#i feel like this is a low hanging fruit sort of joke but i drew it so here you gooooooo

[mikimuun]

[kyuriman]

Mini adult cartman fanon design rant that is strangely tooooooo serious below

I guess just because of Cartman's sociopathic nature and ability to seemingly sway ppl always made me think he had to have some sort of decent hygiene (or at least the ability the understand how his looks can alter ppls perception aka: putting that good boy sweater on when he wants to sway kyle) ... That on-top of having two parents that are most likely considered "not-ugly" at bare minimum is why I just don't think young adult Cartman would look excessively ugly or disheveled (maybe teen Cartman would be appropriately teen greasy) but young adult Cartman would not look outright unkempt or ugly (I ignore post COVID corrected future because un-housed Cartman was just low hanging fruit).

Idk this might be the minority opinion but when I see ppl draw fanon older Cartman as super ugly and greasy and disheveled in comparison to the others (ie: he's like the only one) than it just gives off a feeling of a fat caricature. Like they can't conceptualize the idea of a bad or mean fat person that isn't cartoonishly exaggerated. These types of designs are especially prevalent with sp fans that either dislike Cartman or completely ignore his existence which generally makes me feel like it's either a hatred of fat people or an inability to not associate morals to looks.

Like I said this before I think but it's so obvious that in canon the sp kids and adults think Cartman is ugly because he is fat. It's not uncommon for ppl to not be anything more than skin deep (anyone who is or was fat knows that a lot of ppl cannot see past weight and therefore can barely even acknowledge your facial features without seeing fat first ie: "omg you look like "insert fat celebrity you look nothing like") and I think Cartman being a bad child with a shit personality makes ppl (both in sp but also in RL) feel especially justified to bodyshame and associate looks to morals 🤢🤢🤢

Like yeah T&M drew Cartman as a fat adult that is implied to be ugly (before post COVID) but you gotta remember these two often go for low blows and a lot of that is fat jokes and implications of fat being ugly. There is a reason the "successful" Cartman is skinny and a corpo and the "failure" is fat and a blue collar worker. It's an easy joke.

Btw this isn't me policing ppls works or anything at the end of the day if you want to make the single fat character look like an anthropomorphic hippo in comparison to everyone else that's well within your right... I would just hope ppl take into consideration a fat fictional characters other attributes and lore when wanting to seriously make depictions that don't come across as "fat is gross" to other viewers.... Even if you use the justification that the character is bad.

This is excluding ppl who make art that is intended to look like realism or purposely off-putting (ie stylized that way)... This is also excluding ppl who draw acne or double chins (I don't consider these things ugly they're completely normal). I am talking about the ppl who draw Cartman as distortedly ugly in a very ooc way and everyone else as uwu anime characters with little to no distinct features that could be socially considered flaws.

[ashtraythief]

This is kinda a weird question, but isn’t it strange that we all love fan fiction and reading romantic plot lines in them and smut and all of this but our favorite show is Supernatural, which is just this story about platonic love? I think that really drew me to the show, I’ve never seen a show that focused so heavily on platonic love, not romantic, and made that the same focus of the entire show. It’s so lovely to see. Did that draw you into the show too?

Ah, yeah. Fandom and their endless quest to make everyone bang and/or fall in love (which I say lovingly, because so do I). And I don't think it's a weird question at all.

Honestly, I started watching Supernatural for very shallow reasons. It was recommend in the “ridiculously attractive people” category of a streaming site :D The pilot was way too scary for me though and so I quit again. But then a while later, I was watching Leverage on TNT and that ep was followed by Playthings. We left the TV running and I just… got sucked into it. Obviously, I had no idea about the context, only remembered the pilot vaguely, but boy did I fall in love immediately. With them, their relationship, the humor, the love and I went right back to the beginning and forced myself to put on my big girl pants and suffer through the scary eps (yes, yes, I know, they’re not that scary, I’m a wuss) and I was so gone on them, it was ridiculous. So yeah, it was the abscence of romance i guess, because I did fall in love with their relationship. In which Playthings truly is a magnificent gem even among the riches of season two.

I think if Sam and Dean’s relationship were romantic (if they were an unrelated het couple because let’s be real, nothing else would have been on network TV seventeen years ago), I think I would have been almost as enamored. Though I don’t know how to build a relationship like that without their past. It would have needed to be grown up together in some kind of way. I think their relationship would be compelling either way, but it is definitely more compelling for not being romantic. For one I think because romance is the default setting for the all-encompassing, soulmate-type relationships, and also because it’s just so unusual? Like even for one of those fated soulmate romance stories, Sam and Dean are still weirdly intense. They’re just more. Unhealthy, codependent, whatever you want to call it, but it makes for good stories. And I think that’s beautiful.

