 

“This is so different than the dreams and goals we talked about before getting married. I get scared sometimes that-” He pauses, swallowing hard, then inhaling a big breath. “That you have regrets.”

“Do you?” She chuckles unexpectedly, tugging at his hair.

“No, but you-“

“Why is so much of this about me?” She shakes her head. “Maybe it is all different. But so am I. So are you. Things change and we have grown together on our path. Now it has three little boys that we can’t imagine not having as part of all this.” She strokes his cheek with her fingers as he keeps his other cheek pressed into her thigh. “We’ve built something better, more meaningful, than any of the dreams I had before.” He slowly pulls his face out of her lap then nods. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah. I do.” He answers sincerely. 

“Maybe you need a break too?” Mack suggests. “Go on that fishing trip the boys suggested in a few weeks?” David gestures vaguely at the farm. “I didn’t ask about any of that.” She uses his words against him, getting a grin to spread across his lips.

“You go first though.”

“I’ll go first.” She agrees. “Then maybe we go somewhere together before leaving for New York again?”

“Mhm.” 

“Okay.” She whispers as his lips close in on hers. She sighs happily into his mouth, stroking her tongue along his bottom lip as they get lost in each other. “No more talking. Just this.” Mack requests. 

David was thinking the same exact thing.

- - - & - - -

(Mack)

A few weeks after Mack and David’s conversation in the kitchen, Lorena and Felix come over one evening to watch the Carlson kids so mom and dad can sneak away for a picnic in the truck bed. Both Mack and David have recently escaped the farm for a few days on their separate adventures. David headed up to Canada to fish with a few Ranger, Canadian teammates. Mack went to hike in the Pacific Northwest. But coming home to each other straightened both of their worlds, dispersing the funk that had been fogging up their connection.

Tonight, it’s a pleasant night in Iowa. A storm rolled through over dinner time, taking with it the oppressive humidity. Mack has her window open as David brings her out towards the front of the property that runs along the main road. The land is rolling, mostly undeveloped without a clear cut road to get to it. 

“Whoa.” Mack murmurs as the truck rolls over a particularly rough area.

“Sorry, honey. This area has been wrecked by moles and voles. We’ll have to clean it up.”

“For what?” Mack asks, holding onto the door and ceiling as the truck dips again. She braces herself for the let down and winces at the way the old truck suspension groans. At least David slows down for the next dip.

He drives more inward, almost diagonally, then puts the truck into park. They come to a grassy area that looks like it has been cut recently. Usually this area is overgrown with dry grass, weeds, and randomly dotted wild flowers were dispersed by the Iowa wind. David turns the ignition off, twisting in his seat to look at her beside him.

“I have an idea.” He grins, almost smirk like as he waits for her to play along.

“He has an idea.” She repeats back, chuckling.

“Ignore the drive we just had. We will fix it.” He tosses his hand over his shoulder as if to throw the memory away. “Now, turn on your beautiful, creative, imaginative brain that I love so damn much.” He widens his hands out along the windshield. 

“Okay.” She nods, leaning into him over the console, waiting for him to continue.

“This land was supposed to be used for like… more houses for the family. Obviously, not gonna happen.” David smiles widely at her, tossing his fingers like he’s throwing out seeds for the birds. “But, we should use it for something. With my career winding down, you being done with writing momentarily, I have an idea for us to do together as a joint adventure.”

“Okay…” Mack laughs. She can sense his excitement.

“You know those little A frame cabins you saw on Pinterest?”

“Yeah.” She nods slowly.

“We do that here.” Mack’s eyebrows shoot up with excitement. Instantly, her brown eyes grow wide with wonder and sparkle with interest. The wheels in her brain begin to turn. “We need to flatten the land out this summer. Give it time to settle. Then next summer, we build ‘em up with Cody’s company. I’ll help of course because I have to participate. But you design them, we rent ‘em out. Talk up the experience of getting to tour the farm, fish in the back creek, live off the land kind of shit that people are really digging these days.” He chuckles. “I was thinking four cabins total. We could spread them out, get some gardens in here and some bushes too to create some privacy, but they could all be built East to West with full windows on both sides for sunrise and sunset.”

“I love it. I’ll manage it too- the reservations, the design, the advertising.” She tells him immediately. She clasps her hands together in front of her mouth. “Let’s use my money and not touch the farm income right now because it’s still trying to work it’s way back up after the last two summers.” Heavy rains, flooding and then unrelenting heat really cut into the profits the previous two summers. Mack became an investor into the farm with her inherited wealth to help them get by.

“Perfect. I was hoping you would say that.” He laughs. “Not that we can’t use my NHL salary, but-”

“No, I need to diversify the portfolio more and this would be perfect.”

“I was thinking, we could expand other places too if this goes well. Unlikely we would do New York, but maybe even where Luc and Woody are building their house in Mass by the bay… or Switzerland…” He trails off. Mack smiles widely at him, eyes glittering brighter at the thought of having a connection back to home.

“This is an amazing idea. I am so excited. I know someone from my writer days who has done this in Michigan. I’m gonna reach out to them and pick their brain for ideas. Oh! You have a Michigan connection. We could think about that too? On the Great Lakes would be a fun adventure.”

“Awesome. Sky is the limit, baby. I’m gonna have to pitch this all to the city and county to get permits. Cody is going to help schmooze the city planner, and Flip will work out the financials. We’ll showcase the revenue it can bring into the city.” Flip is David’s financial manager for both his personal and business assets.

“For sure. We could talk to the local businesses in town too and offer up coupons packs or goody bags to encourage guests to go there, and not drive to the next big city.”

“You’re a genius, honey.” 

