#absolutely packed schedule

[tag-if]

Progress Update;

JAN 2024 - FEB 2024;

Hello all!

University has finally gotten back into full swing, i reckon the routine is helping me out a lot, but it means this hasn't been the most productive in terms of writing (more planning based). I'm pretty busy this month, i've realised, so i will be aiming to get chapter 1 out around the beginning to middle of March.

I did a bit of reworking, to fix the pacing (and keep myself sane) so i apologise if it isn't what you expected when it does come out.

now, without further ado, the checklist :)

DONE;

reworked the plans to fix the pacing a little bit (subject to further change)

added some more customisation that wasn't previously there

polished off the previously finished scenes, so they aren't just word vomit anymore

TO DO;

still have to do the meet the ROs scene

toying with the idea of replacing the first skill check with an option to snoop for information instead (be it through interaction or exploring); this would move the skill check to the beginning of chapter 2

[warmfuzzyanimal]

with my move around the corner and life feeling sort of real again, i'm having Regular Thoughts about hobbies i've been meaning to revisit...

[antonymziie]

exasperated rant under the cut

crazy that, as an artist that has a billford centered au, i don’t even like billford as a ship, especially canon character billford?? i don’t really like shipping in general—

i posed prismbreak as more of a concept for myself to explore and now i’m left with something that is bigger than i could have anticipated. i’m so glad that so many people like it, but i don’t just want to be the “toxic evil billford au” guy.

as i get busier with my work and whatnot i may slow down on what i post with this au because it honestly is taxing to put so much energy into things that aren’t really my own. fan works are such a wonderful thing and i love making them, but i have originals that cannot survive without me creating for them, and fan work very much can.

so this is a warning for when the prismbreak content inevitably becomes less frequent. sorry if this disappoints, but i do art for myself above anyone else

[wreckedhoney]

a while ago on the discord i brought up the "which desk at the station is forrest's desk" question when the answer should probably have been obvious. he's been at the job for approx. one week, so it's the desk with all the unpacked boxes. it just didnt occur to me because thats Frankly A Lot Of Boxes and my first thought was this is where all the storage and junk are piled on, but no. it's all stuff forrest brought (/hc). he's a heavy packer. he spite packed all the stuff he didn't want his old job to keep even if he doesnt need or even like them all that much but now that he's blacklisted then no one in the entirety of chicago can have them

[dailyaliceyabusame]

Daily Alice For Today: Jester

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

Hiii, i wanted to know if you'd be okay with a Poll design that's mostly human (like moree human than dragon) because i may have some design ideas for Poll that i'll maybe draw idk!

YES YES YES YES YES I WILL C R Y IF YOU GIVE ME FANART OF MY EGG (/positive)

[zoeology31]

As a neutral fan and Francisco Lindor enjoyer, that Mets-Braves Game 161 may be the greatest regular season baseball game I've ever watched

[k-seunghun]

I don’t think ur a worrying grandma I’m also worried about how much time they’re really able to have off 😭 to have a single day inbetween each date AND that’s not including travel, and rehearsals on the day…… I was so annoyed seeing it since jinyoung talked abt how the last half of the europe leg was particularly had without the breaks I can only imagine how it’s like now. He was even talking about using pain relief patches and I don’t think he was the only one. They even changed the order of the songs on the set list. Ceeee nine I will have their heads i swearrrr all just to cut corners n save money… also yeah the comeback they’re been teasin and them saying aprils gonna be a busy month ,,, I just hope they’re able to get some rest

omg i never saw this message 😭😭😭😭 but yes agreed on all fronts.. also seunghun fainting backstage at literally one of the first us shows?

and i'll be honest it seems more and more likely they will jump into cb prep right away :((((

[afortoru]

I might look alright from outside but deep down im in desperate need to buy a suncream 🥲

[homunculus-argument]

And speaking of scurvy, I am eternally amused by the thing where some ancient form of healing that was born in a time where people didn't know exactly how the human body works, or what causes it to stop working sometimes, that still somehow worked. Like how so many old folk medicinal plants were listed as a cure for various ailments that - from a modern view - are clearly just symptoms of scurvy, and the plant itself is rich in vitamin C.