As for why we make wincest…. Well, the shallow reason is that they’re both beautiful men and it’s fun to imagine them bang. And sometimes you gotta be shallow. But also it just seems…. logical. They want to share everything (they do almost share everything, I mean consider what they know about each other’s sex lives and how they enable each other, like Dean wanting Sam to get laid to cheer him up or Sam wanting to drag Dean to a strip club to cheer him up, like they know sexy times can make you feel better and since they can’t provide that themselves they try to find ways to at least facilitate the happy-making sexy times), they are incredibly intimate anyway, there are many instance where they are jealous of romantic partners/friends and there is an exclusive claim on the other that’s rarely relinquished. Honestly, sex is probably the only facette of an intimate interpersonal relationship that’s not covered due to the whole being related thing, but fandoms love to break taboos and explore all sorts of boundaries in transformative works, and wincest is truly the most low hanging fruit of them all. It’s right there. Dancing out of reach. The show itself plays with it, both as jokes when people mistake them as a gay couple or when Sam and Dean use couple-coded language for each other, like when Dean asks if Sam wants a divorce when they’re fighting. They also made actual wincest shippers canon. Like, I was an innocent brofan of the show when I saw The Monster at the End of the Book, and bam, wincest in my brain, like a lightbulb went off and it took up residence there because it just made so much sense. In more serious themes, other characters comment on how special or twisted their relationship is, both friends and villains alike, they sell their soul for each other (or at least try to in Sam’s case), they do or attempt to do unspeakable things to save each other, they are canon soulmates, they have an extensive repertoire of love language and love acts to show their love for and knowledge of each other, they have a whole you-are-the-most-important-thing-ever thing that goes down in a fucking church, I mean, the show makes it abundantly clear that Sam and Dean are it for each other. And so I think that it’s very natural that people go with the wincest. Even though we have to take the incest hurdle, but hey, fantasy is for the dark, transgressive stuff, right? 

At the same time, it is refreshing that the show doesn’t center romance when almost all other shows do, and I think it’s one of the reasons people do enjoy it. And once you have the magic of Sam and Dean, whether you ship wincest or not, you don’t want them to mess with that so you want the non-romance thing to stay (unless you want a certain ship to go canon of course). In conclusion, wincest just makes sense, on every level really and we just creatively want to explore that in fun ways while keeping what’s great about canon in the show. The true art of shipping, I think.

[krethes]

@wolfstarmicrofic July, Day One: fruit

More firefighters? Obv. It's a long, hot summer! (Brought to you by dumb sleep schedule and a dubiously functional brain.) Little backstory prequel.

"You're kinda reaching for low-hanging fruit there, aren'tcha, Sirius?"

Sirius snapped out of his perfectly-normal and not-at-all weird daze—no, not a daze, a...a casual examination. Assessment. A look! It was a look!—and glared at James. "I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered darkly. He wasn't reaching for anything. He was just sitting there, checking the hoses.

James cocked an eyebrow at him. "So I'm imagining the "please, God, fuck me, new guy," look on your face?"

"Careful, Jamie, or your missus will hear you thirsting over new guy."

James smacked him in the arm and the sound drew the attention of Lily and new guy. Lupin. Lily looked annoyed (but that was sort of the baseline wherever Sirius and James were concerned), but Lupin have Sirius a little smile and he felt his face heat up.

"Thought so," James hissed, snickering when Sirius missed the rebuttal swat. "Dating in the workplace is a bad idea."

Sirius blinked. "You're joking."

"Why would I joke about that? It's messy, it's complicated, and if you break up, you could jeopardize the safety of the team!"

"Oi, Lieutenant! Potter says dating in the workplace is a horrible idea!" Sirius shouted, not looking away from the mounting horror on James's face.

"Is that so?" Lily asked drily.

James sputtered and jumped to his feet, dumping the coil of hose into Sirius's lap. "That was taken out of context!" he insisted. "Besides, we're not like, dating."

Sirius cringed. God, he could just not keep his foot out of his mouth. He could feel Lily's glacial stare and shivered where he sat.

"Is that so?"

"Uh...fuck. I mean, God. Oh shut up, Black, I will make you run drills all fucking afternoon!" James snarled. "No! What I mean is, Lils, is... we're soulmates." Sirius watched James take Lily's hands in his. "That's different. We're not going to break up. You and me, babe."

It really shouldn't work. Sirius had watched Lily shoot down even the smoothest, slickest suitors without batting an eye, but she apparently had a James Potter-sized weak point, and defrosted under his declaration.