“Oh! We should make all the cabins different themes too. Oh my god, I need Soph to help. She just finished a massive design project for a boutique hotel back home. She will have ideas and know what the latest trends are.”

David smiles widely at Mack, getting quiet for a moment. She pulls her phone out of the cup holder and begins to type notes for ideas as they pop into her head. Her husband watches her work, loving the way she glows in the potential of this next adventure for them.

“I’m so excited.” She repeats to him without looking up, fingers typing furiously fast. 

“Good. I know it’s been hard for you, only running after three Carlson boys. I wanted us to do something more than that. Together.”

“Why because I once said being a stay at home mom would be purgatory?” She jokes, except she has said those words before.

“Yeah.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly.

“I promise you, I am really happy with our life. Raising the boys has been more rewarding than I thought it could be. It’s all come together the way it should. Even the parts that were really surprising.” She laughs, smoothing her hand down his chest. “And when you retire, what’s one more?” David’s eyes widen. Wasn’t this the woman who a few months ago told him she would kill him if he asked her to be pregnant even one more day? Damn, something is in the water in this Iowa farm land.

“Yes, baby. You tell me when. I’m ready.” David practically drools, leaning forward to kiss the center of her chest.

“We should probably plan on it right away when you’re done. Before you know it, you’ll be turning 70 as that last kid graduates high school.”

“You’re such an ass.” He digs his fingers into her thigh. Mack squeals like a pig. “I’m only four years older than you. Fucking 70…” He mutters.

“I love my old man.” She murmurs, getting on her knees in her seat. She wraps her arms around his shoulder, peppering his cheek, jaw, and neck with smooches. Mack reaches down to cup him through his jeans. “Now, why else did you bring me out here?”

“You know me so well, honey.” He slaps her ass, then forces her to fall completely in his lap. 

“Saddle up, cowgirl.”

- - - & - - -

Another hockey season passes before the Carlson Cabins are remotely close to going up for rent. While David grinds away on the ice in New York, work at the farm continues to move forward. Cody takes over as the foreman for the full construction process. The hardest part is leveling out the land to get it to a place that can sustain the buildings on it long term. The team thought they were successful before Winter, then afterwards realized how much the area had settled again. Civil and environmental engineers had to be brought in, making David and Mack question if this would even be ready by summer like they planned.

Another round of dirt came in and the land took to it well. After that, the construction has gone relatively smooth, especially because Cody and his team were able to build most of the structures off the farm then transport them in to fasten onto their respective foundations. 

While all that happened, in the background, Sophie and Mack were designing machines. Sophie came to the U.S. in March to begin working on everything, living in Mack and David’s Iowa home. She’s been given the full, adaptive Europe to America experience that Mack had, except worse because she came when it was still winter on the farm. Mack wasn’t sure she would survive that first week. Luckily, Cody was there to tend to the youngest Hischier. 

Now, at the end of May, things are wrapping up. This week the finishing touches on paint and wallpaper were done. The first delivery of furniture is supposed to happen in the next few days and everything will be ready for pictures to go on their website, which is launching in the middle of June. 

This project has been exactly what Mack needed. She gets to use her degree in a way she wasn’t sure was possible anymore. They have been able to build all of this into a rustic, but relaxing enterprise that is sure to provide sustainable income to the farm’s overall operating budget. It’s also been incredible fun for Mack and David to work on this project together with Sophie and Cody. They are two bright minds who’s vision has helped shape what was just some words and scribbles on a piece of paper into something that is sure to lead a lasting impact not only on the farm and their family, but the whole community too. 

Giddy butterflies swirl in Mack’s stomach as she thinks about it all now. She could not be more proud of their progress and initiative and the fact that they are getting to launch this out into the world so soon after teasing it endlessly on social media (Sophie’s idea to build hype- and it’s worked!). 

To her right, Mack’s phone begins ringing on the counter. She snaps back to her evening task of dinner for the boys, stirring the bubbling, yellow liquid.

“Hey.” Mack picks up after the third shrill. She beings portioning out Kraft Mac and Cheese for the boys in the kitchen. The summer sun is dipping towards the horizon and Mack needs to get through dinner and bath time before she can get back to editing the reservation website.

“Hey, can you come meet me out at the cabins?” Her husband asks her.

“I’m in the middle of dinner, so no.”

“For us?”

“No, the boys.”

“It’s late.” David says curiously.

“Seriously?” Mack pauses, rolling her eyes.

“Ya, you’re right. I have no idea what's going on. You got it. Okay, um. Alright. I’ll come back and help with baths and we can drive out when the boys are asleep.”

“Sounds like a better plan.” Mack chuckles. “See you soon.”

“Yep, love you.”

They click off the phone and Mack goes back to counting the number of noddles between Nicky and Knox’s plates. She knows better than to over serve one of them. Then she grabs the cut up apple and orange slices that the older boys requested. Beau will eat a few noodles, but no whole fruit pieces right now. He doesn’t seem to enjoy any texture other than mush. Mack spoons out some apple sauce for him then asks the boys to go wash their hands.

“Help your brother, please.” Mack asks Nicky.

“Okay, mama.” He promises. 

Meanwhile, Mack grabs Beau, wiping his hands off with a wash cloth, then giving him his cooled noodles and apple sauce. She puts a spoon in his hand, wanting to encourage him to get used to the feel. He won’t use it, but it’s a good start for his motor movements. As the boys are coming out of the bathroom, David walks in. They divert away from the table, rushing to his legs to get hugs. David scoops them both up, one in each arm, then walks to the table. He sits them each down as Mack brings their plates over.

“Mackncheese…” He murmurs, grinning at her. “My favorite meal.”

