#hi its josette

[morning-sun-brah]

Hello! I just read that Mafia au snippet and I need more of this. I could see the possible yearning between Leo and Vivian ugh and it’s delicious nomnom

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Here, have a treat!

<Part 1

Mafia AU, Part 2

Betty returned to the office two days later, her husband in stable condition, and when she did Leon told her that he would, with no exceptions, be the one to make bank deposits from then on (and also she was getting a raise- being a trophy wife for a geriatric seemed like hard work). 

“Anything to lighten the load,” he’d insisted. “You’ve got too much on your plate, Betts.” 

Betty had looked half skeptical, half relieved. It was the easiest part of her job, so Leon could understand the confusion, and she’d tried to show him how to download the bank app on his phone but he’d just waved her away and shook his head. 

“I got it,” he insisted.

Was he being a fool? Probably. Only a fool would trek their way into a bank just on the off-chance of talking to a pretty woman, but Leon had done worse. He was sure he had, anyway- he was close to forty, and he’d gotten into plenty of trouble with women and men alike. Maybe not with the promise of so little, though. A bit of prolonged flirting, with a woman he didn’t even know, seemed like the kind of bone a much younger man would go after. Which implied he was some sort of dog, but Leon wasn’t exactly rushing to rectify his own assessment.   

He returned to the bank a week later, a check in hand and grinning widely from the back of the line while he watched Vivian wait on customers. Leon had half convinced himself that his overactive imagination had exaggerated how pretty she was, how much he enjoyed looking at her- but on second sight he found her even more to his liking. Which was mildly surprising, since she looked a little run-ragged. Hair all piled on the top of her head in a crooked bun, only a swipe of lip gloss and a brush of mascara on her face, and dark bags under her eyes from behind the rims of her glasses (black and thick-framed today). 

Take her home and really exhaust her was his first thought, and he blinked at the idea before shoving it deep down, until it resided somewhere at his feet. 

He was a little worried, too, that she’d maybe looked him up. That when she’d call on him, it would be with a wealth of professionalism, maybe even fear, and he knew that if that were the case the game would be over. He’d have to download some stupid app to his phone and follow through with his promise to deposit checks, because there wasn’t a point in coming to the bank and talking to Vivian if she wasn’t going to treat him exactly how she had been- not knowing who or what he was. 

But her voice rang out when it was his turn in line, and he knew she still wasn’t clued in.

“Come on, big guy.” 

Immediately Leo was beaming- a lance of delight running through him that she remembered him, that she stuck with the moniker of big guy. That she didn’t know. 

She didn’t know. 

“Vivian,” he greeted, sliding over his check, leaning against her counter.  

“Oh my god,” she began, huffing out a breath that blew a stray chunk of hair from her forehead. “Did you even fill out a slip?!” 

“I did not.” 

“I should make you go to the back of the line,” she grumbled, grabbing a blank deposit slip and shoving it under his snout. “Go on,” she insisted. “Fill it out! I’m not doing it for you!” 

Leo pulled a frown. “But you have such nice handwriting,” he simpered. 

“Ew,” Vivian said, mouth opening and tongue lolling out to imitate retching. “Please, I’m not your mother. Fill out your own shit.” 

Leon chuckled, taking a bank pen and leaning over the counter a little more to fill in the blank spaces- one finger holding the slip steady since he’d once again forewent the prosthetic (and Donnie really was going to hand him his ass if he didn’t start wearing it more often). He glanced at her as he scrawled out the information, and Vivian gave him a little glare. 

“What?!” Leo asked indignantly. 

Not bothering to deny that she indeed had been glaring at him, Vivian snapped, “I’m mad at you.” 

Pausing midway through signing his name, Leo gave her an incredulous, baffled look. 

“What the hell did I do?!” he asked in a bewildered voice, a smile still tugging the corners of his lips. 

Vivian’s eyes slotted thinner. “Well for one, you didn’t bring me coffee,” she said, and Leon had the good grace to wince. 

“Shit, yeah, that's my bad, Viv.” 

If she had anything to say about him calling her Viv, she didn’t voice it- didn’t even look as though it bothered her in the slightest. Instead, she continued, “I don’t think you understand. Our coffee pot broke, and I haven’t had any caffeine. Do you know how excited I was when I saw you in line? I thought for sure you’d brought me coffee- seeing as I let you have mine when you needed it.” 

“You noticed me in line?” Leon asked brightly, ignoring the rest of her words and grinning when she snarled at him. 

“You’re too tall, how could I not notice you?”  

Leo chuckled and finished signing his name, tsking when she snatched the slip from his hand. 

“Could have given me a papercut,” he scolded, snorting when Vivian grumbled, then added, “Why else are you mad at me, sweetheart?” 

“Ugh, because your face is so punchable,” Vivian answered, tapping on her keyboard. 

Leon pouted- something she didn’t even notice because she wasn’t looking at him, and the expression melted into a frown. “C’mon, gorgeous, what did I do?” He prodded, voice dipping into sincerity. 

She stopped typing to turn fully in her seat, eyes narrowed at him, “Flattery will get you nowhere.” 

Leo’s brow ridge quirked. “I find it’s gotten me everywhere, actually. And who says it’s flattery? Who says it’s not the truth?” 

Vivian snorted. “Fine. Remember you asked for this.” She heaved a sigh and began. “My alarm went off a half hour before I was supposed to be here this morning, so I was an hour late. I look like death, I haven’t had coffee, my first customer yelled at me for twenty minutes, and you decided to come in today, of all days.” Vivian glared and added, “It’s rude.” 

Leo let a slow, wicked little smile stretch across his face. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, eyes alight. “You’re mad at me because I came in and saw you… What? Not at your best?” 

Something that felt a lot like excitement alighted in his chest when, instead of backtracking or denying his words, Vivian nodded. 

“Yeah, exactly.” 

“But I already have a terrible first impression of you,” Leon quipped. 

“Yeah, but I looked good, at least!” Vivian insisted, a little hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Now you have a terrible impression of me and I look like shit.” 

Leo couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, not noticing how some of the other customers who were still in line flinched at the sound. He gave her a crooked smile. “Vivian,” he started, waiting until she looked at him before adding in a very serious tone, “You’re absolutely right. You look like shit.” 

Vivian rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up,” she sniped. 

Chuckling as her fingers tapped almost violently on her keyboard, Leo shook his head and said, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were fishing for compliments.” 

She only responded by rolling her eyes again, casting him a dark glare, and Leon let his gaze travel over her desk. There was a little pot of fake flowers, a picture frame that was turned so he couldn't see who looked out from it, a blue stress ball that looked as though it had seen better days, and- 

“I’m sorry, is that a Rancor?” 

Vivian’s fingers paused. 

“And?” 

“You have a Rancor action figure at your desk?” 

“He’s my little pet.” 

Leo’s brow ridge went high on his forehead, casting her a dubious look. 

“Hey, judgy, don’t give me that look.” 

“I’m not judging.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Vivian insisted. “Seeing as you knew exactly what it was you nerd.” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’d be tossing unkind words when I’m not the one with a fucking Rancor sitting on my desk.” 

Vivian gave a little pout. “His name is Jerry.” 

Leon blinked at her. “Jerry.” 

“Yes. I think it’s funny to give big intimidating things normal names.” 

“Am I a big intimidating thing?” 

“No,” Vivian sniffed. “You’re a gremlin.” 

“God, the confidence boost I get talking to you.” 

She raised an arched brow at him and didn’t respond (though she did grumble out something that sounded a lot like now who’s fishing for compliments), and he drummed his fingers on her counter, just to be annoying. 

“I know you aren’t rushing me,” she deadpanned, cutting him a withering glare and slowing her typing down to a snail's pace. 

“I would never rush such a well-put-together lady,” he replied with snark. 

“I’m going to freeze your account.”

Something, maybe pity, finally tugged at Leon, and he gave a sigh. “C’mon now, Viv,” Leo murmured. “You know you look good.”

Finally, she blushed, and Leo leered at her when she ignored him to go back to typing.

There was a bit more aggressive tapping, and then she was sliding his check into the desktop safe that sat next to her. Just before she handed him his receipt she said, “You come in here again without my coffee, and I’ll ruin your life.” 

Leon scoffed and snatched the paper from her. 

“I’m tempted to see if you can.”

@starrcrossrose and I appreciate the love. <3

Also, what kind of man drinks up some poor woman's coffee and then doesn't bring her cup when he promised to? Degenerate behavior.

[widowshill]

"for most of my life, i've wanted a place where i've belonged. a place where I could feel at home again. feel loved again. and i've found that place, here at collinwood." this is actually what it's all about babey

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 5) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbrii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and every day is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

The Atlanta airport is different after months of European terminals. Everything's louder, more familiar, more home. Leila's dragging her designer luggage (a gift from Josette on her birthday) past Popeyes and Chick-fil-A, the smell making her realize how much she's missed proper Southern food.

Her mama nearly drops her church hat when she walks through the door unannounced, clutching her chest like Leila's appearance might send her straight to Jesus.

"Lord have mercy! What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did that boy—" Jeanna Mae's already reaching for her phone, probably to alert the whole prayer circle about her prodigal daughter's return.

"Mama, breathe." Leila drops her bags by the door, taking in the familiar scent of sweet potato pie and those vanilla plugins. The house looks exactly the same – family photos covering every surface, that ancient TV guide that hasn't been opened since streaming existed, her daddy's old recliner still in its spot of honor.

"Don't tell me to breathe when you show up looking like somebody broke your heart." Her mama's fingers are flying across her phone screen. "And I bet it's about that captain of yours. The one who won't admit his feelings."

"Mama—"

"Don't 'mama' me. You flew across an ocean to run from that boy. I raised you better than that."

Before Leila can defend her life choices, her phone explodes with notifications:

Yolanda: BITCH YOU'RE HOME??? Kenzi: Emergency drinks at Slim & Husky's in 30. This is not a request Tasha: Don't even think about saying no. We saw your IG stories Yolanda: Already ordered the wine. GET HERE

Her mama's already pushing her toward the stairs, that knowing look in her eyes. "Go change. Your girls are waiting. But don't think this conversation is over. I want to know everything about this William boy too."

"How do you even—"

"Baby girl, I might be old but I know how to use Instagram. Now go. But we're having a proper talk when you get back."

An hour later, she's squeezed into a booth at Slim & Husky's, surrounded by her best friends since middle school and enough pizza and wine to fuel a proper intervention. The restaurant's busy for a weeknight, filled with that specific Atlanta energy she didn't realize she'd missed.

"So let me get this straight," Yolanda leans forward, wine glass dangling dangerously while her bamboo earrings catch the light. "You got TWO fine African men fighting over you? In EUROPE?"

"They're not fighting—"

"Girl, please." Kenzi rolls her eyes so hard they might get stuck. "One's bringing you Lebanese food while the other's having whole breakdowns in tunnels? That's fighting. That's fighting in multiple languages."

"And you're here because…?" Tasha raises an eyebrow, already reaching for another slice. "Because from where I'm sitting, you running from good dick. Multiple good dicks."

"I needed space," Leila adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit that makes her friends exchange looks. "From both of them. From all of it."

"Space?" All three look at her like she's lost her European mind.

"From the situation," she clarifies. "It's complicated."

"What's complicated about your captain being clearly in love with you but too scared to say it?" Yolanda's got that look that means she's about to start speaking truths nobody asked for.

"Or about you dating his teammate to make him jealous?" Kenzi adds, signaling for more wine. "Because baby, that's what you're doing."

"I am NOT—"

"You are." Tasha cuts her off, voice gentle but firm. "And baby? That never ends well. Trust someone who knows."

"Plus," Kenzi adds, "that William seems sweet. He doesn't deserve to be your rebound."

"He's not—"

"He is." All three say it in unison, years of friendship making them a well-oiled truth-telling machine.

"Look," Yolanda sets down her wine glass like she's about to deliver a sermon. "You got these two fine men – both rich, both fine as hell, both clearly interested. One's bringing you food and treating you right, while the other's having whole emotional breakdowns over you but won't say why. And instead of dealing with it, you flew home to eat pizza with us."

"The pizza is good though," Leila mutters.

"Not better than French dick," Tasha coughs into her wine.