Everything else fizzled out like television static though, because the new guy was coming over, and he dropped down next to Sirius, and he took the hose from his lap, and his knuckles brushed his fucking thigh and Sirius's heart stopped. But the man carried on like it was nothing, the tiniest of smiles on his mouth. His perfect, kissable mouth.

"Do you agree with him?" Lupin asked.

Sirius glanced back at where James was still pouring on the charm to dig himself out of the very deep hole he'd dug, and nodded. "Yeah, they're soulmates. They deserve each other."

"No, about dating in the workplace."

Sirius whipped his head around so fast his neck popped. "I mean...it really can be kind of a dumpster fire," he admitted after a long pause, wherein he kicked himself about half a dozen times.

Lupin leaned back on his hands and cast his golden eyes Sirius's way, and Sirius couldn't help but admire the long line of his body, or think that blue was definitely his color, or that his shirt would definitely look better on the floor. His floor. He stayed there for a few beats before getting up, leaving a waft of his deodorant and whatever shampoo he used in his wake. "Good thing we're firefighters then," Lupin said, winked, and walked away to rejoin Lieutenants Evans and Potter.

Sirius watched him go, helpless to the pull of his fan-fucking-tastic arse in the uniform trousers, and swallowed thickly. Low-hanging fruit might be easy to pick, but it was no less sweet...

[cryptid-bloodhound]

The Phantom Agony

So, this was totally for @ajays-lullaby​ for that music ask game and uh...it got like wayyy longer than intended. So rather than put it all in the ask (bcus I can’t put a read more in there i don’t think??) i decided to make a separate post. Otherwise yall would h a t e me for the clunky ass text. anyway, hope yall enjoy! <3

Characters: Wraith, Bloodhound

Notes: It’s a total supernatural/fantasy AU. Ghost!Wraith (aka Wraith!Wraith bcus i think im funny) and Monster Hunter!Bloodhound. It can be platonic or romantic if u squint depending on your preference. Wraith has no memories, mean voices, and bad anxiety. she just needs a hug.

Read On: Ao3

Random Song Selected for the Prompt: Monster - Starset

“My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul Who knew the emptiness could be so cold? I've lost the parts of me that make me whole I am the darkness I'm a monster“

Deep in the wilds forgotten by time lurked the shadow of a woman lost to despair. It was a desolate place that reeked of woe. What life had once flourished there had long since been chased away by the tormented entity. Trees stood barren and brittle, casting long, gnarled shadows in every direction like greedy hands. Nothing but cold dirt and stones pocked the ground. Everywhere else in this forest was thriving and beautiful. Everywhere except for the den of the Wraith.

She could not remember anything; not her name, her age, how long she had been trapped here, or where all of this anger came from. It was as if she simply came into being one day full of anguish and hate. There was an endless aching in her skull in the form of callous voices. They're insidious little whispers just at the furthest reaches of her mind, tempting her with memories she could never quite grasp. Try as she might, they always seemed just out of her reach. It was maddening. She wanted to know who she was, why she was stuck here, why everything hurt, hurt, hurt-

She could recall voices, though.

So many voices.

They scratched aching grooves into her nerves when those harsh tones rose in her mind. What they said, she couldn’t catch but it filled her with a God-awful dread. Always the same voices, always the same tones.

And she could remember pain.

So much pain.

Like torn sinew and choking breath, it crawled through the ghost of her nerves. Over and over and over and over. She just wanted it all to stop! 

There had been a fear so strong in those lost memories that it branded her soul. She could still taste its acrid flavor like bile on her tongue. How utterly cruel it is that she can taste nothing but her fear. Her fear and her rage. She was but a phantom of suffering, wailing pleas and profanities into the deep, yawning abyss around her. She would grip her head and scream, scream, scream for help but no one ever came. No one that stayed, that is.

At first, she did not know what she was. Not until some hikers crossed her path, that is. They walked into her grove, a light and joy in their eyes that made her ache. She called out to them but they did not answer. She walked up to them and asked for help. Still, they did not answer. They walked around her sacred area with wide eyes, remarking on the eerie feeling all around, pointing out the oddly dead foliage, and joking as if she were not there. An ugly, pernicious feeling curdled her gut at the callous display.

Then, the man let out a loud, sharp laugh and a spike of utter terror pierced her to the core. It echoed like a record stuck on repeat in her head. That sound was so very much like the one in her sparse memories. Had she a breath, it’d be caught in her throat. Instead, that cold fear twisted and turned inside of her. It thawed and melted, kept heating up until it boiled over. This... This was one of them. All of her pain and dread and hate spewed forth like a volcano and she positively erupted. With bared teeth and clawed hands, she rushed forward. Her presence was felt like a harsh gust of wind - the herald of a coming storm. 

