#The original characters and plot are the property of the respective owners

[bluewritinghood]

Petals

Rusty never gets sick, like ever, so he’s surprised to say the least when he feels a burning tickling sensation building in his lungs. He sighs pops a coff drop in his mouth and chalks it up to the cold whether. Then it builds into a slight but nagging cough, that cough quickly enough becomes persistent.

“Hey Rus?” Danny says stopping him in the hallway on their way to play poker he doesn’t have to actually ask the question on his mind Rusty knows it’s about his coughing.

“Don’t know it just won’t go away.” He tells him.

“You don’t.” Danny says confused.

“Get sick?” Rusty finishes. “Yeah I know.”

“You think it’s the…” Danny says.

“Probably, it hasn’t gotten above thirty two degrees in over a week.” Rusty dismisses Danny’s concerns.

“But we’ve pulled jobs in whether colder than this and you never…” Danny points out.

“Yeah, I know.” Rusty sighs earning himself a few short coughs.

“Not to mention we’re not even working right now.” Danny continues.

“Maybe I’m allergic to downtime?” Rusty jokes.

“Hmm?” Danny says skeptically.

Rusty dissolves into a coughing fit one of the worst he’s had yet and has to hold onto Danny’s shoulder for support. When he can breathe again there’s three tiny petals in his palm.

Danny furrows his brow. “Are those…?”

“Marigold petals.” Rusty confirms.

“Your… in love?” Danny asks astonished.

“Apparently.” Rusty says grimly.

“And it’s unrequited?” Danny’s eyebrows very nearly meet his hairline.

“It would seem that way.” Rusty agrees.

“But you…” Danny trails off

Rusty looks hard at the petals in his hand “Don’t do love.”

“Exactly.” Danny looks thoughtful for a minute. “So who?”

“Marigolds are October.” Rusty says mentality going through everyone he knows with birthdays in October.

Danny gets there first. “Linus was born in the beginning of October.”

“Damn, it’s Linus isn’t it?” Rusty asks and it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“You have always been fond of him.” Danny says. “And you both are here for the month over the holidays.”

“You can’t tell him.” Rusty looks from the petals to Danny. “He won’t understand.”

“Give the kid some credit Rus.” Danny persuades.

“No. Even if he understands he doesn’t feel the same I watch him enough to know that.” Rusty says firmly. “I won’t put that pressure, that guilt on him.”

“You watch everyone and think you know what’s going on in their heads.” Danny says but Rusty cuts him off.

“That’s because I do people are open books. Worse than that actually their audiobooks at full volume.” Rusty says as though he’s stating a core fact of the universe.

“But Linus isn’t so simple, he’s not as easy to read as everyone else, you don’t always know what’s going on in his head Rusty. So maybe…” Danny suggests.

“He’s not.” Rusty cuts off Danny’s line of reasoning.

“Alright if you don’t want me to tell him I won’t.” Danny promises.

“Thank you.” Rusty says.

“You gonna be okay for poker?” Danny asks worriedly.

“Danny it’s literally a game centered around bluffing I’ll be fine.” Rusty dismisses him heading to where Linus is setting up the poker table forcing him to drop the subject.

“Hey.” Linus says sitting down in his chair. “Who’s dealing?”

“I’ll do it.” Danny offers motioning for Linus to hand him the deck.

Linus places the cards in his palm his attention drawn to Rusty who is persistently clearing his throat. “You okay Rusty?”

“Yeah, just a persistent tickle.” Rusty says pointing to his throat.

Linus stands up and disappears into the kitchen. “Where do you think he’s going?” Rusty asks as Danny shuffles the deck.

“I don’t know.” Danny shrugs as they hear the sounds of dishes being moved around in the kitchen.

“Awfully trusting with his cards though.” Rusty comments.

“He knows we won’t cheat him.” Danny pokes Rusty’s chest. “It’s one of the reasons you’re coughing up salad.”

Linus returns a few minutes later with a mug of something warm in his hands little wisps of steam rising from it, he hands the mug to Rusty. “Here, this’ll help with the tickle.”

Rusty takes a sip of the drink. “Lemon tea?”

“Good for your throat.” He says sitting down.

Linus worry continues to grow as Rusty’s coughing doesn’t subside instead worsening as they continue their poker game.

“Okay.” Linus says laying down his cards in the middle of the third hand. “This isn’t just some tickle in the throat is it?”

“I’m fine it’s just this cold weather.” Rusty protests.

Linus gives him a look that says he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth. “Try again you’ve visited me In Chicago when it was minus four degrees outside and didn’t so much as clear your throat.”

“It’s probably just a cold.” Rusty dismisses.

Linus crosses his arms over his chest. “If it was that the tea would have helped not made it worse.”

Rusty sighs screwing his eyes shut and whispers. “It’s Hanahaki disease.”

“Hardly anyone gets that these days.” Linus says surprised. “Is it Isabel? I know you really loved her.”

Rusty shakes his head. “The breakup was mutual.”

Linus furrows his brow. “So they tuned you down?”

“Didn’t have to it’s obvious they don’t have feelings for me.” Rusty tells him.

“You haven’t even tried?” Linus asks astonished.

“No point.” Rusty says simply.

“Your just going to give up just like that?” He turns to Danny. “He’s kidding right?”

Danny shakes his head. “Afraid not.”

Looking at Danny he asks. “We’ve pulled off some of the craziest con’s I’ve ever seen surely between the three of us we can get some one to fall in love with Rusty.”

“It’s not happening Linus.” Rusty says firmly getting up and leaving the room.

“He’s got to be kidding.” Linus says throwing his hands up in the air.

“Linus I know it bothers you to see him like this but you’re going to have a tough time pulling a name out of him.” Danny tells him gently.

“He’s my friend Danny, you and him are my family. I can’t stand to see him suffer.” Linus whispers.

“He’s like family to you?” Danny asks with a crease between his eyebrows.

“Yes.” Linus says emphatically. “So help me help him.”

“I’m sorry Linus he’s my best friend and I have to respect his wishes and feelings on the matter.” Danny say standing up.

“His wishes are going to kill him.” Linus pleads.

Danny shakes his head and goes to find Rusty.

“Hey.” Danny says finding Rusty sitting in his room on the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing here?” Rusty asks.

“I’m sorry.” Danny says sitting down next to him.

“What did he say?” Rusty asks.

“He said your his family.” Danny tells him.

“So you see how pointless telling him would be?” Rusty asks.

“Yes.” Danny admits. “I do.”

Rusty dissolves into a coughing fit leaving him holding a handful of blood speckled marigold petals. “I love him so much it’s going to kill me.” Rusty whispers.

———

Linus didn’t give up he spent the next two weeks coming up with plans and begging Danny to do something, anything about what was happening to Rusty.

Most of his appeals had been to Danny trying to leave Rusty in peace with his worsening condition, he had gone from coughing up a few petals to coughing up whole marigolds which wasn’t doing anything to help Linus’s anxiety. So now Linus was taking his appeal to Rusty because he honestly wasn’t sure how long he had left.

“Rusty?” Linus asks knocking on the door to his room.

“Come in Linus.” Rusty’s voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“I need to talk to you.” Linus says sitting down on edge of the bed next to Rusty.

“There’s nothing you can do.” Rusty tells him.

“There has to be.” Linus chokes hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t watch you die Rusty, I can’t loose you.”

“There’s nothing you can do.” Rusty repeats.

“Your really just going to lay down and die?.” Linus asks angrily.

“It’s my life.” Rusty counters.

“Your un fucking believable!” Linus finally breaks. “Your Rusty Ryan damn it! You always have a plan and you never just give up. I would sell my soul to Terry Benedict or the Devil himself if it would save you but you’re just going to do nothing when something as simple as words could save your life!?”

“Linus you don’t understand…” Rusty begins.

���No Rusty you listen I understand more than you could ever possibly know I’ve been in love with someone for so long and it’s been cutting away at my heart for a long time now so don’t you dare say I don’t understand.” Linus growls.

“You should tell them your a great person Linus they would be lucky to have you.” Rusty tells him leaning back on his pillows.

“Yeah well it’s you Rusty it always has been and you’re making me watch you die. I would rather see you with someone else than see you die but yet here you sit slowly dying because you refuse to tell someone you love them.” Linus half yells half sobs at him.

Rusty just stares at him for so long Linus asks him. “Are you okay?”

Rusty opens his mouth to say something but promptly shuts it again.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Linus lowers his voice back to his usual gentle tone. “I just can’t stand to see you hurting like this.”

“Your in love with me?” Rusty asks in an astonished voice.

“Yes, I don’t know how you couldn’t have seen it.” Linus whispers.

“You told Danny we’re your family.”

“And you are but family can mean a lot of things.” Linus explains.

“Linus..” Rusty is interrupted by Danny coming into the room.

“Hey Rus?” Danny starts but stops upon seeing Linus.

“Just try and think about what I said?” Linus pleads walking past Danny out of the room.

Rusty moves to go after him but Danny walks fully into the room shutting the door behind him. “How are you feeling?”

“Cured.” Rusty tells him.

Danny raises his eyebrows. “Mind saying that again?”

“Linus is in love with me.” Rusty tells him.

“Is that what?” Danny asks pointing over his shoulder with his thumb in the direction Linus had left.

“Yes.” Rusty answers.

“And does he know you are…?” Danny begins.

“No, you kinda walked in just as I was about to.” Rusty tells him.

“God the kid is going to give himself a panic attack. Go, go tell him.” Danny shoos Rusty towards the door of his room.

Rusty finds Linus just sitting in the kitchen staring at the wall.

“Can I talk to you?” Rusty asks pulling a seat over near Linus’s.

“Uh, yeah.” Linus sniffs wiping the back of his hand over his red rimmed eyes.

“You still want to know who this is all about?” Rusty asks.

“Yes.” Linus sits up straight.

Rusty takes one of Linus’s hands in his own and kisses the back of it. “You Linus, I’m in love with you.”

“I’m the reason you’ve been in all this pain?” Linus asks a tear slipping down his cheek.

Rusty wipes the tear away. “No, your the reason I’m healed. The reason I was in pain is because I was stubborn unwilling to say how I felt.” He cups Linus’s chin with the hand that’s not holding Linus’s. “And blind apparently.”

Linus laughs sniffing as he does so. “I wish you would have told me so much sooner.”

Rusty smiles. “Me too.”

Rusty leans forward gently kissing Linus lips and pulling him onto his lap, Linus straddles Rusty’s hips sitting on his lap kissing him back deeper.

They stay like that kissing in the kitchen until Danny walks in and yells into his cupped hands. “Get a room you two!”

The break apart laughing and Rusty drags Linus upstairs.

They were happy in each other’s company even if Rusty could never quite look at a marigold without clearing his throat, Which turned out to be especially fun when they got roped into a con involving an industrial sized greenhouse filled with marigolds, but that’s irrelevant the point is they lived as happily ever after as they could for a pair that thieves.

Ao3 link

[nixiefics]

Ladies, gentlemen, and those who identify outside the binary, step right up to witness the spectacle of my literary universe!

Requests: OPEN

Archive of Our Own

Taglist

Feedback is requested and appreciated (whether a comment reblog, an ask or a message), I'd love to hear your thoughts

🩷 - Complete

🌸 - In Progress

🫣 - Smut

⭕ - Hiatus

🤭 - Fluff

😧 - Angst

🎀 - Nixie's Favourites

Surrender 🤭🫣 // Submit 🤭🫣 🎀

Fire and Runes ⭕

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

A Tangle of Souls 🌸🫣🤭😧 ⭕

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 - 08/07/2024

Chapter 10 - 16/07/2024

Chapter 11 - 23/07/2024

Chapter 12 - 30/07/2024

Possess 🤭🫣 // Part 2 🫣

These works are pieces of fanfiction. The characters, settings, and/or any other elements from the original work are the property of their respective owners. Any original plots, characters, or other creative elements introduced in this fanfiction are my own. This work is not intended for commercial use and is created solely for the enjoyment of fellow fans. Reposting or distributing this fanfiction without my consent is prohibited.

[autumn-grace]

The Lingering Pain of Empty Hands

Summery: In 1793 Benedict goes missing at a fair. Twenty years later Eloise keeps running into the same man while investigating the case of one famous Lady Whistledown. 

A story exploring the complexities of loss.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Note: This is the first time I post a story on Tumblr. I have a very small idea of what I am doing. 

Chapter One: A dead child’s shoes

Rating: M Length: 5.2k

1/10

“I miss you more than I remember you.” - Ocean Vuong

Aubrey Hall, 1799

Violet knew something was different the very moment she stepped into the front hall. She stopped abruptly. Eloise, who was holding onto her hand skidded over the polished floor to a halt a foot in front of her. Sara behind them, with Francesca on her hip and Daphne by the hand almost walked into her.

Looking around, nothing seemed entirely out of the ordinary. A footman had quickened his step into an uncommon speed to disappear through the serving room. It made her notice the slight frown on Ranson's face which was otherwise perfectly under control.

“Ranson, where is the Viscount?”

“Upstairs, my Lady.”

She looked up as if she could see him through the ceiling. “Do we have visitors?”

“Let go of my hand, mama!” Eloise complained and began to tug at her hand.

“No, my Lady.” Ranson answered while she admonished Eloise with a raised brow. It did little, she just continued practising her will. Daphne shushed her in a perfect expression of their nurse, trying to grab her arm. Said nurse was somewhat distracted by the youngest girl, trying herself to escape.