The truth of it all hits different over pizza and pinot noir in her hometown, surrounded by friends who've known her since she was wearing Limited Too and dreaming about her first kiss. Maybe she did run. Maybe she's still running.

But maybe she needed to come home to figure out where she's actually trying to go.

"So what are you gonna do?" Kenzi asks softly.

Leila looks down at her phone – no messages from Aurélien, but three from William checking if she landed safely.

"I don't know."

But that's a lie.

She does know.

She's just not ready to admit it yet.

"Well if it isn't the finest women in Atlanta."

The voice makes Leila's entire body cringe before she even looks up. Torrance Johnson – high school quarterback turned local gym trainer – is standing at their table with that same smile that definitely worked better ten years ago.

"Torrance," Yolanda's voice could freeze hell. "Don't you have some protein shakes to blend?"

But he's already focused on Leila, eyes doing that slow scan that makes her wish she'd worn a turtleneck. "Damn girl, Europe's been good to you. When'd you get back?"

"She's not staying," Tasha cuts in. "And she's taken."

"By two men," Kenzi adds helpfully, earning herself a kick under the table.

"Two?" Torrance's eyebrows shoot up. "Nah, can't be. Our Leila? Miss Voted Most Likely to Marry Her Books?"

Something about the way he says it – that hint of dismissal, that suggestion that she couldn't possibly have multiple men interested – reminds her exactly why she left Atlanta in the first place.

Her eyes catch on his deliberately distressed jeans, probably bought that way from some boutique in Buckhead, and suddenly all she can think about is Aurélien. How he dresses like every Atlanta rapper's Pinterest board come to life, all designer streetwear and chains that probably cost more than Torrance's trainer fees.

"You should go," she says finally, not even looking up from her wine. "Your protein shakes are calling."

"Come on now—"

"She said go." Yolanda's voice carries enough attitude to make several nearby tables look over.

He leaves, but not before dropping his card on the table with a wink that probably works better on girls who haven't seen him throw up at prom.

"The audacity," Tasha mutters, reaching for more wine. "Acting like you ain't out here with whole European footballers fighting over you."

"They're not—"

"Girl, if you say they're not fighting one more time," Kenzi cuts in. "We've seen the videos. Your captain looked ready to commit murder in that tunnel."

"And William?" Yolanda adds. "That's not just trying to get some, that's husband behavior."

Leila's phone buzzes – another text from William asking how her first night home is going. Nothing from Aurélien, but Cama has sent her a video of him absolutely destroying the training ground equipment.

"You know what's funny?" she says finally, still staring at her phone. "Aurélien dresses exactly like these Atlanta boys trying to look hard. All ripped jeans and chains and-"

"Baby," Tasha interrupts gently, "the fact that you're thinking about how he dresses tells us everything we need to know."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yolanda starts, "that you flew across an ocean to get away from your feelings but you're still noticing his clothes."

"His very expensive clothes," Kenzi adds. "Not whatever Fashion Nova collection Torrance was trying to rock."

"Can we not—"

"Compare them?" Tasha grins. "Too late. We've all seen your Instagram stories. We know exactly what kind of men you're working with now."

"And neither of them," Yolanda adds, "is anything like these local boys trying to act like they're something. Your captain might dress Atlanta, but baby? That man's got that real money energy. And William?"

"Pure class," Kenzi nods. "The way he looks at you in those photos? Like you hung the moon or something."

"Meanwhile Aurélien looks at you like he's trying to figure out how to possess your soul," Tasha observes. "In a hot way."

"Y'all are doing too much," Leila mutters, but her cheeks are warm.

"Are we though?" Yolanda challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've got two whole meals fighting over you in Europe while Torrance 'Peak in High School' Johnson is trying to get your attention with some jeans he probably bought at ASOS."

"The difference," Kenzi adds, "is that Aurélien's probably wearing jeans that cost more than Torrance's car."

"And William's probably never worn distressed anything in his life," Tasha laughs.

"Can we talk about something else?" Leila pleads. "Anything else?"

"Sure," Yolanda grins. "Let's talk about how you're going to handle going back to work. That's coming whether you're ready or not."

The reminder sits heavy in her stomach. One week left of pretending she's not running from her feelings. One week of Georgia comfort before facing reality.

Her phone buzzes again – a text from her mama this time:

That boy called me again. The captain. Asked how you were.

She turns her phone face down.

The chatter at the table felt like a lifeline, a reminder that even with the chaos of her love life — or whatever this was — her friends never changed.

"Alright, y’all," Leila starts, her tone light but her fingers nervously taps her glass. "If we’re gonna dissect my life like this, at least give me something useful. Any advice for handling… all of this?"

"You mean William?" Yolanda grin like she’s been waiting for this moment. "Or both of them?"

"Both," Leila admits, earning a chorus of gasps and exaggerated cheers from around the table.

"You kissed him, though?" Kenzi presses. "William? Wilo? What was it like?"

Leila took a sip of wine, letting the anticipation build. "It was… nice," she says, feigning nonchalance.

"Nice? Girl, come on!" Kenzi groans.

"Fine," Leila relents, a sly smile creeping onto her lips. "It made my kitty purr."

The table erupts, laughter bubbling up loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.

"Big purr!" Yolanda cackles, fanning herself dramatically.

"And yet, you’re still hung up on Aurélien," Tasha says knowingly, swirling her wine like she had the upper hand in this conversation. "You can’t hide that."

"Because he’s got her heart," Yolanda teases. "William might’ve gotten a kiss, but Aurélien’s the one she wants to risk it all for."

"Okay, okay, but," Kenzi cuts in, her tone shifting into unsolicited-advice territory. "If you’re really gonna give Wilo a shot, you need to bring your A-game. Like, head game on ten."

Leila groans, her head falling into her hands. "Why do I feel like I’m about to regret asking this?"

"Because you probably are," Yolanda teases, ignoring her protest. "But listen up. The trick with a guy like William? You gotta be confident. Show him you know what you’re doing. And eye contact. Always."

"Exactly," Kenzi agrees, raising her glass. "And if he gets all quiet or grabs your hair—"

"I’m leaving," Leila interrupts, though she stayed firmly in her seat, face buried in her hands.

"You’re not going anywhere," Tasha says with a smirk. "This is gold, and you know it."

"I can’t believe I’m having this conversation," Leila mutters, peeking up from her hands.

"Believe it, baby," Yolanda says, taking a sip of her drink. "And take notes, because we all know William’s got that 'nice boy' energy, but Aurélien?"

"He’s giving 'break-the-headboard' energy," Tasha finishes matter-of-factly, earning another round of laughter.

Leila tries to glare at Tasha, but the heat rushing to her cheeks betrays her. "Y’all really have no chill, do you?"

"Not when we’re right," Yolanda says, sliding her phone across the table. "Speaking of Aurélien, have you seen this picture of him on the pitch? Look at his tongue."

Leila glances down reluctantly, only to be met with an image of Aurélien mid-game: shirt clinging to his torso, a sheen of sweat glistening under the stadium lights, his tongue peeking out in what was either concentration or defiance. His face was as expressive as ever, eyes lit with determination.

"You’re telling me this man isn’t whispering filthy things in French while making you see God?" Yolanda asks, her tone almost academic.

"I’m saying nothing," Leila says, snatching the phone and flipping it over. "Y’all are too much."

"But we’re not wrong," Kenzi shot back. "Aurélien looks like he’d talk you into doing things you didn’t even know you wanted to do. Just with that voice."

"And that tongue," Yolanda adds, grinning devilishly. "Girl, do you know how expressive his face is? Like, come on. He’s not just scoring goals on the pitch."

"Alright, that’s enough!" Leila protests, trying to keep her composure despite the riotous laughter around her.

"Enough?" Tasha raises a brow. "Girl, we’ve barely started. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. About him and that—"

"I haven’t!" Leila lies, her voice is a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

"Uh-huh." Yolanda wasn’t buying it. "Listen, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. That’s not just casual interest. That’s 'call out my name when you’re about to come' energy."

Kenzi nearly spat her drink. "I mean, facts, but damn, Yolanda, say it with your chest."

"She already did," Tasha quipps. "And she’s not wrong. Leila, you’ve got two literal snacks fighting over you. One’s sweet, one’s spicy. You’ve gotta at least taste one."

Leila groans, her face in her hands again. "Y’all are insufferable."

"But you love us," Kenzi says, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "And we love you. We just want you to live your best life. With both of them, if that’s what it takes."

"Big facts," Yolanda says, raising her glass. "To Leila living her best life, with Aurélien, William, and whoever else makes her kitty purr."

Leila couldn’t help but laugh, raising her own glass in surrender. "Y’all are ridiculous."

"Ridiculously right," Tasha says with a wink. "Now, tell us more about that kiss. Did he grab your waist? Your face? Both?"

And just like that, the teasing continued, leaving Leila both mortified and comforted. If nothing else, her girls always had her back, even if it meant roasting her into oblivion in the process.

*********************************************

Leila was halfway through her third slice of pizza at Slim & Husky’s when her phone buzzed on the table. The low hum of conversation and the warm scent of garlic and cheese filled the space, but the message on her screen stole her focus.

Wilo: Can you come to London next weekend? I miss you.

She stared at the words, her stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the food. Her friends were busy splitting a cinnamon roll flight, oblivious to the sudden weight in her chest.

"You good?" Kenzi asks, nudging her shoulder.

Leila blinks, quickly locking her phone. "Yeah. Just Wilo being… Wilo."

"Oh, what’s he saying now?" Yolanda leans in, her curiosity obvious.

"Nothing important," Leila mutters, waving them off.

Her friends gave her knowing looks but didn’t press further. Leila took another bite of pizza, forcing herself to focus on the moment, the laughter, the easy camaraderie. But her phone felt heavier in her pocket now, like it was daring her to check it again.

Later that night, back at home, the scent of fried chicken and collard greens still lingered in the air from dinner. Leila leans against the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone lukewarm. The hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen as her mama wiped down the table, and her daddy sat at the head, finishing the last of his sweet tea with a satisfied sigh.

"That hit the spot, baby," he says, patting his belly. His trucker hat was tipped back on his head, a little smudge of grease still on his hands from unloading earlier.

Her mama smiles, but the look she gave him was clear: We need some girl time.

He caught the silent signal and grins, pushing back his chair. "Alright, I know when I’m not needed. Leila, you make sure your mama doesn’t go pulling out another project this late. I’m gonna grab a shower."

"Yes, sir," Leila says with a small smile, watching him leave the room.

Her mama waited until the sound of the shower started before she finally spoke.

"You got something on your mind, girl?" her mama asks, setting down the dishcloth.

Leila hesitates. "No. Just tired."

Her mama raised a brow but didn’t push. Instead, she grabbed a glass of water and leaned on the counter across from Leila.

"You get my text about Aurélien calling me today?" she asks, her tone deceptively casual.

"Yeah."

"Wanted to check on you. Asked how you’ve been," her mama says, sipping her water.

Leila frowns. "What did you tell him?"

"Told him you’re grown, handling your business," her mama replies easily. "But he sounded worried. Said he missed you.”

Leila’s chest tightens, but she kept her expression cool. "He didn’t say that to me."

"Maybe he’s scared to," her mama says, fixing her with that all-knowing look. "Men don’t always say what they mean, but they show it in other ways."

Leila snorts, shaking her head. "He’s all talk, Mama. If he cared, he’d show up. William’s the one actually trying."

Her mama’s lips quirks up in a small smile. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just scared of what it would mean if Aurélien came through. Scared to let him in."

Leila looks away, her throat tight. "I’m not scared."

"Sure you’re not," her mama says lightly, pushing off the counter. She paused to kiss the top of Leila’s head. "Just don’t be so busy keeping your options open that you miss out on what you really want."

As her mama walked out of the kitchen, Leila’s phone buzz again.

Wilo: Please, Leila. I just want to see you.

Her thumb hovers over the screen, but her mind isn’t on Wilo. It was on Aurélien and the way his name had sounded coming from her mama’s lips. The way her heart had skipped just a little at the thought of him calling to check on her.

***************************************

Leila only has a few more days at home, and it’s messing with her head. She thought coming back to Atlanta would give her clarity, but instead, it feels like everything is weighing on her even more. The whole thing with Aurélien and Wilo — it’s making everything harder.