I recall reading some story, no recollection of the exact time or place, where the king of a large empire suffered from constant horrible headaches and was incapable of falling asleep unless drugged or blackout drunk. Sick of taking temporary fixes to dull the pain and having to be sedated every night, he called up some old sage healer who was said to know how to fix things nobody else could explain, and the healer heard his symptoms and went

"Hmm. You spend too much time being a king. Your skull is packed so full of kingly thoughts that they don't all fit in there and that's why your head is in pain. You need to spend time not being a king." And prescribed him to schedule three days every month where he must go to a peasant village where nobody knows he's the king, live with a family there under a fake name and identity, work in the rice fields with them, eating the same food and sleeping on the same mats. Absolutely nobody is allowed to address him as the king, speak to him of any royal or political matters, and he himself is not allowed to think any kingly thoughts or think of himself as the king.

And naturally, this worked. Taking a regular scheduled break from a highly stressful office desk job to completely decompress, paired with physical exercise in the form of hard but simple physical labour, plain and simple food and Just Not Thinking About Your Fucking Job All The Time does help chronic stress, which here was worded as "spending too much time being a king clogs your brain."

Sometimes you do have ghosts in your blood, though I'm not entirely sure whether you should do cocaine about it.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve's not really sure when it became a thing.

Maybe it was while Eddie was in the hospital recovering from his injuries, and the kids had forced Steve onto the visiting schedule. Maybe it was after Eddie got out of the hospital, and the kids insisted they continue to honor the schedule. Maybe it had nothing to do with the schedule and everything to do with the fact that Steve and Eddie had become... friends.

This is also a big maybe in Steve's head because he's pretty sure Eddie just hangs out with him from time to time because he's allowed to drink and smoke around or with him - and he's found that Eddie doesn't like to be alone for extended periods of time.

Steve can't blame him. But with his parents' seemingly permanent absence, he's kind of grown used to it whenever the kids and Robin are forced to go back to school.

But right now, Steve is grateful that Eddie has continued their "thing" in which he shows up at Steve's house at 9pm every Thursday - the same time as one of Steve's assigned "Eddie shifts" - with a six-pack in hand.

Only, this week, Eddie shows up with two bottles of wine.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as he lets him into the house, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold air out.

"I just thought you'd like to change it up today," Eddie comments nonchalantly as he heads to the living room. Steve wonders for a moment if he knows the secret he's been keeping from everyone, but he figures he doesn't especially when he blabs on, "So, what movie are you blessing me with this week?"

Steve rolls his eyes as he goes to grab the tape and put it in the VCR, but he hesitates for a moment, straightening up to point at Eddie. "You will absolutely tell no one about this, got it? Also, I'm expecting a phone call, but you're not allowed to listen in on it."

"Got it. Scout's honor," Eddie replies with a wink and a salute.

"You were not a boy scout," Steve huffs as he decides to bite the bullet and put the tape in.

Eddie frowns and puts a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Steve. How could you say that?"

"Because I was a boy scout, and we would've been in the same troop."

Once Steve sits on the couch, Eddie leans in and nudges his shoulder. "What I wouldn't give to go back in time and meet a young Steve Harrington. I could've corrupted you sooner."

"I'm afraid Dustin beat you to the corrupting. He's the one who made me watch Star Wars."

"I can always corrupt you in other ways, Steve," Eddie comments, obnoxiously batting his eyelashes.

Steve laughs, used to the blatant flirting during the trailers at this point. "Is that why you brought the wine? To set the mood?"

"Something like that," Eddie says with a soft smile before switching back to his dramatics. "But I'll have you know, I'm a gentleman. Plus, I would like you to remember the first time I blow your mind."