“Mhm.” She kisses her horny husband. 

“I have a feeling I’m gonna have that later…” He trails off.

“We are having salad.” Mack chuckles. David looks at her like ‘you know what I meant’. She just smiles coyly back at him.

“Yay.” David frowns, puffing his lips out at the prospect of another salad.

“I’m sorry that I want you to live forever.” 

“Ya-ya.”

Despite his protests, David really enjoys the salad they have for dinner. It’s filled with vegetables but also various Italian meats from a new, local shop that recently opened. Mack and the owner have become close and she offered to give out some dried salami and crackers for their local gift baskets once the cabins open for rentals.

“Did Cody find you earlier?” Mack asks, forking up a few more leaves of spinach. Cody had come up to the house around 4 asking if Mack had seen David. She directed him to the creek area where him and Felix were working on removing down limbs to allow the water to flow again.

“Yeah.” David says around a bite. “I went up with him and we figured it out.”

“I didn’t know what to direct him to do.” Cody had electrical questions that went right over Mack’s head when he explained them to her.

“That’s okay. We’re all set.” David looks over at where Knox is attempting to put noodles on top of Beau’s head. “Aye.” David shakes his head. Knox grabs a few more noodles in his hands, looking mischievous. David’s severe look cuts off any more ideas though and the little boy slurps them into his mouth. “We use forks at this table.”

“Beau doesn’t.” Nicky says.

“He’s a baby. You two know more manners than that.” Mack looks doubtfully at Knox who is barely old enough to understand table manners. But he does pick up his spoon to continue with dinner so maybe David is right.

Mack and David finish dinner, then tackle the kitchen together until David shoos her away. Mack then goes upstairs to the boys’ bathroom to get the bath going for their stinky farm babies. She double checks all the toys are cleaned, then goes to collect them from the table. Nicky starts to whine out a complaint and David shuts that down.

“Nico, do what you’re told.” David says from the sink without looking up. Nicky begrudgingly heads up to the tub then. 

David comes in ten minutes later to a full Carlson soup going on. The boys are enjoying bath time, playing with their animals, getting cleaned with wash cloths and cups of water. Mack hasn’t even started on Knox because he is the most sensitive with bath time.

“I’ll take the oldest and youngest.” David says as he kneels down. His knees and joints pop making Mack look at him with concern. “One day you’ll be like this too.” He reminds her.

“Yeah, in about a decade?”

“Probably.” He laughs genuinely, large shoulders shaking.

Mack holds her hand out to Knox, asking him to put his free hand in hers.

“Okay, buddy. We’re gonna start. Let me know if you need a break okay?” He nods rapidly.

Knox does so well in the bath. It’s the first time in a long time that they get through without tears from her or him. He even handles the water pour over his hair with minimal gasping and sputtering.

“Good job, Knoxie!” Mack holds her hand up for him to high five. “I’m so proud of you! That was so good! So brave!” Knox smiles shyly, then holds the turtle he is playing with out to her. “You wanna play a bit more?”

“Ya.” He nods.

“Okay,” She smooths back his wet hair, then checks in with David on the other two. They’re both about done. David pulls Beau out first, giving him to Mack for a moment to dry.

“You want me to dry you off or you gonna do it?” He asks Nicky.

“Me!” He cheers. 

“Okay, big man on the farm now.” David helps him out, then gives him the towel. Nicky dries himself off, then checks in with David on how he did. “Get around your legs better.” The back of his legs still have water dripping down them. “There you go.” David urges him to come over, combing out his hair then releasing him to go get his pajamas on. “I can take this one now.” He reaches down to Mack. He scoops Beau up in his towel, then they parade down the hall to Beau’s room. 

When it’s Mack and Knox, and quiet in the bathroom, he finally is ready to get out of the tub. He lets his mama dry him off, contently sitting still. Then she takes his hand and they walk down to his room. He picks out his fire engine pajamas then snuggles into her side so they can read a few books together. Knox is out before the second book is done. Carefully, Mack peels him off her body, then heads out to the other bed times. Beau is having a bottle with David and Nicky in his bed. His eyes are drooped, barely open as his cheek hangs over David’s wrist.

“I’ll take this one back.” Mack winks at her husband, then lifts Beau into her arms. She gets him settled back with his bottle then walks down to his room to rock him to sleep. 

“Mama! You’ll come back!?” 

“Yes, baby.” She assures Nicky.

Beau is the next Carlson boy to succumb to sleep. Mack lays him into his crib, then heads back to her oldest’s room like she promised. David is still working on the last bedtime book. Nicky is curled in deep to David, little hands tucked under his chin. Mack crawls onto the bed at Nicky’s feet, putting her own feet in her husband’s lap as he reads the last few pages. David releases one of his hands from the book. His long fingers spread out around her right foot, rubbing at the pads of it. 

“One more?” Nicky sleepily asks.

“You’re already sleeping, bub.” David chuckles. “We can do this all over again tomorrow.”

For once, Nicky is too tired to fight it. 

Mack and David kiss their son goodnight and finish tucking him in, then they walk hand in hand out of his room. Quick checks of the other two boys means that they’re officially all asleep.

“Wait for like twenty?” David suggests. Mack nods in agreement. If one of the boys is going to wake up, it will probably be within that time frame.

Once those 20 minutes pass, they quietly leave the house, phones in hand, to head out to where the cabins are being constructed. They are almost ready to go up to be booked. Final inspections are on Monday, then they can activate their website and get posted on travel sites. Mack’s former colleague, Andrew, is coming out to do a story on the new cabins and their farm history.