Should she quit being Aurélien’s PA to be with Wilo? Or just quit being a PA altogether and finally figure herself out? But if she does quit, she’s not going back to corporate. Hell no. That life nearly drained her dry the first time around, and she’s not making that mistake again.

Still, the idea of starting fresh sounds good — better than being stuck in the middle of whatever this is. But then Wilo texts her again, and curiosity gets the better of her. What could this thing with him really be? Would it work if she gave it a real shot?

It’s late, but she picks up her phone and finally replies.

Leila: I’ll come see you this week.

His response comes almost immediately.

Wilo: This week? You sure?

Leila: Yeah. I’ll let you know when I land.

She doesn’t give herself time to overthink it. By morning, her ticket to London is booked, and by the afternoon, she’s already on her way to the airport. Her mama gives her one of those tight hugs that says, I know you’re up to something, but I’ll let you figure it out. Her daddy tells her to be safe, his attention mostly on the game playing on the living room TV.

The flight is smooth, and she spends most of it bouncing between nervous excitement and second-guessing herself. By the time she lands, her resolve is still intact, but she’s made one decision for sure— she’s not staying at Wilo’s house. That’s too much temptation, and she needs to be as clear-headed as possible.

Her hotel is chic but understated, the kind of place that feels luxurious without screaming it. She texts Wilo her room number once she’s checked in, her pulse kicking up as she sends it.

Not even twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

When she opens it, Wilo is standing there, dressed down in a hoodie and jeans, but somehow still looking like he just stepped out of a GQ spread. He’s holding a bouquet of white roses and grinning like he’s relieved she actually showed up.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice low and warm.

"Hey," she replies, stepping aside to let him in.

The air between them feels heavy but not uncomfortable. He hands her the flowers, his fingers brushing hers in a way that sends a jolt straight through her.

"I wasn’t sure if you were serious," he admits, watching her as she sets the flowers on the desk near the window.

"I was," she says, turning to face him. "I just… needed to make sure I was doing this for the right reasons."

"And?"

"And I’m here," she says simply, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Wilo steps closer, his gaze steady and unflinching. "I’m glad you are."

Leila feels her heart skip, but she keeps her cool, determined to stay clear-headed and focused. She’s not here to get swept away — at least, that’s what she tells herself.

"So," she says, breaking the moment before it gets too intense. "What’s the plan?"

He grins, his dimples making an appearance. "I thought we’d just wing it. Unless you’ve got something in mind?"

"Wing it works," she says, grabbing her jacket.

As they head out, she can’t help but wonder if she’s walking into something that will make everything even more complicated — or if, for once, it might actually lead to something real.

Leila and Wilo keep it low-key, staying under the radar as much as possible. No fancy dinners or crowded hotspots — just little moments that feel easy. They grab coffee at a quiet café tucked into a side street, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and a barista who doesn’t even blink at Wilo’s recognizable face.

Later, they wander through a park, laughing about something stupid Wilo said. It’s simple, and it feels good — so good that Leila starts to think this could actually work.

At one point, they find themselves in a small record store. Wilo flips through vinyls, holding one up every now and then with a smug grin. "You’d love this," he says, handing her a Prince album.

Leila rolls her eyes but takes it anyway, her fingers brushing against his for a second too long. It’s moments like this that make her question everything she thought she wanted or didn’t want.

As they sit down for a late lunch at a quiet bistro, she sneaks a photo of Wilo, mid-laugh, the light catching just right on his face. She uploads it to her Close Friends story, tagging it with a coy little caption: London’s treating me well.

Her Close Friends list is carefully curated. Aurélien isn’t on it — he never has been — but Jules and Cama are. And if she knows anything about them, they’re definitely going to report back.

And she doesn’t care.

Part of her wants them to. She wants Aurélien to see the photo, to know she’s here, to feel something. Everyone keeps saying he has feelings for her, but he’s never done anything to prove it. No grand gesture, no confession, not even a drunken text. If he has feelings, he hides them well, and Leila’s tired of guessing.

As the day goes on, though, her phone stays silent. No text, no DM, nothing. She tries to push it out of her mind, focusing on Wilo instead. He’s attentive, sweet, and clearly into her, and she knows she should be grateful for that.

But as much as she tries to stay present, Aurélien lingers in the back of her mind.

When she gets back to her hotel that evening, Wilo walks her to her door, his hand lingering at her lower back. He leans in to kiss her, but she stops him with a soft smile.

"Not tonight," she says, her voice gentle but firm.

Wilo steps back, nodding. "I get it," he says, his tone understanding. "Goodnight, Leila."

"Goodnight," she replies, watching him walk away before stepping into her room.

As she sits on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, she starts to wonder if it’s time to cut her losses entirely. Maybe Aurélien’s silence is her answer. Maybe it’s time to stop waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

She exhales sharply, tossing her phone onto the nightstand. Whatever happens next, she knows one thing for sure: she’s done chasing after a man who won’t meet her halfway.

Leila wakes up to the soft hum of her phone vibrating against the nightstand. She groggily grabs it, squinting at the screen. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Training’s at nine. Match starts at six. Rest up so you don’t fall asleep in the stands.

She rolls her eyes but smiles, setting the phone down. Today is her last full day in London, and as much as she’s enjoyed the ease of her time with Wilo, the reality of going back to Madrid looms like a cloud over her.

By the time she’s up and moving, Wilo’s already at the training ground, leaving her with a slow morning to herself. She takes her time getting ready, picking out a sleek but casual outfit for the game: a fitted cream sweater tucked into high-waisted jeans and ankle boots. Makeup just this side of "I woke up like this" but definitely intentional and finally using her contact lenses (bout goddamn time).

As the day creeps toward evening, she grabs an Uber to the stadium. She’s buzzed into the VIP entrance, her name already on the list, and escorted to her seat in the family section. The energy inside the stadium is electric, fans chanting and waving scarves as the teams warm up. She watches Wilo out on the pitch, his warmup jacket zipped up to his chin as he jogs and stretches. He looks calm, focused, and seeing him like this — so in his element — makes her chest tighten in a way she wasn’t expecting.

The match kicks off, and it’s tense from the start. Liverpool presses hard, their attacks relentless, but Arsenal holds their own. Wilo is sharp on the ball, threading passes with precision and orchestrating plays like he was born to do it. Leila watches, captivated, her hands gripping the edge of her seat every time he makes a dangerous run or intercepts a pass.

At halftime, the score is still 0-0, and the tension in the stadium is palpable. Leila scrolls through her phone, trying to distract herself, but her notifications are quiet. She had half-expected a message from Jules or Cama, but apparently, they’ve decided to keep their mouths shut or maybe Aurélien just doesn’t care.

The second half is even more intense. Liverpool finally scores, and the stadium goes silent except for the away fans celebrating. But Arsenal fights back, and in the 50th minute, Wilo delivers a stunning assist that leads to an equalizer. The crowd erupts, and Leila finds herself on her feet, cheering and clapping like she’s been an Arsenal fan her whole life.

When the final whistle blows, the game ends in a 2-2 draw. It’s not a win, but it’s a hard-fought point, and the energy in the stadium reflects that.

After the match, she’s escorted to the family area. She spots Bukayo Saka almost immediately, his bright smile unmistakable as he chats with a group of people. He notices her standing off to the side and makes his way over.

"Hey, you’re Wilo’s friend, right?" Bukayo asks, extending a hand.

Leila shakes it, her lips curving into a polite smile. "Yeah, Leila. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. He’s been talking about you all week."

Her cheeks warm at that, but she keeps her composure. "Hopefully, only good things."

Bukayo laughs. "Yeah, don’t worry. All good things."

They chat for a bit, Bukayo’s easygoing nature making the conversation flow effortlessly. He’s mid-sentence when someone else calls out to him, and he waves before excusing himself. Leila glances around the room, her eyes landing on a familiar figure — Ibou Konaté.

Ibou catches her gaze and raises an eyebrow. "So. You and Wilo, it's serious, huh?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't start."

He chuckles, those famous dimples appearing. "Brussels was interesting. Aurélien wasn't exactly subtle about his mood."

Leila freezes. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on," Ibou says, leaning in. "You think Les Bleus don't talk? After those Israel and Belgium matches? Aure looked like he was one bad pass away from committing murder every time Wilo was mentioned." His tone is knowing, just this side of teasing. "He's not gonna like this. Not one bit."

"Ibou—" she starts, a warning in her voice.

He holds up his hands. "Just saying. Some captains get… particular about things." The way he says it makes it clear he's talking about Aurélien specifically. "Wilo's a good guy. But Aure? Man's complicated."

Leila can't help the small laugh that escapes. "Tell me about it."

She chats with Ibou for a few more minutes then he gave her a hug before he left. Her phone then buzzes. A text from Wilo.

Wilo: Where you at?

She types a quick response: Family area. Waiting on you.

A few minutes later, he appears, freshly showered and dressed in casual streetwear. His eyes find hers instantly, and he makes his way over, his lips curving into a soft smile.

"Tired?" he asks, sitting down beside her.

"Not really," she lies. In truth, the emotional weight of the day — of the entire trip — is starting to catch up with her.

"Good," he says. "I want to take you out for one last drink before you leave."

She hesitates, but only for a second. "Okay," she says, her voice steady.

They leave the stadium together, slipping out a side exit to avoid the lingering fans and media. The bar he takes her to is quiet and intimate, tucked away in a corner of the city she doesn’t recognize. They sit in a cozy booth, nursing their drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

For a moment, it feels easy — like they’re just two people enjoying each other’s company without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

But as the night winds down, the reality of her impending departure settles heavily between them.

"Thanks for today," she says as they stand outside the bar, the cool night air nipping at her skin.

"Anytime," he says, his eyes searching hers.

She knows she should say more — explain how much she’s appreciated his kindness, his patience, his effort — but the words catch in her throat.

Wilo steps closer, his hands finding her waist in a way that feels both casual and deliberate. "Can I take you back?" he asks, his voice low and warm.

She nods, and just like that, they’re walking back to her hotel. The streets are quieter now, the city winding down around them. Leila keeps her hands in her pockets, but Wilo’s presence beside her feels grounding, a steady reminder that for tonight, she doesn’t have to figure everything out.

At the hotel entrance, she pauses, not quite ready to say goodbye. "You don’t have to walk me all the way up," she says softly.

"Didn’t plan to," he teases, though his smile is gentle.

Still, he lingers. He tilts her chin up with a finger, his touch light, testing. When she doesn’t pull away, he leans down and kisses her. It’s soft at first, a question she answers without hesitation, leaning into him like she’s been waiting for this all night.

His hands slide to her hips, pulling her closer, and for a moment, she forgets everything — Aurélien, the uncertainty, the nagging voice in her head telling her this is a bad idea. All she knows is the warmth of Wilo’s lips against hers, the way he tastes like the pint he ordered earlier, the way he makes her feel wanted.

When they break apart, she’s breathless, her heart pounding. "I should…" she starts, but the rest of the sentence never comes.

"You should," he agrees, though there’s a glint in his eye that says he knows she won’t.

Panic creep into her thoughts, uninvited but impossible to ignore. Wilo is right here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. Why is she still holding back?

"Do you want to come up?" The question slips out before she can stop it, her voice quieter than she intended.

Wilo studies her for a beat, searching her face for something —hesitation, regret, a reason to say no. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, because he nods. "Yeah," he says simply.

The elevator ride to her floor is silent, the air between them charged. By the time they reach her room, her nerves are buzzing, though she doesn’t quite know if it’s anticipation or anxiety.

Inside, she tosses her bag onto the chair and turns to face him. He’s already close, closing the distance between them in two strides. This time, his kiss isn’t soft or questioning - it’s confident, urgent, like he’s been waiting for her permission all night.

Her hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, sliding under the fabric of his shirt. His skin is warm, his muscles taut under her touch. He groans softly against her lips, the sound sending a shiver down her spine.

"Leila," he murmurs, his voice rough. It’s not a question, but it feels like one, like he’s giving her a chance to stop this before it goes too far.

But she doesn’t want to stop. Not tonight. Not when everything feels this good, this right.

"Don’t think," she whispers, her words muffled against his lips, feeling a pull to give in even though her mind is screaming at her to stop.