She could not feel her strikes land but the fear in the couple’s eyes and red lines forming on his face let her know that the manifestation of her wrath could certainly be felt. Nature trembled and bowed to her unearthly power as the people skittered over themselves to escape. The Wraith went to take chase but was held back by an unknown force. No matter how hard she pulled at the unseen tether or beat against the invisible wall, she could not leave. Those voices in her head wailed with gnashing teeth, hungry for vengeance. They were left to starve.

From that revelation came a cruel, aching bitterness. There were people out there who took her life from her. They twisted her into some sort of monster and she was stuck here, forced to live in damnation because of it. That bitterness and agony swelled like a balloon. She would chase away any who dared enter her grove because having them there was just another form of torture. She wanted to speak with them. She wanted to feel the warmth of another’s touch, a caring embrace, something . But she was denied even that simple kindness. It was the low hanging fruit she simply could not get. The oasis just beyond her fingertips. And just like the old Fox’s fable, she grew sour over that taunting temptation. It was better to push them all away than to be tormented even further. 

It was better to be alone than in agony.

She could not recall how long it had been since the last person fleed from her territory. Time seemed so very inconsistent to The Wraith. Hours, days, years. It meant nothing to her. So she stalked her lonesome grove with a void in her soul that would not leave. There were times she regretted chasing all who came here away because this desolation felt too close to torture these days.

Hadn’t it always?  

She pushed those prodding little voices back as hard as she could. There was no use wondering about ‘what if’s and ‘I should have done’s. This is the path she chose and she will stay to it with her chin up and the fierce conviction that was undeniably all her. No amount of longing or rapacious voices will make her backpedal. What’s done is done, after all.

So, when the day came when an oddly masked figure approached her grove she beat back those feelings of yearning and clamped down on the ache inside of her. The Wraith would chase this one away just like all the rest. They would simply walk by her, taunt her with the life she’s been denied, and dangle comfort like a toy. With the same hard stare and clenched fists, she drew upon her pain and prepared to bring the Heavens down once again. 

But something strange occurred.

That figure stopped just at the edge of her grove, mere inches from her invisible barrier. They cocked their head as if curious while looking around slowly. Their outfit was unlike any she had laid her eyes on before. Armor was not typically worn by any but soldiers and even then it was unlike this armor. Regardless of the oddity, she remained prepared for that inevitable moment they’d cross her threshold. They were probably another adventure seeker or ‘ghost hunter’ looking for a thrill. The frown tugging her lips only deepened at the thought. The Wraith despised those sorts the most. Her agony was not an attraction to be delighted by and she would entertain none who thought otherwise.

“May I enter your home?”

The unexpected words nearly startled the spectral being. Never before had someone attempted to speak to her. It sent a jolt through her body and that malignant current she built up wavered.

“What?”

As soon as she answered she felt foolish. No doubt this one was speaking to ‘The Ghost of the Shattered Forest’. Before she could even get back to scowling, that masked face turned to look directly at her. 

“I humbly requested entrance to your home.”

Again, she was at a total loss. What traction she had built crumbled like sand between her fingers. There was absolutely no way this individual heard her. The Wraith tried desperately not to get her hopes up as that masked gaze never wavered from her direction.

“You can see me?”

Her voice, soft and ethereal, wavered ever so slightly at the end of her words. ‘No!’ She yelled at herself. ‘I can’t hope for this.’ Had she not already been dead then surely the crushing disappointment would end her entirely. But, as she tried to smother that devilishly persistent flicker of hope, that mask gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment. She trembled with nerves she thought were long gone. 

“But... how? Nobody else can.”

There was a fragileness like ill-tempered glass in her voice that she despised . It’s just been so, so long since she spoke to someone - since she felt alive . If she had tears to shed, she feared they would get the best of her. Even now, just this small confirmation had her choke back a sob of pure joy. 

“I have been gifted with sight by the Gods.”

Their voice was just as odd as their armor. An accent curled heavily around their words in a way she was unfamiliar with. Foreign, then. She couldn’t help but wonder if they truly were blessed to see such a creature as her or if they were delusional. In her eyes, such sight would be nothing short of a curse. She cleared her throat - a useless but ingrained habit - as she composed herself. This was a stranger. One who could see her. One who may hurt her. Those snarling, snapping voices tried to tempt her to violence. It would be best to destroy this person before they had a chance to cause her more pain. 

That grotesque desire was so strong it nearly suffocated her. She would not heed them. After all, she was no one’s puppet. Still, even the chance of danger had her ghostly, almost translucent eyes narrowing suspiciously. Once bitten, twice shy.