Although Mack is excited for this to be launched, she is sad to know that her time with Sophie here is coming to an end. Sophie has been here for months, including before the season ending, helping with all the logistics, ordering of supplies, giving Mack and David weekly check ins with Cody. Knowing Sophie will head back home, makes Mack wish there was some sort of delay. Unfortunately, Cody’s team is incredible, so it’s unlikely there will be.

The truck slows to a stop and Mack smiles at the sight of the four cabins all lit up. They’re all laid out in a line with bushes and landscaping between them. Each of them are painted individual colors of red, navy, yellow, and white with rustic oak decking on both the front and the back of the house. The floor to ceiling windows allow bundles of light to come through for both sunrise and sunset.

Inside, each of the cabins has a different theme. One is modeled after the Hischier family cabin in Switzerland with pines, greens, bears and lakes. The second one is modeled after the Carlson farm house they live in, filled with whites and yellows, honey and bumble bees. The third cabin is a nod to the city they met, more modern with metals, dark fixtures, and pictures of the city sky lines. The final one is all river centric. It has river rock from the Mississippi River, fish and canoe accents, with creams and nature finishes. 

They’re all unique in their own ways, but allow for guests to continue to come back to enjoy the different adventures they offer. In the center is a large fire pit with benches and chairs around it. Their hope is for the cabins to be booked all year round. They have a resort manager who started a few months ago and has been a great addition to the team, working closely with Sophie. Mack has no worries about the resort being in good hands even when they head back to New York at the end of the summer for David’s final season with the Rangers.

“What do you think?”

“Wow.” Mack murmurs. She hasn’t been out here in over a week and the progress that has been made is stunning. “I love the roses out here.” She murmurs. They divided up several of the rose bushes that are thriving in his mom’s garden. It felt necessary to have pieces of his parents out here. The Adirondack chairs around the fire pit were built by Cody as replicas of the ones David’s dad built for their family decades ago. 

“Yeah. It looks great.” He nod proudly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Did you want to show me something?” 

“Yeah, the final pieces of furniture came earlier today for the Swiss cabin. I wanted you to see it all set up, maybe send pictures to Soph to make sure this is what you two wanted.” Sophie went to visit the Wood family this week, but should be returning to Iowa in a few days for final touches.

“Oh! Awesome!” She grins, stepping towards the first cabin. She peaks in through the windows, then opens the door. “Oh my god, yes. This is perfect!” She murmurs excitedly. The couch is a dark brown leather with soft, fuzzy pillows. The floor has a thick, woven rug in the middle of it and a travel chest for a coffee table. “Is the bed upstairs?”

“It is.” He nods, holding his hand out for her to head up to the loft. She climbs the stairs slowly, then grins in excitement at how cozy and soft the bed looks. 

“Oh my god, this is exactly like the bed we used to have up there.” Mostly because the comforter is cream, tan and green with tall pines and walking black bears on it. Sophie found it and they knew without a doubt that was the one. Mack takes out her phone to snap a few pictures for Sophie. “I don’t like the lamp though now.”

“Easy fix.” He murmurs, coming behind her. His voice has dropped a few octaves, sounding rough and greedy.

His hands crawl to the front of her shorts where he undoes the button.

“Um, hello?” She questions as his fingers urge the zipper down too. 

“Hi.” He murmurs back to her. She turns her face and he catches her lips. His right leg bumps into hers pushing her towards the bed. 

Wetness immediately pools in Mack’s panties at the feel of his thick erection brushing her ass.

“The first thing I thought when they got this bed set up today was I’m fucking my wife on this.” 

“Switzerland gets you so horny.”

“No, baby. You do.” He insists.

He shoves her shorts down her legs and she steps out of them. He forces her onto her knees on the bed, then leads her shoulders forward so she is on all fours.  David gets on his knees behind her, licking at her soaked entrance immediately. Mack’s eyes roll into the back of her head as he kisses down her slit. Then he shifts so he is on his back, head the only thing resting on the bed. He forces her down so she sits on his face, then he takes her for a ride only he can.Mack crumbles over his mouth quickly with his skilled tongue and the tickle of his mustache.

When he’s done eating his dessert, he pushes her up onto her knees again.

“Stay there.” He assures her. Mack is still trying to catch her breath when he slides himself from his jeans. He shimmies them halfway down his thighs, staying fully clothed otherwise then plunging into her. His belt slaps against her thighs as he thrusts hard into her.

“Ohmygod.” Mack exhales out.

He works her back on his cock with a firm grip on her hips. Mack groans, feeling like he is about to pierce through her stomach with how deep he strokes her. Long, heavy pumps have his balls slapping her clit. Mack climbs to her high again quickly, overly stimulated by the new location and how David takes, giving her back an equal amount. While she hits her climax again, David falls forward over her, chest to her back, lacing his fingers with her spread ones on the comforter. 

On top of trees and bears of her other home country, David fucks her within an inch of her life while Mack yells and screams his name through each wave. He’s hard and rough with her for one orgasm, then loving and sweet with the next. He finishes her off with her riding him hard and wild like the free girl she still is. David bites down on her breast as he comes, filling her up with his release. 

“Fuck, that was good shit, baby. Loved how loud you got for me.” He praises her. It helps that there are not three sets of little ears within their vicinity. “Anyways, I like this one.” He finishes casually, gesturing to the cabin. Mack holds his cheeks as she tilts her head back and laughs loudly. 

“Me too. Now this is my favorite.”

“Well, we got three more of these to fuck in, so don’t pick a favorite yet.”

“Mmm, okay.” Mack murmurs, then kisses his swollen lips. She bit him hard a few times on his bottom lip and it has little strips of deep red running through the seams now. “We better get that done quick… before New York.” A soft peck of her lips to his and then, “Last one, baby.”