Violet knew not how to put that nagging feeling in her stomach into words. But it made her let go of Eloise's hand and it made her pace to the staircase. Eloise was at her heels, emitting excitement with the sudden action.

“You stay with Sara!”

“But where are you going?” She continued her venture alongside her mother.

“Eloise!”

“Papa!” She quickened her step further, overtook her mother and climbed the stairs to where her father now stood, a few steps down from the landing.

“You are back early.” He addressed Violet, his tone flat. Eloise reached him and jumped towards him. Distracted by watching his wife, he pulled Eloise up to his arm, not listening to her as she began telling him of a herd of sheep. (The one which blocked their carriage for almost two hours on their way here).

“We are. Mother fell ill with a nasty cold. I did not want the children to catch it.” She explained, her voice stiff.

“I am sorry to hear she is not well.”

Violet walked towards him. Going left in order to pass him by, he drew a bit to the side, effectively blocking her.

“Where is Colin?” Edmund looked over her shoulder down to the foot of the stairs where Sara now followed them with Daphne and Francesca. He smiled at them and waved.

“Where do you think he is? Will you let me through?”

“How about we have some tea and refreshments? I was just on my way downstairs.”

She forced him to make eye-contact with her by fixing her gaze upon him. And she knew the moment he faltered and met her eyes. Knew he had done what she asked him not to do.

“What have you done?” She whispered, asking the question anyway.

“Nothing. Violet, I just... I...”

“What!” She enunciated, “Have you done?” She brushed past him. Started to run towards the north corridor. He was at her heels. Eloise screamed behind them, running, too. Sara, in turn, called after her.

It was chaos. First around her and then in the very centre of her heart the moment she fell through the door to Benedict's room.

His bed was gone, his dresser, his shelves empty, the carpet rolled up and pushed to the side, the walls painted in a dull, greyish white. The sunny yellow gone.

“No...” she breathed. Stepping inside, frantically looking around. She turned again to run to the door. She needed to find all his things. She needed to. Energy buzzing through her, providing her with enough strength to bring this room back to its former state.

But then there was Edmund blocking her way.

“Violet, I am sorry...”

“Where is everything? Tell me now. Tell me!” She pushed against his chest so he would step out of the doorway. He caught her hands instead.

“It's all packed away. Nothing is gone.”

“His clothes?” She demanded. “His animals?”

“Violet, I swear...” he started.

“I have never asked for anything much, have I? Have I ever been a difficult woman? Have I? Edmund?” It was desperation forcing her words.

“It was nothing but a museum of despair, my love.”

“You lost our son. You lost him and I not once blamed you for it. The least you could have done is leave me my despair!” She shouted now, certain her voice would break into sobs any second. Eloise, who had first pressed herself through the gap between her father's legs and the door frame, now retreated into the opposite direction, scared by her mother's rage.

“It's all I have left of him, my memory, my pain is the only thing that reminds me that he was real. And you take this from me, too. LET GO OF ME.”

She pulled away from him, from the hands on her arms, from the shocked expression on his face.

“What have I done to you that you punish me so? I asked you to leave me this room. I asked you only of that one thing...”

Now, she crumbled. A sob dragged through her chest and up her throat.

“How could you? That's all that I had left of him.” She cried. “Have you forgotten him? Do you no longer care?” She weeped and when he only looked at the floor, she turned around herself, once, twice.

She suddenly felt as if she stood in her little boy's tomb.

Bloomsbury, May 1814

Ben arrived at work a little earlier than he usually would. 

His night had ended at five. Charles woke at least once every hour. Sophie was in and out of bed as many times. He had pulled Alex over to his side of the bed in order to act as a barrier between the commotion and him, but it made the little one restless, clearly feeling he was no longer beside his mama. As a consequence Ben spent all night awake behind closed eyes.

In short, the night was ruff and hoping he could leave earlier made him decide to leave half an hour earlier than usual.

He made it almost to the office building when a carriage came through the gates onto the courtyard, cutting off his path. At first he gave it little notice but then it stopped right by the door he had to enter. And it was when he planned to walk around it that something about the vehicle demanded his attention. 

 “Have I something in my face?” The young woman who had stepped out of the carriage barked into his direction. With a raised brow she waited for an answer. 

“No, Miss,” tumbled from his lips eventually and she made a step closer, folding her arms in front of her body, tapping her index-finger against her arm.

“Then consider not staring. It's rude.” She leaned back into the carriage and pulled out a stack of books, turned and rushed away, her servant at her heels. 

Ben had not stared at her so much as at the carriage she had arrived in and the crest drawn onto the dark, polished wood. It could not be. He must simply be wrong. He took a small step towards the vehicle. The coachman nodded at him, suspicion in his eyes. 

But he was not wrong, was he? This had burned itself into his memory. It was the crest on the carriage which had driven away from him, had left him behind. After which he ran until his young legs had given out under him and his lungs protested strongly by constricting into desperate gulps for air.

He shook himself out of the memory. Took several steps backwards.

If it was the carriage he believed it to be, it did not matter.

And still, Ben found it impossible to form a clear thought as he made his way upstairs and to his desk. He was so early that he was the first one in.

Not being able to gather his senses proved his work rather difficult. And strangely enough, also a little dangerous as he soon learned, especially considering he was an illustrator. He tried to prepare his workload, gathering his materials and sharpening his pencils. He noticed not how his heart thumped all the way in his throat until the sharpening-knife logged itself against the side of his finger, leaving him bleeding. 

Frustrated, with blood spreading over his tongue as he sucked on the wound, he shoved his chair back, creating an irritating sound as the wood carved into the floorboards. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Atwood?” 

He had not noticed Edgar entering the room. The young apprentice, barely sixteen, looked at him, part worried and part confused. Ben nodded, put the knife on his desk. 

“I cut myself. No worries.” He explained a moment later. Edgar had found his desk since, put his bag on the floor to its side. He sat down on his chair and began to search through his things. 

Ben in the meanwhile had stood up and made his way to the window from where he had a view over the courtyard and found the carriage still there. It was early morning, not many had started their workday yet. He wondered what that girl wanted here? Surely, she did not have an appointment.  Public business started at eight. That was another hour and a half away. 

“Mr. Atwood? My mother gave me this to give to you. It is for you and Mrs. Atwood.” Once again Ben tried to pull himself to attention, he turned his head and the boy stood only a few feet away from him. Had he paws for feet?

He held his hand out, a package in it. The brown paper was held together by a single string, Benedict smiled and shook his head as he took it. The thumbing in his throat lessened considerably. “Your mother is truly a kind woman, Edgar.” Making sure Edgar looked at him, he nodded in thanks.

Unwrapping it, his first assumption was proven true, this was for the boys, a cardigan, looking just about Alexander's size, with some room to grow into. It was held in a soft beige colour with a small rabbit stitched down to the front. He would love it.

“Mother says it's a light wool and will be perfect for summer.” 

His shoulder softened and his nervous heart eased. The kind gesture warmed his insides and made it possible to get his thoughts in a line. “Tell Mrs. York how very grateful we are.” 

“Gladly,” Edgar nodded and smiled before taking a seat on his desk. Ben tied the cardigan into the paper again and as he looked out of the window before returning to his desk as well, he found the carriage gone.  

That night he dreamed of nothing but running after the carriage. His eyes snapped open every time that he fell to the ground in his dream, unable to contain the speed needed for it to stay just barely out of his reach. Forcing himself to inhale and exhale and with the sensation of his son's hand firmly logged into the material of his nightshirt, he drifted off to sleep after. Over and over and over.

It was the forth or fifth time that night, when opening his eyes the room was brightened by a little bit of light. He was unable yet to contain and deal with the terror running through his veins before he looked to the side and met directly with Sophie's worried gaze. She was feeding Alexander, who was still half asleep. Charles on the other side of her, not yet awake.

“It's not real,” she whispered and he swallowed, lifting his hands to his face to rub it, rub some sense into him. Seeing little stars dance in front of his eyes made him stop, his hand then reached out until he found Sophie's. 

He rolled to his side and into her, his hand slid under her nightdress, up the top of her leg and then to her swollen belly. 

“You tease.” She breathed and clicked her tongue softly. He grinned as he buried his face into Alex's back, searching her skin for any traces of movement underneath. 

Thinking only one thing: but what if it was true?

And then he forgot about the carriage. He forgot about the dreams. As he always did. 

It was only weeks later that it was coaxed to the surface again. 

Usually it was months and years between those instances. And usually it brought about only a fleeting emotion, an understanding, a few nights of nightmares. Ben could file it away under confusing childhood memories and recognise that it no longer held any power over him, and then go on about his life. 

After all, it was twenty years ago. He had been a boy then. 

At this point, he had a life, it had become his own. That thing that was his childhood nothing more than a distant memory, one that sometimes, rarely these days, clenched at his heart. 

He might never forget the sheer panic of watching the carriage with his father in it drive off without him, but he remembered it today as through thick, coloured glass. That and mostly everything else from before as well. He had a brother, Anthony, that had always been true, he was always sure of that and how he had been his best friend. He remembered an enormous garden and a large forest and sometimes it all was so clear he could wander through it in his imagination. He remembered always holding onto his mother's hand. 

But how it came to it, his father leaving him behind, pushing him to the ground and going home without him, the years had washed that away, corroded his memory into something fragile, something unreliable. Trying to reconstruct what happened nowadays led him to a different conclusion every time. So he tried to let it rest, let the joy of the presence direct his course. His father might not have wanted him then, but the same was not true for his wife or his sons now. Nothing else mattered.

Still, he found it a sheer impossibility, that thought. Sometimes, when he indulged in it. How could someone not want their child? Every time the memory fought its way to the forefront of his mind he could not fathom it. They would have to go over his cold dead body in order to get to his sons, and then there was still Sophie to fend them off. No question asked. He would protect them, would never let any harm come their way, he had sworn that. 

Naturally, he was not a naïve man, had seen children suffer alongside himself. Had shared the last bit of his dry bread with a little girl that showed him a warm place to sleep. Two days later he watched a man throw her body on the bed of the carriage which picked up the dead every morning. Throwing her shoes into the alleyway for the next poor thing. (It was how he had gotten his own pair of shoes only mere weeks before that. They had belonged to a boy named Peter, who was very good at stealing apples.)

He had seen a woman sell her son. He had witnessed a father beat his daughter until her skull creaked. He had seen it all and more. He was not naïve, but it still rendered him incapable of understanding the how. Not when he loved his own so much it made his chest hurt.

It all boiled to the surface again when he needed to return to work late on a Friday night to bring in a revision to go into print early on Saturday. He went past Mr. Atkin's house to gather his final approval which cost him an extra twenty five minutes of polite conversation with the man's daughter in law, he would much rather have spent with Sophie. Ultimately he would have stayed an hour or two if it meant a raise.

It was then almost half ten when he excited the master lithographer's office. 

He took on a quick step through the cold spring air. With his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, he watched the cobblestone under his feet. His bag dangled in his back and as he did so often these days, he used the way to calculate their current expenses and how the new baby would influence them. They could not wait for their new little one, it was a firm and undeniable truth. But it would mean that a new suit had to wait for at least another eight months to a year and Sophie needed new shoes, it was a priority.

Being distracted by numbers, he nodded to the night-guard and crossed the street with a quick glance in every direction. He considered taking a shortcut when it happened, he crossed a puddle in a confident jump and ended up swinging backwards as he almost but not quite ran into a woman standing in the shadows of a house. 

She raised her hands and shrieked as he tried to regain his balance and not tumble to the pavement. It was in vain, he landed on his behind. 

The woman exhaled in a huff. “You again!” She stepped out of the shadow and looked down at him and he looked up at her, raising a brow as he too recognised her. “What are you doing here?”

“I shall rather ask you that question, Miss.” He drew his knee in and climbed back onto his feet, rubbing his hands together and looking at his shoes hoping not to have scratched the leather... or, and he tried to look around himself to see, destroyed his trousers. 

“I am an independent woman, my reasons are my own.” 

“I see...” he bit the insides of his cheeks so as not to grin, these words could come right from Sophie's mouth. 

She raised her chin, responding to the humorous challenge in his words. Their eyes meet and had it not been for the moonlight casting down on them, it would have been impossible to tell, but her eyes were red and swollen and there was still some wetness to her cheeks. 

The sadness in her eyes jolted through him because he felt as if he recognized it.

“Who are you, anyway? So I know which name to give to my best friend in case you plan an abduction!” 

Something rattled in his soul. “I, Miss. I do not plan an abduction. In fact I am very much interested in you finding your way home safely.” 

“Your name!” She repeated and rubbed her thumb under her eye.

“Atwood. My name is Ben Atwood. I am an illustrator for Atkin's Press” 

“Ben Atwood. Well then, nice to make your acquaintance. I must be on my way.” 

She took a hold of her frog and took off. “Stop. Miss. Tell me your name!” She made a full spin, danced around another puddle. “Bridgerton is my name, Eloise Bridgerton. Remember it well!”

 It was Sunday afternoon when Ben sat on the floor of their small flat in order to think hard and clear about everything he knew about his childhood. Despite the sun flooding the room, most of the occupants napped. On the sofa their two boys slept soundly. On his thigh rested Sophie's head winding herself halfway around him, making sure every part of her body was warmed by the sun. 

His hand rested absent-mindedly on her belly and her fingers were folded around his wrist from the last time she had moved his hand to where she felt the baby move. On his other  knee lay a notebook and in his hand he held a pencil.

