#and working with whatever I’m able to produce in that moment

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Seascapes

[ddorizrem]

backflips in a restaurant | mark lee

006. 12065 — heart sank to my stomach

you giggled at the sight of your friends’ outburst of tweets before putting your phone down to face the man of the hour. mark lee. there he was just eating his ice cream in front of you, it was adorable really.

noticing your stare at him, he smiled, “what’s funny yn?” he asked before he went back to eating his ice cream

taking a lick of your own ice cream, you let out another smile, “nothing just my friends being stupid on my tweet,”

you two sat there in comfortable silence as you ate your ice creams before mark cleared his throat, “listen yn, i’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he spoke nervously

at this moment, you swore you felt your heart drop to your stomach. is this the moment you’ve been nervously anticipating? was it really all good to be true? your eyes widened and looked at mark, “um, yeah what’s up?” you responded with the same amount of nervousness in your system

mark put his ice cream down in the cup you had gotten for the two of you and gave you his undivided attention, “i don’t know how to exactly word it but i really do want you to know i enjoy spending time with you and i don’t know about you but, i really like us and where this is going,” he said with a smile at the end before looking up directly into your eyes, “but before we get any deeper into whatever ‘we’ might be i want to be honest with you,”

you put your ice cream down in the cup next to his and put your hand over mark’s twiddling thumbs, “of course mark, i want you to know i also like us and where this is going,”

reciprocating your move, mark decides to fully hold onto your hand, making you feel butterflies in your stomach, “it’s nothing bad i promise unless it’s bad to you then i’ll feel really bad but i hope you know i don’t want it to be bad,” he rambled before finally focusing on what he was gonna say, “as you know i am a music major, and i kinda have that semi successful youtube thing going on,”

you nodded as you rubbed your thumb on his hand to ease his nervousness, “well a couple weeks ago i got this offer to do this internship to produce, and it’s really amazing one of my biggest rolemodels got me this opportunity and the school was actually shocked anyone was able to acquire the internship,” he added

“oh my goodness mark that’s amazing! i’m so proud of you,” you responded

mark smiled at you, “thank you yn, it means a lot, but i should probably get to the bad part of the news,” he spoke softly, “um well, the internship is in new york, and i leave in a couple of days,”

oh. that’s why your heart sunk to your stomach

he saw the look in your face and grabbed your hands closer to him, “yn, i’m sorry but that’s why i wanted to be honest with you and say it now. i really enjoy spending time with you and i want to see where this goes. i want to pursue you but i want to leave this choice to you. it’s not fair that i have to be across the world for 10 weeks right before i meet the most amazing girl in my life,”

“when you say leave this choice to me, what do you mean by that?” you asked

“well personally, i don’t want to loose the connection we have and i really enjoy spending time with you. regardless of in person or not i want to make what we have work so i don’t mind the distance. but also if you want to just wait for me to come back and see if we still have that connection when we pick up from there, i’m also down for that,” mark replied while rubbing his thumb on your hand

you stare up at him and let out a sad smile, “i really appreciate your honesty mark, how about we just spend the rest of the day together and see how this goes? i’ll give you my answer soon i promise,”

mark smiled at you in return, taking in your beauty, “yeah of course yn, i’d wait forever for you,”

masterlist | previous | next

authors note: IM SORRYY GUYSSS this song is one of the most beautiful heart wrenching songs about yearning so chapter had to reflect </3 let me know if u guys think yn will decide to keep up the connection with mark or will she wait till he’s back in person?

taglist: @jaellymint @iluv7tn @nctdreamchaser @bbykaixx @nctubatu @ilovejungwonandhaechan @kittydollzz @worldwidecutiemaya @naeviscalled @wdwbts101 @remgeolli @nosungluv @n9vacane @markleesleftpinky @kookssecret @haesluvr @rubiiisyeon @desssss-0 @njmluvr @kooookie @thealchemy89 @markzmelons @peterm4rker @stormy1408 @brachioswrld

[butlervibesonly]

𝑆𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 || Austin Butler

• Summary : Y/n is having terrible day, feeling so tired and overwhelmed lately. Until she completely loses it, but Austin gets home and everything feels safe all of sudden.

• Pairing: Austin Butler x actress! reader

• Warnings !! : angst, mentions of panic attack, crying, trembling, swearing,...

• Note : Hope y'all doing well! I thought I could write this, because we all sometimes deserve a good cry and, well, please don't tell me that I'm the only one who feels so overwhelmed lately 😭

Day by day felt same for you. All the work, meetings every day, unfinished projects... It's like a circle going around. And it's enough for you. You're sitting in living room of yours and Austin's house, your laptop lay in your lap as one notification after another flashes across your screen. Meeting tomorrow 6:00 pm, video call with producer of your next movie 11:00 am, interview at 3:00 pm.

The living room was quiet, except for the fast clicking of your keyboard as you write response to an email. The weight of the week pressed heavily on your chest, making even the simple act of sitting still feel exhausting.

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, interrupting you. It was your manager calling you. All of sudden you remember that the couch is not the place where you should be right now. “No, no, no,” you whispered, scrambling off the couch. "Y/n! Where are you, were supposed to be at a meeting right now!" she says, sounding furious. "Shit, I uh... Sorry, I completely forgot. Will I still be able to make it on time?"

"If you'll manage to get yourself here in like 5 minutes?" You hang up the call, not even bothering to answer her. Anxiety clawed at your chest as you tried to gather your things. In your rush, you tripp over the table's leg, knocking over the glass of water you’d been drinking earlier. It fell down with a loud crash, spilling the water all over the wooden floor.

"Fuck!" you hissed, staring at the mess. The tears fill your eyes, feeling a combination of the frustration and exhaustion you’d been bottling up. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickened, and suddenly it felt like the walls were closing in on you.

You can't move, not even think. All you're capable of is sitting down on the floor, leaning against the couch. You hide your face into your hands, sobbing loudly. You didn't think that it would be so much on you and certainly not that it would ruin you like this.

No longer after, you hear the door to the house being open. Austin's home. And you're here like this. This is what he comes home to. What a shame — Austin deserves to arrive to a tidy house where everything is as it should be while you sit here like this.

“Hey, I’m home,” his familiar voice filled the space, calm and grounding. The moment he saw you, he stopped mid-sentence, his expression shifting to concern. "Sweetie, what’s going on?” You, don't replying, makes him cross the room quickly, kneeling beside you. His hands wraps you tightly. Austin actually notices the broken glass, which leads him to check if you have any cut.

"Hey, hey — Y/n, baby, what's the matter?" His voice was steady, soothing, and you clung to it like a lifeline. When he notices the laptop with tons of notes and unread emails, he gets it. He inhales slowly. “Doll, breathe okay? I'm here and I won't let you go." You nod, burying your head in his chest.

Austin holds you for a while, making you to steady your breathing. "That’s it. I’m here,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out," he says, his hand careful patting circles on your back.

You started to feel better, although, the tears didn’t stop. He pulls you into his arms more firmly, wrapping you in a hug so warm and secure it almost feels like there is nothing but him.

“It’s too much,” you choke out, mumbling against his chest. “I can’t do this anymore.” Austin and you talked about how overwhelmed you're feeling, but he didn't know it's this intensive.

“You don’t have to do it all at once, ya know,” he brush his fingers through your hair. "Why don't you ask me for a help? You know I'm here for you," you look up at him, your eyes red and swollen from all the crying.

"You've got a lot of your own and I don't want to bother you, Aus," you sob out. Austin smiles softly, cupping your cheek. "Baby, you never bother me, I'm here for you no matter what, okay?" he says. You nod, pulling closer to him again.

He stayed with you like this for few more minutes, holding you close, until your breathing steadied completely. And when you finally lifted your head, not crying anymore, his warm, understanding smile was waiting for you. “Why don’t we clean this up together? Then we’ll figure out the rest. Aight?” he kisses your forehead. "Mhm," you agree, grabbing his hand.

Austin wipes away tears from your cheeks, kissing you again, and helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. In his arms, the chaos of the week seemed just a little less overwhelming. In his arms, you feel safe, loved and cared about. And it's perfect.

[lsunstreakerl]

is there anything about polarity that you want to talk about but haven’t been asked the right question yet? I’m always so intrigued about how you flesh out characters or aspects of a verse that most of the time doesn’t make it into a fic bc of flow.

CHARLES. also worldbuilding BUT CHARLES.

I'm sure some of you were wondering at some point "hey sunny, if things are this bad, why isn't charles stepping up?" especially when you consider he is as equally prone to self sacrifice as max is.

the answer is that charles has a hormone disorder! some relevant worldbuilding below:

designation isn't influenced by genetics as much as it is environment. a pup is more likely to present as whatever designation the pack needs. this is a lot of nature vs nurture. for charles, he's raised very alpha leaning, with the assumption that he'll also present that way— but he loses his father almost directly around his presentation, and the family needs an omega to ground them. arthur isn't old enough to present, and lorenzo is their pack alpha now. their mother is an omega, but she needs the stability, and she can't provide it herself.

so charles has an incredibly rough presentation that goes against everything he's been raised in the direction of. he learns how to be an omega at a breakneck speed, and because he'd been really close to presenting as an alpha before the situation changed, he produces an imbalance of hormones, and he associates releasing omega-specific soothing pheromones with an incredibly traumatic situation for him.

this means when he tries to project soothing pheromones on purpose, he gets triggered. considering how important it is for a pack omega to be level headed and handle situations objectively, this pretty much entirely disqualifies him from the position.

max somewhat knows this? he knows there's reasons that charles isn't pack omega, and he's always taken that at face value— if charles ever wants him to know he would tell him.

lewis knows it more in detail, which is why his conversation with charles when he finds him with max is so important! he knows charles is beating himself up about it, because while they might not have a solid idea of what's going on with max at that moment, max's earlier attitude when he'd yelled at everyone is starting to showcase the strain and cracks of the pressure that max is under. charles is shouldering some of that blame, because he feels if he could just get over his problems, he'd be able to step up. (obviously that's not how that works, and lewis knows that.)

max's presentation is somewhat of an opposite situation. he's a fairly gentle soul, and if it weren't for the influence of racing and jos, he would've presented omega naturally. instead, he's in an environment where being an omega isn't safe. because of this, he presents alpha— and he's okay with that! he slots into the role of a pack second extremely well. if not for the grid pack needing a pack omega, he never would've experienced the designation switch, but obviously that's not what happened.

max handling all these additional responsibilities that are typically the pack omega's starts to trigger those latent chemical and hormonal connections that he doesn't use, since he utilizes the alpha ones instead. this leads to a period where he's dealing with both instincts, which is why he's more prone to being overwhelmed in the middle of the fic.

the key component to a successful switch actually is that he sleeps with lewis frequently. max's subconscious is able to recognize that the pack needs a pack omega, which is why the switch starts, but it also needs the reassurance that losing him as an alpha won't hurt the pack. max regularly sleeping with lewis satiates that chemical need to see that there's a competent alpha still able to take care of everyone. (if they'd done the bitching intentionally, he would've switched much faster by sleeping with all the alphas, because it would've made him more reassured that the pack would still be okay even when they were "down an alpha" when he switches designations)

the actual internal part switching sucks. everyone is born intersex (yippie!) and depending on designation is how the body decides what pipes to use, so to speak. so max still has omega anatomy, but it's not in use until the switch is initialized, at which point he has an exceedingly uncomfortable period of time as his body adjusts to like. basically changing channels. (this is why they do the ultrasound in monaco— it allows them to see what anatomy is "dominant". in max's case, his dominant anatomy has switched.)

anyways :D thank you very much for asking because I did genuinely put a thought of thought into the worldbuilding for polarity and there is no possible way for me to have fit all that in the fic LOL.

[therocketeer0501]

Emptiness Machine

Starscream X Reader (Mech Pilot AU)

Author note: Hey everyone just for this chapter I wanna explain that in this universe scanning a spark signature can reveal a designation. If you have any other questions send me an ask. Enjoy!

Chapter 8:

Your optics come online and you sit straight up at the sound of your designation. How did he get ahold of this information? The Autobots had been so careful not to let any information slip about the secret project Dr. Antonov had been working on. Humans weren’t even involved in the conflict until a cycle ago when they were called upon to deal with an actual Decepticon on the surface. You narrow your optics at him as he smiles at you in a sadistic way. Chuckling he turns and addresses the drones stationed outside the door.

“Restrain the prisoner I wish to speak to them unobstructed by this.”

He waves a servo at the humming energy wall that separates you. At that you sit up ready to fight, but your servo immediately goes to your forehelm as dizziness overcomes you. you had taken the Energon, so why were you still struggling? Sifting through the error messages you can’t make sense of the situation. You hadn’t been poisoned or drugged so what was the issue? One message though sends alarm jangling through you. ‘Unable to disconnect. Disconnection unavailable.’ What on earth could that mean? You hadn’t even noticed the approaching drones or heard the energy field disengage. They wrenched your servo from your helm and had you in cuffs before you could react. Something was off with your connection and you didn’t like it.

Looking back up at Starscream where he was stepping inside your cell, he looms over you. Wings flared out and bent over slightly to keep his helm from bumping against the ceiling. Clearly this cell was made for much smaller bots. You sit on the bench restrained at the wrists but nothing more. They were underestimating you again. That or they knew more about your current status than they were letting on. You vent and meet his optics. There was no choice but to talk to him. You let your helm lean back against the wall behind you but don’t break contact with his optics.

“Alright. I’ll speak with you. I cannot promise answers to everything and for that you might have to take me offline. But I will let you speak.”

He seems surprised for a moment, looking awkward in the cramped space. He shifts on his peds and produces the data pad and speaks once more.

“So it can speak in something other than obscenities. Very well. We were able to obtain very little information about you from our sweep of the digital network here.”

He pauses and his optics flick to your chassis and back up to your faceplate. So he was curious. He was speaking to you like an intelligent being and that was a start at least. Though the tone of his voice suggested he thought of himself as the higher life form here.

“Shockwave was the only mech Megatron wanted interacting with the native life. Unwise in my opinion.”

You raise an optic ridge at him. Why was he telling you all of this? Wasn’t he afraid you were going to use it against them? Of course he didn’t expect you to make it out of here still online. That was most likely the reason. You nod and respond.

“Whatever his reasoning for that is I’m sure it’s monstrous. Especially if it has to do with that mech.”

He looks at you and then back at the data pad.

“As second in command, it’s my job to be an advisor to Megatron in matters of great importance.”

He seems to preen before continuing.

“He however, believes I should have disposed of you. But how is it…that you look exactly like us. Down to our very biology. It’s…”

He doesn’t finish but instead he shakes his helm as if trying to get rid of a stray thought.

“Just what are you?”

His voice a dangerous growl that rumbles through his entire frame as he asks the question. So he thinks you are an abomination of some kind. You look him up and down.

“You are the alien here. You came to my world. So what exactly are you?”

Your tone accusing as you turn the question on him. Of course you knew Cybertronians well and why they were here. For a moment he looks affronted and his wings flick up, tapping the ceiling. You suppress a wave of amusement as he looks for a second like a bird whose feathers had fluffed out in indignation. He sputters for a before replying and regaining his composure.

“I suppose…but that’s beside the point. Here I am talking to what I thought was a very offline Cybertronian femme. Shockwave had torn out your spark. But here you are sitting in front of me as if none of that happened. And that-”

Emphasizing the word Cybertronian as he says it, he lays a digit on the seam that ran down your chest. The very same one that opened to reveal your true self.

“-that is in no way a Cybertronian spark. It’s something different altogether. An abomination.”

The scientist in him became morbidly fascinated with the new scans that had been taken of your form when Knockout and Hook had done the repairs on your frame. Where once a newspark had been detected, there was now a fully developed spark signature. It had a designation assigned to it and everything. An EM field, a scannable signature, it gave all appearance of a Cybertronian spark. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. Something had happened in the aftermath of that broken connection. Something that made his plating crawl in an unpleasant way. He continued to speak.

“Whatever those Autobots are doing is just as unethical as whatever morbid experiments Shockwave is conducting.”

He mumbled and that made you sit up straighter with a snarl as you reply to him.

“Never compare us to the likes of him! You are the bad guys here. You are the reason I was created in the first place. So that Earth had some defense against you. You are the reason Cybertron is ash and you had to come all the way here to find Energon!”

You had taken it too far. In a flash his servo was around your throat lifting you as Megatron had done. He was visibly shaking in anger. His red optics flashed and he bared his denta. Rage barely contained as his wings flicked fitfully behind him.

“You dare! You have no idea what happened on Cybertron! You insect! We tried to save Cybertron and your so called chosen leader doomed it!”

He seemed to take a moment to calm himself as he took a shaky vent and released you. Your optics were wide at his outburst. You swear you could have seen a hint of regret and pain behind his expression. It made you wonder what exactly he meant by what he said.

“What do you mean? Are you saying Optimus doomed Cybertron? That’s not right. He said you bombed it all to slag. Trying to get rid of everyone but those who aligned with your beliefs.”

Starscream looked as if he might have another outburst but instead he just spoke through gritted denta. Leaning forward so his face was barely an inch away from yours. Barely contained rage seeping out of his every word.