“Yeah.” David murmurs reflectively to her. He purses his lips, slowly shaking his head. “I can’t believe it’s here. We’ve been talking about it, but now it’s real. All of it.”

“I know.” She murmurs. “If you start going and you change your mind, that’s okay.”

“I know, honey, but I won’t. I wanna be here with you and the boys. All this going on is exciting.” 

Mack wants that too, but this is a big change for David. She isn’t sure what to expect with a life after hockey, but she is looking forward to building that with him next summer.

But before that, they have other milestones to reach. Like selling their place in New York. David reaching 1000 games, and at least 82 more games of jam packed chaos.

[russellsppttemplates]

What about dad George and it’s his daughters wedding and he’s just so emotional

"You look beautiful, Sophie", Olivia told one of her cousin's little girls, who giggled and readjusted the crown on her head at the attention and praise she was getting, holding out her hands which Olivia happily grabbed and laced in hers, "just like a princess".

From the door, George watched the little girl giggle at his little girl again before shaking her head, "you are the princess and you're going to marry your prince", she replied in a matter-of-factly manner like any five year old would.

Olivia blushed and ran her hands gently to smooth down the skirt of her dress.

"Uncle George!", Sophie squealed as he finally walked into the room, stopping when be noticed his tears, "are you sad?".

"My beautiful girls," he complimented, locking eyes with Olivia and smiling, "I'm good, Sophie, don't worry - auntie Y/N needs you downstairs so she can give you your flowers, okay? Be careful on the stairs", he warned, wanting a moment alone with his daughter.

Sophie was quick to comply with his request, leaving Olivia and George alone in the room.

"You look absolutely beautiful, darling", he twirled Olivia around.

"Do I look as beautiful as mum did when you got married?", she wondered, "the photo you have on your bedroom from the first time you saw her in her wedding dress had been my favourite since I was a child - you were looking at mum like she was the only person there".

"Just like your mum", George whispered, keeping the tears at bay as he pulled Olivia into a tight hug, "we love you so much, Olivia - even though you're going away and start your own family, we're always your safe haven", George offered.

"You say that like I'm going to move across the world from you, to a place without Internet and without airports", she giggled, "but thank you, dad - you and mum let me spread my wings and have always supported the falls", she smiled, cuddling into his chest.

"I hope he never forgets how lucky he is to have you, Olivia", George kissed the top of her head.

"How lucky he is to have a wife that once upon a time nearly smuggled a wild tortoise into this country because she was sure it would be fine? I'm sure he won't - he loves me, all of my quirks and smuggling abilities included", she giggled.

"You were so little when you did that - time flies by", George hiccuped.

"You had just dried your eyes, dad!", Olivia scolded playfully.

"If you keep bringing up memories like that, they won't stay dry for long. Mum already had to give me most of her tissues - I'm not sure where she'll wipe her eyes and nose during the ceremony!", George muttered.

[cleverqueencommander]

Harriet and Anthony angst one shot 🏴‍☠️🐱

Harriet tilted her head and rested her elbow on the desk, letting her cheek rest in her palm, and used her other hand to softly drum her fingers on the old, and torn desk. Her blue eyes were drooping due to boredom and threatening to get some shuteye, but she tried her best to stay wide awake as she as well as the other students in Weird Science class watched Sophie, a new and young assistant teacher nervously, whom Harriet and the other students in the class found annoying due to her high pitch squeaky voice. Sophie was also an apprentice of Yen Sid since the old wizard was off to do some errands for the day.

Harriet breathed and sighed, still drumming her slender fingers to the point that she winced and stopped. She then brought her injured hand up to her face to examine it and noticed that there was a splinter pierced under her fingernail. The pirate girl sighed again as this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten splinters or any minor injury. Since there were no bandages on the Isle, Harriet would have to either use an old and worn-out cloth to stop the bleeding or just let the wound heal itself, as in this case when she gingerly took out the splinter from under her fingernail and threw away the tiny fragment of wood. She looked back at her finger and saw that it was bleeding. Harriet hummed as she curled her fingers into a fist. The thing with Harriet’s blood was that it was not crimson red as how a normal color of blood would look like, instead, the color of her blood was paler than the red handkerchief that was tied around her head. Harriet’s blood has been pale for a long time but according to her, it was normal and she lets it slide.

At least what she knew of.

While Sophie was still nervously stammering and writing the lesson on the broken whiteboard with an old semi-dried-up marker, Harriet’s vision suddenly became blurry. She groaned softly as she blinked but nothing happened, her vision was still blurry. Then, instead of listening to the assistant teacher (which most of the students weren’t listening to), Harriet pushed her notebook further, folded her arms on the desk, and rested her chin in her arms. The curly-haired girl tore her eyes away from Sophie and looked straight through the shattered windows on her right, and saw the perfect kingdom of Auradon. Well, Beast’s castle that is.

Harriet sighed sadly as her blue eyes were glued to the distant kingdom of Auradon, with the sun blanketing its warm and radiant glow the kingdom making it look like heaven on earth with some parts of the castle sparkling brightly.

As she stared longingly at the distant kingdom, there was a tinge of jealousy brewing inside of Harriet, and honestly, you can’t blame her for that! She had been miserable for the past 18 years or so living on this disease-riddled, death plague of an island, and sometimes she pondered if she as well as the rest of her crew and the other kids would be able to leave this Isle at all? Maybe this was their fate; to suffer every day for the rest of their lives.

It’s a tragedy honestly.

The pirate girl breathed softly as she continued to watch Auradon from afar, wondering what her life would look like if she was in Auradon since her younger sister, CJ somehow found herself in Auradon but didn’t stay long there.