He was almost sure to have been born in the winter of 1786. He assumed that his family lived in London, or at least most of the time. He was firmly sure that he had two brothers, one older and one younger. He was seven when it happened. He could not with certainty say what exactly happened. 

On the open page stood the name Bridgerton. Nothing more.

Bridgerton. 

Admitting that it sounded familiar frightened him and so instead of exploring that familiarity not only around the name but also within the face of Eloise Bridgerton, he tried to come up with a reason for why all of it was but a coincidence. 

His eyes wandered through the room and he inhaled sharply when his sight rested on his youngest with that same nose and those distinctive brows and oh, if his eyes were to open, he would look right into the very same orbs he had identified in that girl on Friday night.

Sophie's palm stroked up the length of his arm, pressed her thumb into the muscle of his shoulder and went all soft as it ran up his neck and landed just at his jaw. He followed her hand and he took her wrist in his and kissed her palm, only to place it where it had been on his jaw in order to lean into the touch.

“Tell me where your mind is at,” she whispered. 

He closed his eyes. “I cannot for the life of me remember how it came that I ran after that carriage.” Her fingertips caressed over his forehead and then into his hair, combing through them. “I don't think my father left me there on purpose. And I know not why. I try so hard but I cannot reconstruct the course of events.”  

His dream went like this without a fail: His father shook him, his angry face right in his, screaming at him, he saw it happening but there were never any actual words, and then he pushed him, kicked him when he was already on the ground. Ben then scrambled to his feet and ran for all he was worth, he ran and ran and ran until he woke up the moment he collapsed and understood there was no catching up with it. 

His understanding of what actually happened, any possible memory had since suffered drastically. Once, when he was younger, he had understood that this dream had not been the reality, but the reality had been what slipped from his mind. It was the weaker opponent. And not only that. If he thought about it today, a father himself, he doubted the reality was any better than his dream, that it had occurred under less brutal circumstances, that his father had treated him less poorly. For if he cared, would he not have felt his son’s heart and soul shaking so feverishly through his whole body, emitting from him in waves? Should not a father have felt that and be driven to act with love and kindness?

While Ben contemplated his past with gritted teeth, Sophie picked up the notebook on his knee.

“Bridgerton,” she read in a soft voice and his attention turned to her so easily. “Ben Bridgerton.” 

“Benedict,” The name fell from his lips in nothing but an accidental sigh. 

“Benedict!” Sophie repeated and set up as fast as her pregnant body allowed. Their eyes met. His breath quickened. His heartbeat, too. And while emotions rushed through him he found impossible to name, she smiled at him. Her other hand landed on his chest. 

“It's alright,” she tried to sooth him as he knew not where to with his hands. He found the notebook that had fallen down between their bodies and he wrote it down as if he was afraid to forget it again. He put down Benedict right over the Bridgerton and his heart thumbed audibly far up in chest. He almost felt sick with the sensation.

“I don't understand why I cannot remember it,” he whispered as her arms wound around him. His chin rested against the side of her head. “I was there. I did not fall on my head.”

“I know. It must be frustrating. It will come back. But you cannot force it.”

But he wanted to. With irredeemable impatience. 

He wanted to will it into existence, needed it.

Then Sophie's lips found his jaw and she pressed an open, wet kiss against it and he succumbed to her love. Some of the winding frustration eased from him.

“It's alright. We will figure it out,” she whispered. “Just not now. It needs to come to you, not the other way around.” She was right. She was. It did not change that inkling deep in his bones that it never would.

Her hand drove along the inside of his thigh. “Sophie,” he breathed and lowered his head to catch her lips with his. His eyes closed. Her lips against his the most familiar feeling, her love, her calm, her presence, all at his fingertips.

She was able to distract him in a matter of seconds. He was easy in that way.

There was nothing calming about the storm that followed. He crawled to his knees and he drew her up to her feet and they fell into the bedroom and against the door within two heartbeats. He let her open her church-dress fearing he might rip it, but it did not stop him from falling to his knees in front of her, lifting her leg up over his shoulder while holding her strongly with his hands against her hips. 

“Sophie,” he mouthed against the inside of her thigh and she panted in something he would describe as helplessness. But she was not helpless. She was his wife, the strongest woman he knew, the cleverest, too and the most loving. “Soph,” he breathed, air gulping through her lungs. 

“Shhh,” she begged, shakingly. The dress fell away over her shoulders but she was so unsteady despite his strong hold that her hands fell on top of his head. The heavy smell of her arousal filled his nostrils and she gasped just as loudly as he had called her name a moment ago when his lips closed around her pearl.

“Ben! Oh.” He took two fingers to her middle, gave her warm, swollen lips a caress, gave her no warning before driving them up into her. And her accompanying scream was just barely contained by her hand falling against her mouth. Her hips began to chaise his movements. Within a mere minute she came apart above him.

He put her foot back on the ground and he stood up and her hand was still over her mouth, but it was shaking and tears short from overflowing. As he pulled her hand away, words overflowed her lips. “I need you. I am all empty.”

He needed to close his eyes and steady himself against the door so weak did her utterance make him. Deep in his stomach the already tight knot of arousal twisted into something primal and his hips twitched in answer. He kissed her hard.

“How I need you, too,” he growled, his voice deep, almost guttural. As he already turned to their bed and drew her with him, she had the sense to lodge a chair under the doorknob while simultaneously trying to draw her dress away over her head. 

Ben let go of her hand, snapped his braces free and let his trousers fall to the floor before he fell backwards onto the mattress, the wood giving off a highly offended creak and Ben raised a brow. Come August this bed had to hold another little body. Then she stood before him, freeing herself of the half corset which bound her soft breasts into a firm hold. 

The afternoon sun hugged her body as she regarded him, a smile graced her lips and joy sparkled in her eyes. She looked like a true goddess as she opened the braid her hair was confined in. It fell over her shoulders in cascading golden silk and touched down to her protruding belly. The wetness between her legs glistered and he arched his shoulders into the bed as lust shook his whole body and made him infinitely harder, impossibly even. He needed to take himself into hand and give himself a stroke to calm the peaking of deep and utter arousal burning in his thighs and his stomach and over his whole skin. It did not calm his panting breath. 

Only Sophie was able to do that after she crawled over his body and rubbed her wet middle right over his hard, pulsing length and he forgot how to breathe. Their hands found each other holding onto the other, a single lifeline, making them one being. 

She rubbed her pearl against the weeping crown of his cock and she sighed so visceral he almost thought it had made her climax again. Their intimate locks tangled and rubbed together and he felt how her wetness seeped onto him, he rutted upwards, once, twice, his head beginning to spin. 

She handled it, managed his lust driven clumsiness and took him into her hand, guiding him into her. Her hand was back over her mouth but it did not prevent her throat from whining or her chest from vibrating with the moan that followed as she took him into her.

He swallowed and grunted his teeth together, finding footing against the mattress simultaneously and he moved up into her as she moved up as well and fell down in answer. Their rhythm was confused and chaotic until it was not and he sat himself up supported by one hand to meet her kiss which became frantic before it became urgent. It swallowed some of the noises, but not all. 

And when they both neared their climax, their eyes wide open, their expressions wild, they shushed each other in some strange idea of reason and when it then happened their jaws clenched shut, Ben wound upwards and Sophie cramped down over him. Their bodies possessed a life of their own as they tensed and then spasmed through the aftermath.

At some point Sophie had fallen into his arms and they both breathed heavily, open mouthed, their eyes locked, and they did not blink as in fear something could rip their souls apart if they did. 

Ben did not need to be anybody but who he was at that moment. So deeply in love and utterly grateful for his children. He made a living for his family and did not despite the way in which he did it. If he served only that purpose for the rest of his life, he would one day die a very happy man. Would know that the hardships of his early years had brought the greatest gift imaginable to him.

And yet.

Something deep in his heart was in unrest. Something worked along the unconscious lines of his mind. There were hands that held his, once, a long time ago that he longed to take again, if only to shake them in a proper good-bye.

Here is part TWO

[unproduciblesmackdown]

more info, via a couple of reviews:

"Is this the best, most exhilarating, most close-to-perpetual dancing ever to grace the Goodspeed Opera House stage?

It certainly could be.

The new stage adaptation of “Summer Stock” at the East Haddam theater has plenty to recommend it in terms of the canny script and the hummable songs. But it’s the dancing that leaves the biggest impression.

The show is jam-packed with choreography from Donna Feore, who also directs, that is thrillingly executed by the cast.

We’re talking: Gravity-defying kicks. Head-spinning turns. Male dancers lifting and tossing and catching the female ones. It runs the gamut from Cossack-dance athleticism to soft shoe grace, tap precision to Lindy hop energy.

How the cast manages to sing after executing these (literally) breathtaking numbers, I have no idea.

And how do they make it through two performances on some days? Amazing.

Also amazing: the fact that they do all this on Goodspeed’s small stage without making the space feel cramped.

So, yes, the dancing is phenomenal. But there’s more to the show than that.

This stage version of “Summer Stock” — which is enjoying its world premiere at Goodspeed — is inspired by the 1950 MGM movie starring Judy Garland and Gene Kelly. Writer Cheri Steinkellner, though, has reimagined the piece in many ways, making it better, stronger and propelled by a more modern sensibility. (Steinkellner’s writing credits range from “Cheers” to the Broadway adaptation of “Sister Act.”)

The foundational story, though, remains the same: A no-nonsense young woman named Jane is trying to save her family farm. Her actress sister (named Gloria in the version at Goodspeed) brings her compatriots to the farm to rehearse a show. Jane first spars with and then starts falling for Gloria’s beau Joe, the production’s director.

Steinkellner has also changed up the score, to great effect. While some tunes from the movie remain, she has pulled others that are in the public domain (such as “Accentuate the Positive,” “Paper Moon” and “It Had to Be You”), and she has woven them perfectly into various plot points and important emotional moments.

As director, Feore makes sure the whole enterprise has a dynamic spirit. It’s a story and a production that brims with optimism and cheerfulness.

Leading the cast is Corbin Bleu, who became famous with his work in “High School Musical” and has gone on to star in several Broadway shows, as Joe. Bleu is a true, and truly talented, triple-threat. He has a warm, welcoming presence as an actor; he also brings an authority to Joe so you believe he’s someone the actors respect and will follow. Bleu’s singing is strong and lustrous, and his dancing — particularly his tremendous tap ability — is … wow.

Arguably the biggest scene-stealer here is Veanne Cox, as the wealthy, snooty owner of huge property surrounding Jane’s. The way she trills dialogue can turn anything into a punchline. She can wave her arms about as her character repeats “l’amour” and generate audience laughs. When her character falls for the egoistic actor Montgomery Leach (played by J. Anthony Crane with Barrymore flair), Cox burbles with girlish romantic giddiness.

Danielle Wade does her own take on the Judy Garland role. She gives Jane a swagger and a tough façade that reveals a more human self during the course of the story. Wade’s most important feature is her voice, which is potent whether she’s finessing a ballad or powering through a big number. While she can’t compete with Garland’s renowned version of “Get Happy” (who could?), Wade does a good job in the number — choreographed and costumed in an homage to the original — that serves as the culmination of the production.

Arianna Rosario gets to play an interesting arc at Gloria. At first, Gloria seems to be a blithe, self-centered actress, but she later shows that she is quite the problem-solving producer. Rosario makes the transformation believable, as if Gloria is finally letting her real self come through.

The scenic design by Wilson Chin suggests the various elements of a Connecticut River Valley farm in the 1950s while still allowing room for the cast to burst into all of those big dance numbers. And the costume design by Tina McCartney provides a fun and functional take on country clothing of the era.

I will say that the second act could be tightened up (we don’t need to see so many beats of the rehearsal process), but, in total, this “Summer Stock” is sensational." [source]

(hooray for most directly explaining gloria's overall arc)

and the next review:

"A throwback to the golden age of Broadway and movie musicals, "Summer Stock" is a timeless, inspiring song-and-dance tale of good deeds, fairy tale showbiz, classic romance and backstage intrigue played out to such dazzling effect, you want to freeze frame it, take it home with you and watch it over and over again for pure fun and a let's-put-a-smile-on-your-face endorsement. This is Goodspeed Musicals at its best - old-fashioned musical entertainment designed to deliver by the bucket's load, stir the senses, rhythmically intoxicate you and dance up a continual storm of good cheer that's guaranteed to leave you breathless.

Animated. Airborne. Magical. Sweet-natured. Fresh-faced. Dance happy. It's all here, wrapped up in shiny gold ribbons and signature colors that complement and complete the picture with a technicolor flourish, a big bang and an internal logic that flows with appropriate style, stamina, full command and intent.

Adapted to the stage by Cheri Steinkellner, "Summer Stock" replays that popular let's- put-on-a-show conceit where everything rests of the big opening night, the box-office intake, the big kiss between the leading man and the leading lady and how a complete unknown saves the day right before the final fadeout. Here, struggling Connecticut farmer Jane Falbury decides to let her actress sister Abigail and her actor friends from New York use the family barn as a rehearsal space for their brand-new Broadway bound musical in exchange for doing the daily farm chores to raise enough money to keep the business from going completely under. One slight problem. During rehearsals, Jane finds herself falling for the show's handsome director, Joe Ross, who, happens to be engaged to the show's leading lady - her sister Abigail.