“Those deceivers would have you believe they were the spotless victims of this war? What if I told you there wasn’t a war before Optimus Prime became what he is?”

He didn’t get to finish before several drones rush in and the main door to the circular room slides shut. There were distant klaxon to be heard before the noise was abruptly cut off. They hurriedly took defensive positions and Starscream looked around, more annoyed than alarmed.

“What the pit is it now?”

He places a digit on the side of his helm activating his communicator.

“Report. What’s going on out there.”

You couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation but he ducked quickly out of the cell. Throwing a brief ‘stay put.’ over his shoulder at you. The energy field hummed back to life caging you once more in the small room. Whatever it was must be big because there were now eight drones in the room with you.

Still reeling from the conversation you just had, you try to imagine what on earth he could have meant by that. There was no way Optimus Prime started the war on Cybertron. You couldn’t think about that right now. Whatever was happening most likely had to do with the Autobots and that made you smile. It was only a matter of time before they came for you. Their fierce protectiveness of the human race was one thing the Decepticons couldn’t flip around on them.

There was a thunderous crash and rubble bounced off of the energy field as the door to the cell block was blown open. Dust and smoke filled the air and there was shouting. Familiar voices made you stand, that hope filling your lines as you try to see through the smoke. Drones opened fire and were taken down with ease. Two familiar color schemes make their way towards the field. One pair of big worried blue optics stare through the field at you, making you almost sob with relief and recognition. The field drops and a flash of yellow was all you see before you are practically taken off your peds. The yellow mech clinging to you like you might just crumble in his servos. Of course you’d recognize him anywhere.

“Bee! Oh thank goodness!”

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Flowers for Nicky

“Oh. It’s you.”

“It is. Hi, Ags.”

“Not sure what you’re doing here, since I’m not killing anyone at the moment.”

“I can see that. Wish you were. …Um. What are you doing?”

“…nothing.”

“It’s, um. Only. That those are plants. Well. They were plants. I’m not sure they count anymore.”

“…”

“I guess I’ve never actually seen you try to do green magic before. You’re normally really good at most kinds of ma—“

“Rio.”

“Yes, beloved?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Well. Do you want me to help? I mean, whatever you’re trying to do, it clearly isn’t working.”

“No, of course I don’t want you to help. Because, as you’ll recall, I hate you.”

“Oh. …Then I guess I’ll just sit here and watch you try.”

“…”

“…are you going to…?”

“Fine, if I let you help, will you please go away??”

“For now. What are we growing?”

“What does it look like?!”

“Um. Like charred plant matter and magic.”

“…flowers.”

“For who?!”

“…”

“…oh. Right.”

“His favorites don’t grow around here anymore. So I thought—you do it all the time, produce flowers from nothing, not even seeds, I should be able to do the same. But I can’t get it to work!”

“I can—“

“No! Don’t you dare. You don’t have the right.”

“…beloved…”

“Just…make yourself useful. Tell me what I’m doing wrong.”

“Our magic doesn’t work the same way, but I can try…”

Several hours of magical experimentation later

“Agatha, you need to take a break. Drink, eat, sleep, all those things mortals have to do to survive.”

“Ugh!!! Why can’t I do this??”

“Maybe humans can’t? Other green witches normally start from something. I think.”

“I’m not other witches, green or not.”

“Mm. No, you aren’t. Here, drink. Eat.”

“When did you make food—“

“While you were screaming at a tree.”

“…that didn’t happen.”

“I think you really hurt its feelings.”

“I am going to master this, you know. I’m not going to be defeated by some stupid plants.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Ags. But you are still mortal. You have to sleep first.”

“…only for a little while. It’s his birthday tomorrow. I wanted to get him flowers.”

“He’d like that.”

“…”

“Heh. Passed out. She never knows her limits. …Don’t be angry at me, beloved, but I think even you are going to have trouble mastering all of green magic by tomorrow. …Especially at this rate. So here, as many flowers as you could want. I’ll tell him, too. How hard his mother tried and how she still remembers his favorites after so long. …Sleep well, beloved. We both miss you.”

Masterpost or completely random rec next time

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Do You Love Me?

Astarion x Y/N - Drabble - 523 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, HEAVILY inspired by this scene in Bridgerton (plot belongs to them)

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

You and Astarion glared at each other, tensions high. So high, in fact that everyone else left camp to do gods know what just as long as it was away from you two. 

“Do you love me?” you asked him point blank.

He hesitated, “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Do you love me?” you asked again.

He looked at you with a pained expression, “I cannot.” he said defeated.

“Do you love me?” you repeated.

“Y/N please, stop.” he said, backing away slowly.

You followed him to the center of camp, not letting him walk away from whatever this was, “Is this because you believe that I cannot love you? Because I do…. I love you Astarion.” Sincerity shined in your eyes.

Astarion stared in disbelief, his mouth not able to produce words.

“I love you so much that I will go, if that is what you wish. I will do that. We can live our separate lives and once the tadpoles are dealt with you never have to see me again. But first you have to say you do not love me; you must tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.” 

He shook his head, trying to break your gaze but unable to, “I’m a monster Y/N. I am a danger. There are two sides in me fighting for power, it's as if the heavens and the hells are colliding.”

“Do you love me?” you asked with a wanting tone. 

“You do not wish a life for yourself with me!” he yelled, making you jump a bit “No one wishes it!”

“Astarion!” you yelled back not backing down, “I will stand with you between the heavens and the hells, I will tell you who you are, do you love me?” you said as you stood only a breath away from him.

“I love you!” he yelled, his voice wavering at the end. You could see unwanted tears welling up in his eyes. “From… from the moment you walked into camp I have loved you desperately; I cannot breathe when you are not near…. I love you Y/N… my heart calls your name.”

He looked at the ground, feeling weak for telling you everything he had tried desperately to keep bottled up and pushed down. He felt your hand cradle his face, bring him into a sweet kiss. He kissed you back fervently, but sobs escaped him after a moment.

“This… condition has been my shame for 200 years… this darkness... my burden for so long… and you… you are a light in that darkness.”

You ran your thumbs comfortingly over his sharp cheekbones, “Astarion, it's you and me. Just us. Together.”

Astarion scanned your face multiple times, looking for any indications of deception, yet all he found were kind eyes and a loving smile. His lips twitched upwards for the first time all night, Astarion pulled you back into a kiss, much deeper and full of passion. His arms enveloped you into a hug, your hands still holding his face. 

“I love you.” he breathed out just above a whisper.

“And I you, for eternity.” you reassured, kissing the tip of his nose. 

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello darlings, life has been a little busy lately but I wanted to give you a little snack of a drabble. I watched Bridgerton and all I could see in this scene was Astarion and Tav. All plot and rights belong to Bridgerton - idk how copyright works but I hope putting that keeps me from *cough* "legal issues". Anyyyyyy whoooooo - I hope you enjoy, I'll post again soon. Please comment, like, reblog or send me a request! Ilysm <3

[darksigns-exe]

strange magic - witch!nick ruffilo x f!reader

warnings: Discussions of mental health, depression, anxiety, mentions of self-harm, knife related injury

word count: 4.2k

notes: I’m reading The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki at the moment, and it might have influenced some parts of this.

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

masterlist | series masterlist | taglist sign-up

You don’t remember where exactly you’d heard his name for the first time. Someone in your circle of friends had mentioned going to see him about a minor health issue they’d been struggling with and that no conventional doctor had been able to fix. It had taken them one visit to cure said ailment. 

Now, you didn’t expect a miracle cure, but at this point you’d take anything. Whatever it takes to make this feeling disappear. No psychiatrist or therapist had helped, you’d tried everything. 

Magic or something akin to it didn’t seem too unrealistic of an option at this point. Your friend hadn’t been entirely clear on what this guy exactly did or was, all they had mentioned was that his methods were unconventional. 

Armed with the address and maybe a little too much hope, you set off. The place is located in a wooded area, set quite a bit back from the main road. You park near the front of the driveway and walk the rest of the way, just like your friend had told you to do. 

The twisted path that leads you through the woods turns you around entirely, and after a few minutes you have no idea which way you’re oriented or from which direction you’ve come. 

Every step leads you deeper into this forest. As the trees grow taller and thicker, light and warmth become scarce, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body to ward off the chill. 

The path makes another sharp turn and suddenly, you find yourself faced with an almost dream-like glade. Light pours into the space, filling it with warm, golden sunlight. In the middle, sits a lone cottage. It looks a little ramshackle, the roof is tilted in an odd way, and you think that some of the beams must be old and slowly giving into the weight of the roof. There’s something comforting about the place, though. 

The door swings open just as you reach the three steps that lead up the small porch. The glimmering little trinkets and chimes that hang from the roof above it catch your attention. Despite the mass of things that are placed all over the porch and in the windows, it doesn’t feel cluttered. Everything is where it needs to be. 

Your attention is drawn to a sun catcher that seems to be made out of broken pieces of coloured glass and mirror. The little specks of sunlight it scatters all across you and the space around you are mesmerising. Perhaps you should find one like this for your own home. 

“Pretty isn’t it?” someone speaks from behind you and you find yourself twitching with panic. 

When you turn around, you find that the source of the voice is a young man with dark hair. He squints at you for a moment, before an apologetic smile works its way onto his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Would you like to come in?” You’re sure that this isn’t the man you’re supposed to see, he seems way too young to be some kind of miracle healer. Maybe he’s an apprentice or other kind of aide to this Nicholas. 

You follow him into the cabin. The inside is surprisingly simple, yet incredibly inviting. Most of the space is taken up by a large wooden table. It has dents and scratches in its surface that tell more stories than any person could. Warm light floods through the room, but you can’t find a single light source. The fireplace can’t be responsible for all the light in here. 

“Sit. Please.” he motions towards one of the chairs by the table. 

You hang your jackets over the back of the chair before you sit. He doesn’t sit, instead he walks over to the wooden counter. You watch as he searches through one of the shelves, until he produces two mismatched cups and saucers. 

“I hope you found the place alright?” he asks, as he picks up a variety of tins from a different shelf. 

“A friend of mine came here a few weeks ago and her directions were pretty good.” you reply.

He nods sagely, as if he knows exactly who you are talking about. 

“Your friend is feeling better? Her condition was quite worrisome.”

“It’s almost as if she was never unwell.” 

Your answer brings a smile to his face, “That’s good to hear. I don’t usually get to hear about the people who come here after they leave.”

He walks towards the fireplace and with the help of a seemingly hand knit pot holder, he retrieves the kettle hanging in front of it. He then proceeds to fill both cups with water before returning the kettle to its previous place. 

He places one of the cups in front of you, while the other is placed in front of the seat to your right at the head of the table. 

“So – you heard that your friend found the aid they needed here and decided that you would follow in their footsteps and find me. What can I do for you?”

“You are Nicholas?” you finally ask as the puzzle begins to make sense. 

His cheeks tinge the faintest shade of pink, “My apologies. Nick is perfectly fine. Nicholas always creates that image of a wise old wizard, and I’m —” he looks down his own body, “Not that.” 

The tone of his voice makes you smile. 

There’s something awfully comforting about him. Something about him sets you at ease, despite the deep-rooted worry that sits in your chest.  

“Can I see your palm?” Nick asks gently, holding out his tattooed hand to you. 

You place your hand, palm facing up, in his and he carefully pulls your hand a little closer to him. He tilts your hand for a moment, as if he is searching for something specific. The pointer finger of his other hand traces across the lines and creases in your hand with a barely there touch. 

The noise he eventually lets out feels a little unsatisfied. 

“The metaphysical can tell us a lot. But it is not without faults. It doesn’t take an expert to see that whatever it is that worries you has been with you for a long time. I can do a lot of things, dear, but I cannot magic away feelings and emotions.” He says eventually, “I can however try to help you find the root of this. That is the best I can offer you.”

For a moment, you feel defeated. Another person who wouldn’t be able to help. At this point, it really does feel a little hopeless. The darkness slowly creeps into your vision, that awful tightness returns to your chest. You can feel yourself getting dizzy and –

And then Nick’s hand curls around yours. It doesn’t stop the panic entirely, but his touch slowly the creeping darkness significantly. 

“Try to breathe. You’re safe here.” his voice soothes your nerves, wraps around you like honey, “Only very few people have left this place without an answer to their question, and I don’t think that you will be one of them.”

You don’t know why, but you want to believe him. 

“So many people said that they could help, but nothing ever came of it.” you say quietly, “I just want to stop feeling this way.” 

Nick lets out a heavy sigh, “I know what it feels like to feel left alone. If I could, I would take all of it away. But unfortunately, in this case, altering the mind is not something I’m allowed to do. I will try to help you as best as I can, though.” 

He gives your hand a little squeeze, before he releases it again.

Nick is silent for a moment, seemingly mulling through his thoughts. He gets up then. The scrape of his chair against the wooden floor takes you by surprise. He utters a quick apology, before he disappears into a distant corner of the room.

You finally have a moment to inspect the space around you. It’s as close to a witch's hut as you could imagine. Bundles of dried herbs and flowers dangle from the low wooden beams that support the upper level. Every surface is covered in trinkets and items, and you’re sure that they all have their designated spaces. The cobblestone wall above the fireplace is adorned with a pentacle made out of what you think is willow branches. They’re woven around each other to give it more structure, and in the space between the branches small flowers have been placed. You faintly remember reading that pentacle being are used for protection. 

Your eyes drift across the cluttered table in front of you and eventually land on your still steaming cup of tea. You finally take a sip of it. 

The taste of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You can’t identify every component of it, and really it doesn’t matter too much. All you know is that it feels like a long overdue hug. The first sip is enough to fill you with a comfortable warmth, like rays of sun falling through the trees on the first warm morning of spring. 

You take another sip, once again savouring the subtle sweetness of the tea. You’ll have to ask Nick what’s in this. 

Nick is still out of sight somewhere, but you can hear him rummaging around in the distance. You’d expect yourself to feel uncomfortable being somewhat alone in a stranger's house, but everything about this place felt so comforting that you couldn’t possibly feel out of place. 

Something catches your attention then. The quiet scratching of claws against wood, followed by a slightly croaky purr makes you scan across the space to find the source of it. Your eyes land on the tuxedo cat that emerges from the lower compartment of one of the many overstuffed bookshelves. The cat stretches and shakes itself before it looks around the room for a moment. It wanders under the table, and you freeze up, trying not to scare it away. When you peek under the table, you see the cat coming towards you. It takes a moment to inspect you, before it moves past you pressing its body against your calf. 

You hear the cat hop onto something behind you. Turning around to check, you see that it has settled onto a pillow on the windowsill, lounging in the little sliver of sunlight that falls through the window there. 

Nick returns a little while later, carrying a few books in his arms. He stops, cocks his head to the side, and then smiles. You realise then that he’s not looking at you, but the cat.

“Now you show your face.” he shakes his head, “Where were you when I could have used your help, huh? Out fraternising with that damn vampire's cat, I bet.” 

He sets the books down on the table. 

“That’s Jerry. He’s supposed to be helpful.” he says, glaring at the cat, “He doesn’t usually show his face when I have visitors. Looks like a good omen to me.” 

Nick takes a sip from his own cup. He closes his eyes for a second and lets out a content sigh. 

He files through one of the books, turning the open pages towards you. 

“I can’t make it go away, but I can give you things that might help.” he offers, “How is the tea?”

“It’s really nice. I wanted to ask about it.”

Nick sits up a little straighter then, “Lemon balm, lemon verbena and lavender. I’ll fix up a jar for you to take home.”

He continues to explain a meditation method he’d read about a while ago. Nick shakes off your concern about having tried meditation before. 

“This is different. I think it’s worth a shot. I have some incense somewhere that might help too.” 

That evening, when you drive home, your chest feels a little bit lighter already. Maybe it’s just the idea of someone being so willing to help you. Nick has no ties to you, no reason to be this invested. But he’d still sent you home with a freshly mixed jar of the tea you’d had earlier, a written up version of the meditation technique and several cones of incense with a crescent moon holder. 

You’d also agreed that you’d come back the following week to report back. In the meantime, Nick would do research of his own to see what he could do. 

You’re not sure which of the things helps, but when you set out to see him again a week later, you find yourself feeling actually excited. 

Your visits become more and more frequent. Over the weeks, you learn that Nick doesn’t like to venture into town, and so you offer to take care of his errands there in return for his help. Weekly visits become twice a week, and before you know it, you find yourself stopping by at Nick’s whenever you can.

 Your mental health makes working pretty much impossible, and having something to do again feels genuinely good. On some days, Nick puts you to work in the garden behind the cottage. On others, you get to watch while he works on whatever it is he does in the kitchen. 

It’s almost November when he asks you to help him with the apples. 

“What exactly are we making?” you ask as you continue to peel yet another apple. 

“Half of these will be crumble and the rest compote.” 

You turn to watch Nick tip flour into a large ceramic bowl. Your momentary inattentiveness makes your knife slip. You drop it as soon as the pain hits. 

“Shit.” you cry out, wrapping your hand around your pointer finger.

Something behind you clatters, before Nick pushes himself in front of you. 