Unbeknownst to Harriet, Anthony Tremaine, the son of Anastasia, who was sitting beside Harriet in the row to her left, had his dark green eyes weighing on her, concerned.

“Hm.”

…..

After school…

Anthony was standing at his old, worn, and dented locker as he placed his notebooks inside when he felt someone brushed past him, startling him.

“What the..?”

By the time Anthony turned his head to see who it was, the person already vanished into the hordes of students exiting the catacomb-like hallway.

Anthony raised an eyebrow and frowned. ‘Who was that?’ He thought and just then, he felt something in his palm, like a piece of paper.

The dark-haired boy frowned again as he brought his right hand up to his face and slowly opened his hand. As if his guesses were correct, it was a piece of notebook paper! Anthony furrowed his brows and hummed. He guessed that the person who brushed past him did this.

With that said Anthony took the paper from his palm and began to unroll the crumpled-up paper and saw it was a message scribbled with black ink on it. The message reads:

Meet me at the docks.

Harriet.

Anthony’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh,’ he thought but he wondered why Harriet wanted him to meet her at the docks. Usually, Anthony would meet the pirate girl at her quarters with the other members, but at the docks? That means this was something personal.

Very personal, intimate even.

Anthony breathed as he shoved the message in his pocket and slammed the locker shut before leaving the hallway and the school altogether to meet his pirate. To Anthony, he felt as if Harriet had something important to tell him.

At the docks….

It didn’t take long for Anthony to spot Harriet sitting at the pier with her voluminous raven curls dancing softly in the cool November wind as she watched the glowing kingdom of Auradon.

Anthony raised a brow at Harriet as he breathed and quietly made his way over to Harriet.

As if she felt his movements coming towards her, Harriet tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and scooted over so that Anthony could sit beside her.

Anthony fixed his dark green eyes on Harriet, who still had her eyes on the faraway kingdom. Concerned, Anthony turned his head and saw the kingdom for himself, well the fraction of the kingdom.

And he wasn’t going to lie, Auradon does look stunning! It was almost ethereal; like Auradon had descended from heaven with its warm and glistening glow emanating from the kingdom.

Anthony continued to gaze at the kingdom for a few more moments before he averted his eyes from Auradon to Harriet, who still had her eyes locked on the kingdom.

The dark-haired boy arched an eyebrow and asked, breaking the silence between them. “Why are you looking at Auradon, Captain?”

As she heard her first mate’s question, Harriet closed her eyes and inhaled before she turned her head and opened her eyes, looking up at Anthony. Harriet then parted her lips to say something but struggling to find any words to say, and Anthony noticed.

Anthony sighed. “Okay, lemme say it differently. Why are you having a sudden interest in Auradon? Like I’ve never seen you invest in Auradon till now. What gives?”

After a couple of moments of silence, Harried replied, “It’s like…I dunno but I feel like I’m being called to live there,” she slowly gesticulated. “There’s something about Auradon that is calling out to me today and I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Anthony nodded slowly, but he still couldn’t comprehend what Harriet was saying. “Ok…? I do not get what you’re saying because yeah sure, Auradon may be pretty and all but this is the same country that dumps leftovers and doesn’t give a rat's ass about us for over two decades!”

“True, but I’m pretty sure that there are at least some good people over there who will acknowledge that this place is shit. And be honest with yourself, wouldn’t you want to live there? Like to at least smell the fresh air like Mal and her crew and to eat foods that aren’t rotten or spoiled?”

Anthony pursed his lips firmly then bit his lip as he let Harriet’s words cement in his mind and mulled over what she said.

Harriet glanced at the taller boy and realized he didn’t respond, guessing that he saw where she was coming from.

The curly-haired girl continued. “You see where I’m coming from?”

Anthony nodded wordlessly after thinking about what she said earlier.

“Also, it seems like my health is deteriorating lately. Not that I cared about it as it’s been like this for years. But, it’s gotten worse. I’ve been tired almost every day, feeling dangerously dizzy and I can’t even drink my whiskey, which in of itself is alarming.”

Anthony wore a shocked expression on his face as he looked at Harriet.

“Captain…is that the main reason you wanted to see me? To tell me that your health is failing?” Anthony asked slowly as worry started to crease his brow.

Harriet exhaled. “Yeah, it seems like it. Plus, the sprats that I caught couldn’t help building my system. Also, I don’t want to be seen as weak.”

The pirate girl then took Anthony’s arm and wrapped his hand around her shoulder as she rested her head on his shoulder. The way Harriet did this, was almost as if it was natural.

Anthony gasped softly at Harriet’s actions. If he was honest, he did not expect someone tough and mean-spirited like Harriet to make a gesture that the Auradonians did. It made her look so….soft. These kinds of gestures were not allowed on the Isle as they show signs of weakness.

Not to Harriet though.

Anthony’s mind was racing. A part of him wanted to take Harriet’s head from his shoulder and scold her for being crazy, but another part of him didn’t want to because looking at his Captain, she looked smaller than normal, and her skin felt cold as ice. Not to mention that Anthony showed some feelings towards her for a long while now but he kept it at bay.

Anthony sighed in defeat; his mind was made up and decided to go with the latter. He reluctantly drew Harriet closer to him and squeezed her arm in an attempt to comfort her. Harriet hummed softly when Anthony did this.

“Hmm…”

As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Anthony enjoyed this bonding with Harriet. It felt so nice and natural.

……….