Staging "Summer Stock," director Donna Feore ("Chicago," "Billy Elliot," "A Chorus Line"), who doubles as choreographer, creates a loveable, intoxicating show that reels you in, grabs hold of you until the final curtain and lets you fall in love with every little detail, surprise, plot twist, joke, visual gag, one-liner and tilt of her jolly agenda while she articulates every element of this musical story with thrust, warmth, spin and splendid articulation. Directorially, she pulls it off spectacularly. No wrong moves here as "Summer Stock" catches fire with a spark, a gusto, a shine and a 1950s mentality infused with plenty of imagination, originality, style and flair.  More importantly, the production never loses sight of its origins, its functional plotting and its love of musicals of yesteryear despite well-intentioned doses of kitsch, takeaway humor, giddy backchat and story arcs right out of the MGM library of backlot moviemaking.  Feore, free spirit that she is, fuels the musical with a sharpened wit and sentiment that works especially well as does her decision to let "Summer Stock" remain rooted in the period from whence it came in terms of staging, development, expression and interaction. 

Moving from screen to stage," "Summer Stock" retains only four songs from the 1950 MGM musical. The addition of several new songs to the original version of the score turns the two-act musical into more of a showstopping event and adds clarity, luster and vintage spin to its already proven material, its let's launch into another song and dance routine blueprint and its firm grasp on characterization, story evolution and its happily ever after conclusion. At Goodspeed, there are 28 important, recognizable, smartly placed musical numbers. They are:  "Get Happy," "Happy Days Are Here Again/I Want to Be Happy," "Accentuate the Positive," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows," "Always," "Always (reprise)," "It's Only a Paper Moon," "The Best Things in Life Are Free," "Dig for Your Dinner," "Me and My Shadow," "Howdy Neighbor, Happy Harvest," "Red Hot Mama," " 'Til We Meet Again," "You Wonderful You," "June Night," "Some of These Days," "Joe's Dance," "I'm Always Chasing Rainbows (reprise)," "It All Depends on You," "Always (reprise)," "Everybody Step," "Lucky Day," "How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm," "Hinky-Dinky Parlez Vouz," "It Had to Be You," "Get Happy (reprise)" and "You Wonderful You (Finale)."

Musical director Adam Souza ("42nd Street," "Cabaret," "Next to Normal," "A Grand Night for Singing," "Because of Winn Dixie," "Rags") grabs hold of the "Summer Stock" score and allows it to breathe, gesticulate, excite, envelop and rhapsodize with the golden age sentimentality of MGM movie musicals and the timeless, larger-than-life spirit of old Broadway. Here, every song matters. Every song is important. Every song travels down memory lane. Every song is tuned to the max with sweet, centered, warm-heartedness. Every song fulfills its intended purpose. All of this is complemented by the strong, flavorful sound of Souza's orchestral team, all of whom share his tremendous sense of theatricality, musical interlude, impassioned communication and delight of the actual musical itself.  They are: David Uhl (bass), Sal Ranniello (percussion), Liz Baker Smith (reed 1), Andrew Studenski (reed II), Travis Higgins III (trumpet) and Matthew Russo (trombone). As with other Goodspeed musicals, Souza doubles as conductor and keyboardist. As "Summer Stock" zings and pops, pretty music every song unfolds with a contagious orchestral musical glow, matched by the splendid musicality of the entire cast who address the catchy, homespun music and lyrics with perfect harmony, rhythm, phrasing and nostalgic commitment. These elements heighten the on-stage mode of the production, its progression from Act I to Act II, its send offs, its pastiche and its electrifying, barn-raising influence and thwack.

As with any big stage musical, choreography is key to a production's success, its fluidity of form, its artistic expression and its accompanying dance routines. Here, Feore, as choreographer, gives "Summer Stock" a highly personal touch of invigoration and speedy excitement that is tipped and generated with wonderfully elongated inspiration, stamina and determination. This is star quality choreography that peaks, shines and tilts with clever build ups, catchy dance steps and bold, concentrated rhythms, moves and beats that joyfully celebrate 1950's musicals in all their technicolor glory.   As storyteller and dance interpreter, she brings great dimension and scope to the piece using techniques, styles, descriptions and an enriched canvas of thoughts and ideas that make their mark most engagingly. Everything that happens on the Goodspeed Musicals stage has been beautifully blocked, rehearsed and staged with such thrust and individuality, no two dance numbers are alike. In fact, once "Summer Stock" catches fire, there's no stopping it.  Creating a freshly minted fusion of moods, tableaus, lifts, twirls and swirls, Feore pays homage to the actual vintage look and mindset of the musical, its dance-friendly art form and its free-flowing feel of excitement and exhilaration. Hands pop. Arms move heavenward. Dancers smile and glisten as they passionately ignite into joyful visions of sweetness, passion, frenzy and syncopation. Everyone is lost in the moment illustrating the traditions, the conscience and the power of musical theatre, giving and getting the most out of Feore's phenomenal, ovation-worthy choreography. Trained, drilled and confident, they each get a chance to shine - and shine they do - all making strong impressions that will live long in memory.

Making his Goodspeed Musicals debut, Corbin Bleu, as Joe Ross, a character originated by Gene Kelly in the 1950 film version, creates a "Wow!" song-and-dance-man factor chock full of charm, personality, self-confidence and full-beam, champagne delightness that astounds, cajoles and sparkles with leading man gait and luxury like no other. No matter what he does, he's a proverbial triple-threat (i.e., a player who excels at acting, singing and dancing) who makes everything that happens on stage feel fresh, spontaneous, real, raw and very much in the moment. It's in his eyes. It's in his moves. It's in his expressions. Exhibiting a sweet, contagious rapport that extends far beyond the footlights, it's the performance of the year and one that Bleu exudes with a Gene Kelly/Fred Astaire aura of showbiz savvy, knockabout whimsy, graceful athleticism and sterling encapsulation. "Joe's Dance," a solo dance number in Act II performed by Bleu only furthers that notion.

In the role of Jane Falbury, a role made famous by Judy Garland in the original "Summer Stock" MGM musical, Danielle Wade lights up the Goodspeed Musicals stage with a breezy, intuitive musical comedy performance of real warmth and spirit that is a constant joy to watch. Veanne Cox, cast in the role of the wickedly devious Connecticut farming magnate Margaret Wingate, is jaw-dropping brilliant, using humor, music, dance and melodrama in divinely daft and glorious ways that prompt applause and laughter whenever she's in the limelight. It's a scene-stealing performance so seamlessly entrenched in glee and fiery abandon, Cox, would be the ideal choice to play narcissistic Broadway diva Dee Dee Allen in the 2024 summer presentation of "The Prom" at Playhouse in Park in West Hartford. I'll personally deliver the contract. Other memorable performances are delivered by Arianna Rosario (Gloria Falbury), Stephen Lee Anderson (Henry "Pop" Falbury), Gilbert L. Bailey II (Phil Filmore), Will Roland (Orville Wingate) and J. Anthony Crane (Montgomery Leach). A musical escape brimming with delightful songs, engaging performances and full-beam dance numbers, "Summer Stock" is not only a bubbly tonic for theatergoers of all ages, but one that kicks nostalgia into high gear with uncomplicated bliss, fizz and vintage sparkle. It sings. It dances. It pops. It dazzles. Like "42nd Street" which played Goodspeed Musicals last season, it overflows with Kelly/Astaire lightness, punch and precision, sunny vibes and well-played exactitude. The energy displayed here is fast and furious with first-night exhilaration and thrill paired especially well with Corbin Bleu's charming star turn, Danielle Wade's joyous "Get Happy" abandon and Veanne Cox's well-prepped, icy cool villain. This is musical theatre of the highest order - infectious, irresistible, glorious. Its leave-your-troubles-at-the-door/Let's-put-on-a-show mentality accelerates with sparkle and cherry pie goodness. And boy, do we need it now!" [source]

(the reference to jane's sister abigail uses the film's names: abigail becomes gloria in this production, which is the name of abigail's actor in the film, which also mirrors how the role of herb is now phil, also the name of herb's actor in the film)

(also shoutout to providing A Full, Chronological List Of Songs. noting that according to another interview, intermission would be between "you wonderful you" and "june night")

[spnae]

Spike/Buffy

Rated M- Adult content.

Summary: It all started with Spike having nightmares about the woman he loves prompting him to go to her; before a demon got there first. Now where will it lead them? What new challenges will they face in a world with multiple Slayers? Nearly all major characters will eventually make an appearance. Essentially this is a very Spuffy centered continuation of the series.

Rated for sexual content. Canon typical violence and themes. I will try to add appropriate warnings as needed although I think these should suffice for the majority of the story. Stunningly gorgeous banner created by cd85

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I am in the process of updating this story. Links will be added as updates are made.

Master List: Table of Contents

Chapter 1 To Paris with Love and Demons

Chapter 2 Demon

Chapter 3 Date Night

Chapter 4 Take the Last Train to Scotland

Chapter 5 A New Leaf

Chapter 6 The New Girls

Chapter 7 Movie Night

Chapter 8 Ghosts and Stockers

Chapter 9 Awkward Moments

Chapter 10 Electric

Chapter 11 Vampire Dust Will Get Ya

Chapter 12 Hospitals Man

Chapter 13 Home Again

Chapter 14 Out For A Walk

Chapter 15 Love a Handyman

Chapter 16 Have a Little Faith

Chapter 17 Underground

Chapter 18 Ohhh Baby

Chapter 19 Baby Blue

Chapter 20 House Guest

Chapter 21 Our Expert

Chapter 22 It’s Complicated

Chapter 23 Bye Bye Baby

Chapter 24 Dance Magic

Chapter 25 Oh What a Night: Part 1

Chapter 26 Oh What a Night: Part 2

Chapter 27 Punk Love

Chapter 28 Changes

Chapter 29 Twisted Sister

Chapter 30 Aftermath

Chapter 31 Third Times a Charm

Chapter 32 Open Up

Chapter 33 Coming Clean?

Chapter 34 Skid

Chapter 35 The Talking Dead

Chapter 36 Redemption

Chapter 37 Sins of Omission

Chapter 38 Living Dead Girl

Chapter 39 When the Levee Breaks

Chapter 40 Couples Retreat

Chapter 41 Time

Chapter 42 Breathe

Chapter 43 Cabin Fever

Chapter 44 Recovery

Chapter 45 Birthday

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

[ao3feed-spuffy]

A Slayer's Fortune

by VoronaFiernan

After Buffy stands up for Tara when her family tries to take her away, Tara shows her gratitude by offering Buffy a reading from a special Tarot deck she has had in her family for generations. Buffy chooses to focus on relationships, and Tara proposes a series of three-card (Past, Present, Future) readings over the course of three days, to evaluate three separate possible relationships. After each reading, Buffy meditates on the cards, and learns additional information leading to an unexpectedly happy new relationship.

Written for Tarot Cards and Christmas Carol challenges on Elysian Fields. Complete story is posted there. Will post this here one chapter per week.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Words: 1610, Chapters: 1/5, Language: English

Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Angel: the Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Buffy Summers, Spike (BtVS), Angel (BtVS), Riley Finn, Tara Maclay, William Pratt, Buffy the Vampire Slayer Ensemble, Anne Pratt, Drusilla (BtVS), Darla (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), Samantha Finn

Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers

Additional Tags: Tarot, Slayer Dreams, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV) Season 5, Minor Riley Finn/Buffy Summers, Torture, Swearing, Smoking, Non-Explicit Sex, Minor Kink, Happy Ending, Reference to Canonical Attempted Rape/Non-Con Outside of Buffy/Spike

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/48431128

[klaine-a03-feed]

50 Shades Of Klaine

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/KNr6uS1 by msgoodbar2257 Summary: Blaine volunteered to interview his sick roommate, an interview that will change his life forever. Warning: Lite BDSM, Dominant/Submissive Alternate Universe World. Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. Rating: M for Mature *****FSOK**********FSOK**********FSOK**********FSOK* Words: 59660, Chapters: 18/18, Language: English Fandoms: Glee, Fifty Shades of Grey (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Finn Hudson, Burt Hummel, Carole Hudson-Hummel, Paul Karofsky, Sebastian Smythe Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel Additional Tags: Love, Sex, Romance, Klaine, Glee - Freeform, 50 shades

[sunnydaleafterdark]

Latest Story: the dry river brims, Chapter 1 by Cosmic Tuesdays [NC-17]

Read it here: https://www.sunnydaleafterdark.com/viewstory.php?sid=1424&chapter=1

Thanks to alittlemoretime, andtheyfightcrime, kelasparmak, Niamh, petra, VesperRegina, the_big_bad, and Yummyshushi17 for encouragement and beta-reading, with the hopes I haven't forgotten anyone. Thanks to scratchmeout for the absolutely fantastic banner. The girl who recognizes Spike comes from Step Lightly. Written in commemoration of the third anniversary of my first fic posted at this site. Title taken from the poem “Moving” by Gary Soto.

  Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

[thedreamdepository]

The following disclaimer applies to the content of this blog:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Original characters and plot are the property of the owner of this blog; any similarities are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated. The [blog] owner is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made.

If you have any comments, concerns, or questions, let me know. Thanks!

© 2023 thedreamdepository. All rights reserved. Original content copyrighted under this license.

Minors DNI. Do not copy, modify, or repost my work. I do not permit translations either, so please do not ask.

[imtheonetheycallme]

The one with the Force - Chapter 2

Kenobi spends some time with Nara, and realises why, yet so young, she holds the title of the Head of Medic.

If you prefer to read it on AO3, you are more than welcome ;)

Plot of the story: A new tactic has been introduced to help the Jedi and the Clones to fight the War. A young, clumsy and stubborn head of medic and a respected Jedi Master may not be the best mix, however, for some reasons, the Force decided other way.

Pairing: Obi Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character

Warning: nothing in this chapter.