“Oh no.” he says quietly, pulling a kitchen towel from one of the cabinet handles. 

He presses the towel to your finger, before he steers you over to the large table. 

“Sit.” he urges, “Hold the towel there, I’ll be right back.” 

Nick rushes off into what you now know to be the bathroom. He returns with a few supplies a moment later. He kneels down in front of you, carefully taking your hand into his. 

“Let’s see.” He peels the towel away, and you can’t hold the wince, “I’m sorry, dear. I know.” 

He wipes the wound clean with a fresh towel, careful not to agitate it more. 

“It’ll be good in a moment.” Nick soothes, “Just have to see how bad it is.” 

The sound he makes then tells you that it’s quite bad. 

Nick picks up one of the small tins he brought over from the bathroom. He applies some of the salve to the cut. It stings just a little bit, but not enough to be of note. He wraps a small bit of muslin around your finger, before he takes your hand into his again. You watch as his eyes close and his head drops. You’ve seen Nick work his magic before when Jerry got into scuffles with other animals during his nightly outings, but you had never felt it yourself. 

As his focus narrows down on you, warmth spreads out from your finger. It travels up your arm and through your chest. You can’t take your eyes off him. Nick’s whole body seems to have a faint golden glow to it. 

Just as the warmth threatens to get too intense, it fades out. 

Nick remains with his head bowed for a moment longer. He peels back the muslin. All that remains of the cut is a small crescent moon shaped scar just above the first joint. 

“There you go.” Nick says quietly, “All good.” 

He looks up at you with a soft smile. 

Your heart makes a little thump then. You’d noticed it before when he looks at you. At first, you thought that it was nothing but the beginnings of a good friendship. By now, you are sure that it is so much more than that. But then again, you’ve only known Nick for a little over two months, and you have no idea if that is even something he’s interested in. 

The moment pops when Jerry forces his way between the two of you. He lets out a very displeased sound, making it known that it’s time for him to get attention again. 

Nick huffs out a laugh before he drops his head again. He scratches the top of Jerry's head before he eventually rises from the floor. 

It takes you a moment to catch up with him again. The way he had looked at you still lingers in your mind when you rejoin him in the kitchen. Nick hands you the freshly cleaned knife, and you resume your apple peeling duties as if nothing at all had happened. 

Thankfully, the rest of the afternoon continues without larger incidents. You can’t tell if it’s in your imagination or not, but you think that Nick looks at you more often. And even if he does, you’re sure that it’s just to make sure that you haven’t injured yourself again. Working with him like this is incredibly comfortable. You don’t speak a lot, but you don’t feel as if you need to say a lot either. There’s no pressure to make idle conversation. 

With the crumble finally in the oven and the last jars of compote sealed, you finally sit down in the chair on his front porch. Nick had sent you ahead with a blanket, knowing that you tended to get cold easily. He joins you just a moment a later, with two steaming mugs in his hands. He hands one to you and sets the other down on the rickety little table between the chairs. 

For a while, you sit in silence, enjoying the serenity of the glade. 

You look over at Nick, only to find him shifting uncomfortably. You think that he looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t know if he should. And so you reach out, poking your finger into his shoulder. 

“Nick?”

He twitches, head quickly snapping towards you, “Yes dear?” 

“Everything okay?” 

Nick takes a rushed sip of his tea. He contemplates for a moment longer, and you have to admit to yourself that the way his expressions shift as he tries to make up his mind is rather cute. 

“Interrupt me if I’m touching on something off limits.” he begins, “Sometimes when I heal I get glimpses of that person's emotions. It’s nothing deep or elaborate, just a snapshot, if you will. And when I touched you –”

He doesn’t have to finish for you to know what he’s trying to get at. The pang of relief that had hit you when the pain shot through your body still lingered with you. It’s been a while since you’d purposefully taken a blade to your skin. Long enough for you to think that the gratification wouldn’t be there any more. You’d fought so hard to keep yourself from doing it this time. 

You can’t stop yourself from crying then. Nick’s hand curls around yours immediately. He doesn’t try to stop you, doesn’t tell you that it’ll be alright. You’d kept all of these feelings bottled up inside of you for so long, that you couldn’t stop them from bubbling over now. 

Nick lets you cry until the tears stop falling. 

Against what you’d expected, you don’t find pity or worry on his face. He meets you with a warmth that takes some of the ache away. 

You tell him then.

Every detail that you’d hidden so far. The awful memories you’d kept so close to your chest. Even the ones that you’d never felt comfortable enough to share with therapists. 

And Nick listens so patiently. 

For a brief moment, you feel bad for unloading all of this on him, but he quickly dismisses that idea. 

The sun has long disappeared behind the trees when you finish, and you shiver in the cool night air. 

“I don’t think that I’ve ever told anyone all of that.” you finally admit. 

“Thank you for trusting me with it.” Nick replies, squeezing your hand, “I want you to know that you can always come to me. It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you need a friend – someone to talk to – I’m here.” 

Nick offers you to stay at the cottage for the night. He’s adamant that you take his bed, not budging no matter how hard you try to change his mind. While his bed is nice and comfortable, you can’t help but feel bad for him. And after two hours of tossing and turning, you creep down the stairs into the main space of the cottage again. 

You find Nick still awake, buried deep in a book. He looks up when you step onto a particularly creaky tread. 

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, looking up from his book. 

“Could ask you the same.” 

He places the book on the low coffee table in front of the sofa. 

“I just feel bad about making you sleep on the sofa in your own house.” you admit quietly.

“What, you want to cuddle up?” it’s a humorous suggestion, but you can’t deny the appeal of it. 

Nick doesn’t wait for your answer and makes his way towards you. He follows you back up the stairs without another word.

Settling into bed with him is a little awkward at first. Both of you try to find a comfortable spot without getting too close to the other, even when you wouldn’t mind curling up next to him. This time, sleeps finds you easily. 

You wake up to a gloomy morning. The gentle rapping of rain on the roof makes you want to stay in bed for just a while longer. You pull the fluffy duvet around yourself, sinking just a little deeper into the warmth of the bed. You’ve been up in the attic of Nick’s cottage a few times, but never for this long. Just like the rest of the place, it’s so warm and comfortable up here. Most of the wooden cladding is covered with beautiful tapestries that mirror the Persian carpet that fills most of the space. 

Nick is still fast asleep next to you. He looks so peaceful, brow furrowed just a little bit. You almost want to reach out to smooth your thumb over the crease. You don’t want to overstep, though. 

Instead, you crawl out of bed as carefully as you can without waking Nick up. You know that he likes to start his morning with a strong black coffee. Just like you. 

By now you know your way around his kitchen and finding the ceramic filter, coffee grounds and his favourite mug doesn’t take you all too long. Manoeuvring the kettle was a different story, but you manage to make it work. 

By the time you climb back up the steep stairs towards the attic, Nick has already stirred from his slumber. He’s still hidden under the down duvet, but you can hear him quietly talking to Jerry. 

Nick looks up when he hears you approach and flashes you a sweet smile. 

“You’re a darling.” he says softly when you hand him his mug. 

You sit next to him on the bed, once again getting comfy. 

Nick takes a long sip from his coffee, letting out a content sigh. 

“Sleep alright?” he asks then, turning to towards you. 

You nod, “Thank you for letting me stay here.”  

“Of course.” 

You both fall silent for a while, comfortably nursing your coffees. You shuffle a little closer to him, allowing you to rest your head against his shoulder. Nick’s hand finds its way to your legs, resting comfortably above your knee. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and you feel yourself melt on the inside. 

You don’t know where this is going to take you, all you know is that you’ve never felt this comfortable around another person. You don’t know how he does it, but Nick manages to make you feel as if you can beat this and come up on top, and really that’s good enough for you. 

By Yule, you’ve basically moved into the cottage with Nick.  It’s quiet and comfortable, and it does wonders for your health. You know that you still have a long path in front of you, but with Nick at your side, it doesn’t feel impossible any more. You’re busy with a batch of cookies when Nick comes in, a few extra logs for the fireplace under his arm. 

He shoves his freezing cold hands under your knit sweater, as he wraps his arms around you. You let out a little squeak in reaction, to which he gives an amused chuckle. 

“Smells good, what are you making?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You lean back against his chest, “Just sugar cookies.” 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Can’t wait. Do you need help?” 

You shake your head, “Go get showered. We can start dinner when you’re done.” 

Nick kisses your cheek again before he detaches himself from you, “Won’t be long.” 

As he heads towards the bathroom, Nick stops where Jerry is napping on the sofa. And when you look over to them, you realise that you’ve finally made it home. 

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@rumoured-whispers @cheyyyyr @mathfairchild1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[alohaasaloevera]

guys I’m honestly happy that klance didn’t become canon because I love how as a collective group of people we utilize our right to explore what could have been and create the most smoking hot scenarios ever and yes I obviously wanted more of their friendship growing into this bond stronger than anything else in the universe especially since Voltron has teamwork and family as one of their main lessons but that’s more of a development issue all around…ok besides that there’s something about klance where it provides this PERFECT environment for shippers to inhabit and FEAST upon. With klance, there’s a solid, engaging dynamic between the two set up, which is this weird one-sided rivalry that stems from Lance’s insecurity and his need to prove himself of his worth and Keith literally being one of the best pilots for his age but since they’re flung into space and chosen to become child soldiers in this 10,000 year old intergalactic war so they have to work as a team which surprise surprise forces them to put aside their differences and work as a team which is shown a bunch when Keith needs to become a leader and Lance steps up as his right hand and and they have some kinda tender moments that won’t definitely drive shippers into a shipping craze (or worse) SO YEAH you could see why people loved it with all the classic tropes and mutual growth all that schmooze (ALSO THEY KNEW EACHOTHER BEFORE THE MAIN PLOT??? Well maybe not like friends or even acquaintances probably BUT HELLO?????? EVEN MORE SHIT TO EXPAND ON????), and they share multiple scenes that could be interpreted as romantic but there’s no explicit romance. This environment is fucking dripping drenched flash flooded cornered by 1000ft tsunamis in all directions with potential for shipping, so when people saw this relationship between two bros with this sort of homoerotic (IM JOKING. Kinda.) unresolved tension towards each other and the POTENTIAL for a good slow burn rivals to friends to lovers, it was to no one’s surprise that they went APESHIT. Klancers made countless different ways where they get together whether it be pre-Kerberos, post-gettingthefuckoutofearth, the start of the show, the end of the show, after the end of the show, right smack in the middle, anywhere, anytime, for who the fuck knows why just ANY REASON DAMN IT it doesn’t really matter because people were pumping out fanfiction or fan art or any fan media of klance faster than I spit out a raw baby carrot after chewing it for one second and now we’re all wallowing about how it should have been KICK but the thing is that if VLD did KICK all the way to Altea, the production of these beautiful stories that so many people have and still are coming up with about klance kissing in midst of a battle, helping each other with their crippling nightmares, smiling for the stars or some other sad premise, and whatever is nestled in his pulse…just like uhhh the amount of fics like these that go into great detail about Keith and Lance in these random situations that end up with them getting together being produced would go down to some degree because of the fact that if the people’s beloved sharpshooter and samurai had ended up together like we had wanted, and the majority was satisfied with the ending the creators had given, people would have shifted from writing about “How could Lance and Keith get together?” to writing about “What could Lance and Keith do now that they’re together?” And like. There’s nothing wrong with that honestly I would be HYPED if klance was ever canon but there is profound beauty in the way the community is able to create more from less and turn a show that went to shit in the last few seasons shine even brighter than it did at its prime. Like I wouldn’t trade my favorite fics 4 anything.

—

Ok another little thing I’m going to put here: With Klance, all I wanted was for them to be great friends 😭😭😭. I tend to prefer klance becoming canon in later seasons or at the end or even an open ending with no confirmed romantic relationships because I am a sucker for character development and the idea of Keith and Lance both harboring these feelings that at first are just admiration and respect but then escalate to yearning for one another or becoming close friends at the end of the show and getting to imagine anything I want post canon is EVERYTHING if you give me S7 Garrison klance I’ll keel over and thank you like I was a second away from dying of thirst and your gift was a truck load of water

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 44

Synopsis : Em and reader talk about the possibility of him retiring.

Author’s Note : hi guys 🌟. It’s been a while since I last updated Recovery. Here is a new chapter. I hope you guys like it ❤️.

You looked at Marshall, completely flabbergasted. You expected him to tell you it was a joke, that he wasn’t seriously thinking about retirement, but he looked awfully serious.

- You… you want to retire ?! You asked carefully.

- I’m thinking about it, he said. Look, babe… I’ve achieved everything I wanted when I first started. I gained respect. I worked with the people I admire most. I put out great music, I’ve toured the world, I’ve won awards… I made a fuck ton of money, that my grandchildren and even their children will benefit from. And let’s be honest : I’m fifty-two. It’s not stupid to think about retirement.

You looked at him intently, taking in everything he said. Sure, it made sense, on some level. But it also felt wrong. And weird. The man you met and fell in love with put music first and foremost, was a workaholic and would never have thought of retirement as an option. He had often joked about it, sure, especially in moments of frustration, but never in earnest. You sighed and held his hand.

- I know it makes sense, you said softly. But I know music is everything to you. And I know that you’re in a shitty situation right now, but maybe there are changes you could make ? Adjustments ?

- Sounds like something Paul would say, he chuckled. I don’t know. I’m just considering it. I often toy with the idea of disappearing from the public. Wouldn’t it be great if everyone forgot about me ? Like, not my music, but just me ? I’d be able to go places, enjoy life.

- I’m sure we can still do that, you said.

- You know, if I retired, it could benefit you as well, he pointed out. I’d have more time. Maybe be less of a grumpy asshole.

- I can’t imagine you not making music, you said.

- I’ll always have ideas, he said. It’s in my DNA at this point. But I don’t know… maybe be more of a producer ? Again, I’m just thinking, here.

- Whatever you decide, I’ll support you, you said. I love you no matter what. I just want you to be happy.

- As long as I have you, I’ll be happy, he assured you.

He pulled you to him and kissed you lovingly. You enjoyed the sunset for a minute and drove back to the house. You were about to watch a movie when you heard a knock on the door. It was Paul.

- What are you doing here ? Marshall greeted him curtly.

- Checking in on you, the manager said. You’re not answering anyone’s calls. How are you doing ?

- You know how I’m doing, he replied dryly.

- Still mad at me ? Paul asked.

- Yeah. Let me in so we can talk ?

Marshall let him in silently and sat on the couch and Paul greeted you. You were not too sure why Marshall was mad at him, though. As far as you knew, the manager hadn’t done anything wrong. You weren’t his biggest fan but you secretly hoped he would talk some sense into your boyfriend. You meant every word when you said you would be there for him no matter what, but you couldn’t imagine him retiring. Not when it came from a place of frustration and disappointment. Had he told you his inspiration had run dry, things would have been different, but this wasn’t the case and you knew it.

- I know what Tracy did is hard to swallow, Paul said tentatively.

- It’s not about Tracy, Marshall said. I mean, it is. But a full severance package… Really ?! She fucked me over, Paul. Not only me but Y/N, too. And you as well.

- You might want to let me explain, the manager said calmly.

- Yeah, your boyfriend scoffed. I’d love to know why you let her leave Shady Records with a fuckton of money and benefits for a whole year.

- She threatened to sue, his friend said.

- Sue who ? Marshall said heatedly. Us ? She’s the one who leaked the track ! She’s the one who put my career and my relationship in jeopardy ! Why the fuck would she sue us ?!?!

- Not us, Paul hummed. Y/N.

- Me ?! You asked in shock.

You were taken aback. First of all, Marshall hadn’t mentioned Paul affording Tracy tons of benefits when letting her go. Though, now that you thought about it, it further explained his bad mood. And second of all… threatening to sue you ?! That woman had some nerve. Yes, you had « broken her nose » (as far as you thought, it was just a punch) but suing… really ?

- That’s ridiculous, you scoffed.

- Is it ? Paul hummed. You did assault her !

- Don’t talk to her like that, Marshall said defensively as he protectively wrapped an arm around you.

- Merely stating facts, Paul shrugged. I understand the anger, Y/N. As I understand yours, Marshall. But the thing is, Tracy threatened to sue and I had to make the best decision. For the business and for you personally. Both of you. It’s better to lose a couple of hundred of thousands of dollars than to have to deal with unwanted media attention.

- Thank you, Paul, you said with genuine gratefulness.

- Thanks, man, Marshall said more calmly.

- I’m as pissed as you are, Paul said. But now we have to move forward. We’ll find a replacement eventually. It will probably take two people, but we’ll make it work.

- Did she do that much ? You asked.

- She did, Marshall said. Both as my assistant and Paul’s right hand.

- I have already contacted a head-hunter, we will soon have profiles to review, the manager said. In the meantime, I’m handling things.

- You can hire someone to assist you, but I’m not getting a personal assistant, Marshall declared.

The way he said it definitely seemed solemn and definitive. His manager looked at him calmly, much like a parent looks at a stubborn child.

- You don’t exactly have a choice, Paul tried to reason. You need someone to help you. I can’t do it all.