It feels too good — his mouth on hers, his hands now sliding under the hem of her sweater, fingertips brushing her skin in a way that sends a bolt of heat straight through to her kitty. For a second, she can forget everything. Forget the uncertainty, the guilt. Forget Aurélien and the pressure of what she’s supposed to want, what she’s supposed to feel.

Her heart beats faster, and the only thing that matters is the way Wilo’s kiss deepens, pulling her closer as if they’re both drowning in each other, but even as she gets lost in the sensation, the thought of what this means for later creeps up, a whisper in her mind.

Stop before you do something you’ll regret, her inner voice warns, and it’s almost a shout against the moment. She should pull away, tell him this is a mistake, that she’s not ready to complicate things more than they already are.

Yet then, the conversation with her girls back in Atlanta echoes in her mind. Because why should she keep hanging on to something that wasn’t even clear? Wilo is here, and he’s been nothing but good to her. He’s showing her attention — something she craves, something that’s been missing for too long.

She breathes in, pulling away just enough to look at him, her hands resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her palms. Her voice is barely a whisper, but it carries a weight. "I’m not... I’m not gonna go all the way," she says, almost like a promise, though part of her wishes she could just let go.

Wilo doesn’t pull away, his eyes searching hers, gauging her intentions. "Just a taste, then?" he murmurs, the question laced with a little teasing but also an understanding. He isn’t pushing her. He’s letting her make the call.

A part of her wants to shake her head, to step back and stop this before it goes too far. She knows better, knows she shouldn’t be using him to fill a gap that Aurélien has left wide open. However, Wilo’s not asking for anything more than what she’s willing to give him right now — and, hell, maybe she needs it. Plus, he got her panties wetter than a Slip N' Slide.

She smiles a little, though it’s hesitant, her mind still conflicted. "Yeah," she says softly, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "Just a taste."

And in that moment, it feels like a decision.

His lips are back on hers instantly, and the kiss deepens with an urgency that’s different now, like they both know the boundaries but are still curious enough to see how far they can go. His hands are sliding back to her waist, tugging her closer until she can feel the heat of him through their clothes.

Wilo’s hands are warm, exploring, but careful. He’s taking his time, sensing her hesitation, allowing her the space to pull back if she needs it. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lets herself go, leaning into the moment as his lips travel to her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Every kiss feels like a promise she isn’t sure she’s ready to make, but she’s here, and she’s going to live in the now. She’s not sure how much longer she can keep pretending she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him.

Leila can feel her pulse quicken as Wilo’s hands slide down her arms, gently tugging at the fabric of her sweater. The air between them crackles with the same electricity that had been building ever since her first day in London.

With a soft tug, he pulls the sweater over her head, leaving her in just a bra. She can feel the cool air of the hotel room against her skin and Wilo’s eyes don’t leave hers as he strips off his own shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. She feels her breath hitch, the sight of him sending a wave of heat through her.

He notices her reaction, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and teasing.

Ho-ly shit. Leila nods, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yeah," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… wasn’t expecting all of that."

He chuckles softly and gets closer, his hands resting gently on her hips before his lips find hers. Leila kisses him back, feeling the pull of desire stir within her.

They stumble backward onto the bed, their lips still tangled in a kiss, the heat between them intensifying. She can’t help but enjoy the feel of his hands on her body, the way his fingers move with intention, his touch confident yet tender. When his hands wander, brushing along her sides and up her back before copping a feel on her titties, his dick pressing against her thigh; she arches into him instinctively. His touch makes her feel seen, cherished, in a way she hasn't felt in a long time.

Leila wonders what would happen if she let go entirely. What if she just let herself be free of all the things that tie her down?

Even in the heat of it all, a small part of her pulls back. She remembers the life she’s built — the career she’s worked for — and wonders if she’s willing to risk it all for something that might be temporary.

Her phone starts vibrating. Once. Twice.

One of Wilo's hands is tracing lazy circles along her lower back. "Ignore it," he murmurs, his lips still brushing the shell of her ear.

She does — until the phone goes nuclear. Ping. Ping. Ping-ping-ping. A digital storm that practically rattles the walls.

Wilo raises an eyebrow, pulling back just enough to glance at her phone. "Damn," he mutters under his breath.

Her screen is chaos. Four missed calls. Multiple texts. And, of course, a voice note from Aurélien.

The timing? Almost comical. Almost.

Leila swipes open the messages. They’re an avalanche — each one more urgent than the last. Her thumb hovers over the voice note, hesitant but not enough to stop her. A ticking time bomb of potential drama.

She looks at Wilo, a flicker of guilt passing through her, before her eyes drift back to the phone. Wilo doesn’t move, just watches her, unreadable.

"Give me a sec," she mutters, pulling away from him and sliding off the bed. The space between them feels too wide now, too obvious, but she ignores it, heading for the bathroom.

Door closed. Her back pressed against it, she lifts the phone to her ear.

Aurélien's voice hits her like a slap. Broken. Fragmented. Each word jagged, like he's stumbling through a maze of his own making.

"Leila, I—" His breath hitches. "I can't—" The silence is thick, filled with the things he's too scared to say. "Je suis—"

Her heart, traitorous as ever, speeds up. She presses the phone tighter to her ear, her own breath shaky in response to his.

Another ping. A text. She opens it without thinking.

First, a video. Aurélien's hands. His long fingers dancing over the piano keys in that way she knows too well. The melody — raw, unfinished. Like he’s trying to patch a hole in the air between them.

Then, a screenshot. A letter. A confession. Handwritten, messy, vulnerable. It’s almost too much to take.

Her breath catches.

The world outside the bathroom door feels distant. Almost unreal. Her mind pulls her back, urging her to breathe, to think. But the words on the screen? They’re the kind that push all logic aside.

Her finger hovers over the phone, but she can’t bring herself to delete the message. She opens it again.

The letter fills the screen, and it makes her chest tighten as she reads.

"I don’t know how to say it — words always fail me when it matters most. I’ve tried so many times, but each time, the words slip away like sand between my fingers. So this time, I’m writing it down. Maybe that’s all I can do. Maybe it’s enough to be honest.

You’ve become the quiet in my chaos. The calm in my storm. You’re the one I think about when I’m too tired to think about anything else. The one I reach for when I feel like I’m losing myself. But I never said it. And I should have. I should have said it, Leila. I should have been better at telling you that you matter, that you're my rock, more than just okay.

Maybe it’s too late now. But please know, it’s never been anyone else but you.

I’m sorry for not being brave enough before. But I’m here now. I’m ready to fight for this, if you are.

Aurelien."

She gasps as she finishes reading. His words, they hit different than before. She’s used to his confidence, his charm, his ability to make everything feel effortless. But this? This is him. Vulnerable. Honest. The rawness of it leaves her heart aching in places she didn't even know were sore.

It’s a love letter in its truest sense — one that doesn’t gloss over the mistakes, but lays them bare. The kind that you don’t often hear. And for the first time, she feels it. He’s finally saying the things he should have said long ago.

But is it too late?

The question sits heavy on her chest, and she hates that she even has to ask. She wants to be angry. She wants to throw his words back at him and walk away. But she can’t. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s been holding on to him, or because she’s scared of what this newfound honesty means. All she knows is that his words have shattered the wall she’s been building around her heart.

Aurelien’s been her whole world for so long. Maybe she’s been waiting for him to catch up, to finally see her the way she’s always seen him. But she’s not sure she has the strength to wait any longer.

She closes her eyes for a moment, trying to clear her mind. The cool air in the bathroom doesn’t help. Neither does the soft knock on the door.

"Everything alright?" Wilo’s voice is low, gentle, and when she doesn’t answer immediately, he pushes it open just a fraction.

Her heart skips at the sight of him. He’s standing there. He doesn’t need words to understand what’s going on. He can see it in her face, in the way her hands are trembling slightly as she holds the phone.

"I’ll be fine," she says, her voice a little too sharp. It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault.

Wilo doesn’t press. He just steps into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze steady, like he’s giving her the space to breathe and figure it out for herself.

She stares at the phone again, knowing she can’t keep going back to the message. But it’s impossible to look away from it now. His words are etched in her mind, replaying over and over again. She thought she was over him. That she could move on, that the pieces would fall into place. Yet now?

She’s not sure.

Finally, she slides the phone back into her pocket, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"I don’t know what to do," she whispers, more to herself than to Wilo, but he hears her. He always does.

"You don’t have to decide right now," he says softly, but there’s a certain weight to his words. "You’re allowed to take your time, Leila."

Her chest tightens at the gentleness in his voice. He’s not pushing her. Not demanding answers. This isn’t about picking between him and Aurelien. It’s about what she wants, what she’s willing to fight for.

And the truth is, she’s tired. Tired of waiting, tired of not being seen, tired of trying to make things fit where they don’t.

But the letter… the letter is the first time he’s shown up for her, even if it’s a little too late. She doesn’t know if it’s enough to make up for everything, but it’s a start.

Leila takes a deep breath meeting Wilo’s gaze for the first time, really looking at him. He’s patient, understanding. And in his eyes, she doesn’t see the same questions that have been haunting her.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "For being here."

Wilo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he pulls her gently back into his arms, and for a moment, she lets herself feel the warmth of his presence, the steadiness of him.

But in the back of her mind, Aurelien’s words linger.

It’s never been anyone else but you.

Is it too late to believe him?

.............tbd

[arewecoolio]

it’s all in your mind

A/N: Happy Halloween, I've been busy but thank god for dreams that have semi-coherent plots 🎃🥳 Also this is Angie at her more evil, so enjoy lol

Summary: You barely survive the death of your parents, thankfully you still have Angelique.

After your parents' death, your brother starts to grow more and more suspicious and paranoid–convinced that your family’s tragedy is a product of a curse. He grows distant with you. Angelique grows distant with him. It feels an insurmountable chasm between the people still left and you.

Angelique is still a calming presence in your life, and if she notices how you seek her out more often in the grief-stricken days after she makes no comment on it. Simply takes your silence as it is, and offers bits and pieces of gossip if she feels so inclined. 

She keeps you at arm’s reach—and your brother’s attention shifts to Josette. Whatever affair Angelique and Barnabas had seemed to share a similar fate as your parents. But for a moment there seems a glimmering hope that your brother is happy again, a few dinners you even manage conversations that don’t seem to hang or end so abruptly. Where you manage to keep a smile all the way through the night.

Josette’s death shakes you to your core then.

Your brother becomes isolated, nearly sick; he stops eating with you at every meal—then any meal. Mirrors across the East wing are covered by sheets at his request, he sleeps through the day and leaves you to handle business correspondence. Whatever grief you experience soon turns to a distinct numbness, constantly adrift.

Angelique notices and you find yourself under her attention more and more, she becomes the one to handle anything related to you personally. 

The candle flickers restlessly near you as you continue to write this evening, planning out exports and shipping costs, your mind swims with numbers and obligations. A dull ache worms its way through your temple, as you reread the letter again. Exports to be sent to…A hand settles on your shoulder. “What are you doing awake?”

Caught red-handed, you sigh. “Keeping us afloat.”

Angelique doesn’t find it as amusing tonight, “you need sleep.”

It’s the truth and truly some part of you appreciates the care, when the rest of your mind seems to crave self-destruction tonight. “Do you think there’s a curse on me?” Her hand flexes against your shoulder and you know her answer without looking up.

“You’re not cursed.” She lies, and you finally stand up to face her. She regards you slowly with concern and something you don’t care to place. Too afraid to find pity.

“No?”

She shakes her head slowly, adds in, “Your brother? Without a doubt.” She cracks a slight smile and it can’t improve your mood tonight. She softens, cups your face and tilts it to her. 

Not for the first time you acknowledge Angelique is beautiful, you remember thinking that before Barnabas ever seemed to take notice. Back when you had barely begun to befriend her at the tender age of ten, she was already twelve and she seemed like she knew everything. 

Even now, when twenty-two and twenty-four seem comparable she still seems leagues ahead of you. You would sell off half your family’s fortune to know what goes on in her head. “You should be in bed.” She reminds gently.

“I wanted to stay up to talk with Barnabas about the exports,” you answer, settling your hands over hers. She has yet to let go of your face, and you hope she pulls away soon. Even though a part of you craves the small contact. 