Words: 3 008

She was never a fan of Coruscant. There was something fishy about this place. Whether it was the underground, the bounty hunters that came here looking for a job, or politics, she didn’t know. But she did like one place though. Not the most fancy, or with the best food, but for sure the one that brought her some very nice memories. 

“I didn’t know you knew of this place”, she turned around, surprised to hear a familiar voice of a man she didn;t see for almost 2 weeks. The surprised look on her face, confirmed Obi Wan, that she indeed did not know they were back. He sat opposite her in the booth, ordering two of whatever she was drinking with his hand. 

“I didn’t get any information of your return”, she murmured, making room for him at the table. He looked around the papers and raised his brow. There were some about the healing properties of whatever the hell was in the pictures, some were in a language he was sure he had seen before, but didn’t understand and there were some plans, probably made by her. “Are you alright? Are there any injured ones? I should probably go back” he gripped her arm softly and smiled at her shaking his head. 

“No need to worry, Cody got a bit injured but your team has already taken care of him. Ashoka brought him to the med bay despite his furious attempt to run”, he chuckled, remembering the scene.”You are not needed. I heard you were out, and I was surprised to find you were here.”

“And which one of the traitors told you where I was?” she asked, cleaning the table just a little bit, to make sure that nothing would be destroyed in the possibility that any of the drinks would spill. 

“Dia seems to like me a bit more than you do”, he smirked seeing as she rolled her eyes. “I did have to bribe her with one of my brightest smiles, but she broke pretty easily.” The young woman chuckled, shaking her head slowly. “I would never guess you knew of this place, never much liked it.” He thanked the waitress who brought them drinks and looked at the bar, noticing the owner, waving at him, giving him a sign that he will greet him in a while, after he finishes whatever he was doing. 

“It was my go to place during my studies. I really like the tea they serve here”, she smiled while taking a sip of her drink. “If you are a bit more adventurous, you can ask Dex to add some alcohol there and there is no Force in the Galaxy that would make you not regret being awake the next day”, She smiled, proud of herself, when Obi Wan laughed out loud. She liked the sound of it. It has been about two months since their first meeting. They haven’t really spent much time together. To her surprise, the General didn’t get hurt that many times during the mission. And even if he was, the injuries weren’t serious enough for him to come see her. He did, however, bring his men up, with an apologetic smile, asking for some help. She learned he was quite chatty, when she let him, fun and sarcastic when no one was there to notice. And not to mention his laugh was so contagious that even during her worse days, she couldn’t help and at least smile back. She really did like the sound of that, very much indeed. Especially when it was accompanied with that little spark in his beautiful, blue eyes, that seemed to pull her closer and closer whenever they were together, alone. 

“I can’t imagine you being nothing but proper”, he sassed and she raised her brow as a challenge.

“You’re saying I’m boring?” his eyes widened for a second, and the little mischievous smirk coloured his lips. “I’m sure I would be able to drink you down under the table.” 

“Oh really now?” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. He scooted a little closer, his arm going behind her, his head lowering to whisper in her ear. “I’d love to see you try, Doc.” Oh, how she hated when he did that! That sneaky bastard knew, he just had to know what reaction those kinds of moves bring out of her. She blushed, and was about to answer to his Kenobi-sm when a loud laugh caught her attention. 

“Kenobi! What a nice surprise”, she smiled at the owner, ignoring how the lack of the man's presence bothered her, when he pulled away from her, to greet Dex. “I did not know you knew each other.” 

“We work together”, she answered, scooting closer to Obi Wan once again, when Dex decided to join them at the booth. “Kind of”, she added after a while, trying to organize her papers. With Dex so close to them, it seemed like an easy way for them to get destroyed. 

“I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for, then”

“Hey!” they both half shouted, making the owner laugh loudly. Nara sighed and took a sip of her drink. As she was about to say anything to defend herself, a shrieking sound of her pager brought the table to her attention. 

“We need you, girl. A whole squadron is back from a mission. That doesn’t look good. We have only us here. Dia and some medics went out to help at another location. Team Beta is away until tomorrow.” Gal’s deep voice sounded distressed, which never seemed good. “I know it’s your day off…”

“I’ll be there in ten”, she interrupted him. It didn’t matter if it was her day off or not. Her team needed her. The Warriors needed her. “Get the equipment running. Divide the patience into four categories, leave the ‘A’s’ for me”, she hung up and stood up quickly. “I’m sorry Dex, Kenobi, but..”

“I’m coming with you”, the Jedi murmured, already getting ready to leave. “I’m with a spreader, it will be faster”, she only nodded, and smiling apologetically to Dex they both left. 

“Are you sure you know how to ride that thing?” She eyed the speeder with concern and sighed deeply. She hated those. She hated flying if she was being honest, but most of the time, she at least got some kind of protection. Here she was just holding to … nothing really, which if she was being honest with herself was her best idea of dying. 

“I’m not Anakin, but do give me some credit, Doc.” he winked at her and extended his hand for her to take. Hesitantly, knowing there are people who need her help, she obliged and sat behind him. “Hold onto me, scaredy cat!” Cycling her hands around his waist, she ignored the comment, indeed being scared to death, when it started. 

***

“20 patients all together. 19 Clones, one Jedi. The Jedi is an A+, we have Captain Rex as an A+++, so you decide what to do”, Gal continued talking, while preparing her for whatever was on the other side of the doors. “It's bad. We took care of 12 of the Ds, Cs and Bs. Just as you kindly asked, all of the As are yours.” The man’s eyes traveled to the Jedi as he squinted and sighed. “Things don’t look good there, General, you may have to say…”

“I liked you better, all quiet with your head in your books”, Nara interrupted him, giving him a pointed look. “I need all the patients that were taken care of to be taken to a different room. I want that room only for the As patients. How many Bacta Bombs do we have here?”

“Bacta bombs?” Kenobi asked, but was ignored by both of the medics. He heard the Hutts were acquainted with them, but whenever the Jedi Council tried to get their hands on it, it was taken as an offense by the Hutts. However, that mysterious girl was able to get them was a mystery to him. 

“We have three left. Dia took one, Fed two more and Hammond is already working on maintaining some more”, she nodded, and ignored the look of Kenobi’s on her back. She felt it in the Force. The pain and suffering. But rushing now would only bring chaos, which was the last thing that was needed now. She needed to focus on what she had to do. And if her predictions were right, she will not enjoy the aftermath of today's actions. 

“Put two of them in the rooms for the Bs and Cs patients. I will need one just in case. Please make sure that the life supporting Equipment for Captain and Jedi…” 

“Fisto”, the man finished, and she could feel a slight change of Jedi’s Force at the back. “They were back from one of the battles. Apparently it doesn't seem good out there.” 

“Ok, so I got 8 in there. Two critical and the rest ?” 

“If we would like to take a risk, I would say the bomb should be enough.” 

“You know what I think of the risk”, she murmured, tying her long hair in a high ponytail. She took a deep breath and walked into the room, disappearing from Obi Wan’s eyes. As he was about to walk in, a hand stopped him in track. 

“Not many people know what she’s really capable of. I guess she being your personal medic,  would lead to you finding out one day, but…” the man sighed and looked at the Jedi with the stern stare of a protective older brother. “Out there… She’s the boss, remember that, Jedi.” 

***

She could smell the blood in the air. She closed her eyes and searched through the patients. The situation wasn’t ideal, but she wasn't pessimistic either. She saw the Captain and the Master hooked to the machines and looked around at the other six. If she thought that through she should be able to help them all. However, one bad move, and at least two of them would be dead. Six was her best record. Six of Bs, none were ever in such bad condition. But this was War. It was different. Everyone did everything they could, so it was her time as well. 

She walked to the two of the most critical, ignoring the doors opening. She needed to focus on the patients. On the Force and the surrounding. But not the background. It was just her, the Force and the patients. She closed her eyes and extended her hands feeling the connection growing. She doesn’t believe she would ever get used to that first moment, when she does indeed connect with the Force. It’s like something is pushing her to the brightest place on the planet. There is nothing but that Light. It’s big, warm and fulfilling. Like there is nothing better than this. And yet, despite it being so Great, she knew that the longer she becomes one with it, the more she will suffer. 

His eyes widened when he felt it. It was like all the Force just gathered around her. It was like there was nothing around but her, like she has become one with the Force. No… it felt as if she was the Force at the moment. For bystanders it was nothing worth seeing. She did create a barrier which surrounded the two patients. But it was never really what meets the eyes and Obi Wan never felt as confused before. Especially that he has never felt her being Force Sensitive. 

He wanted to blink, swallow, but he felt like even these simple moves would have disagreed with whatever was happening now. He was rubbish at healing Force and he wasn’t afraid to admit that. He did, however, see other Jedi perform it and it was never truly anything like that. The wounds on Master Fisto were disappearing almost as if they were never there. While the nasty wound under Rex’ rib was slowly healing. It was incredible and yet petriffing. How was it possible that someone so young, so… so normal was able to become one with the Force. She was just a girl. A young woman. A medic person that brought a forgotten smile on his mouth, whenever, she truly spoke her mind. She was intelligent and incredibly talented. He saw her deal with minor and less minor injuries. She was well-equipped and knew enough to be able to deal with the situation without her team. A team of people older than her, and yet all of them respected her. No, it wasn’t just it. It was a bond much deeper than just respect. They trusted her and in her. Believed in her leadership and her knowledge. He learned pretty quickly that despite her age and kind of shy personality, she was indeed at the right position. 

A blink was enough for her to change the pace of the Force. It wasn’t as strong and bearing as it was. It was then he realized that Gal had moved and was already taking care of the Master and Rex. The oxygen masks were on, but Obi Wan felt as if they were just a precaution. They both looked much better, as if they were both just taking a nap. He looked at the girl who was focusing her attention on the other patients. The barrier has become bigger, but it wasn’t as thick as before. He did also notice how her breathing quickened. No one better than him understood that, indeed Force was something amazing, it could also become a double-welded sword, if used too much. 

He never saw anyone being able to heal as many people using just the Force. She wasn't a Jedi that was for sure. He was certain, she never even got proper training. For someone so talented, she was.. Well… clumsy. Something a person with even the basics of Jedi training wouldn’t be considered. She must have, however, been visited by a Jedi… And then it struck him. Master Windu. He knew her, probably more than anyone, and for whatever reason always ignored any questions related to her, almost as if despite the respect, she tormented him in some way. Kenobi wondered if she was one of the children that were refused by the parents, when the Jedi came to pick them up. It was possible, very likely, but there was also one more thing that bothered the young Master. Her incredible ability to control the Force and hide her sensitivity. Not many, even well trained Jedi, were able to do it, and yet, it looked so easy and effortless for her. 

And then it was over. The whole feeling was over. The barrier disappeared and he was able to move again. And he did, a couple of steps towards the woman, to be able to steady her, when she felt light headed. He could only imagine that she didn't feel the best now. Overusing the Force didn’t always end up well. He glanced at the patients and couldn’t help to feel the pride that the woman in his arms was his private medic. She did an amazing job and it was for that one moment he saw this small Light in the darkness, that this maybe a step forward for them and the Republic to win the War. 

“How about we sit down, Doc?” He asked softly, guiding her onto the small chair in the corner. He glanced at Gal who was taking care of the last treated patients, and he noted towards him. “What you did there was truly magnificent, Nara”, she smiled softly, trying to fight the headache that was creeping close. Ha sat her down, but never moved too much, making sure that she wouldn’t fall. The way her eyes were closing on their own, didn’t give him a sign that she was about to not fall asleep sitting on that chair. 

“Drink this, Ardan, you stupid girl!” Gal huffed, giving the girl a glass of what looked like water. As Kenobi was about to respond to what seemed to be a rude thing to say, the girl started to laugh quietly, gulping with disgust, whatever was in that glass. “I should have stopped you after you healed the Jedi. I hope the headache you will feel soon will teach you something.” And before she was able to respond, he walked away, to go see other patients. He gave a last warning glance at Kenobi and left the room. 

“Not the nicest man I have ever met…” The Jedi murmured, making the girl chuckle a bit. He pulled a chair from himself and sat down next to the girl, letting her drop her heavy head on his shoulders. 

“It’s a sign he cares. He likes to be in control, and when he loses it, he becomes very honest and well… Yeah you heard it. But is an incredibly talented man, not to mention he’s like a brother to me, so do care how you speak of him.” There was a hint of a joke in her tone, however, Kenobi was aware that he should just listen to her. 

“You’re the boss, Nara”, he murmured and grinned seeing her little smile. He looked around the room, just now realizing that before leaving, Gal did indeed take care of everything. The room looked clean, and all the patients were asleep. The Force seemed to be more stable and controlled, but this was all thanks to the girl on his arm, who was laying there on his arm. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he needed to know about, but it wasn’t a priority now. The key point was, to let this incredible girl just rest. And selfishly he closed his eyes, contempt in just resting in this quiet room, with nothing other than them two, the sleeping patients and a beeping of two of the machines. 

[bluewritinghood]

Flowers

He sighed and picked it up from where in lay in the bathroom sink of course the person he fell in love with had to be a December baby and now he was coughing up freaking poinsettia flowers. He had a sneaking suspicion he already knew who the unrequited feelings were for, after all he had been lying to himself that he only admired Rusty professionally for a long time now.

He shook his head and cleaned up the rest of the blood from the sink burying them as deep as he could in the bathroom wastebasket. He really hoped it wasn’t Rusty because he couldn’t hold down a relationship for more than a week if it wasn’t related to a con. So in short if it was Rusty he was screwed.