This piece was taken from my story, Going to the Isle of the Lost and you can read it here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62884750/chapters/161021167

Them 🥹💔🖤

[rafesbunny]

just a friend- rc 🎀

where r and rafe are childhood friends, but will that all change?

it was finally friday, and you could relax and forget about the the tiresome week you just had. sarah, your best friend, said that after school you could go hang out round her pool with your mom before you two had to go out. you and your mom didn’t have the best relationship, everything she said seemed to have some snarky attitude to it and her compliments were always backhanded, but either way ever since you were little you two would go to the theatre every week to watch whatever was on. you loved the theatre it was a place to escape from your life and the opportunity to get sucked into someone’s else’s reality. it was a bit ironic that you would go to your place to escape from your mom with your mom, but it didn’t matter who you were with, as long as you were at the theatre. not too long after you had arrived your sister, scarlett and her friend , the older cameron daughter, sophie, arrived, and you took off your clothes, revealing your sweet little red bikini. you always have cherished your relationship with your sister, despite the five year age gap she was your best friend. you felt like a child again, playing mermaids, splashing each other and gossiping with a drink in your hand around the pool.

as you got out and dried yourself off, slipping back into your shorts and oversized tee, a giggly wheezie came out attacking you, scarlett and sophie with a water gun, getting you drenched again. and trailing behind her and scolding her was rose who was also bringing over a plate of juicy, colourful fruit over, “i’m so sorry girls” she apologised, but you just laughed and dismissed her with a shake of your head, how could you ever stay mad at wheez? as you continued talking to your sister and her friend, and rose caught up with your mom, she exclaimed to everyone, “you guys come for the annual celebration tonight! it will be lots of fun, plus it’s not too dressy so you could borrow something from the girls,” she said to you and scarlett, and to your mom, “and i can give you something of mine” your eyes lit up, you’ve always wanted to go to the cameron’s annual party but your mom never allowed you to go. you’ve heard about how amazing it was from whispers in the hall way and from peoples stories on snapchat and instagram: they would have heaps of food, from every cuisine you could think of; games and competitions, that were silly but everyone wanted to win; music blasting through the speaker, whether that be from a delicately made playlist throughout the years or from a live band; and an open bar that would serve everyone. “maybe, we’ve got plans” your mom said coldly, you looked at her pleadingly but she just ignored your attempts to get her to change her mind.

finally sarah, had arrived home and came into the garden. you two have always been friends ever since you were little girls learning their abc’s, even when you two grew up, you had stayed in the same friendship group. your other friends were a lot more like sarah, they were bubbly and outgoing and adventurous, and you were still bubbly but in bigger groups you were more reserved and kept to yourself, this meant that you never really went out with them outside of school, much preferring the solidarity of your room. as she got down to the pool she stripped off her clothes revealing her bathing suit, she also brought up the grand event happening later, “you guys should totally stay, it will be the best time. you’ve never come before so it will be even better as it’s your first time”. you girls slipped back into the pool and as you swam to the middle of it you whispered, “yeah just gotta convince my mom, y’know how she is” sarah understood, she’d known how yours and your moms relationship has been for years now so she gave you a sympathetic smile. you’d been doing gentle, slow laps of the pool for nearly an hour now when you decided to get out and dry off, the stage for later was being set up and caterers were making their way in and out of garden. even though you probably wouldn’t be staying, you and your sister decided to help set up. as you and sarah were doing some finishing touches, rafe walked out in those beige kook shorts he always sported and a lose white linen button up, he gave you a nod of acknowledgment and made his way over to rose to see what he needed to do before guests started to arrive. you, sarah and rafe used to be a little trio when you were younger, always going out together, if it was to the beach, the zoo or just to the park, you were always together. every weekend you would all have a sleepover and during the summer it was practically nearly everyday, and during the day, if you were busy at a family event, they would also be invited and vise vera. you were inseparable. but as you grew older you drifted away from rafe, he started to hang out with his own friends more, he wouldn’t hang out with you and sarah as much, he only would if you were at Tannyhill and he wasn’t busy. there was no bad blood or any argument that happened, you guys just simply grew up. but even with that the whole of the island knew not to mess with rafes girls- his sisters, and you.

slowly guests start arriving, it was mainly younger couples with children, as they couldn’t stay until too late they just showed up early to make the most of it. Sarah grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the stage which had five chairs with a deflated balloon on each, sarah was too your left and rafe was to your right. you looked rafe and then went to look back at Sarah but she was gone, rafe saw your puzzled expression and pointed at the stage and there sarah was with a mic in her hand. “what is going on?” you asked rafe in bewilderment. “basically every year we host the same competion. it’s only silly but everyone loves it. five people from an age range- so these ones coming on will be like ten years old, and the next will be like teenagers and so on- and out of these age groups they have to blow up a balloon and whoever pops it first wins out of that age group. then out of the end of the night all the winners from different age ranges compete against each other for the ultimate winner. it’s stupid but everyone has fun” you laughed softy at the stupidity of it all but you loved it, you wished you could stay longer, “you think i could win?” “doubt you would win against me” “is that a challenge mr cameron?” “maybe it is” you two bantered back and forth. as sarah was explaining the rules to the children, through the mic, your mom was talking obnoxiously loud from where she lounged on the sun bed next to rose. out of the corner of your eye you could see rafe turning his head quickly to look at her, clearly getting agitated. you knew he was stressed because no matter how silly this was all, he hated seeing people disrespect the effort his family had gone through to set this up, he also knew how mad ward could get at this too and didn’t want to deal with that later. you just about heard him murmur , “oh my god just shut up” as he ran his hand down his face and turned the top half of his body to glare down at your mom. with your best efforts, you pushed rafes shoulder so he was back to looking at the stage and said to him, “just tune her out and ignore her, y’know that’s what i do” with a playful smile on your face. chuckling at your lighthearted joke, he put his arm around your shoulders bringing you into the side of his chest as you watched the group of tots try to blow up a balloon. after it was done, sarah got off the stage and made her way back over to everyone else gleaming, she always managed to bring the light into any room. as you stood around talking another one of your friends showed up, grace, she embraced you in a big hug causing you to detach from rafes hold. your conversation got onto the topic of an upcoming party, it was this girl in your english class birthday soon and she was hosting a house party with nearly everyone from your year and other people from outside the island, and afterwards instead of everyone going home you’d camp on her fields she had attached to her house. you weren’t really that close with her, the only conversations you had was when you sat next to her in english, but she was a sweet girl so you were you to go and celebrate her big day with her. plus who were you to say no to a party! this obviously sparked something in sarah as she once again grabbed your hand and dragged you over to where rose was sun bathing, “rose y/n is going to that party in a few weeks!” this was her way of subtly asking rose again if she could go, you have always been the person who your friends parents trusted the most so you were used to people telling their parents you were going to something so that they could go. “well then i guess you two could go together” sarah squeezed your hand out of excitement she could now go and she carried on rambling about the event. this physical touch made you realise rafe wasn’t here now with you guys, the thought of that made your heart ache. why though? he was just a friend.