Her expression shifts in the smallest of meters, a twitch of her eyebrow, a heartbeat’s pause. You know he’s still a sore subject to her, even if neither acknowledges it. “He already stepped out.”

“This late at night?” You pull her hands from your face and rush to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a lantern, or your brother’s silhouette. The estate property is unlit and empty. “I need to go check on him.” You turn back to Angelique and feel all at once foolish to be the only one concerned.

She stands still in the spot you had left her, hands at her sides. “What has you so worried?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, and finally your mind settles. “I don’t think he’s in his right mind, frankly I don’t think I am half the time either.” You check the window again before putting the thought aside. “I fear he’ll leap off Widow’s Hill.”

Your worries are not her own, you can tell. “There’s very little you can do to stop him, if he chooses that fate.”

The truth wounds better than a lie, and you look away. “He’s still my brother.” The only family you have left, even if he’s a shell of himself now. It’s the only real wealth, your father once said. You turn the focus then, ask Angelique. “Would you leave me to jump off Widow’s Hill, if my grief pushed me to?”

“I don’t think you’d be so foolish as to leave me.”

You soften at such an admittance. Angelique was your closest friend but even more, you were hers. “Barnabas may be foolish in his grief, but I would be just as foolish if it wasn’t for you.” She lets you take her hand in yours, there’s a lingering challenge in her eyes that you don’t know the meaning of. You don’t try to. “I shouldn’t ask such questions when you’ve been so attentive, forgive me?”

“It’s already forgotten,” she covers your hand with hers, and smiles. Your wounded heart flutters all the same even when apprehension settles in the pit of your stomach.

—————

Barnabas leaves letters for you in place of seeing you. His letters are thorough instructions when discussing business and when they turn to anything else—they turn nonsensical. Curses and witches and blood…the last part is new. You suspect his grief has turned his humor morbid but still you persist, still Angelique like clockwork has you turn in for the night. Barnabas is  always gone by then, and asleep when you wake. 

Angelique takes to walking with you outside the estate, she keeps your attention most days. Walking with you arm in arm, it’s revolving topics; gossip, or news, asking about business. There’s few times where you catch her attention drifting to your mouth, and it occurs to you that you smile easier now.

You think you’re doing better. 

Smiling comes easier, sleeping comes easier, running your family’s business no longer leaves you sick with unease. 

It’s a shame fate deals another hand.

Angelique is nowhere to be found as evening settles in, you venture down the hallways, and halfway across the estate before you pause at the East wing. Only half the candles are lit, sheets across every mirror in the hall, you walk towards your brother’s room to find it empty. 

His bedsheets are still perfectly folded as if he hasn’t slept in it in months. You leave slowly, hoping if you take enough time you might catch him somehow hiding in the shadows. 

Halfway across the estate, hands as cold as death settle on your shoulders and turn you. Barnabas looks paler and sicker than you’ve ever seen him, and you nearly want to cry. “Y/N.”

“How long have you been sick?” You ask, thoughts already racing on why no one had told you he was sick. Why has no one called a doctor yet?

“I made a mistake,” he says. “Angelique cursed me and killed Josette.”

Your concern doubles, “Barnabas, Angelique has taken care of us.” 

His face twists deadly serious, “She has done nothing but leech off of us.” 

Your heart twists, your brother isn’t well. But he’s all you have. “Why haven’t you told me?” 

“When has she been apart from you? What moment did I have where she wasn’t there?” He glances around the hallway now like she could be there, like she’s the thing of nightmares. “I’ve bought you a ticket for tomorrow’s boat to London.” 

“You won’t come with me?” You plead, voice cracking the slightest. He isn’t well in the slightest, but my god the thought of losing him shakes you to the core. 

He shakes his head, “I have to see this to the end.”

You’ll set him up in a place where doctors can look after him, you’ll visit, he’ll be monitored. He may hate you, but you’re willing to throw every cent away if he lives. His expression shifts, his eyes glance somewhere behind you and then he’s walking past you. Heading towards the front door, and you can’t let him go like this. 

You follow behind by a few steps, several steps before the door—you hear the shouts before the knock ever echoes. Barnabas stops at the door, his hand flexes against the door handle. “Leave us.”

You won’t leave him entirely, he watches as you press the third ring of decorative wood carved into the wall, and the secret pathway opens. He waits for you to pull it closed, but just to spite him, and just to reassure, you leave it cracked by a hairsbreadth. You take a seat and press your face to the crack, unable to look away as he opens the door.

Pitchforks and torches, angry shouts and yet above it all you hear it loud as day. “There’s the monster.” Barnabas stands up straight at Angelique’s voice, and your brother shuts the door behind him.

You wait there in the silence, waiting for his voice. Waiting for him to walk back in no worse for wear, complaining about how much gold he lost in bribes. The seconds tick by until you aren’t sure how long you’ve sat here in a dark pathway. Tear-streaked and alone, the first thought that breaks your stupor is your lantern is upstairs.

You shut the wall closed finally, and take the steps two at a time, finally spilling out from the dark pathway into your own bedroom. The wall swings shut and clicks into place with the force of your momentum. Your lantern sits at your table, and you rush to light it, the flame flickers in your unsteady hands. 

The bedroom door opens and you turn hoping to see Barnabas without a scratch on him. Angelique meets your gaze, then her attention flickers to the lantern in your hands. “No.”

“Tell me where he is.” You plead, a fresh wave of tears threatens to spill, Angelique nears. “Please.” She lifts your lantern and blows out the flame with the same finality she had damned your brother. Your voice shakes, “Angelique.”

She sets the lantern down beside the door and holds your face, “he’s buried now.” She wipes at the tears that spill, “he wasn’t well.”

The back of your throat burns with nausea, “I know that, I would’ve sent him to doctors. I would’ve kept him safe.”

“He killed townspeople.” She answers back, and it’s infuriating to see her so neutral at his murder. She had loved him once, hadn’t she? “He was returning in the early morning, covered in blood for weeks now. At first it must have been animals, but then they started to find bodies in the village. Mutilated beyond recognition.” Your eyes shut, and the whimper escapes anyways. “It was best to handle him, and then tell you afterwards.”

Your eyes open again, and Angelique does look partially remorseful if only for your sake. “Who thought it best to handle me as an afterthought?”

Her thumbs brush along your cheekbones, she leans in fondly. “I knew you would fight me every step of the way, if I told you before this.” You rip her hands away from you.

“Tell me where he’s buried, or I’ll go ask the villagers to bury me in the grave next to his.”

Her eyes light at the threat, even if the punishment would be yours alone she takes it as her own. “You need to sit down.”

“I refuse.” 

A wave of dizziness overtakes you, and Angelique rushes to your side. Her arm is around your waist, and the other still cradles your head like you’re helpless. The first touch of her hand against your temple seems to soothe whatever dizzy spell you have, and all that’s left is Angelique watching you with worry. “Will you make me a monster in your eyes?”

“Will you refuse me again?” You retort.

Her expression pinches in concern, “in the morning we can hold a small memorial for him. At his grave site, but for now you’re in no state to venture outside.” She’s infuriatingly cool against your emotions, unfailingly steady as she holds you close. 

“He’ll be dead by morning, I can get to him still. I can send him off discreetly.” 

She looks at you pityingly, mouth downturned in a small frown. You consider pushing her away again, but you know she won’t let you do it again a second time. “He was buried in an iron coffin, he ran out of air long before they finished burying him.”

You bury your face in her shoulder, your tears soak into her clothes, surely she was lying, surely he could make it another hour or two. He had to, but precious seconds were being wasted convincing Angelique. “I hate you for not telling me he was sick.”

Her arm wraps around your shoulders, and all at once you can’t stand such an intimate embrace with your brother’s murderer. But still you can’t muster up the strength to push away your only surviving friend. “I did what I thought was best, I feared losing you to the same grief that broke him.” You lift your face to stare up at Angelique, her eyes roam your expression searching for something you’re sure doesn’t exist. Affection or forgiveness, it’s hard to tell what she wants. “Can you blame me for wanting to spare you another tragedy?”

“I want to blame you,” you answer quietly, thoughts race. You could tell her you wish you were in that coffin instead, but she’d no doubt react the same when you discussed leaving. You could tell her you wanted to escape this loneliness, but she stood presently the only person to remain by your side. You could call her a monster the way she had called your brother one. But you don’t want to. “I won’t.”

[gaysindistress]

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest This fanart has haunted me since the first time I seen it and then I watched the Inglorious Bastards and here we are. There is nothing explicated stated but since Bucky is lowkey inspired by Hans Landa, take care of yourself and skip if you need to.

Footsteps and a knock at the door. 

“Mademoiselle?” the quiet voice of a maid drifts from the cracks of the door, “Mademoiselle are you awake? You have invités.”

The code word is what rouses the girl from her fitful sleep. Sliding out of her warm bed, the girl grabs her robe and slips it on before opening her bedroom door for her maid. 

“Merci, Josette. How many?” The hoarse voice tears its way from her throat as she steps aside for her maid to come in. 

Josette shifts nervously on her feet but stays put before whispering, “One but Mademoiselle, he is… he is the one from the papers.”

The girl nods as she listens to the frightened words of her maid. “Take him to the kitchen and tell him that I will be down momentarily. Give him a glass and a pitcher of water but do not offer him anything else and leave immediately. Wake Monsieur Pierre and tell him that you need him to take you to get honey. Do you understand?”

Josette doesn’t do anything, she just stares at the girl that she’s worked for for the last two years in shock. She begins to tremble and she grips her by the shoulders. 

“Tu comprends, Josette?”

She nods and scurries off down the hall, her blonde hair whipping behind her. The girl closes her door and begins to fix her appearance in her vanity mirror, rebraiding a braid she wore to sleep that night. She changes into her usual pair of cotton dungarees with a worn white blouse under and puts on the terribly knitted cardigan she made when Monsieur Pierre’s wife was first teaching her. Unable to find her boots, she slips on her oxfords and stalls at the door with her hand on the knob. She had hoped that it would’ve taken the bastard longer to find her but alas time is never going to be on her side. 

She pulls the door open and walks to the kitchen. She’d come to love this chateau during her months here and would miss it when she undoubtedly would be forced to flee. Pierre’s hushed voice draws her attention behind her but she doesn’t turn around. He’s telling Josette to hurry up and it almost made her chuckle. He wasn’t fond of the young blonde and would lecture her regularly. It seemed as though nothing would ever change from the sound of his frustrated voice. 

The flicking candle light in the kitchen is a warning, an omen really as she drew closer. She knows who was sitting in there, the man who had been haunting her dreams for years now.

“Monsieur,” she says in demure tone as she steps into the kitchen, “I apologize for my staff. She is a nervous girl. Would you like something to drink other than water? Coffee? Tea?”

“Fräulein,” the menacing voice that plagues her drawls, “you know that’s not how you should address me.”

The switch from French to German causes her to freeze internally but she doesn’t let it show. Instead she feigns nativity and she shakes her head at him, “I’m afraid I do not speak German, only French.”

He only stares at her. His sharp blue eyes are intense as they were before but the evidence of their time together is everlasting. A deep scar that stretches from his eyebrow to the bottom of his eye socket and a milky white eye in the middle of it. 

Her lip curls up in a smirk when she turns her face and sits opposite of him. He’s dressed in the usual attire of a colonel: an immaculately kept black uniform with a long black overcoat. 

“We both know that is a lie, Fräulein.”

She doesn’t respond. 

His own smirk overcomes his painfully beautiful face, “Drop the act, y/n. 

“I don’t know what or who you’re talking about. There is no act to be dropped and no y/n here.”

He leans back in his chair, causing the wood to creak and groan under his weight. He takes a drink of water while holding eye contact with her. Upon setting it down, the sound of gunfire rips through the air and she tenses while he watches for her reaction. When she doesn’t so much as flinch, he cocks his head at her and narrows his eyes. A car barrels down the gravel driveway and crashes into the ancient tree in the center. 

“I would apologize for them but that would be a lie,” he tells her. 

There’s a shift in the air and her demure french woman act is, in fact, dropped. 

Her accented German cuts thick through the air, “What do you want?”

“You.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“No.”

“I will burn this shithole to the ground,” he says as he pulls out a cigarette tin and lights a cigarette. He offers one to her and she takes it, allowing him to light it. 