- I don’t care, Marshall groaned. You really think I’m going to let someone in again ? Have them around my house ? My kids ? Y/N ?! No way, bro. I’d rather manage my schedule myself. If there’s one to manage, that is.

You expected the manager to have some sort of big reaction but he didn’t. In fact, he didn’t even seemed phased by the possibility that Marshall considered retirement as a serious option after all the events that had unfolded.

- It’s only been a week, Paul finally said after a few seconds of silence.

- I know, Marshall replied. But after what happened… maybe it’s a sign. You know as much as i do that we need people we can trust.

- And you know as much as I do that you can’t decide to stop everything right now, the manager replied. Look… if you need to take a step back, that’s fine. But we still have obligations. Both towards artists you’re collaborating with, as well as promoting the album. The music video shoot at the bare minimum.

- Right, Marshall said. When is that again ?

- Late January, Paul said. Look… here’s what we’re going to do : you’re going to take some rest, enjoy the holidays. I’m cancelling your scheduled studio sessions until January. And I’m not adding anything to your schedule either. But we have to proceed with what’s been planned already.

- I guess, Marshall replied gloomily. Thanks, man.

They spent a couple of minutes talking about the aforementioned music video. You hadn’t heard about the plans to film one previously but, apparently, Track 12 - the song Marshall had written for you - having turned into a fan favorite quickly after the album release, his team had suggested making a music video. The whole plan had been made since before his tour, with a script already being finalized, casting being done and everything. In truth, the whole thing made you uneasy. People might not connect the dots and associate that song to you but the most recent events made you a bit nervous. You loved the track, it was beautiful. But you also knew that him making a music video would give the song and his personal life that much more attention.

- Are you ok ? Marshall asked as he grabbed your hand. You look like you zoned out for a minute.

- I’m thinking, that’s all, you hummed.

- About what ? Marshall asked.

- Obviously, it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but… do you really want to do this ? You shyly asked. I know people love this song. God knows I love it too but… it’s personal business.

- I know, he said softly. But I’m proud of this track. I think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made. So… if I have to make one last music video, it might as well be this one. Plus, we’ve had the script for ages. I can swear it is tasteful and it’s going to be great.

- Not to mention that we’ve already spent a lot of money on making this happen, Paul hummed.

- Yeah, that too, Marshall shrugged.

- Right, you said flatly.

- I’ll show you the script, your boyfriend offered. And since it might be my last-

- Nothing’s set in stone yet, the manager recalled. You take a break and we’ll see then.

- Whatever, Marshall said. All I’m saying is… I’ll make sure it’s perfect. You can even come on set with me.

- We’ll see, you said nervously.

He nodded and pressed a kiss to your temple before going back to his conversation with Paul. They discussed some plans that had been made for the beginning of the upcoming year, some work trips, collaborations. And even though the manager understood Marshall’s wish of possibly taking a step back, he was adamant that they hire an assistant.

- We won’t need one if it’s for six months, Marshall hummed.

- I don’t think you realize everything that needs to be done, Paul groaned. I won’t have the time to assist you in everything. And last time I checked, you needed a lot of help in managing your schedule. I’m your manager and business partner, I don’t have time to be your mother, Marshall.

- Don’t treat me like a kid, man.

- Then don’t act like a bratty one, Paul said. You need someone to help you and you know it.

- No I don’t !

- The arrangements for your upcoming trips to NYC and Hawaii didn’t plan themselves, the manager argued. Neither did your medical appointments in the last twenty years. Or any of your work meetings. And don’t get me started in everything that needs to be done when you’re on a set.

- Whatever, Marshall groaned. The only people I would trust besides my immediate family are in this room : me, you, and Y/N. I’m not hiring a fucking stranger.

- For all I care, you could hire Y/N, Paul snapped. My point is : we have work to do, and I’m not letting Tracy’s departure ruin it. Neither should you.

Marshall groaned and mumbled something. His stance was defensive and he clearly didn’t want to be having this conversation. Months ago, you wouldn’t have expected to see eye to eye with Paul on anything, but there you were. Until Paul brought your name in the conversation, that is.

- Maybe you could step up to the plate, Y/N, Paul said.

- I don’t know how to say this but… no, you said. Don’t get me wrong, I want you guys to succeed. But find someone else.

- Look, it’s not a very hard job-, Paul started.

- With all due respect, Paul, I’m a scholar, you said. I’ve worked hard for my degree and, though I understand you mean well, the perspective of making coffee and appointments for Marshall is below me.

- Fine, Paul sighed. I’ll send you some profile of possible candidates, Marshall. And if you don’t choose someone by early January, I will.

- Great, Marshall said.

- Until then, I have handled your travel arrangements for next week and Christmas, he added. You’re welcome.

- Thanks man, your boyfriend said. I appreciate it.

Paul got up and grabbed his jacket, preparing to leave. Before crossing the threshold, he turned to you.

- Take care of him, will you ?

- I will, you said with a smile. Thanks, Paul.

- Good luck with him, he added with a chuckle.

As he left, you felt Marshall’s arms wrap around you and he buried his face in your neck.

- He’s annoying, he said.

- So are you, you hummed.

- Really ? He asked.

- You’re stubborn.

- It’s my life, I can do whatev-

- He cares about you, you said.

- Since when do you defend Paul ? He asked with a groan.

- Since I agree with him, you said as you ran your fingers through his hair. You shouldn’t let Tracy ruin things for you. Besides, I’m grateful he avoided a lawsuit.

- She wouldn’t have, Marshall shrugged. Simply wanted more money, I guess.

- Anyway… you didn’t tell me you planned on traveling, you hummed as you changed the subject.

- Because baldy ruined the surprise, Marshall said. I made plans for us to spend a couple of days in New York next week. To do some Christmas shopping. And after Christmas, we’re flying to Hawaii. Spending New Year’s Eve just the two of us.

- Really ?! You asked. Oh my God, you’re the best !

You turned and engulfed him in a hug. He gave you a smile and kissed you lovingly.

- I figured you’d enjoy it, he said with a grin.

- Christmas shopping in New York ! You shrieked. Do you do this every year ?

- Absolutely not, he chuckled. But you’re always watching these corny movies, so I thought you’d enjoy it. Plus, seeing as my kids think I’m a monster… I should probably suck up to them with presents.

- They don’t think you’re a monster, you argued. They love you.

- You should have seen the intervention when that track leaked, he sighed. I know they love me but I can tell they’re disappointed. I really want to make it up to them for the holidays.

You nodded and kissed him, promising that your first Christmas together with his family would be great. You wanted nothing more than for him to have a good time and, hopefully, he would go back to work in a few weeks feeling more like himself and energized.

A FEW DAYS LATER - MARSHALL’S POV

They had spend the next days planning their first holidays together. Christmas was approaching and they wanted to make it count. Marshall could tell Y/N wanted to cheer him up and, as for him, he could feel that not being on talking terms with her Dad was getting to her. Whether it was with his family or just the two of them, he wanted to make sure she would have the perfect Christmas she deserved. And if it meant putting up with his girl humming All I Want For Christmas and watching countless crappy movies, so be it. Same for decorating the house. He was usually a bit grumpy around the holidays, what with his childhood and everything. If it weren’t for his loved ones, he probably wouldn’t make a fuss about it but as long as they were happy, he didn’t mind putting up with the whole folklore. And the perspective of seeing his girl all giddy and excited when she’d admire the Christmas lights in NYC was pretty nice. He was packing his bag for the next day when he received a call from Kim, who asked if she could swing by his place to talk. He thought she wanted to coordinate with him for their daughters’ presents, but she specified that they needed to be alone. It was a little suspicious but he told her to come by anyway, since Y/N was spending the day with Talia and Jamal.

- What’s up, Kim? He asked as she entered the house. Everything alright ?

- All good, she said with a smile. I came to give you your Christmas present.

- You haven’t given me a present in fifteen years, he stated matter-of-factly. Also… it’s not Christmas yet.

- I couldn’t give it to you with other people around.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. She just smiled and handed him an envelope.

- What’s this ? He asked.

- You’ve looked out for me since we were fifteen, she said. This is me looking out for you.

He frowned, not exactly seeing what she was getting at. He opened the envelope and, much to his surprise, he found divorce papers.

- What’s that ? He asked.

- Your passport to freedom, she said with a smile. I saw how happy you are with Y/N, at Thanksgiving. She’s good for you. You even told me she’s the love of your life.

- She is, he nodded. She really is. I don’t know how she does it, but she manages to put up with my shit. And she makes me happy.

- So we agree that it doesn’t make sense to stay married to me, she simply stated. I knew you’d never ask me for a divorce, so I’m doing it. I don’t want you to have regrets.

- I’ll never regret marrying you a third time, he hummed. I did what I had to do for you and the kids. You needed me.

- And now you need to think about yourself, she said with a smile. And we both know you can’t be fully happy with her if you’re still secretly married to me.

- I guess you’re right, he agreed. Are you sure, though ?

- I’m good, she assured him. I’m not going to lie, it’s weird. But I’m sober. I’m healthy. I don’t need your help anymore. And as soon as you sign these papers, you’re free. I mean, there’s still a procedure but… it’s our third divorce, so you know how it works.

He chuckled and nodded before looking at the divorce papers again. He was touched by Kim’s kindness. She really was looking out for him. Still, it was bittersweet. Keeping this secret from everyone in his life had been tough but, on some level, it was hard to let go. She seemed to pick up on it right away.

- You know you’ll still have to put up with me, right, old man ? She joked.

- Yeah, I know, he said with a smile. It’s weird, that’s all.

- I was a lousy wife anyway, she chuckled. You won’t miss it.

- And I was a bad husband, he continued.

- Not the third time around, she remarked. This marriage has been pretty peaceful.

- For you, yeah, he grinned. I still put you through rehab and lost sleep over you for a while.

- Shut up, she giggled as she rolled her eyes. I’m trying to be a good wife, here.

- You are, he said emotionally as he brought her into a hug. It’s the nicest thing you’ve done for me.

They hugged each other tightly. It was clearly emotional for the both of them. She was right : he never would have asked for a divorce, but he was grateful that she did. He kissed her cheek and went to put the papers in his office.

- I’ll get you a good divorce settlement, he said. It’s the least I can do.

- You’ve done enough, she said. But thanks.

- Promise me you’ll take care ?

- Promise, she said with a smile. Promise me you won’t fuck it up ?

- Promise, he said. Enough fuck ups. I really though I’d lost her when that track leaked, you know ?

- I bet, she said. But I was happy for you when Hailie told me she came back and forgave you.

- Yeah. We’re working through it but we’re good. She deserves an award for supporting me and putting up with everything I’ve done, Marshall said.

- I think there’s one, she chuckled. It’s called an engagement ring.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 16: Teatime

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content, drug use Word count: 4.4k

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The next day Aubrey Hall continued to teem with activity under the watchful eyes of the Duke and Duchess. Benedict notified Mr. Dewitt that Sophie would be retained as a member of the housekeeping staff during the country visit. If the steward had any thoughts about the whiplash instructions he was receiving in regards to the newly arrived maid, he was wise enough not to betray them. 

Benedict’s mind hadn’t stopped whirring since his encounter with Sophie in the drawing room the previous day. After returning from the lake, his sister gave no indication that she suspected anything untoward. It seemed their secret was safe. But how much longer could they carry on like this, sneaking through hallways in the dead of night, scurrying into unoccupied rooms? The risk of their discovery would increase tenfold when the family and guests started to arrive. Sophie was correct that they would need to actively avoid one another. He hadn’t even contemplated what would happen at the conclusion of his family’s hosting duties when he would be expected to return to London. 

In the midst of his colliding thoughts, all he could think of was his need for Sophie; his yearning to watch her lips part as he made her gasp, his hunger to make her come apart, his ache to hold her in his arms. He set up an easel in his bedchamber and tried to unleash his feelings on a canvas, but found himself lost in daydreams of her. Rash as it may have been, he sent word to the kitchen specifically requesting that Sophie bring him his tea.

His heart bounded when she opened the door, tray balanced on her hip as he had seen her so many times before while convalescing. Her smile was brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows. 

She set the tea tray on a table and curtsied. “Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Sophie.” Her name left his lips with a sigh of relief. “Are we not done with formalities when we are alone together?”

She returned a coy smile. “Very well, Ben. I assume you summoned me for a reason. Would you like me to sit for my portrait?”

He stepped toward her, feeling a stab of guilt that he could never seem to concentrate long enough in her presence to complete his work. “I certainly intend to finish your portrait. That is a gift I promised you. But I’m afraid my thoughts are too preoccupied to give it the attention it deserves at the moment.

“Preoccupied?” Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as he closed the distance between them and ran his knuckles across her cheek.

“Anticipation of my family’s arrival. And thoughts of you. Knowing we must keep our distance once they arrive.” 

“Yes, we must.” Sophie swallowed, feeling the familiar bloom of heat just from his proximity. 

“But we have today.” Benedict nuzzled against her cheek, delighting in her scent, the faintest hint of amber and vanilla. 

Sophie’s eyes rolled closed and she grew pliant in his arms, but her mind still registered the risk of their encounters. “The Duke and Duchess…”

“Are calling at Romney Hall nearby,” he explained. “My sister is a friend of Lady Crane. She is ill and won’t be able to attend the visit.”

“The children?”

Benedict snickered. “Are with their army of nurses. The time is ours.” He pressed his lips to hers, soft and plush, and she was bereft of any further protest. “I wanted to ask if you’d like to…join me in calming my thoughts?”

“How do you mean?” Sophie asked, noting the mischievous flicker across his features, his crooked grin triggering a spark of excitement.

“An elixir procured by my younger brother in his travels. Whatever it may be, I find it both soothes the nerves and opens my mind to artistic inspiration. When paired with a canvas it helps me produce some of my most…experimental work.” He ran a hand gently through her hair, gazing at her as if she were his greatest muse. “It’s an experience unlike any other, and one that I’d like to share with you, if you are willing.”

Sophie was surprised by his offer, that he was inviting her to join him in more than just carnal pleasures. She had never tried any such substances, but assumed the effects must be different than strong drink. On a few occasions she had indulged enough to experience drunkenness with her fellow servants, usually on holidays. She found the sensation not unpleasant, a numbing carefree haze, but it did have a way of stealing joy from the following day when she would wake with a headache and bitter mouth. But she trusted Benedict implicitly. He would ensure her enjoyment as he introduced her to something new.

“How does one take this elixir?” She asked.

“A powder added to tea.” He wiggled his eyebrows and moved about the room, producing a small pouch from a drawer in his writing desk and shaking it playfully before resting it beside the teapot. “Medicinal in a way not unlike your tinctures, but entirely unique.”

Nodding her consent, Sophie sat across from Benedict at the small table and watched as he poured them each a cup of tea and added small spoonfuls of the pouch’s vibrant purple powder. He stirred and handed her the mixture, insisting she take the first sip. Tentatively, she brought it to her lips.

“You may wish to hold your nose,” Benedict coached. “The smell and taste can be a bit foul.”

Sophie did detect a whiff of something pungent, vegetal but charred somehow. Holding her breath, she took a full sip and scrunched up her face as the aftertaste withered her tongue.

“Ugh,” she grimaced as Benedict giggled. “You claim this makes you feel better?”

“Give it a moment,” he grinned. “You will see.”

___

In what felt like no time at all, Sophie became aware of her altered state. A single cup of Benedict’s mystery tea and she found herself able to count the motes of dust that floated in the shafts of sunlight. As opposed to the numbing effect of alcohol, she found her mind and body heightened in awareness. She was fascinated by the friction of her dress against her skin, the tactile surface of the table and the fine china, and the colors of the fabrics throughout the room. Having drunk his own cup, Benedict seemed to be fixated on color too. After ensuring she was feeling well, he had gone to his easel and was blending oil paints directly with his fingers on both palette and canvas, making sweeping motions with his arms, entirely lost to inspiration. 

Sophie didn’t know how long she lazed in her chair watching him. The tea made time seem untrackable and irrelevant. She certainly did feel her nerves calmed and mind opened. She was content to simply gaze at Benedict, the man she secretly loved, drinking in the sight of him and every feature she adored. His tousled dark hair, his animated brow, pale blue eyes locked on his work, lopsided smirk appraising what he was crafting. Her focus narrowed to the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, the tendons flexing in his muscular neck, and the veins surging in his paint-streaked forearms. He had rolled his sleeves to the elbows but was otherwise fully dressed in a floral patterned waistcoat and pinned cravat, and for some reason this struck her as aggravating. With every inch of her skin sensitized in a way she had never known before, she wanted to touch and be touched, to taste and be tasted, to learn what it felt like to ascend to the plane of bliss when she already felt herself high above any clouds.

With a boldness that surprised even herself she rose, marched to Benedict’s side, took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. Light danced behind her eyelids as the sweet flavor of his lips cascaded over her own. Benedict froze, holding his hands to either side so as not to cover her in paint.

Sophie pulled back and they both chuckled, heady with the closeness of each other as much as with the tea. Kissing him again, she found herself entirely absent of inhibition. With his hands unavailable she was in control and the realization was undeniably thrilling. There was something she had been longing to try and now was the perfect moment.