He turned exiting the bathroom to seek out Danny knowing he would be able to resolve this once and for all. Danny was in the kitchen getting snacks for the poker game they had all been playing before he had to excuse himself.

“Hey Danny,” he said as nonchalantly as he could. “I remember the rest of the crew mentioned that someone had a birthday coming up in December who is it?”

Danny turned to look at him. “Well the only person I know who has a birthday in December is Rusty.”

“Fuck.” Linus hadn’t meant to let the expletive slip out

Danny gave him a surprised look that quickly turned to concern. “What’s wrong Linus? This isn’t really about the crew talking about birthdays is it?”

This was of course when his traitorous body decided to send him into a coughing fit leaving him holding two more poinsettia petals in his now blood streaked hands leaving Danny to give him a very confused look. “Linus what’s going on?”

“Ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” Linus asked giving him a grim smile.

“Yeah but hardly anyone gets it nowadays.” Danny says his voice indicating he is beginning to slowly understand.

“Yeah well.” He grimaced.

“Rusty?” Danny guessed.

Linus nods not trusting himself to speak. Danny sighs heavily looking from Linus to the petals in his hands. “Poinsettias huh?”

“He’s a December baby so yeah. Please you can’t tell him Danny.” Linus pleaded.

Danny sighs heavily. “You’ll die Linus.”

“I know.” Linus says his voice breaking. “But you know he can’t love me back he’s incapable of it and he’ll only hold himself responsible for what he can’t control.”

“Fine, your right but you can’t keep this sort of thing from him he’s to observant for that and the petals are kinda obvious so if he asks I’ll tell him what’s wrong but I wouldn’t tell him who it’s about.” Danny compromises.

Linus gives Danny a grateful look. “Thanks, let’s get back to the game I just wanna take my mind off this and enjoy the time I have left.”

Of course actually avoiding the subject doesn’t last long because halfway through the card game the three of them were playing Linus dissolves into another coughing fit knocking himself and his chair over backwards.

Rusty comes over to help him up only noticing the petals he’s coughing up after he’s got Linus on his feet again. “What the hell are those?”

Linus looks down at the mouthful of petals he just coughed up leaning over to pick them up pulling one more out of his mouth and adding it to the pile in his hands. “Petals.” He says simply.

“Why the hell and how the hell did you just cough up petals?” Rusty looks from him to the pile in his hands and back again.

“I’ll explain everything why don’t you just go get some water Linus.” Danny says gently.

Linus has barely sat down at the kitchen table and taken a sip of water when he hears an angry shout and a crash of something that sounds like a beer bottle hitting the wall in the other room it’s not ten seconds later that Rusty joins him in the kitchen looking more pissed off then Linus has ever seen him.

“Who is it kid.” His hands are clenched into fists his fingernails digging white crescents into his skin.

Linus laughs hoarsely. “And you’ll what force them to love me?”

“If I have to, yes” Rusty practically growls the words.

Linus shakes his head. “No Rusty you won’t, you can’t”

Rusty opens his mouth to protest but Linus leaves before he can say anything else.

It goes on like this for a week Linus doing his best to avoid Rusty and Danny playing go between. But after a week Rusty has had enough breaking into Linus’s room while Danny’s out barging In with a simple statement. “Who ever they are their a fool.”

Linus laughs leaning back into his pillows on his bed. “No their not.”

“Well if they don’t love you than they absolutely are.” Rusty insists.

“No,” Linus repeats “their not.”

“Prove it,” Rusty is on the verge of screaming. “tell me who they are.”

“No.” Linus shakes his head.

“Why not if they rejected you they don’t deserve your protection Linus.” Rusty perches on the edge of Linus’s bed.

“They didn’t reject me I just know they can’t love me back I haven’t told them.” Linus doesn’t meet Rusty’s eyes.

Rusty inhales sharply. “Linus your dying you have to at least try.”

“No,” Linus sets his jaw stubbornly. “I won’t put that on them they’ll only blame themselves for what they can’t control.”

“I will never forgive myself if I can’t at least try to save you Linus.” Rusty’s voice is little more than a broken whisper.

Linus laughs almost hysterically. “Fuck me, there really is no winning.”

“I won’t let you die Linus.” Rusty says softly.

Linus dissolves into another coughing fit leaning over the wastebasket he kept on hand almost constantly now. Once he’s able to breathe again he wipes the blood from his lips and stares down at the petals covered in blood that fill the basket.

“It’s you.” Linus croaks out hoarsely.

Linus barely dares to look at Rusty following his confession purposely avoiding his gaze but Rusty persistently pulls Linus chin to meet his gaze.

“I wish you would have told me sooner Linus you could have avoided so much pain.” Rusty says giving him a small smile.

A tear slips down Linus’s cheek. “Love isn’t your thing I didn’t want you to feel responsible for my death.”

Rusty sighs. “Do you know why things didn’t work with Isabel? Because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you.”

Linus inhales sharply and for the first time in a week he didn’t feel petals rattling around in his chest. “Rusty..”

Rusty cuts him off by kissing him and Linus sure isn’t complaining.

———

Danny comes home an hour later to find Linus asleep and Rusty perched on the edge of his bed.

“Please tell me he’s just sleeping.” Danny says feeling the fear fill his heart.

Rusty nods standing and pulling Danny out of Linus’s room gently shutting the door behind him, he doesn’t speak until he’s pulled him down stairs into the kitchen.

“Did you know?” Rusty demands

Danny blanches. “Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Danny.” Rusty growls.

“Yes I knew.” Danny admits.

Rusty swears profusely. “Why didn’t you tell me Danny.”

“What good would it have done Rusty?” Danny placates

“The world of good!” Rusty only keeps himself from screaming so as not to wake Linus it was the first real sleep he’d gotten in a week.

“He doesn’t want you to blame yourself Rusty.” Danny needs him to understand.

“I love him and I had to watch him spend a week in agony!” Rusty hisses viciously.

Danny balks at him. “You.. Really?”

Rusty nods. “Since the moment I laid eyes on him but I told myself that I’m no good for him I tried to stay away and make things work with Isabel but it’s always been him.”

Danny laughs. “Well I’ll be damned.”

———

Linus looked in the mirror one more time before heading down stairs where Rusty was waiting to take him on their first date.

“Hey,” Rusty gives him a loving smile and hands him a box of chocolates. “I didn’t think that you would ever want to see another flower as long as you live.”

Linus laughs. “As grateful as I am for the end result no I definitely do not.”

Rusty grins and grabs his hand. “Common I can’t wait to get you out of here.”

“How come?” Linus questions.

“Because I wanna get you home.” Rusty says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes

“Oh now I can’t wait.” Linus smiles.

Linus may never look at a poinsettia the same way again and the holiday session might make him a little uneasy but he would forever be grateful for the happiness it had brought him with rusty.

[xreaderbooks]

Paradise on Earth Series Masterlist

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! reader (endgame), Rafe Cameron x reader, Platonic! Pogues x reader

Summary: Y/N Routledge was just an ordinary girl from the wrong side of the island in North Carolina, school is out and a summer full of keggers, surfing, and denying feelings for her brother's best friend awaits her. That is until her older brother John B and her friends find clues to a treasure her and John B's dad spent his entire life searching for.

This is an X Reader insert rewrite of the series Outerbanks, following the plots and events of the series, with certain twists to fit the reader into the story and to make things interesting. Hope you enjoy!

Playlist - Navigation - Wattpad - AO3

Taglist Open!

Season 1-

Chapter 1: Pilot

Chapter 2: The Lucky Compass

Chapter 3: The Forbidden Zone

Chapter 4: Spy Games

Chapter 5: Midsummers

Chapter 6: Parcel 9

Chapter 7: Dead Calm

Chapter 8: The Runway

Chapter 9: The Bell Tower

Chapter 10: The Phantom

Season 2-

Chapter 11: The Gold

Chapter 12: The Heist

Chapter 13: Prayers

Chapter 14: Homecoming

Chapter 15: The Darkest Hour

Chapter 16: My Druthers

Chapter 17: The Bonfire

Chapter 18: The Cross

Chapter 19: Trapped

Chapter 20: The Coastal Venture

Season 3-

Chapter 21: Poguelandia

Chapter 22: The Bells

Chapter 23: Fathers and Sons

Chapter 24: The Diary

Chapter 25: Heists

Chapter 26: The Dark Forest

Chapter 27: Happy Anniversary

Chapter 28: Tapping the Rudder

Chapter 29: Welcome to Kitty Hawk

Chapter 30: Secret of the Gnomon

Extras-

Messages from her

The letters exchanged between Y/N and JJ

The Sleepover:

Y/N and Kie's sleepover

Surfing:

JJ teaching Y/N how to surf

Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and some scenes where the original character is involved are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

[autumn-grace]

The Lingering Pain of Empty Hands 3/10

Chapters One, Two

Summery: In 1793 Benedict goes missing at a fair. Twenty years later Eloise keeps running into the same man while investigating the case of one famous Lady Whistledown.

A story exploring the complexities of loss.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, lyrics etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Note: Edmund lives a little longer in this story. Well everything is a bit different, so. Yes. Have fun reading.

Chapter Three: Growing Pains Warnings: character death, mention of physical abuse towards children Rating: M Length: 5.9k

[@hopepaigeturner]

“Ben?”

“Mmm?” Her husband looked up only slowly from the sketches that he was working on. But when he did, had shifted the candle away from him, it was his full attention that she had. He turned himself in her direction.

She was sitting crossed legged on the armchair, with William in the makeshift cradle her dress over her legs created. She had read page 98 of the book she was reading three times now without processing any of what was written there.

“Something strange might have happened today.”

“Other than Charles declaring to marry Miss Eloise?”

“Yes, I think.” The boys had told him every single detail the very moment they heard him coming up the stairs. Had opened the front door which they were not allowed to, arguing that they knew exactly their Papa's footsteps from others.

“I was thinking. What if...” she interrupted herself, “I know you have decided to give it no further thought, but I was just wondering if this Eloise was the same one you met back in May.”

He frowned as he watched her. His eyes wandered away when he answered:“I am sure there exist a hundred women named Eloise in London alone. Have you asked for her last name?”

“I did not.”

Both of his brows flicked up and then he nodded, smiling softly.

“It did not come up. She did not ask for mine either.”

He shrugged and almost wanted to turn back to his work. “I am sure it was someone else.”

“She looked just like you described her. And well. It was hard not to see the resemblance.”

For too long he looked unseeingly at his work. Sophie never stopped regarding him, waiting for a response. “And what if?” She had him. 

He stood up and sat down on the edge of the sofa, facing her. His chin landed on his fist. “If she was the same woman, what could it possibly mean?”

“I asked first,” she declared and lifted her chin somewhat. “The very same question, in fact.”

He sighed deeply and rubbed his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled into his palms.

“She was so nice and the boys had so much fun with her. Would it not mean something if she were your sister?”

“She might be a woman of the same name, or in fact of the same last name. She might be a distant cousin or stranger who looks a bit like me.” He tried to argue.

“Is this not a bit far-fetched?”

“Is this not all entirely far fetched?” A deep frown formed on his forehead and his mouth formed a line to suppress the emotion she knew were rising in his throat as his Adam's apple bobbed. “Recently, I cannot stop wondering if I might have had a sister, a baby still. But she was not named Eloise. It was something starting with a D.”

“D... Diana?” he shook his head. “Danielle? Dorothea?” He shook his head. She reached over to take his hand and in answer, he slid to his knees and came to land before her. His arms found rest on her knees and he leaned down to kiss William's head.

“Anthony, Benedict, Colin, D and Eloise. It would make sense.” She whispered as she began to drive her fingers through his short hair. When he looked up, she saw the hint of a tremble along his lower lip and she leaned over to kiss his forehead. And still she went a step further. “She told Charles she had three older siblings and three younger ones.”

“And what now?” He whispered and reached for her wrist, drew it from his hair to intertwine her fingers with his. “What if?” He asked very quietly.

“Don't you simply want to know?”

It took a while before he answered: “I am happy as it is. I don't want anything else.” As the words lingered between them they both watched their baby sleep.

She should leave it at that. She should take his words at their value. But it was hard, his expression had turned so sad. His eyes watched their son but what he saw was something entirely different. She wondered if his parents one night sat over Ben the way they sat over William right now, with their hearts so full of love for the tiny worm that they had made together.

There was an imaginary line she had to cross in order to imagine what it would be like to lose one of her children and on the other side of that line lay madness. Her heart ached for Ben’s mother.

Her dear husband began to blink rapidly and he lowered his head just so. He wanted to retreat, she felt him shift and the muscles in his hands tensed in order to let go of her hand. She swallowed.

“I need to finish my work. It is due tomorrow.” A soft whisper around a thick obstacle in his throat.

“Ben...” She asked, trying to keep him close by any means.

“Let us talk another time, I will think about it.”

And he would think about it and decide that he was happy. She was happy that he was happy. She was happy, too. They had a good life. But Ben's past plagued him and it did not show most days but it did most nights.

Mayfair, November 1814

“She sends letters there, she had the carriage bring her there. Colin, she had the poor errant boy go there twice through the pouring rain.” Anthony gesticulated with his hand as he walked up and down the length of his writing table. Colin watched him with a raised brow.

“For one, she had him take the carriage, and two, he is not so much a boy any more...”

“Not the point, Colin!” He landed with his hands on the table. “How did father do this? How could he remain so calm in the face of her... of her,” Anthony looked up to his father's portrait, and then down to his brother, who sat in his chair, “freedoms, as she calls them.”