“Is that meant to scare me into going with you? Come on, James, you have done worse than that and I suspect you will do far more.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. “But you will come with me, y/n. Tonight.”

“No,” she states again, blowing out her smoke and crossing her arms. 

“Defiant as always I see,” he mutters under his breath as he too takes a drag of his cigarette.

There is a long silent pause as the two of them smoke and stare at each other. His beauty hasn’t waned over the years but it’s turned deadly. The scar she gave him when she escaped him that night adds to the murderous edge to his gaze. The uniform that he wears is foul and makes her sick to her stomach. He’d promised to leave, promised to get away before things got bad. He’d promised to come for her once it was safe and they could live the life they had dreamed of. 

He’d broken all of those promises when he put on that uniform. All but one promise that is. He has come for her and he would be able to provide her with his sick verison of safety. 

“One of us is going to die,” she says finally whilst tapping the ashes of her cigarette onto the floor. “That’s the only way this ends.”

“No, Fräulein. There is another way but you will not like it.”

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Just Another Weekend

George Russell x OC!Vettel

It had just been a weekend like any other in May.

Well, the same as any other weekend when your father has spent the majority of your life racing and he's the only parental figure that you have.

But it was Monaco. And Monaco is its own breed.

I guess that's how we had ended up drunk off our asses, my father nowhere to be seen, George and I sneaking off ourselves.

liked by sebastianvettel, kimimatiasraikkonen, and 119 more

rosannavettel we're up early this morning in the josie & rose house and we're ready to watch some racing!

sebastianvettel can't wait to spend the day with my two favorite grils :)

rosannavettel who taught you how to do non-emojis

"Papa, ich verstehe nicht, für wen wir uns einsetzen sollen," (dad, i don't understand who we are supposed to be rooting for) I whisper, eyeing the headphones that are sitting snuggly over Josette's curls, her eyes shut tight with small snores escaping her lips.

She sounds just like her father did.

"Wir feuern Redbull an, meine Liebe," (we're rooting for redbull my dear).

"I'm going to pretend that I don't take offense to that," A sassy Monesque voice chimes from our side, making sense since the walls are painted red.

"Charlie, you know Papa means nothing harsh by it, you know that," I assure, him kissing my cheek and Josette's head in response before side-hugging my father.

"He knows he's tied with Mick for my favorite Grid Kids," Papa assures, Josette giggling brightly without reason, simply happy to be alive.

"And how is my favorite princesse (princess)?" Charlie asks, kissing Josette's head.

"I thought I was your favorite princesse?" Lando's voice rings, bringing more laughs out of the little one, clad in black romper with polkadots. "But if my replacement is as cute as this little muppet, I'm sure I can accept my fate."

"Lando, please meet my daughter Rosanna and her daughter Josette. Rose, meet Lando Norris, -"

"McClaren driver, number 4," I recite, "We met last year when I visited for the Monaco GP."

"Right, you told me you were barely 19 at the time, we bonded over being too young for all these old people," Lando laughs, eyes now drifting to Josette. "But you're a new addition, aren't you muppet?" He asks, leaning in shaking her hand jokingly, giving her enough time to get her other hand weaved in his curly hair and offer a yank.

"I am so sorry, we've been working on the hair pulling," Is all I can offer, untangling my daughter from his head as he waves me off.

"Don't worry, she get's me all the time," Papa assures the boy, who's name is called from somewhere behind us, earning the attention of the little group we have formed. It's when turning that I see them. See him. The other 2019 rookies.

"Sebastian, didn't know you'd be attending today!"

"Wanted to see Lando, Lewis and I for our home race?" George asks cheekily, Alex shoving his shoulder into the blonde when he makes eye contact with me.

"If it isn't Baby Vettel," Alex is the one to greet, gently pulling me into a hug around Jo. "You know, Lily was wondering why you were never up to go out when we've been in the area. But now I see there is a new baby Vettel, hello sweetheart."

"She's adorable," George compliments, an awkward smile gracing his handsome face.

"She kind of looks like you Georgie," Lan jokes happily, not realizing the magnitude of what he's said, with no one understanding what's been said.

Except for George. Because he's actually a very intelligent man, and he knows how to do basic estimation and math.

And based on the look in his eyes right now, this man is feeling intelligent today.

"Could I offer you two a tour of Mercedes? I'm sure Lewis would love to see you both."

Fuck, he used the secret weapon. He knows I adore Lewis, and so does my father.

"You go on Rose, I want to go say hello to a few more people," Papa assures, swatting my presence away before wrapping his arms around Alex and Charles, leading the group of drivers away.

"So."

"So?" I can't help but respond, Josette's head tilting slightly to the side at the presence of the man in front of us.

"Um, how have you been, Love? I see you have -"

"Just ask the question I know is swirling in your mind, George, there's truly no point in beating around the bush," I can't help but interrupt, never a fan of small talk.

"So then she's mine?" He asks, knowing the answer. "I had a feeling, but given what you've just said I'd say it's pretty clear what my answer is."

"Biologically she's yours, yes," I respond, Josette giggling and throwing her arms around my neck. "I would have mentioned it, but given that it was a one nighter and you didn't answer my calls for the first two weeks, I'd say it was difficult at best."

"What calls?"

"Don't pla-"

"No I'm being genuine Rosa, I never got any calls from you. I would have dropped everything if I had known about..."

"Josette Elise," I supply, "We call her Joss, although my dad calls her Ettie."

"Josette," He mumbles, his accent making Joss giggle as her attention is drawn to him. "I love it," He continues, her little hand reaching out and holding his finger, too tuckered to fully reach out for him but wanting the connection. "And she's wonderful."

"I'd like to think so, but she is entirely too much like my father," I can't help but complain, not at all meaning it.

"I'd like to get to know her, if you'd let me? Get to know you better as well, outside of being Vettel's daughter?"

I can't help but smile. He genuinely seems like he wants to get to know her. Know us.

"What do you say, Joss? Do we want to let him get to know us?"

She just giggles, smiling a cheeky smile and babbling happily.

Looking to George, I can see the love and admiration in his eyes.

So with a soft smile, I look to the man in front of me. "Looks like you'll be getting to know us."

And he smiles back.

"Brilliant."

two years later

liked by rosannavettel, sebastianvettel, and 221,926 more

georgerussel63 my everything 🤍

rosannavettel we love you georgie 🤍

[msclaritea]

"The newest Marvel movie Deadpool & Wolverine is about to hit theaters — but before it does, its star Hugh Jackman has something to say about fellow Marvel actor Tom Holland.

In an interview with Marvel Thailand, Jackman and his co-star Ryan Reynolds dished on their new movie. When the interviewer asked them to ��choose one more MCU hero to join your team,” Reynolds was first to chime in. I’d love to play with Spider-Man,” Reynolds said. “That would be cool. Tom Holland is amazing.”

“I agree. He’s so cool. That would be great,” Jackman replied. That’s when he revealed what he’d really like to get up to with the Spider-Man actor on set. “He’s young, and we could pile on him and abuse him and just yell at him,” Jackman said before laughing. Let’s run that last part back: “pile on him” and “abuse him”? Jackman may only be referring to some friendly rough-housing, especially given their age gap (he’s 55 years old, while Holland is just 28), but that didn’t stop the gay internet from pointing out the homoerotic undertones in his Tom Holland fantasy." Josette Caruso, Twitter

Fuck Hugh Jackman.

[tortoisesshells]

is there any particular part of ds that you find yourself drawn to exploring more than others? a playground for the mind, of sorts?

I haven't written much about it, but one thing that Dark Shadows does that never fails to enthrall me is how often characters are trapped or imprisoned - usually as punishment, usually an inciting incident towards a revenge quest of some kind? If I had a nickel every time someone on the show was imprisoned, self-imprisoned, was walled up alive somewhere, or even was metaphorically but extremely obviously trapped - I'd have a lot of nickels. There's my inexplicable favorite, Burke Devlin, and his backstory of being imprisoned as an innocent man for five years (+ one month, three days, and seven hours) for something Roger Collins did - Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, who hasn't left Collinwood in eighteen years, since her husband disappeared (and this scene from episode eleven that never fails to make me want to bite through my own hands whenever I think about it) - Barnabas Collins, chained up in his coffin for 170+ years because his father couldn't face killing his own son even after Barnabas had become a vampire - at least one of the Reverend Trasks (no spoilers! I'm in the middle of 1897 now!) getting Cask of Amontillado'd for his role in getting Vicki sentenced to death for witchcraft - Quentin Collins initially being walled up alive in his room and left to die by the family? Not counting the number of times someone kidnaps Vicki or Carolyn or Maggie or David and locks them up in root cellars, secret rooms, abandoned wings, regular cellars, secret rooms in mausoleums. Or, metaphorically: Roger Collins, unable to leave Collinsport after being in exile for ten years - Sam Evans, mired in his own guilt and alcoholism. The ghost of Josette Collins (in the beginning, at least, before the lore changed), apparently unable to move on from a place she grew to loathe until someone else dies to take her place.

In part, I think it's a way for the show to cope with its extremely limited budget and pinched production schedule, as well as the constraints of being a daily soap: so many people on the show would solve most of their problems by leaving Collinsport forever, but then where's the show? - so they all have reasons to stay, trapped, paddling in circles between Collinwood, the Collinsport Inn, the Blue Whale, their various rooms and homes. They can't leave. Vicki can't leave Collinsport because it's the closest she's ever come to figuring out who her parents were - Joe Haskell can't leave because as much as he resents working for the Collinses, it's a good job and he doesn't think he'll find better elsewhere - Burke can't shake the dust off his shoes because he can't forgive or forget what Roger and the town on the whole did to him, even if on several occasions he admits he'd be happier elsewhere!

But - it's a show about being trapped or stuck, to me. So many characters have a moment of if they could only leave, literally or metaphorically (or both), but they never quite manage it. And death does not even free them, most of the time.

[marcovaleyeah]

07.10.24

#Marco-Marathon | The Crow

Film Name: The Crow (2024); Production Studios: Lionsgate Films, FilmNation Entertainment, Davis-Films, Pressman Film 30WEST, Ashland Hill Media Finance, The Electric Shadow Company, Media Capital Technologies, Hassell Free Productions, Edward R. Pressman Film, Czech Anglo Pictures; Director by: Rupert Sanders; Screenwriter: Kevin Cornish, Cliff Dorfman, Zach Baylin, Alex Tse, Jesse Wigutow, William Josef Schneider; Starring: Bill Skarsgård, FKA Twigs, Danny Huston, Josette Simon, Laura Birn; Genres: Fantasy, Action, Criminal, Melodrama; Running Time: 1 hour 51 minutes;

"The Crow" (2024) is a failed attempt to revive a cult classic. Despite a promising cast, including Bill Skarsgård and FKA Twigs, the film lacks the depth and style that made the original so iconic. The plot, which focuses heavily on the backstory of Eric and Shelly's love, feels generic and lifeless, failing to create any real emotional connection between the characters. The villain is equally forgettable, and the film’s overall aesthetic is disappointingly bland.

Directed by Rupert Sanders, known for his mediocre remakes, the movie lacks the dark, gothic atmosphere and stylish flair that defined the original. Even its action scenes, save for one gory sequence near the end, are unremarkable. Ultimately, this reboot feels unnecessary, offering little more than a pale imitation of what made the 1994 version memorable.

One Star is a weak attempt to reboot an iconic franchise that falls short of expectations.

My rating:

⭐

[blogger360ncislarules]

MASTERPIECE PBS and Mammoth Screen have announced the remaining casting for its upcoming adaptation of The Forsyte Saga.

Fiona Button (The Split) plays Mrs. Clarissa Heron, Irene’s (Millie Gibson) stepmother and Tristan Sturrock (Poldark) plays Professor Heron, Irene’s father.

Justine Moore (Call the Midwife) plays June Forsyte, the 18-year-old daughter of Frances (Tuppence Middleton) and stepdaughter of Jolyon Forsyte (Danny Griffin).

Eleanor Jackson (The Royal Mob) is Winifred Forsyte, daughter of James (Jack Davenport) and wife of Monty (Tom Durant Pritchard). Naomi Frederick (Belgravia) plays Emily Forsyte, James’ wife.

Sharon Rose (Silent Witness) is Alicia Cole, wife of Jolyon’s best friend Isaac (Owen Igiehon).