Continuing to savor him, her hands went to work unwinding his cravat. Benedict stood still, humming in amusement as they kissed. Once the fabric was in her hands, cool and slippery, she moved to stand behind him. On tiptoe she wrapped the dark blue silk around his eyes and knotted it in the back.

“Blind man’s bluff?” Benedict quipped, sounding befuddled.

“Shh.” Sophie giggled as she moved back to face him and contemplated her next move. The buttons on his waistcoat were slowly unfastened and the garment slipped carefully over his technicolor arms and onto the floor. Biting her lip, she snapped his braces against his chest causing him to gasp before she pulled them down from his shoulders. Next was his shirt. Sophie could hear him breathing harder as she pulled the hem from his waistband. She leaned to his ear and whispered, “Raise your arms.”

Giving himself over to her direction, Benedict grinned uncontrollably as she undressed him. He did as he was told, lifting his arms in front of himself to accommodate her height and she pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it across the room. He stood before her blindfolded and shirtless, chest heaving, trousers jutting out unnaturally with his stiffness. Feeling more seductive than ever before, she traced a finger from his jaw down his neck, chest and abdomen, admiring. He was muscled, athletic, and his pale skin was so soft, smelling of soap and his oil paints. Sophie knelt down to pull off his boots, running her hand lightly down the front of his trousers on her way, causing him to hiss from the sensation.

“Lift your feet.” He obeyed and she pulled off his boots and stockings. Sophie remembered the night at the inn where she had awkwardly relieved him of his clothing out of necessity. This was a decidedly more pleasurable echo of that encounter. They were both breathing quite hard now, knowing there was only one more garment left to remove. Sophie remained on her knees and reached up, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. His hands clenched into fists and she could see him gritting his jaw. She smiled as she slid the last of his clothes down and bid him to step out of them. Now he was nude and erect with anticipation. She delayed a moment, waiting to strike. She would surprise him. She knew he was expecting her hands; how she usually touched him. She would skip that step.

Benedict gasped as her hot, wet mouth encircled him. It was a shock to his system, standing naked and blind in excruciating silence, broken suddenly by his cock being devoured. He reached out to hold her head but she swatted his hand away, reminding him of how soiled they were. Groaning through clenched teeth he fought to stand still and just let her have her way with him. It was agony and paradise combined, a flood of feelings as his swirling senses honed in on her attentions. The minx inside sweet Sophie had been unleashed by the tea and he was both proud and humbled that she was offering her own form of experimentation to match his. 

At long last Sophie was fulfilling her wish to take Benedict in her mouth, to show him just how fervently she longed to please him, to worship his body as he had worshipped hers. She found the act surprisingly enjoyable, knowing the power she wielded from her knees. Hearing the needy sounds he made and looking up to see his mouth hung open with awe gave her her own satisfaction in turn. After a few pulls along his manhood she leaned back. “How is this, Ben? Inspirational?” She flicked her tongue across his tip.

He groaned, legs buckling. “Yes, Sophie. It’s…you’re wonderful. Just…just like this. Your lips are like the kiss of heaven.” She chuckled, knowing he would likely spout something poetic even if they were not under the influence. Motivated to push him even higher into the firmament, she leaned forward to consume him again. She tried different motions, licking and sucking, back and forth, her tongue dancing around his veins, her hand rising to join her mouth in stroking. Whenever Benedict moaned above her, she persisted with that action. 

Then she tested herself, seeing how deeply she could take him. Slowly, she pushed further and further toward his body, pulling him into her mouth, relaxing every muscle she knew how. She knew he was in her throat once she could no longer breathe. An odd, somewhat alarming sensation but she felt in control. Staying relaxed she began to move gently, sucking him as before, letting him penetrate an entirely new area of her body. Having the most intimate part of him warm and heavy in her mouth was a comfort and sin she could never have imagined.

Benedict positively shouted with surprise as he breached Sophie’s throat. He instinctively tore the cravat from his eyes, looked down and saw her face practically flush with his pelvis, eyes closed in concentration as she rocked back and forth. He was buried so deep that when she finally gagged, he felt as if he were swallowed, squeezed with a pressure and heat that threatened to topple him. He shuddered, mind gone completely blank. Sophie pulled back and came up for air, gasping after his entire length slid out of her beautiful mouth. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand and smiled up at him, looking proud of herself.

“Sophie Beckett, you marvelous creature,” he beamed down at her. With a smug gleam in her eyes she set herself on him again and Benedict rocketed skyward. He murmured praise and suggestions, hips beginning to thrust as she sucked him eagerly. She had a natural talent with her tongue that he knew was liable to destroy him. The warmth of her mouth, the suction of her lips, the challenge in her dewy eyes gazing up at him, it grew too much to bear. As he felt himself nearing the peak he pulled back.

“Sophie, I’m…I am nearly there.”

“Good,” she smiled, tearing away the collar of her uniform and beginning to loosen her frock. Benedict watched, agog as she undressed, stripping down to the waist. Then she wrapped a warm hand around his length and began to pump, her breasts bare and bobbing hypnotically as she stroked him. Whatever fire had been lit within her, he vowed to keep it tended. Gazing at each other open mouthed, she commanded him softly but intently. “Come on me.”

Seeing and hearing how hungry she was for his release brought it to fruition in a moment. Knowing nothing but the wave of ecstasy beginning to spasm through his body, Benedict needed to stabilize himself before he jettisoned off of the earth. His hands fell to Sophie’s shoulders and gripped tight, smearing her in a rainbow of fingerprints as he dropped his head with a cry. Painting her in two ways at once, his breath escaped in halting gasps as she milked him onto her chest. 

Sophie never stopped her movements, coaxing him through the aftershocks. When Benedict fell to his knees before her panting, she grinned with devilish victory. She was just as capable of reducing him to a breathless mess as he could her. It made her feel closer to him, more trusted, and more desirable.

“Sophie,” Benedict marveled at her, barely able to muster words. “I’m sorry. Your shoulders…”

He pointed at the streaks that ran across her skin. She looked down and saw the epaulets she had earned. Bright ornaments of sinful endeavors. The fingerprints of her lover seared into her for all to see. The whole room was twinkling in a dazzling spectrum before her eyes and she felt honored to be made a part of it. With a twist of her lips she collected the palette he had dropped nearby and dipped her fingers into a sky blue shade, then swiped it gently across his abdomen, coloring him as well.

Benedict looked at her quizzically, then she ran a purple thumb across his jaw. Catching on, he wet his fingers in forest green and brushed them across her cheeks. Giggling, Sophie next took a daub of orange and swirled it in circles across her chest, blending it with his seed, painting herself with his essence. Benedict swallowed hard, dumbfounded, and then found himself moving like a man possessed, stripping her of her remaining clothing, hauling her up onto the settee and burying his face between her legs. 

The day progressed as a gauzy fantasy, the two of them wrapped in intoxicated wonder and all the sensations they could gift each other. They lost count of their climaxes, Sophie returning time and time again to swallow Benedict and bob her head until he gasped her name, and Benedict on his knees in equal measure, sucking her furiously as she bounced against his tongue. After the poetry they penned with their moans, they broke to make art with their flesh, painting arcs, swirls and handprints across skin, gradients of desire and whimsy, blending with their own juices, traces of themselves ending up on the canvas which had clattered to the floor.

Hours later as the sun began to set, they found themselves looking like madmen, wrapped in sheets, disheveled and covered in streaks of paint from head to toe. Benedict had the presence of mind to wrap Sophie in one of his shirts and hide her in the bedroom next door while he donned a robe and called for a bath. He didn’t much care what the maids thought of seeing him smeared with paint with his hair standing on end. It wouldn’t be the first time he had ended up like this after a dose of the powder.

Working together and casting him sideways glances, Finian and Lizzie brought a large copper tub to his room and filled it with steaming water. Lizzie scented it with oil and a sudsy soap that left bubbles floating on the surface. When they finally exited, Benedict collected Sophie again and locked the door behind them. She giggled helplessly while he stripped her of what little she was wearing and helped her step into the steaming water. She shivered and sank down, allowing the water to rise above her shoulders and neck, even right up to her nose, and then closed her eyes. It felt like heaven.

“Lean forward,” Benedict murmured, kneeling on the floor beside her. She did, and sighed with pleasure as he began to wash her back, making clouds of red and yellow paint swirl into the water. 

“We’ll make you all shiny and new again,” he grinned, kissing her shoulder as he scrubbed her arms. Sophie leaned forward and rested her forehead on her bent knees, blushing.

“Dunk your head so I can wash your hair,” he ordered.

She slid under the water, a magical, enveloping sensation while she still felt the fuzzy influence of the tea, and then quickly came back up. 

The green streaks of paint on her cheeks started to run down the length of her face. But rather than make her look wretched, Benedict thought it gave her a phantasmal beauty. It made her eyes glow as he had never seen them - glittering emeralds refracting all the light in the room. He rubbed the paint from her face with his thumb as she held his gaze. He suddenly found that it was hard to breathe. Probably a side effect of the tea. 

He busied himself by rubbing the bar of soap in his hands and then began to work the lather through her hair. “Do you prefer your hair short?” he asked.

“I had to cut it,” she said. “I sold it to a wigmaker.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have heard him growl.

“It used to be much shorter,” she added.

“Back under.” 

She dunked back in the tub, swirling her head this way and that under the water before coming back up for air. 

Benedict cupped his hands and filled them with water. “You’ve still got some in the back,” he said, letting the water pour over her hair.

Sophie let him repeat the process a few times, until all the paint was removed as far as she could tell and the water had turned a milky purple. “Aren’t you coming in?” She raised an eyebrow and was met with that cheeky lopsided grin.

Benedict let his robe fall to the floor and stepped in across from her. He groaned with pleasure as he lowered himself, immediately dunking under the water and smoothing back his hair. Sophie took the cloth and went to work scrubbing his fingers, his arms, every inch of him. Their incessant giggling was fading into pleasurable hums and sighs as they caressed each other in the water, gently, curiously. They kissed each other’s necks, arms, foreheads. There was a chastity to it despite that they were fully nude together after an outrageously lascivious afternoon.

Sophie was drained. It had been without a doubt the wildest and most exploratory day of her life thus far. She knew she was still under the giddy haze of the tea but her senses were growing sharper. Time slowly seemed to be returning to its normal rate and her mind was quieting. The last of its effects, the joy of being with Benedict, and the warmth of the lapping water made her euphoric. Benedict had leaned back against his end of the tub, eyes closed. Sophie couldn't stretch out her legs underwater without awkwardly laying on top of him, so she planted her feet to frame his head which made him look up and chuckle. She grinned and bent an elbow over the side, resting her head on her arms. Benedict ran his hands lazily over her knees and the two of them sat in contented silence, descending from their high and soaking up all the heat the water could offer.

Benedict stared at Sophie, resting serenely as glinting water droplets ran across her collarbone. She was dazzling. Never a word that he had thought to associate with a housemaid but it was truly how he felt. Where in the world had she come from? This beautiful, daring and exciting woman whose wit, moods, pleasures and interests so perfectly aligned with his own? He genuinely wondered if she had worked in the Cavender house at all and wasn’t some faerie that had wandered out of the woods to enchant him. These days alone with her in the country had been some of the happiest he had experienced with a woman. He was ready to find her an apartment in London, to send her there with an allowance to buy anything she fancied, and to have all of her servant’s clothes burned. He could do it tomorrow. She shouldn’t spend another day working for his family.

“Why do you want to keep working at this ball?” He asked her.

Sophie lifted her head, brow furrowed. “So I can earn some money.”

Benedict sat up and leaned toward her. “You don’t need to earn money. I’ll take care of you.” He pressed his torso against hers and murmured, “I can give you whatever you want.”

Whether it was her pride or some courage gifted to her by the tea, Sophie felt no fear in being honest with him. “I don’t want you to.” Her voice was more stern than she had intended and he scowled. 

“Why can’t we just stay like this? Have this time together?” She nuzzled against his neck and planted a soft kiss on his lips. This was everything she wanted, or at least everything that she could reasonably have with Benedict. She would never experience her dreams of marrying him, or walking on his arm in public, or being with him forever. But she could have these days, weeks or even months if she were lucky, where they enjoyed each other’s company and bodies, and she was grateful for it. Incredibly grateful. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer to her dreams than she could have ever imagined over the past two years. She would cherish these days forever, but she refused to hinge her hopes or her future on them, when they would never lead to anything.

“I don’t want to be kept somewhere,” she confessed. “Locked in a pretty box for you to play with.”

Benedict pulled back, looking insulted. “Why?”

Sophie sighed, overcome with the weight of her emotions and a wave of approaching sleep. “Because it can’t last forever and I will need work to fall back on.” She rested her head back on her arms and closed her eyes. “You must tell me once you find her,” she sighed.

Benedict looked at her, startled. Find who? Surely she didn’t know about…

As if reading his mind Sophie continued, mumbling. “The woman you will marry. So that I will know to leave. Promise me, Ben.” Her head lolled as she drifted off, her last words barely above a whisper. “I cannot share you.”

Something in Benedict’s chest clenched and again he found himself struggling to breathe. Suddenly the thought of not having Sophie around was unsettling. More unsettling than it should have been for having known her such a short time. She didn’t want to share him with his wife. Did she mean to reveal that to him or did it slip out? He couldn’t tell how it made him feel. Once again he knew she was right. He doubted he could sustain a life as a bachelor chasing after a maid who refused to be kept as a mistress. He would need to marry. Hell, a part of him wanted to marry. It was who that was the problem. He couldn’t find the lady in silver but knew that if he ever did and if she would have him, he would marry her and then there would be no room for Sophie. It made him sad and it made him confused and he was so damned tired. So he resigned himself to following Sophie’s lead and just enjoying the time they had together, for however long it lasted.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away

[acanth3]

The Sound Of The Stars English Translation

EPISODE 9/14

A Few Hours Later In ES Building, COSPRO Office

Mika: —Nnnh~! I don’t know what yer’ talkin’ about! 

Hiyori: It’s okay if you don’t understand it! It’s multiple choice question so just guess!

The worst last thing you would want in a test is to leave blanks, do whatever you want to answer. 

Mika: Well then, the answer is A…

Hiyori: Too bad! It’s C!

Mika: Uuuu….you just helped me with it but you already knew the answer

Ibara: ….I see. This seems to be a tough road. Even though it’s a basic college entrance exam question.  

Jun: No, I didn’t understand it either. So it’s a normal question~?

Above all, it’s rare for Ohii-san and Ibara to teach English. 

Hiyori: Fufu, language is important for aristocrats. If you can’t speak english you can’t talk within high society. 

Well, it was mostly my brothers job to talk with others so I didn’t practice much

Jun: Ohii-san’s world is large…..

Still, do you really have to solve such a difficult question to get into university these days?

Ibara: It’s not that difficult. Like I told you, it’s an average question. 

Even if you don’t study, you show other skills as an idol. Reimei doesn’t teach English. 

Is it the same in Yumenosaki? Listening to it is hard, however writing…

HiMERU: —I don’t expect them to have learned it either. 

I graded his written answers and scored 20%

Ibara: Is that so? It seems we need to focus more on English.

HiMERU: His vocabulary on words is low, so we should focus on making him memorize first.

Mika: Uuu, what a bad score…

Even though I've already graduated, I studied English a lot more then. How am I gonna learn now? 

Ibara: Of course if you want to be an astronaut you must take the English exam. 

Imagine how many people who are supporting Mr.Itsuki’s space trip are from abroad. 

If there was to be a problem with the ship, you must follow their instructions Mr.Kagehira. 

In that time, Mr.Kagehira do you have it in you to do so?

Mika: Uuu, I’d panic cuz I don’t know english….

Ibara: That’s how it is. Do you understand the importance of learning English now?

Mika: I’m not confident in speakin’ it. I haven’t scored good on a English test before…

Is it really bad if I fail the exam…

Ibara: Don’t turn around like that. In order to prevent such a thing happening we are here to fully support you. 

Also, Mr.Itsuki is working behind the scenes so you can head into space. I’m assisting in music production. 

Mr.Itsuki seems to be struggling with the production.

Jun: Nagi-senpai said he would be helping, is it still not enough?

Ibara: Yeah, if you watch this, you can see why they’ve been delayed for a while.

Nagisa: …..”What’s the universe described by Shu-kun?”

Shu: “Hmph. How do I describe the universe?”

“Humans, dwarf beings confined in a small planet, however the universe continues to expand”

“From the moment I define the word universe, it all makes sense. It’s an unknown mass.

Nagisa: …..”Maybe you’re right”

…..”What we know about the universe is only till the range we have discovered.”

….”Which is why people have tried to unravel the meaning of the universe with few clues”

…..”This town is one of them. It’s on top of a meteorite” 

…..”Some of the buildings in this town use materials produced from the meteorite.”

Shu: “Was it a ‘suevite’? Due to the discovery of that rock it was realized this location was built on a meteorite.”

Nagisa: …..”The universe is not something which can be understood by gazing at the sky, there any many messages from the universe engraved into the Earth.”