"Blow my mind?" Steve asks, reaching over to grab the bottles. "How would you do that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Eddie says with a wink before uncapping his wine.

Steve glances at his own bottle for a moment, distracted. "It's a screw top."

"It's cheap," Eddie explains. He raises his bottle and tilts it Steve's way. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Steve answers, screwing off the top and taking a swig. Tastes like wine. And it also tastes like... a bad idea.

"So, what movie are we watching that has you so defensive?" Eddie asks, throwing his arm along the back of the couch.

To that, Steve takes a longer drink. "One of my mom's favorite movies. We used to watch it together whenever my dad went out of town for his business trips. But then my mom started getting more suspicious of him staying at the office late, and then she started to go on those business trips with him. Which now seem to... never end." Steve sighs and settles back onto the couch a bit more, head resting right on Eddie's hand. He quickly gets the hint and starts gently playing with his hair.

Steve's not sure when that became a thing either.

After another sip of wine, Steve finally confesses, "It's The Sound of Music."

A few expressions pass over Eddie's face before he quietly says, "That was one of my mom's favorites, too."

The two of them share a similar look of understanding and painful longing for a time they'll neither get back. They both drink at the same time as the opening notes of "The Sound of Music" ring out.

As the movie plays, the two of them drift closer - as they always do - and Steve notices that he's slowly but surely getting a bit wine-drunk. Which is what Robin calls the "worst type of drunk Steve." Maybe he should've taken her up on her offer to stay the full day.

As the last scene plays, Steve finds himself glancing toward the phone more than the screen.

"You okay?" Eddie asks gently, the hand in his hair moving to cup his face.

Steve can feel the way the wine flushes his cheeks and sits heavy on his stomach when he asks, "When do you realize your parents have given up on you?"

Eddie swallows heavily before grabbing Steve's nearly empty bottle and putting it on the coffee table. He sits back and fully turns to him. "For me, I fully realized a month after I stayed with Wayne. I still hadn't unpacked the cardboard box my things were in, hoping that maybe since my dad had dropped me off my mom would pick me up. But I hadn't seen her in years." He looks back at the TV where the end credits are rolling. "She left promising me she would come back and make a better life for the two of us eventually. I thought with my dad out of the picture, she'd be back. But as soon as I unpacked that box, I gave up on the idea."

Steve shifts closer and grabs Eddie's hand. "I'm sorry."

Eddie looks at him and tilts his head down so he's looking him right in the eye. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. And..." he hesitates for a moment before resting his forehead against Steve's and whispering, "Happy birthday."

Steve's eyes close tightly. It's the words he had been waiting for all day but in hopes that they'd be coming out the mouths of at least one of his parents. Preferably his mom.

There's pressure behind his eyes, and Steve reaches out to squeeze Eddie's hand gently, warning him in his own way that he might fall apart. But Eddie stays where he is.

"This is the first year they haven't called," Steve whispers, feeling one tear fall down his face. "I know they're assholes but... I didn't think they'd be this much of an asshole. God," he breathes out, breaking away from Eddie to lean back against the couch, hands covering his face as more tears fall.

A familiar arm drapes itself around Steve's shoulders tugging gently until he winds up with his head buried in Eddie's neck.

They sit there for a while, Eddie holding him and running a soothing hand through his hair that reminds Steve of the first time Eddie had opened up to him about the nightmares that never went away, and they had ended up in a similar but swapped position.

Maybe that's when this became a thing.

It's a while before Steve speaks up to ask, "Hey, how do you even know when my birthday is? The last person I told was probably Tommy Hagan in the eighth grade. And Robin, of course, but I swore her to secrecy."

"Oh god," Eddie says in a way that makes Steve pull back to look at him fully. Eddie's head lulls to the side as he looks at him with an adorably embarrassed and caught expression. "So... don't hate me for this, but this happened a few years ago. And... do I really have to tell you?"