“Who are you?”

The stranger never shifted from their spot, she noted. She had never permitted them to cross into her withered grove and they acknowledged that. Instead, they stood calm and tall, exuding a peace she can’t recall ever feeling. It made that hunger in her rise like a leviathan. She wanted that peace. Whether it was due to her desire for comfort or that damning hunger, she gestured for the hunter to step into her territory. They gave a gracious gesture and took but a few steps forward before halting.

“I am Blothhundr, a Hunter of the Gods. You may call me Bloodhound.”

That wariness didn’t wane after their introduction. If anything, all it accomplished was setting her teeth on edge. There was a war waging in her head between the desire to close the distance and drink in the company she’s long been denied and the desire to cast them far, far away so she would be safe. That inner battle caught her tongue for a moment and kept her rooted in her spot. Finally, she was able to push past the haze of violent screams echoing like sirens to get out a response.

“And what are you hunting?”

They paused for only a moment before uttering a single word.

“Monsters.”

Just like that, her hopes shattered all around her. There was something utterly devastating about finally getting just what one has always desired only for it to be twisted so cruelly. She had no doubt this proclaimed Divine Hunter was here for her head. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so harsh to the mortals who crossed her path. That bitterness mixed with a swell of fear and it reminded her of something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It came in the form of the singing silver of blades unsheathed and cruel, husky voices.

While the voices screamed for action and her body trembled to flee, she stood her ground proud and tall. Perhaps under all of that fear of what’s to come was a shred of dark relief. Anything would be better than this lonely Hell, wouldn’t it? Regardless, she would face her hunter with all of her fierce, untamed fury. She wouldn’t go quietly into the night. Not again. That ethereal energy she possessed built around her once more as she prepared for their inevitable clash.

“I take it that monster is me?”

As she spoke, she jutted her chin up in defiance, letting it be known that she would be no easy prey. Instead of aggression, however, she was met with pacifism. They raised their gloved hands in a placating gesture that once again surprised her. 

“My apologies, I have not made my intentions clear. No, you are not the one I am after.”

They sounded completely sincere but how would she know any better? Her disbelief colored her voice dark with its dry, skeptical undertone.

“Really?”

Still, the odd hunter seemed unfazed. They merely gave another polite nod.

“Já.”

That frown on her face only deepened further. They lapsed into a tense silence as she eyed them up warily. There was a barely concealed hostility just beneath her wraps as those voices implored her to act. Once more, the hunter spread their hands out wide in a grand gesture meant to convey some sort of understanding.

“Not all óvættr are wraiths and revenants. Some appear as men. They are the most monstrous of all. They are who I am after.”

Again, something in her head twisted sharply. There was a thought - a memory - at the very edges of her mind. It left her itching to chase that particular white rabbit. Still, she did not speak. She did not want to encourage this enigmatic hunter to keep raising her hopes back up. It’s a trick , the voices claimed. Her jaw clenched and she felt a phantom pain from the pressure. They continued on.

“Truly, I do not believe Wraiths to be monsters at all.”

She scoffed in utter disbelief. 

“You’d be the first.”

The sardonic, baleful words slipped from her tongue without her permission. She snapped her mouth shut as soon as the last syllable left her lips. The abrupt, almost angry cut-off didn’t seem to bother her newfound companion. They just shook their head, an almost mournful hunch to their once-squared shoulders.

“I am aware. Many misunderstand that which they fear and they fear that which they do not understand. Wraiths are born of violence and injustice. They are innocent souls who met a fate they did not deserve. So they are trapped, unable to find friðr until they find justice. “

Their words stirred up a violent hurricane within her. Flashes of faces colored her vision until it was all she could see. Voices and metal-on-metal beat in her ears. The suffocating scents of leather, dirt, and smoke choked her airless lungs. It all flashed too fast for her to catch but she knew - she knew - where all of her hate and fear came from. This one, they spoke the truth. Something utterly profane happened to her and it robbed her of all that she once was. It left that disgustingly familiar hollow ache in its place. It pulsated like a fetid wound. This wasn’t fair! The dead should not hurt so deeply!

“That’s what happened to me?”

It came out a whisper full of turmoil. The Wraith could hardly untangle this confusing web of emotions she was feeling. It left her wanting to lash out like a wounded, cornered animal as she was used to doing. Without realizing it, she had squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to push the wailing voices and barbed feelings far away. It felt like she would shake apart from the endless tide beating against her soul. 

Stop, please stop!

“It would seem so.”

The soft voice was so much nearer than it had been before. It startled her, though not nearly as much as the gloved hand on her shoulder. She could feel the weight of their hand and the warmth of the glove against her icy skin. So shocking was this gesture that even the voices were silenced for a change. The Wraith could not help but stare with wide doe eyes and gasp quietly.