Shu: “Oo, I was just reminded of the museum you strongly recommended me”

“Changes in the surface caused by meteorites. Continues to pursue the mystery of the universe and geology.”

“I was only focused on the universe, but thanks to you, I was able to realize the most recognizable universe to us…Earth”

“Us humans in the first place haven't satisfactorily understood the Earth yet.”

“How did the planet come to exist, what kind of history has it had, what’s going to happen?”

“Even if you do come to understand this planet, it’s just another star in the universe.”

“Ugh, I don’t understand it. The more I continue to try to understand it and learn, the more I can’t grasp it!”

“It’s so frustrating that I just want to scratch my chest all over. I have something I want to learn but I can’t learn all about it……”

“Ah, it really is the theme for an artist!”

Mika: Nnn~...That’s great Oshi-san, you seem to enjoyin’ this alot ♪ 

Hiyori: Haha, I have no idea what Shu-kun is talking about. But hey, I wonder if he brainwashed by an alien? 

Jun: I said that too and Nagi-senpai agreed and says he says something which dont make sense~?

HiMERU: Why is the story of the universe needed in the first place? The context here is unclear.

Ibara: …..I asked for a report on Mr.Itsuki’s work so far and I had this video sent to me. 

Recently it seems Your Excellency and Mr.Itsuki are in Europe and have a steady report going. 

Mika: Wow, I kept in touch with Oshi-san from some time to time but I didn’t know he was this into it. 

….Okay, Oshi-san is doin’ his best like me.

Ibara: Yes, that’s right. Mr.itsuki is also working hard to produce a song appropriate for Mr.Kagehira’s space travel. 

Mr.Kagehira must repay Mr.Itsuki’s hard work, right?

Mika: …..Yep, Vice President-san is right

Oshi-san didn’t complain once when he couldnt produce music when I’ve been whinin’ here all day. 

Sorry for bein’ pathetic Oshi-san

I’m gonna do my best to study English so I’m not embarrassed to sing for Oshi-san!

those 2 rlly went to germany man

[writingwisterias]

Pegging sub!Chris? ❤️

Thank You for the request! I think RE5 Chris is sub coded so I had him in mind when writing but you can choose whatever Chris ~ Mads <3

Words: 803

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, Dom! Reader, Sub!Chris, Pegging, Degration kink, Praise Kink, Slight Mommy Kink, Overstimulation

Masterlist

Chris had arrived home a few hours ago, his body was still tense and his heavy sighs of frustration started to annoy you. He was acting like a brat, ignoring things you had asked him to do or was just generally being a moody bastard. You had decided enough was enough and ordered him to lay on the bed naked for a few hours with his wrists attached to the bedposts via handcuffs; which is where he was now watching you pick the size strap-on you were going to use for him. His wrists tugged against the cuffs you had attached to him, he could feel the soreness creeping in as they ever so slightly tightened after each movement he made. “Hmmm…I think we should use a large size today, don’t you? Since you decided to be a brat since you’ve been home” You spoke, your voice dripping authority allowing the work-life dominance he held to slip away. He nodded weakly and gave an audible gulp leaving his lips as you held it up for inspection. “I think this will do just fine,” you said as you began to strap it in place. “Don’t you?” 

Chris nodded his cock twitching as he watched you slowly climb over to him. The tip was an angry red as it begged for your touch, pre cum beading at the top. “Poor boy, that looks painful. How about mommy kiss it better for you?” you teased, your lips ghosting the sensitive area. “Please- I’m sorry I was a brat” he whined, tugging again at the handcuffs. You gave him a low chuckle, humming as you pretended to think about it. He gasped as he felt your lips kiss the tip, eagerly licking the cum he was producing for you, enjoying the salty taste in your mouth. His hips bucked up at the pleasure, causing you to glare at him as his dick hit the back of your throat. “S-sorry” he whimpered out, using every one of his hard muscles to keep his hips down. You could feel the tension throughout him as he desperately tried to be a good boy for you. He already knew his bratty behaviours were what caused this situation so why make it worse as you were finally giving him pleasure? He could feel the toy prodding at this entrance, slightly stretching him. The lube was cold causing him to flinch away from it which only prompted you to chase him with it, eventually the tips sliding in. As you heard him wince you pulled away from his cock for a moment just to help him spread his legs around you, grinning as you felt them immediately circle your waist causing you to be trapped by his thighs. The strong muscle began contracting to cause you to tap his leg “I know you are an eager boy, but mommy needs to be able to move” you chuckled. 

He groaned loudly as he felt you slip the toy back inside with one long thrust, making sure to go as slowly as you could as he adjusted to the size. You distracted him by slowly rubbing the tip of his cock as it angrily leaked precum again, his hands tugged at handcuffs, the veins in his arms bulging with the need to hold you, to feel your breasts or soft skin between his fingers. You giggled at his reaction, at the way his poor sensitive body twitched beneath you. A fitting punishment for such a grumpy man. You slowly began to move, angling your hips to reach the spot that made him cum the fastest.  Your hand slowly began to stroke the whole length of his cock, the length was thick and heavy in your hands as lewd wet sounds began to fill the room. You could see his balls tightening, his groans turning into breathy pants as you angled your hips yet again to his g-spot. He was so close. You began to move faster, excited waiting for the volcanic eruption of his cum that would dribble onto your hand from his overstimulation. You didn’t have to wait long because, after a loud curse and the sputter of his hips, his cum began to create a mess on your hand and his stomach. His tear-stained face met yours with a large grin before it fell back against the bed exhausted. “Good boy” You spoke, removing yourself from him as you left to clean him up. 

This was Chris’ favourite part, the aftercare. It was always what he craved after his missions, the gentleness of your touch as you wiped him clean, how you pulled him into your chest so he could fall asleep to your fingers running through his hair. “Thank you” He whispered into your neck as sleep finally greeted him. “You're welcome”

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

after - part thirty-three

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

jackson holds more than a few familiar faces.

a/n: these few chapters are so satisfying to me cuz it’s more my own creation that straight outta the show and i hope y’all enjoy 🫶🏻

word count: 7.4k

warnings: nothing crazy, y’all know the drill by now

✨@friskito-library for updates on new parts/works✨

The last time you saw Nick Cowan, Joel had just put a bullet in his shoulder, and he’d nearly put a bullet in Joel’s head. Then you’d picked up the gun Joel had dropped and pointed it right back at the then-FEDRA soldier, your…whatever he once was.

The last thing you said to him rings clear as day in your mind: “Guess I’m just as terrible as you thought.”

He looks…old. It suits him. It’s the eyes that give him away, that signature stare you had once grown so used to. Now, they pin you in place, and you have no choice but to stare right back, taking in the thick beard along his jaw, the scar across his nose, his hair greying and pushed back over his head. He’s bigger than you remember, all broad shoulders towering over you as he gets closer to you, closing the distance, making your brain run a marathon trying to make sense of it.

He’s here. He’s alive.

“Liv?” he croaks out, his voice snapping on your name. His eyes are glassy, those stupidly long lashes you were always silently envious of clumping together. “Is it really…is it really you?”

Nick Cowan opens his arms to you, his boots crunching in the snow beneath your feet. He goes to hug you, saying your name again, shock and happiness on his face.

And you fucking deck him.

You’re pure adrenaline, and you hear the crunch of your knuckles hitting his face more than you feel it. It’s like every eye in the street turns to you as it happens, and Cowan reels backward, spitting blood into the snow and cupping his face. Your hand explodes with pain as you fall back a step, cradling your hand against your chest, and Joel materializes at your side, curling a hand around your elbow.

“Okay,” Cowan grunts, spitting again. “I probably deserved that.”

“Probably?” you nearly shout, stepping forward, but Joel tightens his hold and hauls you back. “It’s okay.”

You wrestle yourself out of Joel’s grip and close the distance between you and Nick. But this time, you hug him. You grab his forearm and throw your arms around him, squeezing him tight. It’s a moment before he returns it, a low chuckle reaching your ears. There are more tears on your face, and god fucking damn it, your hand hurts something fierce, but then you feel something connect with your shin and a tiny voice shouts, “Get your hands off my daddy!”

Nick steps back, releasing you, and you look down to see a little girl, no older than five or six, pulling back to kick you in the shin again. She’s cute, all bright blue eyes and blonde braids and her cheeks flushed with cold. “Deanna, stop it,” Nick chides, reaching down to scoop her into his arms. She goes willingly, giving you the best evil eye you’ve received from someone so young, and it makes you laugh.

You’re still reeling, your aching heart barely able to process. Tommy? Cowan? Alive and well, all this time. It’s almost too much, and then—

“Deanna, come back here!” an unfamiliar voice calls, and you look in its direction to see a young man making his way through the crowd to where you’re stood. 

And your heart sinks into your toes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to Cowan, reaching into his pocket and producing an inhaler. “She just ran off before I could…” He trails off, and his eyes move to you. “Liv?”

The image of the little boy in your mind is instantly replaced with the older version standing before you. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Cowan, the mop of dark curls now cropped closer to his head, short enough that you can see the scar on his forehead. The memory jars you. He was so little, chasing Emily around the food court, and you’d heard him yelp as he fell. A few minutes later, his dad was carrying him into the medic area where you were working with Deanna. Poor kid cracked his head open and was sniffling around the wad of napkins his dad had pressed to his bleeding forehead.

You’d taken over, carried him over to one of the cots and found a wad of gauze that would soak up the blood a bit better. Henry was all sniffles and big round eyes, staring up at you as you dabbed at his wound. You distracted him, talking about anything and everything while you cleaned it and found him a bandage and told him he was brave. It wasn’t terribly deep, but it had left a thin line above his eyebrow, one you could only really see when the light caught the right way.

“Henry,” you breathe out, and a moment later, he’s in your arms. Despite the height he now has on you, he’s that ten-year-old kid again, hugging you tightly. The kid that groaned about math but still did every piece of homework, that sat vigil at your bedside after you got the shit kicked out of you in lockup, that sweet-talked Joel into a game of Monopoly the first time they met. 

Maybe not your son by blood, but the closest thing you know you’ll ever come to one.

And he’s alive.

But then the mood sours, all in an instant.

“You told us she was dead!” Henry shouts, still clinging to you, but pulling away to spit the words at Cowan. There are tears on his face, making his cheeks ruddy, and you can hear the way his chest wheezes. “All these years, you told us she was gone! You fucking liar!”

You can see the hurt on Nick’s face, the way he flinches back. The little girl — Deanna — hides her face in Nick’s neck, putting her arms around him. A blonde woman appears at his side, puts a hand on Deanna’s back and murmurs something to Nick that you don’t hear over Henry shouting.

“I fucking hate you! You’re a goddamn liar! She was our family!”

“Henry, stop,” you say softly, trying to placate him. “It’s okay, it’s not—”

He wrenches out of your arms and disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Nick to watch him go. Nick hands Deanna off to the blonde and she gives you what you think is a sympathetic smile before also walking away.

“I never meant for it to work out this way,” Nick says, and part of you feels bad for him, but another part wants to deck him again. “They were just kids when we…” He shakes his head. “Deanna and I agreed, it was better that way. That maybe it would stop them from wanting to go back to Boston if they didn’t think you were still there.”

You feel a presence behind you — Joel. His hand rests at the small of your back and you swipe tears from your cheeks. “Well, I was still there, Nick. Wondering this entire time if you were all alive or not. You couldn’t have had the decency to at least let us know you were okay?” Your voice cracks on the question and Joel puts his arm around your waist now, tugging you against him. You’re grateful; it’s the only thing stopping you from punching Nick again.

“Everything I did was to protect them,” Nick says, staring down at his boots. You got him good; his jaw is an angry shade of red, and there’s a spot of red on his bottom lip. “You know exactly why I did what I did.”

Joel bristles, angling himself in front of you, raising a hand. “Can we not do that right now?” he grits out. “There’s a lot going on right this second; we all need to calm the fuck down and you need to watch your mouth.”

Nick doesn’t say anything at first, just nods, but then his eyes flick back to you. “I’m sorry, really, I am. Tommy knows which house is ours, if you want to talk more.”

He turns on his heel, but you stop him. “Nick.” He swivels back to you slowly, his hands dug in his pockets. “I’m assuming the little Deanna is named after the one that took care of us back in Boston.”

“She is,” he nods. “Dee passed five years ago.” But then he stops, and you know the next thing out of his mouth might crush you. “The same flu that took Emily. They’re buried together; I can show you where, if you like. That’s probably where Henry took off to.”

You inhale sharply, stumbling back a step, but Joel doesn’t let you go far. Tommy’s on your other side now, Ellie a half-step behind him, and the woman who had told you to come to Jackson breaks the silence that settles as you watch Nick walk away.

“Why don’t we get you all something to eat?”

 +

You’re all quiet, the only sound at the table is the clatter of cutlery hitting plates. Joel can barely remember the last time he ate off a real plate, let alone sat at a table while he had a meal. It must have been back in Boston, he thinks, back before…

He glances at you between bites. You’re picking at your food, your shoulders hunched around your ears, eyes downcast. Worry knots Joel’s stomach, but goddamn it, he’s hungry. “Liv, honey, eat,” he says, nodding across the table where you’re sat beside Tommy. “Please.”

You just nod, lifting your glass of water and taking a sip.

Beside him, Ellie is wolfing down her food, scraping the plate, eyes glued to the meal like someone might try and take it away from her. “There’s more if you need it,” Maria — the woman who’d brought you here — says from her seat at the head of the table.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Joel says with a slight nod, pausing his own eating. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper meal.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper meal,” Ellie quips, taking another bite. “This is fuckin’ amazing.”

“Ellie,” you chide, your eyes widening for a second and Joel’s eyes dart between you.

“Sorry,” he says to Tommy and Maria. “Ellie, let’s mind our manners.”

Tommy gives Joel a small smile and lifts his hand, giving your shoulder a squeeze. You offer a half-smile in return, reaching up and squeezing his fingers.

Ellie’s attention is dragged across the large room, and her almost menacing, “What?” makes you both flinch.

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” you groan, rubbing your hand across your forehead.

“What’s wrong with you?” Joel asks, his eyes darting to the girl who’d been hiding behind a pillar, watching your table.

“What about her manners?” Ellie calls, loud enough for the girl to hear, and you sigh heavily.

“She was just curious,” Maria supplies, her tone placating. “Kids around here don’t usually look or talk like you.”

“Right,” Ellie says with a tight nod. “Well, maybe I’ll teach them.” She glances at Tommy, at you beside him, and then her eyes move back to Maria. “And I want my gun back.”

They’d taken your weapons before you got on the horses, and the other riders had whistled at your barb-wired bat. Joel didn’t doubt you’d get them back, but now isn’t the time or place.

“They also aren’t armed,” Maria replies.

“We don’t need to be,” you add, earning an open-mouthed look from Ellie. “Not in here.”

An awkward silence settles for a moment while Ellie cleans her plate, and Joel’s worry subsides some when he sees you take a few more bites.

“Y’know what,” Tommy starts, glancing between you all, “I think maybe y’all got a little off on the wrong foot.”

“She was gonna have her guys kill us,” Ellie almost sneers, and your eyes dart to Joel before you reach across the table, just laying your fist on the tabletop.

“Well, we gotta be real careful about who we let in this place. It’s all bark, we’re just tryna scare off those who might wanna try us is all.”

“Well, you got a couple of ninety-year-olds shitting themselves out there.”

“Ellie!” Joel grits, and you put your face in your hands.

“They say that you leave dead bodies around?” she continues, ignoring both of you.

“Those are the people who tried us,” Maria responds easily, barely fazed. 

“A bad reputation doesn’t mean you’re bad,” Tommy says, and Joel sees the recognition on your face as you drop your hands, squaring your shoulders slightly.

“Not always, at least,” Maria says. Her eyes linger on Joel as she says it, and it makes him bristle. He sees your face pinch from the corner of his eye and you lean up, straightening, laying both elbows on the table.

He can see you holding yourself back, wanting to jump on the defence. So he tries to change the subject. “Ma’am, we’re grateful for your hospitality and all,” he lays down his fork and looks to his brother, “but it’d be nice to have a moment here, maybe just for family.”

You inhale sharply, reaching for your water glass again. 

Tommy pauses, balks, before, “Well, um.” He reaches a hand out and Maria takes it, a small smile on her face. “Maria is family, actually.”

Your water glass rattles as you set it back down. “Oh shit!” Ellie says, her tone suddenly lighter. “Congrats.”

Joel doesn’t have words, barely registering you putting your hand on Tommy’s arm and murmuring, “That’s great.”

“Joel,” Ellie calls softly, snapping him out of it, “say congrats.”

“Congrats,” he repeats drily.

The silence that settles after is so awkward Joel wants to crawl out of his own skin, but his brother breaks it. “How about a tour?”

You nearly jump into action, collecting the dishes and cutlery and stacking them together, waving Maria off when she tells you to leave them. Joel makes his way around the table to your side, helps you into your coat. You mumble a thank you, give him a tight smile when he finds your hand and gives it a squeeze.

Maria leads you out of the mess hall and back onto the street. The air is so bitingly cold, such a stark difference from the warmth inside, that Joel flinches, and you tuck yourself against his side, ducking under his arm.