They join the previously announced ensemble which includes Francesca Annis, Jack Davenport, Tom Durant Pritchard, Jamie Flatters, Millie Gibson, Danny Griffin, Susan Hampshire, Owen Igiehon, Tuppence Middleton, Stephen Moyer, Joshua Orpin, Josette Simon and Eleanor Tomlinson.

BAFTA winner Francesca Annis (Flesh and Blood) plays formidable Forsyte matriarch Ann, with Stephen Moyer (Sexy Beast, True Blood) as her eldest son, Jolyon Senior, head of the family stockbroking firm Forsyte & Co. Danny Griffin (Fate: The Winx Saga) plays his bohemian son Jo, Tuppence Middleton (Downton Abbey: A New Era) is Jo’s status-driven wife Frances, and Eleanor Tomlinson (One Day) plays Louisa Byrne, a Soho dressmaker and Jo’s first love.

Jack Davenport (The Morning Show, Ten Percent) plays Ann’s competitive younger son James, with Joshua Orpin (Titans) as James’ shrewd and sometimes ruthless son Soames. Millie Gibson (Doctor Who) plays Irene, the dancer whom Soames falls in love with. Tom Durant Pritchard (This Is Going To Hurt) plays Monty Dartie, James’ son-in-law. Josette Simon OBE (Anatomy of a Scandal) is Mrs. Ellen Parker Barrington, a wealthy heiress and friend of the Forsyte family, with Jamie Flatters (Avatar: The Way Of Water) as architect Philip Bosinney and Owen Igiehon (Disclaimer) as lawyer Isaac Cole. Susan Hampshire OBE (star of the 1967 BBC Forsyte Saga for which she received the first of her three lead actress Emmys), plays Lady Carteret.

Planned as a lavish returning series, the first season of six episodes follows the lives and loves of the wealthy Forsyte family in 1880s London.

The Forsyte Saga is directed by Meenu Gaur (Murder Is Easy) and Annetta Laufer (Get Millie Black) and is produced by Sarah Lewis (The Long Shadow). Filming is currently underway in the UK and Venice, Italy. The executive producers are Sheena Bucktowonsing, Debbie Horsfield, Meenu Gaur and Damien Timmer for Mammoth Screen, part of ITV Studios, and Susanne Simpson for MASTERPIECE.

[countrymusiclover]

25 - A Dangerous Encounter

Part 26

Gemini Runaway

Tag list ask to be added @dragonixfrye @secretdreamlandmentality

Nik blinked his eyes watching the siphon witch he loved leaving in front of him and he had no clue what had gotten into her. “Raelyn….Rae wait.” From the conversation earlier he was confused at the reaction she had just given him so he vamped straight after her.

Running through the crypt as fast as I possibly could manage I felt tears streaming down my face. My boots clicked on the stone grounds with me rounding some corners until Nik vamped in front of me making me halt in my tracks. “Nik, leave me alone please. I have to run now.”

“Rae, wait a second. You don’t have to run from anything. It won’t solve whatever lurks to scare you inside your mind. So talk to me, have I done something?” I attempted to move past him until he snagged my wrist spinning me around and back into his embrace.

Croaking through tears I tried removing myself from his grip but he didn’t move his hand away from my wrists holding me against his chest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Nik. I don’t want kids but then hearing you say that you would kill it makes me think otherwise. I’m so confused ... .so terrified…I have to run before my family senses the child just like Sophie and her sister can.”

“Raelyn, enough of this. We are immortal. We can face whatever comes our way. Now tell me what you want me to do, Rae. Kill the baby or not? He grunts when I shoved away from him beginning to run again but he once again vamped in front of me pushing my back against the brick wall trapping me in between him.

Pressing my hands against his chest I shake my head not sure what to do honestly. “I don’t know…I - aggghhh!” Grabbing my head I dropped to my knees feeling pain all through my body. Watching my arms the veins grew darker at a quick rate and then they turned smaller where they looked like I was deliccating like he did when Stefan and Tyler stopped his heart but that shouldn’t be possible.

“Rae, Rae, what's going on?” Klaus lowered himself on the ground with me resting his hands on my knees when I hugged them to my chest moaning in discomfort. He truly hated seeing his girl suffer and not be able to fix it.

Squinting my eyes tightly shut I bared my teeth, wincing until the pain faded and so did the veins returning to their normal light color where you couldn’t notice them if you were human. “Ahh…what the hell was that? It felt like I was being drained of my power.”

“That’s not possible. We need to get you home. This city trip is too much for you in this state.” He got to his feet tugging me up slowly so as to not hurt me any further.

Grabbing his wrists in my hands I held him in place before we could leave. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t go home yet. I have to call Jo. She has to know about what we think is going on. If I am pregnant there’s a high chance of me having twins. She needs to know that.”

“Fine, you can communicate with Josette. But then we are getting you back to Mystic Falls.” He told me opening his hands once I released his wrists shifting his blue orbs down to meet my gaze. “Have at it, love.”

Holding my hands up I gripped my necklace where we both saw that my hand turned red siphoning its magic. “Appreciate the offer. But let’s try this out since according to Kol now I can take from this…ohh there it is.”

“I’ll wait around the corner to give you privacy.” He said vamping away from me.

Closing my eyes I began chanting under my breath not caring if the veins came back. “Sang bis najit trouver. Sang bis najit trouver. Sang bis najit trouver….Jo?” The next time I opened my eyes I looked around to see that I was back in her office but she wasn’t there until the door opened.

“Rae Rae. What are doing back here. Is everything getting worse?” She shut the door quickly, locking it behind her in case someone was to walk in.

Clasping my hands together in front of me I smiled weakly at her. “I just learned something that seems almost impossible for any normal supernatural creature. I am supposedly pregnant with Nik’s kid according to some witches in New Orleans. But I have no freaking clue whether I should keep it or not.”

“You’re pregnant, that's unbelievable. Wait a second how is that even possible I thought he was a vampire.” Jo stepped forward wanting to hug me but the spell wouldn’t allow us.

Shrugging my shoulders I throw my hands away from my side. “From what I gather I am able to have a child because he was born a werewolf. So before he turned he was a mortal supernatural being.”

“Uh okay Woah. I’ve gotta sit down for this one.” She pulled up a chair while I was leaning up on the wall, arms crossed over my chest. “I don’t know what to say about keeping it or not, cuz. I mean I haven’t ever considered having kids of my own. What I do know is that you can’t let my dad find out about it.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the thought knowing that he was hunting me to ensure the succession of our coven. If he found out I was pregnant he would never let me go. “He won’t find out if I get rid of the baby. That’s what we should do, right. I mean the night I first met him I made a vow to myself to never have kids. Why should that opinion change now?”

“Because the look on your face says differently, Rae.” Josette smiled at me cheerfully.

Knitting my brows at my cousin I didn’t catch on. “What look, Jo?”

“The look that says you are so in love with him. From what I can tell I’m missing quite a lot in your life, Raelyn. So it sounds like I’ll have to come to Mystic Falls someday.” She smirked getting to her feet coming to stand in front of me staring at the ring on my finger that was new to her.

“That would be great, Jo - geez!” Gripping my head I felt pain shooting through my head where my mind flashed from here back to the street of Orleans.

“Raelyn!” Jo cried my name before I felt someone grab me from behind and I vanished from her office back to New Orleans.

I attempted to elbow whoever it was but they twisted my arms behind my back covering my mouth with their other hand vamping me away where I blacked out. “Klaus!….urg!”

Klaus arrives at a party, looking for Marcel, figuring that his old friend must have something to do with what happened to Raelyn. He catches one of his men. “Where's Marcel?”

“Who the hell's asking?”

Klaus grumbled with a scow. “I assume you're joking.”

“I only answer to Marcel.”

Klaus grabbed the vampire by his throat, choking him with his hybrid coming to the surface ready to kill the weak creature in front of him. “Well, then, in that case, perhaps you'll answer to this. You're aware the bite of a werewolf can k*ll a vampire? Well, as you can see, I'm half-werewolf, so I'm gonna ask you one more time! Where is Marcel?”

A black man broke through the crowd wearing a beanie cap on his head. “H-hey. I'm right here. I'm right here. Easy, now. Diego's just looking out for me. Nobody harms my guys. Those are the rules.”

Klaus growled, getting in his face. “I don't care about your rules, Marcel. I don't need chaperones. Why are you having me followed?”

“Come here. I get it, huh? Show of force. You made your point. Let it go, friend. For me.” He attempted to talk him down.

Kkaus revealed his fangs and the werewolf eyes turning his hands into fists at his sides wanting to tear whichever vampire it was limb from limb. “Fine. Why don't you show me what you've done with my girlfriend. Where is Raelyn Lane? Where is she!"

Marcel wissled through his fingers before two vampires began dragging someone through the crowd. “Someone put you in a mood. I didn’t know she was your girl but she did practice magic here.”

“Let me go you assholes!” I thrashed against them but they were stronger than me having one of them throw me against Marcel. “Ahh! Nik..”

He held the back of my throat harshly dangling my brother’s necklace in his other hand. “Considering she is your gal I’ll show her mercy just this once. But if she performs anymore well then mercy might be off the table.”

Stumbling into my lover's arms Klaus wrapped his arms around my waist holding me against his embrace catching the necklace with his fast reflexes. “What you can do is you can tell me what this thing is you have with the witches…here you are sweetheart. You’re okay.” He clipped the jewel back around my neck.

Marcel scoffed. “We’re back to that?”

Klaus snarled, feeling me gripping the fabric of his shirt in terror. “Yeah, we’re back to that the second you nabbed my girlfriend!”

“You know I owe you everything I got, but I'm afraid I have to draw the line on this one. This is my business. I control the witches in my town. Let's just leave it at that.” He told him.

But I knew Nik wouldn’t back down. “Your town?”

Marcel smirked. “Damn straight.”

Klaus tilted his head at his former vampire friend.“That's funny. Because when I left 100 years ago, you were just a pathetic little scrapper still trembling from the lashes of the whips of those who would keep you down, and now look at you. Master of your domain. Prince of the city. I'd like to know how.”

“Why? Jealous? Hey man, I get it. 300 years ago, you helped build a backwater penal colony into something. You started it, but then you left. Actually, you ran from it. I saw it through. Look around. Vampires rule this city now. We don't have to live in the shadows like rats. The locals know their place. They look the other way. I got rid of the werewolves. I even found a way to shut down the witches. The blood never stops flowing and the party never ends. You want to pass on through? You want to stay a while? Great. What's mine is yours, but it is mine. My home, my family, my rules.” Marcel declared throwing his arms out showing the crowd gathered around the three of us.

Nik asked, rubbing circles on my back tightly holding me close to his chest knowing we were surrounded by a whole army of vampires that could kill me in a split second. “And if someone breaks those rules?”

“They die. Mercy is for the weak. You taught me that, too.” Marcel stepped towards us showing me his vampire face.

Shuttering in terror I gasped pressing my body closer to the hybrid feeling my heart beginning to beat faster. “Nik…”

“Sssh Raelyn. He won’t lay a hand on you.” He reassured me showing the vampire prince his hybrid face again growling deeply under his breath as if saying try me and die.

Marcel didn’t back down either though raising his voice towards him. “And I'm not the Prince of the quarter, friend. I'm the King! Show me some respect!”

Klaus loses his temper vamping away from me and bites one of his minions where he pulls back showing me his fangs and had blood sticking on his mouth stomping back over to us. “Your friend will be dead by the weekend. Which means I've broken one of your rules. And yet I cannot be killed. I am immortal. Who has the power now, friend?”

Marcel sent me a glare where I wrapped my arms around myself until Klaus took my hand vamping us away from the crowds and back to the car. Burying my face into his chest I began crying. “I thought he was going to try and kill me….”

“Sssh darling. I’ve got you. He won’t touch you. No one will hand you so long as I am by your side.” He declares softly, showing some tears when he cradles my face in his hands.

Someone was walking up behind us where I screamed quietly grasping my necklace about to do a spell but dropped my hand. Instead I huddled behind Klaus who had his arms out shielding me from whoever it was. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Mr. Mikaelson.”

“No, it can’t be….Uncle Joshua?” I clutched Klaus’s forearm with my blood turning cold drifting my gaze forward seeing him standing in front of us.