"It's my birthday, you have to tell me," Steve replies.

Eddie huffs, ever so dramatically, and grabs Steve's hands before confessing, "So, I stole your wallet a few times."

Steve can't help but laugh at the absurd confession. "When?"

"It was back in your sophomore year probably. We had some horrible science class together, and you sat right in front of me, and well... My friends and I made this hypothesis, very scientific, that some rich kids, including you, wouldn't notice if a dollar or two went missing from their wallets." Steve snorts, and Eddie smiles. "And you had this horrible habit of leaving the front pocket of your backpack open so..."

"Occasionally you would steal anywhere from one to five dollars from my wallet? And one time you managed to swipe ten," Steve fills in for him, vividly remembering something he hadn't thought about in years.

Eddie's eyes widen. "So, my hypothesis was wrong."

"No, you're just less subtle than you think you are."

There's a moment where Eddie just stares at him incredulously. "You're telling me, you let me steal from you? And you didn't beat me up for it?"

Steve shrugs, thinking about the first time it had happened, and he had truly considered it, but he realized. "I knew you needed it more than I did. But that's not what we're talking about. How did this lead you to finding out about my birthday?"

"It was on your driver's license, and I ended up memorizing it in case you had a big party that I could sell at. But then it just... stuck." Eddie looks down at their hands for a moment before he looks up and states, "And we're not about to breeze past this. I must've stolen at least thirty dollars from you!" He lets go of one of Steve's hands to grab his wallet off the coffee table. "For your birthday, let me pay you back."

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "You are not giving me thirty dollars for my birthday. And don't fight me on this, or I'll end up telling Dustin you gave me money without hesitation."

Eddie frowns at him and reluctantly puts his wallet back down. He leans over to Steve and cups his face as he plants a kiss onto his forehead. "You're never who I think you are, Steve Harrington."

"Is that a good thing?" Steve asks as his eyes glance down at his lips.

"A very good thing. It means I'll never give up on you," Eddie says with a teasing lilt but Steve knows that he means it.

"Same to you."

Eddie's teasing smile falters as he looks at Steve. One of his thumbs swipes at a remaining tear trail.

Steve's heart beats a little harder and he can't stop staring at Eddie's lips. He wonders when that became a thing.

"There's one thing you could do for me for my birthday," Steve breaths out.

"And what's that?" Eddie asks quietly.

Steve doesn't answer him, he just leans in slowly, closing his eyes when his nose brushes against Eddie's. But then he feels Eddie gently pull away.

"Earlier, I said I wanted you to remember when I blow your mind, Steve."

Steve's eyes flutter open. "I'm not that far gone."

Eddie sighs and mumbles, "I can't believe I'm doing this," and raises his voice to say, "I'll kiss you when I can't smell wine on your breath, deal?"

"Deal," Steve says, holding out his hand.

Eddie laughs as he shakes it, then grabs it to pull them both up.

"Bedtime?" Steve asks. Eddie nods, turning off the TV before leading the way to the kitchen to get two glasses of water before heading to Steve's room.

Steve knows exactly when that became a thing - the second time Eddie was over at his house, and he had a nightmare in the guest room. Steve now insists that he sleeps with him anytime he's over.

When they get into bed on their by-now-established sides, Steve can't help but say, "I think this is the best birthday I've had in a long time." He sighs and reaches out to grab Eddie's hand laying between them. "Maybe next year I'll tell everyone."

"Or we can make up a fake birthday for you that happens to fall sometime next week, and next year we'll pretend that everyone remembered the wrong date."

Steve laughs and squeezes Eddie's hand. "Or next week, I can take you on a date."

"Shh," Eddie quickly shushes him, "This definitely means it's time for you to go to bed."

"I can't wait for you to blow my mind in the morning," Steve says instead of trying and failing to fight Eddie on the fact that he's more coherent than he thinks he is. Besides, the faster he falls asleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.