“I gather he was too ill to care much… at the end at least” Colin argued, lifting the corner of his mouth a little, daring the new Viscount to voice an objection. He did not.

Anthony sight, truly frustrated.  “True, I guess.” 

He thought for a moment and then said: “What if she has an affair?”

“We are talking about Eloise!” Colin huffed, half delighted, half scandalised.

“You said yourself, she was seeing that boy in Bloomsbury...”

“Anthony...” Colin interrupted him. “No.” He shook his head and Anthony exhaled dramatically.

“Well, it seems, I have no other choice.” He nodded sharply, he pulled his coat from the hanger by the door and he stormed out. He would simply have to go there and see for himself. Colin stood up, and called his name twice before the door to the study closed behind Anthony.

“My Lord,” a voice called from the stairwell. He turned just before he slipped out of the front. There stood Mrs. Nathanson, his mother's lady's maid.

“Yes?” He asked, walked towards her as she ascended the last few steps down into the hall.

“It's your mother, I think you should come.”

“What is it?” The woman, around his mother’s age, turned as he reached her and they walked upstairs together. There was a rather sad expression in her eyes.

“She has one of her episodes.” He stopped. Mrs. Nathanson made it a few steps further before looking at him over her shoulder. Her shoulders sank a little as she watched him.

On the tip of his tongue burned a sentence. 'Then please find my father.' He swallowed it, needed to try more than once, and shook his head, before he took two steps at a time and caught up with her.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice thin, nerves beginning to prickle along his skin.

“I would like to say it's the usual. But this time she is much more there.”

“Were the doors to the attic not properly locked?”

“They were, My Lord. I cannot say with certainty how she got up there.”

As they walked down the corridor to the door that led into the attic he heard her. “Go and get your father!” She shouted, clearly talking to someone. Anthony looked at Mrs. Nathanson.

“Francesca found her.”

He rushed up the flight of stairs. Barely any daylight found into the long room with the low ceiling. It was cold up here and the air dusty and old. But he found them right away, over by the old armchairs. Francesca stood with her back to him, their mother sat on the floor, almost instantly taking notice of him.

“There you are!” She got up, supported herself on a chest that stood open in front of her. He stopped abruptly. Francesca tried to grab her wrist but Violet drew her arm out of her grasp. “Where have you been? I have been searching for you all day!”

For the fracture of a second he wondered what <em>much more there</em> was supposed to mean. But then she had reached him already.

“Mother,” he swallowed as she pushed her hand against his chest, then folded her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and his waistcoat.

“Mama!” Francesca called.

Violet retreated her hand instantly, she went a step back, then two. Then she shook her head and her hands flew to hold it. “No, no, no,” she muttered. “No.” A pitiful wail worked itself up through her throat and Francesca drew her against her the very same instant.

“Mama, it's okay!” She tried to soothe her.

“It's not,” she argued. “It's not!” She cried.

“How could he?” She sobbed and wound her arms around her daughter. “How could he leave us?”

Pain and pity to equal measures run hot and cold over Anthony's skin. He closed his eyes and an exhausted huff left his nostrils. How could he indeed.

“He was very sick...” Francesca whispered and rubbed her back. “He held on for as long as he could,” she continued. Violet shrieked and visibly tightened her grip on her daughter. “Mama,” she whispered, almost breathless in her attempt to speak up.

Anthony stepped towards them. “Come, sit down.” He took a firm hold of her shoulder in order to pull her away from his sister. Oh, how she did not deserve to witness such misery.

“I am sorry, Anthony.” Violet hiccuped as he directed her to sit down.

He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. “It's alright. Just breathe.” He squatted down in front of her and rubbed her arm. “Take a deep breath.”

Anthony had no idea what he was doing. Had no idea what his father had done in order to help their mother through her delusions. Edmund had always made sure to keep all the children, him included from their mother when she entered into one of these episodes. In retrospect it made him a little angry himself. That he had left them, had left him with no instructions whatsoever of what to do.

As Violet sobbed into her hands, Anthony simply watched her as if he could prevent her from falling apart further if he only did it with enough rigour.

“Whose are these?” His heartbeat plummeting, he turned to his sister and looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Was it not obvious? She had a face of curiosity on her face, as she in turn observed a pair of boy shoes in her hands.

Violet quieted as she regarded her daughter. Then she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second “These your father found, they were Benedict's,” Violet whispered “A man in the east end sold them to him”. 

Anthony frowned at her and then at his sister. “It is all there was. Only his shoes.” She pulled a hand to her mouth and she inhaled in a sob, but then she tried to exhale more calmly. “It's why his search was ended. They told us he was most certainly no longer alive.”

“Mama,” Francesca whispered in shock. Violet nodded. “That's not fair.” She shook her head in agreement.

“Perhaps he simply grew out of them.” Anthony feared Francesca was going too far, but seemingly she was not.

“I believe so, too. It happens so fast sometimes.” She slowly found her voice.

“I think,” Francesca started with a soft smile on her face, “I think whoever took care of him made sure he had a pair which fit him and not hurt his feet, and then sold these.”

Violet almost nodded desperately. “Only the night before it happened, he could barely sleep because his legs hurt him so, he was right in a growth spurt.” She turned to him then and cupped the side of his face. “You had them badly as well when you were little, do you remember?” He needed to think, in all honesty he did not. “Well, I hope of course you don't.”

“I think I do not.” 

She smiled now and rubbed her thumb over his cheek.“Oh, my son.” she held his gaze now, the ghost of a smile ran over her face but was soon replaced by sadness. “I wish we had taken better care of you through all of it.”

He was so stunned by her words that even while he wanted to look away, he could not.

“You were hurting, too. Benedict and you, you were so close. And we just... we were afraid to tell you what happened. It was as if we hoped you would just forget him.”

“I did not.” His voice was weak and he felt strangled by a heavy, pressing pain in his throat. “Never.” He had truly felt alone in a world he no longer understood, a world in which nobody was speaking to him about all that pain that lingered in the thin air, in everyone's face, in his heart.

She lowered her head to his and with closed eyes she kissed his forehead. “I am unspeakably sorry.”

Something cracked open in him and a tear slipped from his eye, Violet brushed it away as if she had sensed it.

Anthony marvelled at his sister. A little later when they had together gone down again and their mother had retreated to her rooms.

“How did you do that?”

“Don't you think everybody simply worked so hard at not talking with her about Benedict, and now father, that she simply went mad with needing to?”

He thought for a while. Got up and fetched himself a whiskey.

“I feel it is much more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is.” She paused, letting her words ripen in the air between them. “It <em>is</em> so much more complicated.”

Anthony postponed his investigation regarding Eloise’s ‘freedoms’ and thus stood in front of the door to the address on his slip of paper three days later.

Behind that door he heard children's voices, loud ones. He wondered if he was at the right door. But he had checked twice already. And the old man down in the hallways assured him the Atwoods lived all the way up, second door to the left.

He was all the way up, at the second door, to the left.

Oh well, he thought and knocked.

It was hard to imagine what Eloise was doing here. Colin was right, frankly, this was not an affair she was having. (He hoped dearly.) He should have brought Kate.

“Charles, what is the rule?”

“But Mama, you are right there!”

“And that is why I will open the door!” He listened intently and it should have been a warning but he did not take it as one, before he could step back, the door opened.

He straightened his shoulders. “Mrs. Atwood?”

“Yes. How may I help you?”

“That is indeed a good question.”

“Is it?” From behind the door peaked the head of a little boy. He assumed this was Charles. Mrs. Atwood pulled the door ajar behind her while she stepped forward a bit. Blocking his view into the flat. “My husband will not be home for another half hour if you wish to speak to him?”

“Mama! He did it again.” Another voice called from the inside. “Mama!” Again.

“Just a moment dear,” she called over her shoulder.

“If you give me your name, I can tell him you stopped by.” She pressed further and it was what Anthony needed to hear, in order to be reminded of his manners. But he was so confused.

“I apologise, Mrs. Atwood. I am not here for your husband, in particular. I am Viscount Bridgerton, it is nice to make your acquaintance.”

The woman's eyes grew as she fixed her view on his face. “My young sister seems to frequent this address on a more regular basis, and as she is my responsibility, I am here to ascertain myself this is all right and proper.”

“My Lord,” she found her words eventually. “I... I do not know what to say.”

“I assure you, you have to say nothing. It seems quite innocent, all of it. I must apologise for the interruption of your afternoon, Mrs. Atwood, I hope you can forgive me.” He took a step back and he wanted to turn, but the woman's eyes were no longer on him, she was watching the man who claimed the stairs.

It was clear instantly that this had to be the husband, for their gazes found each other and an exchange happened for which there were no words needed. Anthony stepped further back and to the side. Ready to introduce himself and explain why he was here.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Anthony greeted back and stretched his hand out for the other man. There was just the shortest moment of hesitation, but then Mr. Atwood took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

And he wanted to introduce himself. And saw how Mrs. Atwood was also short of doing that for him. Also he should let go of that hand. But something else was happening at the same time, something shifted in him.

The two men had met eyes and they had both inhaled and they were both holding their breaths and they were both tightening their grip on each other instead of letting go.

Anthony felt light-headed. His mouth fell open. His heart pumped all the way in his throat.

As if they were hit by lightning the moment was over and they stepped away from one another.

“I must apologise. For the smallest moment I was certain I knew you.” Was the only thing he found to say. For a second everything had shifted. For a second he was eight years old, looking out of the carriage driving away from Bridgerton House with his cousins and Aunt Ginny. Benedict stood there between their parents and waved and he wanted nothing more than for Benedict to come with him. He did not want to go to Bath on his own. He had never been. He had never gone anywhere without Benedict.

Then. Then, “Anthony?”

His heart missed a beat.

“It cannot be...” he whispered. Mrs. Atwood reached over to her husband. Gave his arm a squeeze and then she retreated inside, closed the door with a soft click.

No. No. This was not... could not be... now that father was dead. Now. No. He took another step back and then, then he rushed forwards, crossed the space between them, the physical space but also the metaphysical one, the years and years in between and all the pain and all the desperate longing. They crashed together and Anthony could not imagine to ever let go once their arms clawed at each other. “Benedict,” he whispers, and again: “Benedict.”

He noticed not that he battled for composure before it became hard to breathe.

“Is it truly you?” He gasped.

“Anthony?” It was still the same question. But his brother's fingers now dug deep into his arms and he wondered if he knew himself what he was asking for.

“Where have you been?” He rasped.

But he did not answer. Nothing made sense. Did Eloise know? Was that why she came here? But why would she. She never met Benedict. He felt suddenly how their chests pressed so tight together that Anthony was uncertain if it was his own heart that he felt galloping, or his brothers.

“How dreary life was without you.” There was no reviewing the words spilling from his lips. “I missed you more than words know to express.” And it was only then that Benedict's breath caught and a desperate, painful-sounding sob broke through him

“Anthony?”

“I am here, brother. It's alright. It's all alright.”

But nothing was alright. Because their father was dead, eventually succumbing to a broken heart. And their mother still wore a black veil and barely spoke a word a day. Hyacinth spent all her days in her room. Gregory, fresh home from Wales, still pretended that their father's death left him undisturbed. There was a wedding, too, his own, postponed indefinitely.

It came the point that they should let go of one another. But the fear running through him was at once childish and more real than he knew to say. He could not let go of him again. What if the moment he did, he vanished in thin air, gone, forever this time.

What if this was but a dream?

“Brother.” He whispered. And perhaps this was a start. He took his face between his hands and stretched back to look at him. It was a naïve notion, but he felt that all that was out of tune for so long, had clicked back into place.

His hands shook.

And because he knew not what else to do and Benedict seemed so deeply disturbed by emotions he asked to meet his family and Benedict just nodded. He grabbed Benedict's shoulder as he took the lead and he did not let go of it before the door shut again behind him and confined them within the same room.

He was rattled by disbelief.

The door across opened and Benedict's wife pushed her head through. She turned back into the room. “You stay in there. Watch out for Will. Charles, I look at you!”

“Yes Mama,” came a small voice and then she drew Benedict close by the wrist. And even though she was shorter by quite a bit, she was able to cradle him effortlessly. It was for only a moment, and then his brother swallowed and stroked a shaking hand over the side of her head.

“Can I introduce you to my brother?” He asked and she smiled suddenly, lightening up her whole expression. “Sophie, this is Anthony? My brother.” She stretched her hand for him to take.

“Anthony, this is my wife, Sophie.” They shook hands and he lifted them afterwards in order to kiss her knuckles.

From where Benedict stood he could open the other door. “Let me...” he slipped away and Sophie's expression turned serious, she watched him intently. He knew she had things to say and no time to say them.

Because then the boy from before walked into the room first and reached his mother's side, looking at him with sharp interest written all over his expression. He smiled at him and instantly he smiled back. Anthony wanted to laugh with the joy it brought to his heart.

Benedict came to a stop beside his wife, too. There were arms hugging his right leg and a little body hiding behind it. He tried to wave in that very short second that they tilted to see around the leg. Oh, and there was a baby on his arm. In him something melted at the sight.

“I am Charles! I am five!” the oldest of the three announced then.

Anthony squatted down and stretched out his hand. “Hello Charles, I am Anthony.” Grinning, the boy took his hand. Anthony nodded and Charles imitated him. “Nice to meet you.”

The other child had since studied him with interested and curious eyes. Anthony tried not to push.

“And who might this be?” He asked and prompted Charles to look at his sibling.