[theswarmkeeper]

a normal, boring life

alexandra ‘sandy’ lykaios ✶ 25 years later...

Sandy Lykaios had always wanted her life to be regular. Stereotypical, mundane. She had been a cheerleader, had average grades, an average boyfriend, and was planning to go to an average college. Of course, nothing ever goes the way you plan, and she was only gifted her peace once the worst was 25 years behind her.

After everything that she had to go through, she was determined not to let anything get in the way of her beautifully average life. Almost anything, that is.

It was dinnertime, and her home was full of sounds and smells, oil sizzling in a pan, the scraping of a spatula on metal, scrambled words from the television screen, a faint humming melody. Somewhere in another room, the gurgling of a baby mixed with the softer voice of a girl, a conversation in half.

Sandy- though she went by ‘Sandra’ more often these days- was finishing the last scraps of a dinner for four, sun-dried tomatoes and basil simmering with cream in a pan, pasta sitting warm in a pot on the counter. The humming was her, a song stuck in her head, something from her youth she couldn't quiet remember the name of.

Flipping a page in the cookbook, beaten, battered, and annotated in handwriting belonging to generations of her family, she turned down the stove, clicking the flame off. The spatula pressed to her lips softly, tasting before she serves, hands fumbling through a barely-sorted spice rack to add one final pinch of salt before it cooled too much to fix.

Footsteps down the hallway turned her head, a teenage girl carrying an infant in her arms. Her daughters. Evie, the elder, dark curls and darker eyes, an olive sun-tan that was starting to put her own to shame, and Sophie, the younger, mostly-bald and barely-teething. Her eldest daughter waved the youngest's arm to her, a cheeky smile making its way across her face.

“Look who's come to say hello!”

Sandra gasped, putting the pan to the side, careful not to leave it to burn, and hoisted Lisa from her daughter's arms, balancing it on her hip. The baby shrieked at the movement, an excited babble that drew a laugh from her Mother's throat.

“Well, hello you two, coming to see me just in time for dinner. How blessed am I?”

Evie grinned, snaking around behind her to steal a tomato from the saucepan, earning a gentle smack on the hand.

“Evie! Let me plate it first, don't put your hands in my sauce.”

Before her daughter could say anything to defend herself, the phone began to ring from the living room. Sandra saw her move to get it, but waved her off, passing Sophie back to her.

“No, you stole my food, you get to plate up dinner while I answer the phone. Tell your Father dinner is ready, and I'll only be a moment.”

Pressing a kiss to both of her daughter's temples, she strides into the next room, picking up the phone just on the very last ring without sparing a glance at the number on the landline. Maybe if she had, she wouldn't have picked up.

“Hello? Lykaios home, Sandra speaking.”

“Sandy.”

Her body freezes up just at hearing the voice, remembering it just as well as her own. Or had it been her own, once? She knows their agreement, she knows her own rules. She should hang up the phone.

“Harper. You know the rules, I told you never to contact me.”

“We have new orders.”

In the back of her mind there are flashes. Images of things that have happened before, some of them to her, some of them to her but through the body of another. Her mind blurs at the edges, just a little, and she knows that there is something awakening that should not have been touched.

She could feel the echo of something familiar, lips ghosting just past her ear, a hand gripping her chin, whispered orders from a girl who she revered like a God. Antlers and blood and furs, the teeth of a wolf dig into flesh, and three girls become one.

“She needs Lottie Matthews dead.”

[gaymarasov]

I have to be a (slight) hater for a moment.

My main complaints this episode are how poorly the final fight between Mel and Shauna was choreographed and how ABSOLUTELY DOGSHIT the blood was.

Fight choreography, fine, I can let it slide, they both clearly did the stunts themselves and it's not like they're twenty anymore so whateverrr like maybe that really was the best they could do. Fine. We'll never reach the levels of Sophie N. taking boxing lessons to beat the fuck out of Lottie again but like. Ughhhhh.

THAT BEING SAID.

Genuinely from the depths of my heart, between Van's goofy-ass scars and Shaunahat both being gently dabbed with red jello instead of fresh blood what is the makeup team even DOING over there. The shot where Mel smashes her forehead into Shauna's face and Shauna comes away with what looks like already mostly dried blood smeared down her face with no sign of anything new? The way that Shauna literally takes a CHUNK out of Mel, and we get like. A little bit of welling. Be serious. My 70g parrot apparently is capable of drawing more blood than Shauna Shipman's teeth??? Like pleeeease stop...