“We settled here about seven years ago,” Maria tells you as you start walking, her voice loud over the noise of the street. “Just a handful of us back then.” She points to one part of the wall. “That section was already a gated community so we built the rest of the wall out from there. Stopped most of the raiding parties, but we still find pockets of them.”

“And you said Infected?” Joel asks, rubbing his hand over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” Tommy answers, “but usually smaller colonies, wandered off from the cities. All this open country out here, it’s a turkey shoot. I still got my 700, but I found a variable power scope, sub-MOA. Can headshot those fuckers from a half mile out.” Joel smirks; his brother, forever the gun nerd.

It gets Ellie’s attention. “Can you teach me how?”

“No, he can’t,” Joel says immediately. He’s half-expecting you to interject, but you don’t say a word. “How do you keep this place quiet?”

“Carefully,” Maria responds. “Being in the middle of nowhere helps, not advertising what we have, staying off the radio.”

That makes Joel stop, and you do too, your hand curling into a fist at his hip as Tommy shoots him a look.

“House of worship,” Maria continues, either unfazed or unaware of the silent exchange as she points out buildings, “multi-faith. School. Laundry. Old bank works as the jail, not that we’ve needed it.”

Joel’s gaze drifts up, to the power lines linked along the street. “And you draw power from the dam?”

“Got that working a couple of years ago,” she says with a nod. “After that, sewage, plumbing, water heaters, lights.”

Ellie shakes her head, glancing around. “This place actually fuckin’ works.”

You keep walking, eventually coming to an area that looks like a makeshift farm. A herd of sheep runs past as you all step through the fence, bleating as they go.

“Hey, Joel,” Ellie calls, beaming, “check it! Baa!”

You both laugh, and Joel squeezes your shoulder.

“So, are you like, in charge?” Ellie asks Maria, clearly starting to get over her earlier…ferocity.

“No one person’s in charge,” Maria answers. “I’m on the council. Democratically elected, serving three hundred people, including children. Everyone pitches in. We rotate patrols, food prep, repair, hunting, harvesting.”

“Everything you see in our town,” Tommy chimes in, “greenhouses, livestock, all shared. Collective ownership.”

“So, communism,” you pipe up, leaning around Joel to look at Tommy.

Tommy’s expression is pure confusion as he shakes his head. “Nah. Nah, it ain’t like that.”

“It is that,” Marie corrects him. “Literally. This is a commune. We’re communists.”

Tommy stops in his tracks, clearly shocked at this revelation, and Joel has to stifle his laugh as he walks past his brother. The conversation trails off as you come up to a row of stables, and Ellie is instantly taken by a young foal poking its head out of the half door.

“Well, I’m sure they’d all like a shower, some new clothes,” Maria says, looking at Tommy. “We can put them in the empty house across the street from us.”

“Yeah,” Tommy nods. “It’s a decent place. Pretty much untouched since ‘03, but it’s got the heat goin’ in it. Could do worse.”

You blow out a breath, turning to steam in the cold air. Joel can hear the words on the tip of your tongue before Ellie interjects, “Oh, trust me, we have been.”

It bothers him more than it should. She looks back at the two of you with a grin on her face that quickly disappears. “We’ve been doin’ fine.”

“Joel,” you say quietly, turning your body against his.

Marie doesn’t miss the exchange and looks at you. “Well, I can take Liv and Ellie over there if you two wanna catch up?” She pauses. “Unless, you—”

“No, let the brothers do their thing,” you say with a nod, peeling away from Joel’s side. He wants to pull you back the second you’re gone, but he stops himself. “I have a few…unfinished conversations of my own to take care of.”

Maria nods. “I can show you where the Cowans live; it’s not far from our place.”

“Yeah,” Joel says, watching as you walk over to where Ellie’s standing, reaching up and petting the foal’s nose. Ellie seems to relax further when you touch her shoulder. “Okay.”

“We’ll be fine,” you tell Joel, and he’s not quite sure who you’re trying to convince, you or him.

Tommy starts to lead him away, and Joel gives you one last glance before following his brother away from the stables.

+

Standing on the front porch of what Maria has told you is the Cowans’ home, you feel nervous, of all things. Your fury has subsided some, turned instead to a quiet ache that lingers in your chest, makes your heart rate rise when you let your mind wander. You feed yourself the facts instead, still trying to make sense of it all.

Nick is alive. Tommy is alive. Henry is alive.

Deanna is dead. Emily is dead.

Somehow, the confirmation makes it easier. You can’t even begin to add up all the time you’ve spent wondering over the years, when Nick first took them away, when Tommy left with the Fireflies. The wondering always made it worse. It was the same when the outbreak first hit, stuck in Boston, not knowing who lived or died. It was Nick that gave you the closure that your parents were gone. Then Joel’s panicked admission that Anna had lived through being bitten, but then FEDRA carted her off, never to be seen again. 

That’s one bit of closure you still don’t have.

My parents are dead. Bill and Frank are dead. Sarah is dead. Anna is…dead.

You suck in a shaky breath, the iciness of it chilling you from the inside out as you lift your hand and knock twice.

It’s a few moments before the door swings inward, revealing the blonde woman who had stood beside Nick earlier in the street. “Oh,” she says, her voice bordering between overly bright and cautious, “it’s you.”

“Olivia,” you offer, extending your hand, “but call me Liv.”

“Sloane,” she responds, taking it. “Nick’s upstairs. D’you wanna come in?”

You stall, thrown off by her invitation. “Oh, uh, sure.”

Sloane steps aside to let you in and you step over the threshold, immediately soaking in the warmth that greets you. “This must all be very…strange for you.”

You lift your brows, glancing around the house as she shuts the door behind her. It’s quaint, with a Christmas tree in one corner of the living room that you can see, a kitchen to the other side. You can see little Deanna perched at the table, crayons in hand, and it’s so reminiscent of Emily, of your life back in Boston, that you nearly turn on your heel and dart back into the cold. 

Your face must give you away, and Sloane seems to think she caused it. “Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you cut her off, waving a hand. “Strange is probably the nicest way to put it.” You try to laugh, try to make the atmosphere a little lighter, but the sound twists in your throat. “I’m the one who should be sorry; I didn’t mean to barge in here like this.”

She gives you a small smile. “I invited you in, Liv. It’s okay, really. Nick told me a lot about you.”

“Only the good stuff, I hope,” you say, returning the grin while inwardly praying he left out some of your…finer details. “Although, there’s not a lot of good stuff, which I’m sure you know.”

“We do what we have to,” she replies, lifting her shoulder, and you balk. “It all happens the way it does for a reason. If you’d stayed together, he wouldn’t be here.” She pauses, looks over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “And I wouldn’t have that beautiful little girl.”

Tears spring in your eyes and you blink furiously while she’s not looking, willing them away.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” she says, turning back to you. “Nick said she kicked you in the shins after…”

“…after you clocked me in the jaw,” Nick finishes, coming down the stairs, sporting the starting of a bruise along his beard. “Glad I only ever taught you to shoot. If I’d taught you how to punch, I’d probably still be unconscious in the street.” You open your mouth to say something, but you’re caught off guard as Nick leans over the stair rail to kiss Sloane hello, which she returns with a grin.

He looks so…at ease. Jealousy sparks in your gut something fierce. Not that he’s kissing her and not you — that ship sailed many moons ago. But seeing them here, in their home, with their daughter. It’s a postcard reminder of all the things you and Joel don’t have. Have never had. May not ever have.

“Nick, can we talk?” you ask, shoving your hands in the pockets of your coat. “Please? I promise not to clock you again.”

He barks a laugh, reaching for his coat on a hook near the door. “Let’s go.”

Sloane kisses him again before he leaves, leading you out the door and back into the cold. You fall into step easily, heading deeper into Jackson, past more houses and people. It looks almost like a real neighbourhood, kids building snowmen in their front yards, Christmas trees glittering in windows. You’re both quiet, but Nick’s the one that breaks the silence.

“Go ahead and ask, Liv,” he says, digging his hands in his pockets while you toy with your own. “I can hear the wheels in your head going from here.”

“Maria said this settlement has been here seven years,” you start, his words all the confirmation you need to start asking for the answers you need, “but you left Boston what, fourteen years ago? What did you do between Boston and here?”

He sighs, his breath turning to a cloud of steam in the air. “Whatever I had to. I only got us out of the QZ by asking for a transfer, and we barely survived the trek to Chicago with FEDRA on our side. But we were there almost five years.” He gestures to the left when the sidewalk splits, and you follow his direction. “After Chicago went to shit, we did whatever we could. Lots of sleeping on the road, hiding in abandoned buildings. The kids hated it, Deanna even more so, but there were more of us then, some people she’d befriended in Chicago, a few other soldiers who’d grown tired of the bullshit, like me. Sloane was one of them.”

“She was FEDRA?” you ask, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “I think she’s the only person who’s given me more of a run for my money than you did.”

“Nick—”

“I don’t blame you for doing what you did,” he says, staring at his boots as you keep walking. The sidewalk splits again and this time, you go right. The houses are further apart here, a small copse of trees coming into view at the end of the street. “Or Joel. He was just trying to protect you, and I’m sorry for what I—”

“You shot him in the head, Nick,” you say, bristling. “You can’t just apologize for that and make it all go away. You could have killed him. His hearing hasn’t been the same since it happened.”

He stops in his tracks, staring at you, wide-eyed. “What?”

“You heard me,” you tell him, defiant only to cover up the way your bottom lip is wobbling. “And then you tell Henry and Emily that I’m dead?”

“Well, I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?” he shoots back and starts walking again. You inhale sharply and follow. “Henry was so mad when we left. He kept asking where you were, if you were gonna meet us in Chicago, over and over. It just seemed…easier. And how in the hell was I supposed to know that you’d show up here one day and prove me wrong?”

“You could have sent a message,” you say, your chest growing tight, “when you got to Chicago. Or when you got here. Never mind, I should give Tommy a fucking earful for not telling me you’ve been here this whole time.”

“I asked him not to,” he admits, and your brows shoot up. “Yes, I lied, okay, Liv? I’m a terrible fucking person. But you were just as bad as I was. You put that entire QZ at risk coming back when you did, and I—”

“Stop it,” you grit, lifting a hand, shocked when he cuts himself short. “Never in a million years would I have come back if I wasn’t sure. I made Joel promise to put me down if I so much as twitched. I made him swear to put a bullet in my head and leave me there, then go back to the QZ and tell everyone how fucking sorry I was.”

You’ve reached the end of the street, the edge of the small forest, and Nick keeps moving forward, stepping onto the snow. You follow, grinding your teeth together as you go.

You walk in silence for some time, Nick stepping quickly, a few feet in front of you, and you keep your distance, unsure if you can handle the rest of this conversation.

The clearing comes into view after a bit of walking, and Nick moves to the side, revealing a graveyard of sorts, a few rows of grave markers dusted with snow. They’re simple markers, wooden crosses driven into the earth, names scrawled across them, painted on a few. One of the graves is fresh.

Seeing Deanna’s name feels like a punch to the gut, but Emily’s hits twice as hard. You drop to your knees in the snow, reaching out and brushing your hand over the cross, the wreath of flowers that sits atop it. “Sloane does that,” Nick tells you, his voice hushed. “She’s got a whole garden in our backyard just to bring the flowers here. Grows them inside in the winter. She loved Emily.”

Your tears flow freely, dripping off your chin and hitting the snow. “It was a flu?”

“Yes,” he answers, crouching down beside you. “Five years ago, now. We’d been here six months, and things felt good, but then the kids started getting sick, a lot of them. Henry got it too, and I thought he’d go before Emily, with his lungs being so awful, but he didn’t. A few other kids passed, and Deanna was so hellbent on helping as many as she could, swearing up and down that she wouldn’t catch it.” His voice snaps and he clears his throat. “I shouldn’t have listened to her.”

Despite it all, you reach out and put your hand on his arm. “You and I both know that’s not a battle you would have won, Nick.”

“I know,” he answers, his eyes glassy as he covers your hand with his. “And I know that I can’t just apologize and make it all go away, Liv, but for whatever it is worth to you, I am sorry.”

“I am, too,” you reply, squeezing his arm, “for whatever it’s worth.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “This is all so fucked up, but it is good to see you.”

Slowly, you both get to your feet. Your knees are shaky and you can’t bring yourself to pull your gaze away from Deanna and Emily’s grave. After a moment, Nick loops his arm around your shoulders and tugs you against him. You let it happen, glad for his warmth, and lean your head against him.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

+

Nick walks you back to town, points you in the direction of what you learn is Tommy’s bar. The snow crunches under your feet, and as you cross the road, you feel lighter than you have in a long time. Your heart aches, but you can make peace with the loss of Deanna, and to a lesser extent, Emily. There’s no denying the grief that has you by the collar, but knowing they didn’t turn, that they weren’t torn to shreds, that they didn’t die like…that. It brings you some strange sense of peace.

You catch sight of Joel walking out of the bar as you get close, and you can tell he doesn’t notice you standing there. There’s a faraway look on his face that makes your gut twist with unease, the Christmassy atmosphere around you doing little to distract you.

He pulls his coat on and you watch him step down onto the sidewalk, feet carrying him towards the nearest lamppost. He leans heavily against it, one hand lifting to press against his chest, the other curling around the post, and you surge forward, calling his name.

“I’m fine,” he spits at you when you get close, his head lifting, waving you off. “I’m—”

The words choke off in his throat, his eyes caught on something over your shoulder, and before you can ask, he steps away from the post, moves past you, and you can see what he’s looking at.

If you didn’t know she was gone, you’d think you were looking at the back of Sarah Miller. An older version, taller, her hair a bit longer than your memory serves, but the similarities are uncanny. Your heart crawls into your throat as a young girl bounds toward Sarah’s doppelgänger, falling into her open arms with a giggle.

More tears springing into your eyes, you step closer to Joel, putting a hand on his arm. “Baby,” you murmur, letting your hand drop, reaching for his, “let’s go get cleaned up, yeah?”

He doesn’t move. You both stay where you are, Joel’s eyes tracking the girls as they disappear, but you can almost hear the wheels churning in his mind. You say his name again, but he ignores you, and as you watch, that hard mask — one you haven’t seen for a while now — forms on his face, effectively pushing you away.

“I’m goin’ for a walk,” he bites out, and before you can reply, he’s gone, tugging his coat closer, stalking off through the crowds.

You have half a mind to follow him, but something tells you you shouldn’t, and you stay put, wipe the tears from your lashes, looking around at the town. There are just so many…people. Happy people, healthy people. 

Part of you wants to deck Tommy for not telling you to come sooner, but then you remember Maria’s pointed look in the mess hall, when he’d said that having a bad reputation doesn’t always make you bad. What stories has he told his wife? How much does she know? She’d kept him off the radio, after all, leaving you and Joel to spiral back in Boston.

You blow out a breath, refusing to dwell on the past, on all the things you don’t have the power to change now. You made it here, found much more than you bargained for, and hopefully, Joel got some information from Tommy about where you go next. Peering around, you realize you’re not totally sure where you’ve ended up, making your plan to head to the house Maria had briefly shown you before taking you to Cowan’s a moot point. You turn on your heel, contemplating going into the bar to talk to Tommy, when you barrel straight into someone. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say immediately, your boots sliding against the snow. The other person grabs your arm, keeping you upright, and your eyes flick up, widening. “Henry!”

It’s obvious he’s been crying. His eyes are red-rimmed, his nose bright, and he sniffles as he nods at you. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t be,” you assure him, reaching up and cupping his cold cheek in your palm. “Honey, you’re freezing.”

“I was at the graves,” he tells you, and you nod, “but when I heard you and Nick coming, I ran. I didn’t know what to—”

You shake your head. “Henry, it’s okay, really. I promise. This day has been…intense. I was just about to go back to the house Maria put us up in, but I realized I don’t really know where I’m going. Why don’t you show me the way, and I’m sure we can scrounge up something warm to drink inside?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, a tiny smile, but a smile all the same. “That sounds good.”

“Good,” you agree, and he offers you his elbow, turning you in the opposite direction you’d about to start walking. “God, you’re so tall.”

“Giving Nick a run for his money,” he says, and you can hear the smile still in your voice. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, honey,” you tell him, slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow as you start walking. “Anything.”

“Do you remember my parents?”

Oof. “A little. I never really got the chance to know them well; I wasn’t at the mall very long before they died, but I remember them being very nice, very kind. Your dad was very funny, he was always trying his hardest to make you kids laugh.”

“And my mother?”

You swallow hard, ignoring the scene that flashes in your mind. The last time you’d seen Tim and Marcy, FEDRA soldiers had been carrying their bodies out of the mall where you’d all been staying. Tim had blood on his mouth and a bullet in his brain, and Marcy’s throat had been ripped out.

“She was beautiful,” is what comes out of your mouth, and it’s not a lie. She was a beautiful woman, and part of you aches at the realization that you and Deanna never really talked to the kids about their parents much, at least not while they were in Boston. “She chased the two of you around a lot, but I remember she’d tell you bedtime stories every night.”