"Goodnight, Steve," Eddie says, slightly amused.

"Goodnight, Eds."

Much to Eddie's surprise, he wakes up to Steve asking for a kiss. And he very much blows his mind.

[ylangelegy]

mingyu is absentmindedly scrolling through instagram reels when he finds a video of a content creator in his kitchen. his caption is simple enough: meals i made for my girlfriend this week.

mingyu watches, slightly bored, as the influencer shows off everything from at-home matcha lattes to vegetable omelettes. he's just about to scroll away when the influencer shows off the last meal: a bento box.

mingyu rewatches that part once. thrice, even. he's had dosirak countless of times before, but this one is different. it's— cute.

mingyu looks up a hashtag of #bentoboxlunch and is absolutely floored. there's rice shaped like sanrio characters, and boiled eggs with nori eyes, and hotdogs cut up to look like octopi!

mingyu, who has always taken pride in cooking for you, in making your favorites of bibim-guksu and jajangmyeon, finds an entirely new purpose.

mingyu blows an inordinate amount of money on supplies. character picks, rice shapers, vegetable cutters. in between schedules, he watches how-to videos. when you're asleep at night or he wakes up earlier than you in the morning, he quietly pads around the kitchen to practice.

mingyu spends a good three or so months stealing away this new hobby, hiding it from you, until he decides his skills are up to par. with the intensity of which he's going about this, you'd think he's competing on master chef.

mingyu who, one morning, nonchalantly informs you, "i packed you lunch. let me know how you like it, okay?" you try to tell him that it isn't necessary, that you're a grown adult, thank you very much, but he pouts and whines until you take the lunch box anyway.

mingyu, whose leg bounces up and down all the hours leading up to noon.

mingyu, who has gotten a lot of praise across his life for many things. his skills as an idol. his physical appearance. but this? the text he gets of you gushing over the puppy-shaped mashed potatoes, over the boiled egg that's been cut to look like cherry blossoms? this is definitely a top five compliment.

mingyu enjoys this way too much. he learns more and more over time. heart-shaped tamagoyaki, doraemon constructed out of seaweed, rice that looks like snoopy. you tell him he's going overboard, doing too much, but how can anything be 'too much' when it's you?

mingyu doesn't even understand why he loves doing all this until, one day, you present to him sandwiches that have been cut in to stars and melon slices that are molded like diamonds. the sandwich is a bit dry, and the melon is out of season, but mingyu doesn't care. it's the best damn meal he's ever eaten.

mingyu, who has to hold himself back from proposing on the spot when you tease him, i love you, i want us both to eat well.

mingyu, who thinks to himself that he would cook for you for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.

[nuadaargetlamh]

One is a convicted criminal that wants to:

Institute a dictatorship “on day one only” (with majority support from his party!)

Give a greenlight to Project 2025

Use a weakened Schedule F to install THOUSANDS of cronies

Institute military tribunals for his political enemies (and allies!)

Gun down “enemies from within”

Support Russia in wiping Ukraine off the map

Use the combo of the removal of the Chevron deference/the Supreme Court allowing people to openly bribe them/Schedule F to extend the far-right’s reach into every government agency and deregulate everything to the benefit of his rich capitalist buddies

Has gotten total immunity for “official acts” (what counts as “official”? Whatever his Schedule F appointed judges choose of course.)

Already took away so many freedoms from racial minorities/queer people/women/anyone-that-isn’t-a-rich-white-man that it would take ages to list them all in this post

and so so so so SO MUCH MORE.

The other is a typical neoliberal politician.

Remember also, you’re not just choosing a president, you’re choosing their cabinet, potential Supreme Court justices, federal employees as well. With the above listed ALONE, Trump would do so much more damage than just what he can do himself. That’s not including everything else his Federalist Society Supreme Court would and have given him on a silver platter. Supreme Court Justices are for LIFE, and we’ve already seen the potentially irreparable damage this far-right activist court has done to the fabric of democracy.