“How are you able to do that?”

As if only just realizing what they’d done, Bloodhound retracted their hand quickly. She almost wanted to chase the touch, much to her chagrin. Just how starved of affection had she become? ...That was a question she truly did not want answered for surely it would only upset her further. Bloodhound was quiet for a moment before finally answering her question. The tone of their voice hedged dangerously close to uncomfortable.

“...That is a story for another time.”

She frowned slightly at the deflection. The desire to pester them for an answer was strong but then she noticed just how stiff they’d become. Their hands were curled into tight fists and they had turned slightly away from her as if contemplating an escape. A quiet desperation rose in her at the mere thought of being stuck in this lonely purgatory again. 

Wraith quickly reached out, hand hovering over the hunter’s armguard. Slowly, she reached just a bit further until she gently grabbed their arm. For an agonizing moment, she feared her hand would have passed right through them just as it had everyone else. But no, she could feel the rough, worn texture of the metal beneath her ghostly fingers. When she ached, it was with joy this time. Bloodhound slowly looked her direction, stance still ready to run.

“...I accept your help. I...want to remember. Everything. I want...”

Getting the words out was harder than she could have imagined. Asking for help - showing just how vulnerable she is - was so very, very difficult. But, she managed to get the words out there, soft as a spring breeze.

“I want to find peace.”

And by the Gods it was true. There was nothing in this world she wanted more than to finally be at peace. Wraith could only pray that this hunter was true to their word. Slowly, minutely, their stance relaxed. Finally, they gave a small nod and spoke with a confidence that instilled a courage and hope in her she didn’t previously dare let herself feel.

“Then the hunt begins.”

[losille2000]

Sugar, Chapter 2

TITLE: Sugar CHAPTER NUMBER: 2/? AUTHOR: Losille2000 WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom; Actor!Jai Courtney GENRE: Romance/Drama FIC SUMMARY: Benny and Tess Sweet: Twins. Business partners. Georgia natives. Southern belles. And each others’ greatest allies against the world. Neither could predict how their lives would change when a wayward Englishman wanders into Tess’ cake and tea shop, SweetYums, in a desperate search for a proper English tea. Prepare for cavities. RATING: M (sex, language) WARNINGS:  None. AUTHORS NOTES: Lotsa Tom in this one. Jai in the next one. I have no idea where this story is going or how I’m going to get there, but I’m glad you’re along for the ride. Thank you for reading! For @cinderella1181

Chapters: 1 - 2 - Also available on Archive of Our Own!

Chapter 2

Tom didn’t know what to expect as he pulled into a parking space behind a row of shops sandwiched together on a short plat of land. They were nestled between train tracks to the north, homes to the south and east, and Agnes Scott College directly to the west. If he hadn’t had the directions on his GPS, he probably would have passed it and never seen the small, but elegantly lettered, signs on the front of the building, as hidden as it was. The exterior of the brick row looked in moderate repair, but nothing incredibly posh or upscale. He supposed it felt more like a quiet little shop in the middle of a country village back home than it did a happening Starbucks in the middle of Westminster.

 Honestly, it suited him. Especially if he wanted to lay low and really enjoy the brew he was about to have. Even if it wasn’t as good as the attractive woman who had given him the business card had intimated, he was going to make the best of it. Because if he went one more place and received another dumbfounded, confused look from a server when he said no to sweet tea, he was going to scream. He loved sweets just as much, if not more, than the average person, but sweet tea was a disgusting, syrupy concoction that hardly deserved the word “tea” attached to it.

 The Yanks might rightfully claim superior gastronomic adventures, but not when it came to tea. Not for the first time, he thought that if they spent more time trying to drink the tea instead of throwing it into a Boston harbor, they could develop their understanding of the beverage.

 Tom chuckled to himself at the private joke and rounded the corner toward the front of the building, gliding along the sidewalk past a salon and photography studio. He paused for a moment, remembering that the woman yesterday had been carrying camera equipment, and looked up at the door. The sign read “Sweetcheeks Photography.” His smile grew. Clearly, they found a theme and stuck with it, but he couldn’t imagine a better play on words than that, considering the sassy attitude of the woman he’d briefly met. He’d be lying if he said her open friendliness, completely devoid of the airs of a fame seeker, coupled her attractiveness, hadn’t also played a huge part in him driving forty-five minutes to find this place after he finished filming this morning.

 He hoped her twin was just like her.

 The shop past the photography studio had a decorative wrought iron signpost hanging above the door. SweetYums was spelled in decorative calligraphic typography and integrated with a small tiered cake logo like the card in his pocket. He peered through the front window, finding the main entrance empty and sedate.