“This is Alex, he is a bit shy.”

“I am not shy!” A small voice announced and courage, too, vibrated in the words and suddenly he stepped away from behind Benedict's leg. Benedict caressed his fingers through his hair.

“I am Alexander!” He exclaimed and reached for his father's hand simultaneously.

“I am very excited to make your acquaintance, Alexander!” He looked just like Benedict. All of him. It itched a scratch in his soul.

“And this is William,” Benedict explained, pride very imminent in his voice. He turned him a bit and the moment the baby made eye contact with him, or well, something akin to that, both their interests seemed to raise. “He is four months old.”

“Can I hold him?” He addressed that question to Sophie, who leaned over, kissed his little head and took him from her husband's hands only to transfer him into his arms.

“He is usually very relaxed.” She explained. And he was, he made big eyes and began to explore his cravat and when Anthony made a face, it took but three seconds before he giggled.

“I am still at a loss for words,” Anthony then admitted. “I feel as if I cannot leave here. I am afraid that if I close my eyes, then you are gone again...” They both nodded at that. “And I have so many questions.”

“I am not sure I can answer them.”

“Can I return here?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Everything else is secondary” He looked around. At Charles whispering to his mother who shook her head, making the boy pouted. Alex was playing with his father's fingers. And Benedict was, for a lack of a more appropriate word, still somehow lost. And of course the darling little boy in his arms.

Mayfair.

Anthony heard his siblings bellowing before he even stepped through the door. With a raised brow he met Ranson's gaze who showed not a single emotion except for a glint in his eyes the Viscount interpreted as amusement.

The voices came from the ballroom. In long strides he walked towards the doors which stood ajar, amplifying the sounds towards the outside.

“What is going on in here!” He called as a footman helped him with a dramatic entrance by pushing both doors open for him.

Screaming, laughing, tumbling, bodies hitting the floor, more shouting.

“What in heaven and hell...” he whispered to himself.

“Brother!” Hyacinth screamed.

“Join us!” Colin called and already came his way.

“Should you not all sit at dinner?”

Nobody was wearing shoes, there were two discarded mattresses laying by the windows. Eloise sat in the middle of the room, rubbing her elbow. All the girls (including Miss Featherington!) had their skirts tugged up over their knees and secured there.

“The oven is broken! Mrs. Ranson is having to make soup...” Gregory explained.

“A soup! In the fireplace,” Hyacinth added, nodding vigorously. “Can you imagine!”

“Excuse me, the oven is broken?” He turned over to their butler who had followed behind him, now standing in the open doors. “Ranson, is that true?”

“Most unfortunately, the young Master is quite right. The oven has broken down. A mechanic is already looking after it.”

“And what is this?” he gestured to one of the mattresses, intently watching Colin for an answer. In his eyes he tried to inquire whether Colin had regressed in age and lost all his good senses in the process.

“It's just a bit of fun, My Lord. You cannot mind that, can you?” Colin teased. “Back to the starting line!” He called and all his siblings jumped to the wall, getting ready to run. “THREE, TWO, ONE!”

And all of them ran a few yards to an actual line on the floor done hopefully in chalk, jumped and slid on their stocking covered feet. Francesca came to a stop right in front of him, clearly losing because Colin and Hyacinth both had ducked down and made it almost to the opposite wall.

“We tried it with the mattresses, but it worked so well, Gregory has a lump on his head now because he rode right into the wall,” she grinned.

“Yes, see!” Gregory was full of excitement, something so uncommon in the boy for a while now. He pulled his hair back and showed him an actual yellowish lump on his forehead. Instantly he replaced Gregory's hand with his own to take a closer look. “We will try at Aubrey Hall on Christmas. The Ballroom is much larger. What fun!” He explained while Anthony had drawn his head close and held it between his hands.

Eventually, Gregory clicked with his tongue and pulled his head away. “It's fine!”

“Well then,” he said and looked down to his feet. Then he looked up. Looked into the expecting faces of his siblings... all except for Daphne and, and...

He looked at his feet and he almost leaned down to open the buckles on his boots. Almost.

“Miss Featherington? May I ask you to wait in the dining hall for a moment?” Colin rolled his eyes and took a step towards him.

“Truely, Anthony, if you want to scream at someone, this is my responsibility. I made them...” Anthony waved the sentence away and Colin's expression turned confused.

“Greg, Hy, will you accompany her?” Irritated, Hyacinth stepped to Penelope who took her hand in hers and as they passed him by, she smiled. He nodded.

“But I don't want to! I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Gregory, I am asking you nicely. I will inform you personally in due time of what we are about to discuss.”

“But...”

“Gregory, please.” He rushed from the room at that and perhaps, Anthony considered, that was a mistake. “Ranson, can you close the door? From the outside?”

“But of course.”

And then they stood there, all a bit confused, waiting for him to say something. He looked from face to face. How was this real? It made no sense. The information would not set. It did not arrive where it needed to arrive. The idea of Benedict swirled through his head, somewhere towards the top, unruly, very much demanding loudly to be spoken. He took another look at Colin and Fran and wished Daph was here, suddenly he considered postponing this until she was.

“What is it!” El huffed and let her head fall back, looking at the ceiling.

“I have no idea how to say this...”

“Is Mother alright?” Fran came so close she could lay a hand on his arm. He closed his eyes shortly and nodded. “Kate?”

“Everyone is fine.”

Eloise rolled her eyes and that was when he fixed his gaze on her.

“Did you know?” He found a thread to follow.

“What exactly? I know a lot of things.” She grinned at her own words. 

He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a breath. “Your trips to Bloomsbury. Did you know?” She grew at least an inch as she straightened up and her expression suddenly turned serious.

“What exactly would you want me to know?” She whispered.

“What interest do you have in visiting the Atwoods?”

“I... I. Anthony, I can explain. I met Mrs. Atwood at the market, months ago, and she did me a huge favour and and...” she gesticulated wildly with her arms and seemed not to notice that she inched towards him. “Then their little boy got ill, just some weeks ago and I tried to help as best as I could. I send broth and tea... I even told Mother about it!”

Anthony lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed his thumb over his brow.

“Eloise Bridgerton, have you any idea what you have done?” He whispered. Her eyes grew wide.

“I did nothing... not on purpose... ”

“I am sure we can find a way to rectify...” Colin interrupted, lifting both his hands as if he expected they were about to jump each other's throats.

“There is nothing to rectify, Colin. She, she.... I cannot believe my own words...” He gave a pause, trying still to gather any understanding of the situation.

“Now say already, what is it?” Francesa urged.

And yet it took another moment until he found a way to say it. “Eloise. You have found Benedict.” Even though the words were so easy.

The silence in the room was louder than their shrieks from earlier. 

“That is a strange joke to make,” Colin said, at some point, perhaps hours later, maybe minutes.

“It's not a joke.” He still would not break eye contact with Eloise.

“No.” Colin whispered then.

“I had a feeling... I... no, not even that, just, an inkling and I would not let myself explore it. Forced myself not to consider it. There were moments when I thought I looked at a little Hyacinth when I looked at Alex...”

He nodded listening to her words, understanding them well.

Francesca had started shaking her head in disbelief. Colin's emotions seemed to change by the second, flying through his eyes and tucking at his mouth and his brows.

“No.” he said again.

“I will call for Daphne in the morning and we need to think how we tell mother without driving her truly mad.”

“Should we not include Ben in this?” Eloise argued.

“Obviously we will include him,” Anthony said, nonplused.

“Then we cannot do it in the morning, or the afternoon. He works for a living.”

“No.” Colin.

“Colin!” Anthony turned to him. “Snap out of it!”

And then one of the emotions stuck and what was a chuckle at first, turned into a full-blown laughter. It turned all their eyes to him. It made them all grin at first but then it did not catch and they looked on in irritation.

“Father is dead!” He pressed forward eventually, inhaled in a stutter and laughed more. “He is dead now!”

It was truly cynical of God, so much was true.

And then his laughter stilled and with eyes full of tears he stared at them, it was impossible to say whether the tears came from laughter alone. And while Francesca had found Eloise's arms, Anthony opened his for Colin to land in.

“Father is dead.”

“I know.” He whispered.

“Nothing was as important to him as finding Benedict...”

“I know.”

[samrriegel]

As creators, it’s important that we strive to create a positive relationship between our content and community while still retaining our rights. With this in mind, we’d like to share our new content policy covering how you can use our IP.

(you can click the link embedded above or click the readmore. there is a lot of text!)

Everyone at Critical Role is extremely honored and humbled by the interest our incredible community has shown in the stories that we tell, the shows that we produce, and our company in general. We think it’s pretty amazing that our fans want to create artwork, websites, and other works (“Projects”) based on our intellectual property (“IP”). Our IP includes any unique material our team creates — things like the names of our campaigns (for example, Vox Machina and Mighty Nein), our characters (for example, Grog Strongjaw or Beauregard Lionett), story locations (like Whitestone or Nicodranas), company slogans (such as How Do You Want to Do This?), as well as written content and all related artwork, music, etc. We are generally cool with Projects that follow the rules outlined below, but we reserve the right to remove Projects that, in our view, misrepresent these rules or use our IP inappropriately. We want our fans to continue celebrating our world and sharing their talents with the community, but for Critical Role (“CR”) to exist as a company, our legal advisors have suggested we establish some ground rules for how our IP can be used!

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This is one of those exceptions we mentioned earlier. We permit fans to promote their Projects on websites, streams, or videos and passively generate revenue through appropriate advertisements, including pre-roll ads, ad breaks, and sponsor ad overlays. No inappropriate direct ads or sponsorships—we alone decide what qualifies as inappropriate, but if you won’t see it on Critical Role, it is probably not appropriate.

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CR allows your passive monetization for under 5 minutes of content usage per episode

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CR may claim monetization or execute an automatic takedown, which includes any “clips” or “memes”

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Portions of the materials used may contain trademarks and/or copyrighted works of Critical Role. This material is not official, is provided for free, noncommercial entertainment purposes only, and is not endorsed by Critical Role.

5. Can I create CR-related video content before the content is available on Critical Role’s YouTube channel?

No. Please be considerate. So it’s clear, any posting or other unauthorized disclosure of CR-created content prior to its official release on YouTube (or an authorized media-sharing platform) is strictly prohibited. In regards to spoilers, even after an episode’s release, spoilers can ruin a fan’s experience and we always aim to avoid them. Please be respectful of others and do not deliberately push plot reveals on people who are actively avoiding learning about them. If you are releasing fan content after its official release on the CR YouTube channels, we ask that you please offer spoiler disclaimers (or appropriate hashtags) as a courtesy.

6. What about CR fan art that’s shared publicly during or after a livestreamed RPG broadcast and before the VOD is available on YouTube?

Boy, we love ourselves some amazing Critter fan art. We also want to ensure that artists are taking every precaution not to spoil an episode before its official release on the CR YouTube channel. Please ensure that your artwork is not audiovisual in nature and follows the guidelines set forth in this policy. Again as a general courtesy, please include spoiler disclaimers (or appropriate hashtags) whenever possible.

7. Is all content in a Critical Role video available for use?

No. Certain CR videos contain music or other content that Critical Role doesn’t own. Critical Role, at times, enters into licenses with 3rd party content providers to enhance CR videos for viewing. Since CR cannot grant you a license to use someone else’s content, you’ll need to get permission from the copyright owner(s) before using their content. If you include non-Critical Role music or other content in your video, do so at your own risk. Your video could be subject to filtering or takedown notices by the owner of the copyright in the original work.

8. Can I use Critical Role’s Logos or Trademarks?

Generally, no, and only in limited instances. Use of Critical Role’s brands, logos, character names, actor names, actor and character likenesses and other IP are only to be used in connection with the discussion of Critical Role works, Official Products and non-commercial Projects in compliance with this Policy. Critical Role expressly prohibits uses of its Trademarks to promote your business or merchandise. You may not register domain names, social media accounts, or similar stuff that uses any of our trademarks, trade names, character names, etc. without expressed written consent.

You definitely may not use any CR trademarks as keywords, titles, or search tags for products that are infringing or counterfeit.

9. Can Critical Role use my Project?

Yes. We want fans to create and share cool things with each other, and we want to remove barriers to sharing. Because you are using Critical Role IP, if we celebrate or spotlight a fan Project, or make something that somehow resembles a fan Project, by posting it publicly you give Critical Role permission to spotlight or share your Project with the world. By using Critical Role IP in the creation of your Project you give CR authorization to share your Project in any way at our sole discretion. Critical Role will always attempt to contact artists in these instances and/or provide proper artist credit whenever possible.

10. What if my Project is not covered here?

If your creative efforts are not covered by this Policy, you’ll need our prior, written approval before you put it out in the world. If you have any questions or creative content you want to make that isn’t covered by this Policy, contact us by sending us an email to info@critrole.com. Written approval is required for Projects that are outside of the scope of this policy.

If you don’t hear from us, it does not mean we approve of your requested use of our IP.

11. Anything else?

Yes. Critical Role reserves the right to change this Policy at any time with no notice whatsoever, but we’ll do our best to communicate any changes widely as soon as we can in the interest of remaining transparent with you.

Please note that we are constantly developing new content and creating new IP that will fall under these guidelines.

Thank you so much for your attention to this policy. Our main goal is to ensure that the Critical Role community remains creative and vibrant as it’s always been. Our content policy will protect what we own today for the long haul so that we can continue to create magic for all of you for many years to come. If you have any questions at all, please reach out to us at info@critrole.com or via critrole.com/contact.