He slowly walked up to us with an almost dead expression on his face. “Long time no see, little niece. You and I need to have a little chat.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[eclipsecrowned]

Vamps + Feeding Habits

DANIEL. as outlined by a book in later canon, daniel has become a perfect hunter of the evildoer, preferring to wait and make a proper selection than kill simply to feed. this gives me the impression that he’s something of a ‘picky eater’, and probably still sticks to his morals in undeath. i imagine he takes time to carefully assess his prey and, once sure of their impact on the world around them being negative, strikes quickly and efficiently. he doesn’t play with his victims, though on the odd occasion that a first strike is not lethal, he might let them know why this is happening, what they did to earn his inhuman ire. his feeding habits are as much a part of his moral crusade as his continued work as a reporter or his donations to certain factions. it’s all about making the world he wants to see, and making sure those who hurt others do not prosper. his ‘type’ is the malicious minded man, the abuser, the murderer, the monster still in human skin.

DRACULA. it's all performance to him from what we see in the novel. he's gotten good at it, too. the eternal heretic, it's about power, yes, but also profanity. he's not such a snob that he'll turn his nose up at what survival will drive him too, not so discerning that he'd stifle his palate, but he has clear desires and preferences at work when he goes hunting of his own accord. he's also less a hunter rand more a manipulator, an endurance predator stalking his prey til at last they collapse and he can descend. there's a clear underscoring of his narration that points to the pleasure he takes in destroying his targets and a framework that points to an altogether different violation that i'd prefer not to expand upon, only to say that his feedings go far beyond sustaining the body and also fuel his ego and need for cruelty. his 'type' is the virgin and the wide-eyed boy for himself, the suckling babe for his bride and descendants.

GABRIELLE. by contrast, gabrielle is far less discerning in their tastes. one might go so far as to call them arbitrary, going for whatever is available and the least hassle. the college kid walking home drunk, the geezer asleep in their armchair with the door unlocked, the late night worker who missed their bus. they exist to say you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, a sort of anti-karma.  ever the noble snob, they care little for the loss of life of ‘ordinary, simple people,’ and make sure their dalliances with the mortals are duly distanced from gabrielle themself. i do not doubt they have been pinned as a serial killer whenever they have cause to settle for an extended period, though impossible to trace. gabrielle is a tried and true bogeyman when they hunt, without remorse or serious concern for what they do to survive. their ‘type’ is the haughty, arrogant man with an attitude problem, no doubt a proxy for their late husband the marquis.

JOSETTE. thus far, she has only ever been turned by ax's lestat, and that has left its mark on her habits. almost instantaneously ousted from coven acceptance due to the nature of her turning -- defying the long ago agreed upon terms that no more fledglings should b made -- she's been largely left to her own devices with regards to her immortality. to that end, she's had to develop her own methodology and morality towards feeding. brought into the blood post-qotd, she does feel indebted to her sire, and also to the queen that made him so strong. she's interrupted many a domestic scene and stalked many a cruel husband through the night, seeking to rid the world of predators far fouler than she is. hunting men is her preference, striking something of a balance between the other two chronicled vampires mentioned so far. her 'type' is the kind of secure, belligerent man that will grovel most fearfully when she turns the tide on him.

LESTAT. to coin a descriptor from the show... non-discriminating. he drinks deeply and merrily from whoever catches his eye, without regard for gender, class, anything so trifling. opportunistic and charming, he's made a grand game of it to ignore how easy drawing in a victim is for him. by word or by force, he always gets his way. it makes no difference to him either way, as this is his nature, and this is the way it must be. his mood largely defines how things will go down, whether he's gentle death admiring the final fleeting moments of a mortal, or the brat come to lord his power and status over the chattel like the spoiled marquis' son he never got to be, or more or less a child pulling the wings off of an insect as he observes the struggle with awe and filthy delight. his 'type,' regardless, is the young man, pale-eyed, long dark hair, a ghost of something he lost, that two hearts can beat in time again once they connect in a final, fatal embrace.

VELLIOTH. which is more vital to his character: that he was a baneite before donella became his god, or that he has always been a soldier? trick question. one hand feeds the other. obedience is scripture and career to him, dominance and submission not simply reserved for the sport his mistress makes of him. he tries to be efficient about it, little drinks from trusted commanders or those who understand the truth of the crooked house szarr. however, he will drain dry any fool that crosses him that has no worth to him or his mistress, and when afield is known for either sending insubordinate underlings 'home' overnight or displaying traitors in bloodless pieces as a warning. he struggles more when a master vampire, having to play games he was ill-prepared for and performing for alliances, having to refine his style of hunting for the spotlight thrust upon him. his 'type' is his lesser, the insignificant mortal who he finds wanting and who requires the firm discipline of the black hand.

YALIZAVETA. repulsed by her own nature, vieta prefers to avoid the hunt altogether. if the opportunity presents itself, she takes her chances as merciful death, haunting the dying as she finds them. if she can help even one mortal find their peace, then perhaps she can forgive this predatory existence. this being vieta, however, that moral crusader of our time who thinks herself the authority, means she is not always right. regardless, she approaches her need to feed with endless tenderness, easing her victims into their final moments, whether through conversation or a tender hand. she gets close to them, pulls them into the swoon, drinking deep and fast so they are gone into that final euphoria in a matter of moments. she might even take a moment to tuck them back into bed, treating the husk with respect for their sacrifice. her ‘type’ is the grievously ill, those already knocking at heaven’s door that, she reasons, might look to her as salvation.

ZOLTAN. frankly, the most normal out of these listed. despite being the oldest vampire here by a landslide, he still has the trappings of humanity. his preference is not to kill, but to survive by what some settings would call 'the little drink,' taking from willing conspirators and friends across the night and supplementing his diet as needed with what can be found ethically -- would you really notice if the dude buying an extra bloody steak at the market was a little too pale under the fluorescent lights? he's a traveler by nature, not having to defend territory, and so is comfortable not living up to his 'full potential,' as some might call it. as far as he knows, he's one of the oldest vampires of a more modern era, which counts for a lot despite his uncommon diet. his 'type' is the enthusiastic goth, the kind who are thrilled to meet him and want to make polite conversation both before and after he's had a taste of them, who make him still feel valued somehow.

[tortoisesshells]

#this is lies. we made it up. but look at them! aren't they just darling!#thank you 60's daytime television.#this is my unethical polycule. the nonmonogamy is consensual and negotiated we're just evil in other ways.

&

#because a woman in possession of josette's (& laura's) locket; of an adventuring‚ prosperous husband who builds her a home in collinsport;#of a vampire-coded boyfriend also in love with her but doomed chiefly to yearning and the occasional bite;#of a foretold fate of falling from the cliffside; and on top of all that is a brunette – well‚ she must be josette. (via @widowshill)

— I couldn't care less about your future. — Well, you'd better care, because you're part of it, and so is your wife.

r/v/b for @tortoisesshells.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

MUNA literally liked a tweet shitting on Harry saying he was queerbatting. And now they are back at complimenting him ? Hypocrites. And fuck them for using Harry's name for attention.

you seem angry. i also was upset about them liking that tweet. but, as far as i can tell, they haven't used his name for attention. note how that podcast has been out for a week and no one even noticed they talked about harry. i agree that their 'stance' (one person controlling their twitter acc liked a tweet) on the queerbaiting issue was wrong. to be honest, i think they were bitter because they have been labeled as a queer band for their entire career, which is a label they celebrate, but which has definitely pigeonholed them. they've been a band for more than ten years and it's only now a job that can properly support them. they've had a rough ass time bc the industry hates queer people. remember how other queer artists attacked harry as well? attacking an artist, missing the point entirely, since they should've been attacking the industry and its biases? but then, back in 2017-2018, josette is quoted saying that harry choosing a queer band speaks volumes, but due to the position he's in he can't say more than that. he speaks through actions. the whole craze about queerbaiting only started a few years ago, and despite them knowing that harry can speak through actions, they still got things mixed up. people are human and complex, bitter and jealous and they lose the plot. then they find it again. i don't agree with everything every member of muna says all the time, every day. but i do see how they loved their time with harry and endlessly respect him and what they taught them. so... you see how there's a lot of nuance here? feels good to recognise the world in its complexities and not in tweet-length statements

[coffeejerk]

selective, private, & headcanon based 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐒 of 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒 (𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔). temp rules + bio under the cut!

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒.

i'm still working on rules specific to maggie. for now, please refer to the general guidelines on my dio blog.

consider this blog low activity. maggie is not my main muse, and she can be a little fickle sometimes. I'm a lot more active on rejectshumanity.

content warnings specific to this blog include: alcoholism, memory loss, parental death, mental and physical abuse, kidnapping, attempted brainwashing and grooming, medical malpractice, and the lingering effects of trauma.

PERSONAL BLOGS DNI. this is a private roleplay blog, not a fandom blog. i appreciate the interest, and you're welcome to follow if you don't touch my posts, but please DO NOT reblog my threads, headcanons, or graphics without my permission. doing so will result in a block.

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 𝐁𝐈𝐎.

maggie evans was once your average sassy teenaged diner waitress in the spooky seaside town of collinsport, maine. that was before she was kidnapped by its resident vampire, held captive, tortured, and nearly turned, all for her resemblance to josette — a long dead woman for whom he pined.

there in his rotting house, barnabas collins dressed her in the woman’s clothes and told her that maggie evans was dead, and that her loved ones have already forgotten her. that she should be thrilled to become josette collins; how if she would only submit to him willingly, they could be so happy together.

when maggie resisted, he drained her blood to keep her in a fugue state, terrorized her with threats to her loved ones, and imprisoned her in a basement cell, threatening to kill her if she did not comply. 

miraculously, maggie escaped with the aid of sarah, the ghost of barnabas' little sister. after discovering a secret tunnel connecting her cell to the outside, she was found wandering the beach in tattered rags, unable to explain or even remember the full extent of what had happened to her. she was sent to windcliff sanitarium, where efforts to recover her memory proved fruitless until years later thanks to the meddling of dr. julia hoffman.  

since then, she has survived far too many abductions, brainwashings, memory wipes, and murder attempts to count. these days, maggie runs her diner with a weariness unbecoming of her young age. yet as traumatized as she is, she hides her troubles behind a kind, but wary smile.

𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒. (under construction)

i. the beginning and the end of the world / maggie's semi-charmed life as a waitress in collinsport prior to barnabas' introduction.

ii. fanged creatures in my dreams / this is where most of the spooky stuff happens. follows maggie after barnabas comes to town, up until she leaves the show. my main verse for ds muses.

iii. a stake in her boot and a gun in her home / big finish audio verse set after the tv show with some canon divergences, and my go-to verse for non-ds muses. maggie takes over ownership of the inn and diner, where she acts as a welcoming face for weary travelers and hosts bi-monthly paranormal investigation meetings. primarily inspired by clothes of sand, beyond the grave, the harvest of souls, and bloodlust.

iv. maggie's bizarre adventure / jjba part 3 au. details tba!

𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐒.

icon template / psd / dash icon

[fearlessmuses]

📚 ───── they needed something which was how this place even started to come into thought let alone anything else. they had all been forced to change and move on after kai parker, weren't they? he never would have forced caroline to move in, live under the same roof, hell he never asked for the twins to be transferred to her, not that people couldn't have that weird suggested ideal on their face. he hated it but what could he do about it. it had happened, it had been out of his control and he was making the most of the situation now, wasn't he? they both where because he hadn't asked for this but neither had she. she was a vampire who had thought children was never a possibility and yet here she was pregnant, an improbability. then they had the twins and neither of them really knew what to do with that.

they played house in a manner of speaking and it certainly didn't go without its awkward moments because it was almost as if one child embodied caroline and one josette, it was odd to think that he had two girls that were like copies in some way for the women who helped keep them safe. it could make a man have rather complexly laired emotions. but they had two kids, and lived together and spent so much time around each other that complicated was bound to come up as a word that fit this entire situation. "hey was thinking, we should order in tonight...." he spoke as he tossed a few toys into a basket and then let his attention turn back towards caroline. that obviously didn't really affect her but it felt right to .... ask? or tell her?

@taleswritten ♥ for a starter from alaric saltzman for caroline forbes