“I remember that, I think,” Henry says, and you squeeze his arm. “I remember her telling me she’d always chase the bad dreams away.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s all worked out this way. It’s not fair.”

He falls silent, and you walk quietly until the house comes into view. You head inside, finding a note from Ellie that she’s across the street at Maria and Tommy’s house. The house is warm, and sure enough, it’s easy to find a few stray tea bags, some mugs, water and a kettle.

Henry takes a seat at the kitchen island as you make the tea, arms propped on the counter, shoulders hunched. Part of you wants to ask him about Emily, but you hold your tongue, searching the kitchen cabinets and eventually finding a few sugar packets.

“Deanna still talked about you a lot,” Henry says suddenly, and his voice almost makes you jump. “After we left Boston. I think she was mad at Nick, for taking us away, and I don’t know if they ever made up, really and truly.”

“She was mad?” you repeat, dropping the tea bags into mugs and filling them with hot water. “At Nick?”

He nods. “I don’t think she really believed him, when he told us you were dead. Em and I were just kids, but Deanna…she’d give him shit all the time, anytime he made a decision on the road, she’d always counter him and say something like, if Liv were here, she’d do this.”

It makes your throat tight. Sounds like the Deanna you remember.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and your brow lifts, “for believing him.”

You shake your head, setting one of the mugs in front of him and taking the seat beside his. “Henry, honey, you were just a kid. You couldn’t have known; you don’t need to apologize.”

He taps his fingers against the side of his mug. “You were always there for us, Liv. I remember that.” His forehead furrows. “I remember…you getting hurt? You slept on the couch in our apartment for a few days and…” He trails off, shaking his head, but you remember.

“I fell down the stairs,” you say, recounting the lie you’d offered to cover up the beating you’d received in FEDRA lockup, your penance for Joel and Tess coming into the QZ. “That was just after Joel showed up.”

He nods. “I remember being really, really worried when I saw all the bruises, and Deanna told me not to worry, that you were tough and you’d be fine, but I snuck out of bed that night anyway and just sat by the couch, made sure you were still breathing.”

A smile tugs at your lips. “I remember. You scared the shit out of me, honestly.” That earns you a laugh, and you put your hand on his knee. “But then you started crying, and so I hugged you and told you I wasn’t going anywhere, that there was nothing that could take me away from you kids.”

“But then Nick did.”

You inhale sharply. You’re entering dangerous territory. “He did. I don’t agree with him telling you that I was dead, but he had his reasons, Henry. And he did his best to protect all of you.”

“Do you know the reason?” he asks, and your heart sinks. “Because even if you were dead, it doesn’t make sense why he dragged us out of Boston like that.”

“I don’t understand FEDRA anymore than you do, honey. He told me you stayed in Chicago for a while; if they sent him there, he probably didn’t have much of a choice.”

“But why did he want to take us away from you? And why didn’t you come looking for us?”

Fuck.

You shove a hand through your hair with a sigh. “I didn’t know where he’d taken you. I was the last person FEDRA was going to divulge information to, and without knowing even which direction he’d taken you, there was nothing for me to go on.”

It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not entirely a lie either. You had no idea where Nick had taken them when he did, leaving behind only the note he’d written, telling you not to come after them, that you should stay in Boston and that he’d keep your secret. A secret you don’t think you can bring yourself to tell Henry. Not yet, anyway.

Henry sips his tea and you stare down into your mug. Silence settles, but it’s only a few moments before Henry breaks it. “I miss her every single day,” he says, and your eyes lift. “Emily.”

It feels like a punch in the chest. Your eyes are sore from crying already, and yet tears spring anew. “I do too,” you tell him, “and I don’t have the same version you did. She’s still a little kid in my mind, drawing butterflies everywhere.”

“She got really good at it,” he continues, a sad smile pulling at his mouth. “Drawing, I mean. It was all she ever wanted to do, and Nick always made sure she had something to draw with. Good of him, I guess, despite it all.”

“Henry, honey, you can’t hate him forever,” you say, veering for a subject change, if only to beat down the grief rising in your chest. “You’re allowed to be mad; I’m mad as all hell. But Nick Cowan is the closest thing you’ve had to a father in this world, and you know that as well as I do. He did what he had to, and he did it to protect you.” You inhale sharply. “If the roles were reversed, I’d have done the same thing.”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, eyes meeting yours. “What?”

You sigh. You can’t tell him, you know you can’t. But despite all of it, Nick lied to protect them because of you, and you can’t let Henry hate him because of what you did.

“It was my fault,” you say finally, and the grief feels like it might spill over anyway, but you can’t keep up the facade, can’t let Nick take all the blame for this. “I messed up, and it put everyone in danger, and that’s why Nick took you away. I never came after you because I didn’t know where you went, and Nick told me to keep my distance. It was never anything you did, or your sister, or Deanna. It was me, Henry. I caused this. So if you’re going to hate anyone, it should be me. Nick did what he had to.”

He stares at you for a long moment. You wish the floor would split open and swallow you whole, but it doesn’t. You brace your hands on the countertop, waiting for the shouting, the same words he’d hurled at Nick in the street.

But instead, you get, “Are you staying? In Jackson?”

Not what you were expecting, but you’ll take it. “Not for long. We came looking for Tommy, hoping he might know where to take Ellie.”

“That’s the girl that’s with you?” You nod. “You’re taking her to the Fireflies?”

Your brows shoot up. “How do you—”

He waves you off. “Tommy likes to talk when he’s drunk.”

“You—” You cut yourself off, unable to lie any further. “Yes.”

“And after? When she’s where she needs to be?”

Your brow furrows and you shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. Joel and I haven’t decided. We’ve never had a decision like this available to us, and we’d have to talk to Maria more first, I think.” You stare down into your mug again. “I don’t think she likes us much.”

“Aren’t you supposed to hate your in-laws?” he jokes, the mood instantly lightening, and you bark a laugh.

“How would you know?” When his cheeks go red, you smile. “Someone special?”

Henry nods. “Very special.” He swallows, setting his mug on the counter. “His name is Cal.”

The spark in his eyes makes your gut twist with happiness. Despite it all, Henry’s managed to find something that makes his eyes light up like a Christmas tree, something that brings him joy you can feel.

You throw your arms around his neck. “I’m glad, Henry. I’m so, so glad.”

And you are.

PREV | NEXT

[solitary-carnation]

A Late Night

Jinshi x Sanhua

When Jinshi is too late in her study, it's Sanhua's job to make sure she gets to her quarters.

❂ Confident Jinshi

❆ Bashful Sanhua

❂ Sleepy Jinshi

❆ Protective Sanhua

❦ Tooth rotting fluff

She was supposed to escort the Magistrate to her quarters several hours ago. When Sanhua had entered her study deep within the bowels of City Hall to request that she give herself a well-deserved break after a full day of work, Jinhsi had shooed her away.

It had been simple, “Oh - I apologise, Sanchan, I have three more files to sort through. Could you wait for me in your office? I’ll find you when I’m finished.” Sanhua’s face had melted into a smile at the private, intimate nickname.

“Of course, Madame Magistrate. Find me when you’re finished. I’ll be locking your study door.” With that, she turned, locked the door, and left to sit in her office.

It had been three hours of waiting. Jinhsi insisted upon taking all of their current files very early yesterday morning, which was mostly fine with Sanhua because frankly, for as quickly as she’s able to finish the work it still hurts her eyes to focus on. Unfortunately, though, it did leave her with nothing to do.

She sharpened her sword, shined her boots, and then she began to get to the point of antsiness she reaches when Jinhsi is out of her sight for too long. She got up and tried not to sprint to the Magistrate’s study.

Now, approaching the locked door, she raps a knuckle on its wooden surface. “Ma’am, it’s very late - you really should be getting to sleep.”

There’s no answer. Sanhua pauses, hand hovering over the doorknob. Guilt and fear suddenly flood her. Terror that maybe now, the one time she let her guard down, happens to be the time Jinhsi got hurt. She scrambles through the folds of her uniform, producing a key card and swiping it through the lock.

She swings the door open and there’s Jinhsi, asleep at her desk. She’s not hurt. Her face seems to be smashed into the page of a file, clearly smearing ink across both surfaces, but that’s the worst of it. Sanhua makes a mental note to check which file it is and make a reprint in the morning. For now, she’s simply glad that Jinhsi is safe. Her frequency is soft and calm, rising and falling with her gentle snores.

Sanhua steps up behind her and rests her hand on Jinhsi’s shoulder, gently so as to avoid scaring her. “Madame Magistrate?”

A small hum comes from the woman in front of her, and she slowly separates her face from the paper. “Mmn… Sanchan, you know that I prefer Jinhsi,” she murmurs sleepily.

Sanhua’s face goes slightly red. It’s always a bit of a shock to be reminded that Jinzhou’s Magistrate considers the two of them to be equals. “Whatever I may call you, it’s very late and I’d like to return you to your quarters before you sleep here for another night.”

“Seems a bit late for that,” Jinhsi answers, voice barely a whisper. She lets her head fall to her desk once more.

Sanhua takes a deep breath and holds it, for just a moment. As she makes a decision, she slowly lets it out. Just another moment of hesitation and her hands go to Jinhsi’s hair, carefully untying the bows and knotted ornaments. Jinhsi allows out a contented little hum, and Sanhua sees as the corners of her lips quirk. “I’m afraid that I won’t be able to do yours tonight,” she murmurs.

Sanhua thinks about her tightly woven hairstyle that’s such a pain to take down without another person in the back, and smiles. “That’s alright. You can put mine up tomorrow morning.”

“You forget I’d do that anyway,” Jinhsi immediately answers. Sanhua uses nimble fingers to pull each of her hair loops loose, and then even more carefully undoes her twin tails. Now her snow white hair hangs loose in a curtain around her, and Sanhua uses her fingers to brush it out.

“You’re too good to me, my dear,” Jinshi murmurs as she soaks in the contact.

“I believe ‘too good’ would include getting you into bed before midnight,” Sanhua sighs, and Jinhsi immediately giggles at the goal that was failed hours prior. She finally sits straight up, and looks Sanhua in the eye with a soft, easy smile.

Sanhua will never get tired of looking at Jinhsi. While most things in this world are warped and twisted in her eye, Jinhsi looks radiant. She’s so easy to see, easy to focus on, and the purity of her frequency shines through with every smile. Ink is smeared across her cheek, her hair hangs loose to frame her face, and all in all, she looks incredibly cute.

“You do. You treat me wonderfully, Sanhua, and I thank you for that,” she enthuses. Without looking away, she takes Sanhua’s hand and presses a gentle kiss to her palm. Suddenly her neck is hot, and her breath is stuck in her throat.

“Madame Magistrate, I don’t think - I mean, with me, a commoner -”

“Oh, hush. You will always be the one I choose,” Jinhsi promises gently. She reaches up and places a hand on Sanhua’s jaw, brushing her thumb over her high cheekbone.

For a moment she isn’t exactly sure what Jinhsi is doing. She’s frozen, as she often finds herself under affection, and it only lifts when the Divine Magistrate slides her hand to the back of her neck, pulling her gently down and pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

Sanhua hums softly into the kiss, letting herself be held in this moment of quiet serenity. She takes the time to fully appreciate the softness of Jinhsi’s lips, the light taste of peach blossoms. They eventually part, and Sanhua finds herself red in the face.

“I think it’s beyond time you got to bed, Ma’am,” she says gently, not unkindly. “I’ll escort you, of course.”

Jinhsi sighs, a patient exhaustion to her expression. “Sanchan, how many times do I have to remind you? Just ‘Jinhsi’ is perfectly fine. You’re incredibly dear to me and I think we can dismiss the pleasantries.”

Sanhua giggles, a smile teasing her lips. It’s a rare sound, and the joy that fills Jinhsi’s frequency in that moment is apparent. Sanhua leans down and kisses Jinhsi again, firm but with a careful gentleness. The Magistrate makes a small sound of surprise, but when Sanhua pulls away, she’s absolutely beaming.

“May I escort you to bed, Jinhsi?” Sanhua holds out her hand, leaning in a half bow to invite Jinshi from her chair.

She takes Sanhua’s hand and pulls herself up. “Of course.”

[secretlythepits]

A Special Day

We don’t go out much. Mostly because leaving the house means spending money and that’s been tight since we had kids. Also, there’s traffic and we get most of what we need online. But clothes, especially for the boys need to be chosen in person.

We went to the mall today and had planned to go to a different mall tomorrow if we didn’t get everything we needed. Both kids have grown and need wardrobe refreshes. It’s overdue, but the treatment schedule is a lot. After school, we headed to the mall and, surprise, surprise, found everything but a hoodie at the first store. I even got a few things. The prices were such bargains too. A total score.

The plan was to also go out to dinner for my son’s birthday, which was earlier this week on a treatment travel day for my husband and an AP test for my other son. I made a special dinner and cake that day, and we pushed the restaurant to the weekend. I found a place that looked good in the same area of the mall and it was so atmospheric (aesthetics matter to me, Amalfi Coast was the theme) and the food was very delicious. We had a great conversation and my husband shared stories from his childhood in Cuba. The kids listened in a way they hadn’t before.

Because the mall trip unexpectedly ended early, dinner was early too, so my son was able to meet friends at the rock climbing gym afterwards. We had thought that wouldn’t work out. It was a lot of fun and they even had a DJ. My husband wanted to stay, rather than drop him off so he had a good time just hanging out. My other son and I did a fashion show for each other and I watched a guilty pleasure (it’s on Hulu and so bad, it’s good 🤫 🤫 🤫 ).

When my husband came home, he was tired but happy. It was just sort of a magical time hanging out as a family. It feels like a rare treat these days. At the restaurant he all of a sudden remembered that our favorite chef had finally opened her new place. We had planned to go, but haven’t made it yet. He panicked.

“There is still time,” I told him. “You still have time.” Because I knew he is now seeing his end approach.

When he got home from the rock climbing gym, he confessed that all week he has felt that he is deteriorating. I have noticed. Again, it’s hard to tell what is a side effect and what is cancer. (Except the weird circular rash he has that looks kind of like ring worm, that is from whatever freaky chemicals they injected in him.) There is no roadmap in clinical trials and although we know lots of people who’ve had cancer, we don’t know anyone with clinical trial experience. It’s a whole different ball game.

Anyway, I have noticed him declining, but it breaks my heart to hear him say it . I don’t know what it would feel like to really know: this is it. The tiny fragment I have left of my life is almost gone. It’s like holding an ice cube in your hand on a summer day.

But we soldier on. He has his second cataract surgery, then treatment, followed immediately by his bucket list trip.

And then….

Scans. Maybe more treatment. If not, hospice. There is a possibility of ablation.

And me, how am I doing?

I’m glad we made up. No part of me wants to waste this time. In the end, our marriage was good and bad (just like life), but it produced a magical family. It’s easy to be weighed down by the challenges of puberty, menopause, and caregiving— what a trifecta of 💩 💩 💩. But to disregard all the precious moments our hearts were bursting with joy— nah, those weren’t nothing; they were everything.

I am doing one thing that might be deeply unhealthy, but maybe it’s good. I don’t know.

I decided to isolate myself from my friends and family. I know that sounds awful. But I just dropped out a week ago and don’t plan on resuming any contact with anyone for the foreseeable future. I feel bad for their end, but I just really don’t have it in me to explain what’s happening.

I have wonderful people. People who listen and care, who don’t yap on about their lives until I have asked them. But for some time I have been frustrated when talking to them. Sometimes it’s because I have to wait (time differences and busy lives, but I don’t like feeling on pause when my world is exploding). Sometimes it’s because even when I invite them to talk about what’s going on, I feel how insignificant it is compared to my own Capital L Life stuff going on. Sometimes it’s because those perfect and sincere comments they make seem like a script, even though of course that’s the only thing to say. Sometimes it’s because they say something off in a minor way and in my heart, I am lacking basic social patience right now. I know all of these perceptions are my problem. It’s nobody’s fault that nothing feels right (including me).

But the big thing is: nobody has even a clue the depth of the sadness, frustration, and fear in my life. Every week equates to the emotional load of a whole year in normal times. Talking about it turns it into a story and that story never feels entirely accurate. It’s very much an iceberg situation. I cannot bear to talk about the tip anymore and nobody else can truly understand what’s down below.

I also feel too dependent on others for my emotional wellbeing. I need to figure out a way I can stand on my own. A lifetime ago, I moved to India for a few months and I purposefully didn’t call or email my mom. I felt like I needed to become more emotionally independent and I feel that same impulse now.

I am depressed, which is unusual for me. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about plans to get better. Nothing will change until my situation changes. I want to be aware of how I’m feeling and then I want to learn how to navigate this on my own. I want to reconnect with others when I have gotten myself to a better place. (It’s also not fun to be the Debbie Downer all the time but that is my life.)

Part of me is worried because I know isolation is a sign of depression and maybe I should be fighting against that current. But maybe I’m just so tired, it’s time to float and just let it take me where it takes me. Ultimately l, I know I am at its mercy and there is absolutely nothing I can do to steer myself elsewhere. Eventually, I will swim back to shore, but for now,

why fight a rip current?