Project 2025 really deserves a part to itself just to list some of what it includes: complete abortion/contraceptive ban (no exceptions), destroying worker’s unions and protections, remove Social Security/Medicare/Affordable Care Act, end civil rights protections in government, ban teaching the history of slavery, remove climate protections while gutting the EPA, end equal marriage and enforce the “traditional family ideal”, use the military to gun down protests, mass deportation of legal immigrants (especially Muslims), ending birthright citizenship, pack the lower courts, and plenty more. The far-right wasn’t able to take full advantage of Trump’s presidency the first time since it was so unexpected. They’re preparing so that they won’t make the same mistake again. THERE ARE OVER 900 PAGES OF POLICIES AND PLANS THAT THEY ABSOLUTELY WILL IMPLEMENT IF THEY WIN. READ IT. Anyone that says they won’t is either a liar or already drank the Kool-Aid. Isn’t it interesting that every politician that supports it, including his vice president, wants Trump to win?

Not to mention, if you care about Palestine (like I do, a lot), Trump would be MUCH WORSE for Palestine than the other candidate, supporting Bibi going “from the river to the sea” and already cut off millions in aid to Palestine in 2018 (which Dems reversed!). If you support a free Palestine and don’t vote blue, you have categorically hurt them more than if you did. Even Palestinians themselves want the Democrat candidate over Trump. There is no quick and bloodless peace deal that both Palestine and Israel would ever agree to. The road to an end of the Palestine-Israel conflict is going to be long and difficult, probably decades of dedicated de-radicalization in both states, and will involve far more than one person’s decisions in the end. Unless Trump takes power, and avoids all that by sending enough bombs to turn the Gaza Strip into dust.

There are a few reasons you would choose to vote third party in a FPTP system (support ranked choice voting btw) or not vote “in protest” while ignoring all the state and local elections that affect your area more than the president. Either you’re privileged enough to not be affected by what Trump would bring, you’re ignorant of the consequences, or you care more about doing nothing perfectly rather than doing something, anything that isn’t 100% ideologically “pure” to fight against the far-right fascist movement.

Am I a democratic socialist? Yes. Am I a realist? Also yes. In every single down-ballot race, and through my activism, I will fight for the rights of the oppressed and working-class. But the Presidency isn’t fucking winnable right now, and probably won’t be for decades. Pro-corporatist/anti-worker sentiment is baked into the fucking bones of this country and its people. A majority of eligible voters wouldn’t vote for Bernie, and he’s barely center-left. Voting for anything other than one of the two big parties is a useless feel-good gesture at the moment. Or you’re a dumbass accelerationist, and if you are, honestly go fuck yourself.

Let’s say you want a socialist revolution, full-tilt government takeover. I want that too, in my wildest dreams! We’re on the same page there. So how are you going to do it. How? HOW? What pro-worker activist groups are you working with? Are you encouraging your workplace to form a union? Volunteering for/donating to your local farmers’ co-op? Canvassing for pro-worker legislation? Hell, even something as small as distributing free copies of high-school/college textbooks, so that those of poorer means have a better chance at affording advanced education? Are you doing anything to help? Any praxis at all, rather than typing wishful thoughts of revolution alongside insults to people who aren’t as “correct” as you on the internet?

Every voter that still supports Trump is energized by every cruelty he enacts, while millions of Democrats and third-partyists care more about purity tests and manifesting socialist revolution tulpas than avoiding a fascist dictatorship.

Have a brain, touch grass, and vote blue all the way down that fucking ballot.