 What he stepped in on, however, was an entirely different story.

 There was an ear-shattering scream and then raised voices, a clatter of metallic pans and cutlery banging together or falling. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.  He thought about turning right back around, but stopped the instant he saw her.

 She emerged from a door in the back of the dining room, an expression of worry and resolve mixing on her round face and shining back at him through emerald eyes similar the woman from the day before. He hadn’t been told the twins were fraternal, but he understood that now, assessing the faintest outline of the new woman’s feminine form beneath an otherwise shapeless chef’s uniform of black and white.

 Seeing him, she paused and nodded to the seating area. “Please sit wherever you like, both dining rooms are open. I’ll have someone with you shortly.”

 Her voice. God, her voice. Soft yet firm, something so smoothly feminine it made him shiver. Not twangy, but a slow drawl of honey. And he didn’t even particularly like Southern accents. Coming from her, though, it was the very best.

 He turned to look back at the dining room, and noticed another door leading to a bright atrium.  On closer inspection, he found the atrium contained a more formal set up populated with matching vintage furniture in crackled white lacquer and soft pastel upholsteries. Clearly, they used the space for parties and other important events more than the dining room he’d first walked into.

 The main dining room was a literal hodgepodge of furniture, slouchy leather chairs, beaten upholstered couches, scuffed wooden surfaces, and books. Lots and lots of old, well-loved books piled in the center of tables and lined up on a few book shelves. It looked like the coziest place in the world, with a handful of small reading nooks perfect for hiding away from the world. He fell in love with it the moment he sunk down into a squashed low chair that, just by looking at it, should have been the most uncomfortable place to sit in the store.

 It turned out to be the most comfortable.  

 He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned his head back on the chair, listening to the noises from inside the working kitchen as they spilled out into the main dining room.

 “I’m so sorry, Tess,” said a small female voice, heaving with emotion and tears. “I didn’t mean to ruin the whole—”

 “Honey,” said Tess, “you stop. The cake can be remade. You cannot. I’m only glad it’s not worse.”

 The crying worker sniffled. “But you got all those wedding cakes to do.”

 Tess chuckled. “Sit down and wait for your mama to come pick you up.”

 “I don’t need to sit.”

 “Yes, you do,” Tess said.

 Tom craned his neck to see a young girl obediently sink down on a comfy chair near the front, holding a pad of gauze against a bandaged hand. Tess dropped down onto her haunches and looked up at the girl. She brushed at a few curlicues of the girl’s hair, then pulled the hair net from the girl and tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin.

 “You’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she cooed, knocking the girl under her chin with a bent finger. “But the next time you feel the need to bleed, let us know and we’ll schedule a Walking Dead cake for that day.”

 Tom couldn’t contain his laughter at that comment, and neither could the girl, but it drew their attention to him. Tess sighed and stood up. “Wait here, Keisha. Your mama said she’d be here in a few. I need to help this gentleman.”

 The girl nodded and Tess disappeared for a moment and reappeared carrying a menu. She smiled brightly. “I’m so sorry for the wait.”

 She stopped in front of him, holding out the menu. He took it, accidentally brushing her fingers as he did so; Tess pulled her hand back and reached into her pocket for a pen, as though trying to ignore the crackle of energy that passed between them.

 Strange.

 He certainly had not expected something like that surge of electric interest to pass between them. It was unexpected, but not wholly unwanted. He’d just arrived on set the week before—he’d yet to find feminine company to entertain him while he was in town. Maybe she was the one to fit the bill?

 Tom swept his gaze over her again. She was pretty, no doubt about it. And the way she’d behaved with the girl—such genuine kindness was a massive turn on, especially after the last few women he’d had in his life. But he promised himself he’d be on his best behavior. He’d promised his publicists and Marvel that he’d be good—to avoid a circus like the previous summer. Sure, Tess wasn’t famous, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t cause problems for him. The last thing he or his career needed was another scandal… of sorts.

 Was she even the sort of woman who had flings? He didn’t think so, simply from a few minutes of conversation about nothing of consequence. Her sister, Benny, however—now, she seemed like the type who enjoyed herself freely and noncommittally. But she hadn’t really caught his attention in the same way; she was almost too forward.

 “So, I was referred here by your sister,” he said, clearing his throat. He glanced at the menu, but didn’t really read it. Instead, he looked back up at Tess. “Said this was the place to be for a proper English tea.”

 She laughed lightly, cheeks growing rosy. “Well, we try. Hopefully, it lives up to your discerning palate.”

 Tom grinned. “Let’s start easy. Breakfast or Earl Grey?”