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[andhumanslovedstories]

If there’s one thing I feel I can unambiguously brag about, it’s that I’m great with patients who are in pain crises. I’m tenacious and stubborn about lowering 10/10 pain to something more manageable. I got a patient in “25 out of 10” pain at start of shift down to a 4 by midnight and it only took opioids, Tylenol, muscle relaxants, ice packs, warm blankets, fresh coffee, repositioning, an abdominal binder I scrounged up, a phone call to the surgeon to get lidocaine patches ordered, and some serious chit chatting with the patient while we waited for all that to kick in. We didn’t end up needing IV medication, we didn’t have to increase opioids, we didn’t need to add any medication that would potentially delay discharge, and the majority of what I did is all stuff she can also do at home so it’s a sustainable pain management plan. This is my absolute favorite thing with nursing, I love love love managing pain, I know I talk about it a lot but it’s the most satisfying thing in the world. I love watching someone emerge from a horrendous haze of pain until they feel like a person again. Also I’m scheduling this to post well after my shift is done so that I don’t jinx anything, also while I was writing this post I had to take a quick break for two hours half way through because someone started having a seizure. My job is wild. I used to be a barista.

[ahqkas]

BRUCE WAYNE never thought something as simple as a walk through the park could undo him so completely. he had been passing through on his way to a wayne foundation meeting, a brief moment of peace in his usually packed schedule, when his eyes caught the scene.

a toddler—no more than two, maybe three years old—stumbled through the snow, mittened hands clutching tightly to her father’s pant leg. she was bundled in a too-big scarf and a pink hat, hear head tilted to gaze at the snowflakes around her, her cheeks red from the cold.

he froze, mid-step, completely caught off guard by the wave of baby fever that crashed over him. it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about children before. he already had a house full of them—though they came to him much older, with the weight of trauma already etched into their young faces. but this was different. she was different. he imagined a tiny girl like that in his life, her small hand slipping into his with absolute trust, her laughter filling the empty corners of wayne manor.

by the time he returned home, the manor blanketed in snow, his gloves still clutched in his hands, his thoughts had become a single drumbeat: i want that.

he found you in the library, a fleece blanket draped over your legs, a book in hand as you sat in your favorite chair by the window. the firelight flickered over your face, softening your features, making you look like you belonged in one of the stories you loved so much.

“you’re back early,” you said, voice breaking the stillness. you glanced up from the book and your lips quirked into a smile that stopped him in his tracks. “everything okay?”

he didn’t answer right away, his gaze tracing your features like he was committing them to memory. finally, he crossed the room, shedding his coat as he went, draping it across the back of the chair opposite yours.

“i saw something today,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. bruce knelt before you, one hand resting on the arm of the chair as the other gently took the book from your hands. you let him, brow furrowing slightly as you tilted your head at his actions.

“what did you see?”

“a little girl,” his eyes locking onto yours. “she couldn’t have been more than two. she was holding onto her father’s leg, bundled up in a scarf that practically swallowed her whole. she was laughing.”

his words lingered in the space between the two of you, thick with unspoken meaning. your expression softened as you realized where this was heading, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on your chair.

“she reminded me of something,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “or maybe she made me realize something. i want that, with you. i want us to have a child—a little girl, a boy, i don’t care. i just . . . want it to be ours.”

your breath hitched in the back of your throat as your cheeks flushed—not just from the fire, but from the intensity of his words, of the way his eyes burned into yours like he could see every part of you—the future and the past. “bruce . . .” you began, voice barely above a whisper, but he leaned closer, cutting off whatever protest or question lingered on your lips.

“it’s all i could think about on the way home,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone. “how much i want to see you holding our baby, to watch them grow up with you. to give them everything we didn’t have.”

you swallowed hard at his words, your soft hand sliding up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

“well, it’s a good thing we’re snowed in tonight.”

bruce froze for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. he rose to his full height, pulling you gently to your feet, the book forgotten as it tumbled to the floor.

“is that so?” he asked, his voice like velvet, rough and warm all at once.

you didn’t answer with words, just slipped your hand into his, your gaze steady despite the flush painting your cheeks. your husband pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before guiding you from the library, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows in your wake.

and as snow continued to fall outside, the world quiet and still, the manor felt a little less cold that night.