 “Earl Grey,” she said. “It pairs well with our June flavor-of-the-month cupcake—A Midsummer Night’s Passion Fruit Dream.”

 “Then I’ll have that,” he replied, sliding the menu back to her. He didn’t even bother finding out what exactly this cupcake was made of; it didn’t really matter. He’d never met a sweet he didn’t want to eat.

 Tess nodded. “We also have a full afternoon tea with finger sandwiches and scones, if you’d prefer something more substantial and savory.”

 “Frankly, you could bring a platter of cake and I’d be fine that,” he said. “And thank you for saying ‘scones’ correctly.”

 She chuckled and pointed to the menu. “I’ll leave that there in case you want to look it over for something else. But in the meantime, one pot of the Earl and a cupcake coming right up.”

 Tom watched her walk away, unable to pull his attention from the swing of her hips and the roundness of her arse as she moved. Even in the nondescript and baggy chef’s pants, her anatomy made his mouth water. It certainly wasn’t from the enduring scent of sugar heavy in the air, though he was sure it helped. Did she taste like sugar, too?

 He licked his lips and shook his head to clear the images forming in it. He couldn’t possibly…

 Keisha hurriedly waved Tess over as she walked by, and Tess joined her side. “What’s up?”

 The girl leaned her head in and whispered, not quietly enough, “Do you know who that is?”

 Tess didn’t even look back at him. “I do. Benny told me he might stop by after she ran into him at the studio yesterday.”

 “Oh my god,” Keisha said. “I can’t wait to tell my friends!”

 Tom cringed. Great. Now he’d never be able to come back.

 What surprised him, though, was Tess placing a hand on Keisha’s arm to stop the girl from reaching for her cell phone. Most people would love to point out a celebrity dined at their establishment for promotion. “How about giving him some privacy? If he wanted to be seen, he would have come without the hat and sunglasses.”

 Tess could have spoken more softly, but he had the distinct feeling she didn’t so he would hear her clearly. He was grateful to know he was safe, seeing as he already had every intention of coming back for more—he was here filming for two more months. And judging from the look of the showcases in the front of the store, there were plenty of choices to keep him filled until then. And when that ended, there was a delectable baker he wouldn’t mind sampling.

 He had, however, forgotten the ball cap and sunglasses, so he removed them and set them aside.

 “Oh,” Keisha said, crestfallen. “I guess you’re right.”

 When Keisha settled into her seat, Tess turned back to him with a wink. A violent red blush colored her cheeks before she herself scurried into the kitchen—or, at least, to parts of the building he had not seen.

 Soon, an older woman with large sunglasses appeared and whisked Keisha off to the doctor to see to her hand. Tess bade them farewell and then shut the door, locking it and flipping the “Closed” sign into place.

“You don’t have to do that on my account,” Tom heard himself telling her. Though, he had to admit, it would be nice to have some peace after a long night and early morning of filming.

Tess startled and turned around to him. “No worries.”

 Then she disappeared again for a few minutes and came back with a silver tray laden with a fancy bone china teacup and saucer, and a mismatched teapot with all the necessary accoutrement. It added to the kooky, eclectic atmosphere and made him smile. Like he was right back home at his mum’s quaint seaside cottage.

 On a small plate sat a large cupcake—larger than he was used to—decorated with an artful swirl of ivory frosting lightly dusted with glitter and finished with a tropical flower of some sort. It looked magical, like it had walked right out of the pages of Shakespeare’s play. But he figured she planned it that way.

 “It’s looks too spectacular to eat,” he said, reaching out to finger the flower on top. “Is it all edible? This looks so real.”

 Tess puffed up at his assessment, her smile glowing. Though he’d noticed her loveliness before, suddenly, it was like she’d stepped out of a shady spot and into the sunlight, giving him a glimpse of her true beauty. It lasted only a second before it shuttered again and the soft spoken, unassuming businesswoman returned.

 “Everything is completely edible,” she replied.

 Tom licked his lips again and glanced up at her from underneath his eyelashes. He sunk his teeth into his cheek to refrain from asking if she was edible, as well. Or, perhaps, if he might be able to lick some of the icing directly from her skin. But even if she were less soft spoken—more brazen—asking that so soon would not make a good impression.

 “The icing is a vanilla buttercream, and the cake itself is lemon with a passionfruit filling,” she explained.

 “I hope my head won’t turn into a giant arse,” he murmured.

 She giggled. “I’d be more worried about falling in love with the wrong person.”

 “True.”

 “But you’d have to get it in your eyes to do that,” she replied. “So, I think you’re safe. Unless you’re a really messy eater.”

 He grinned. Was he safe from falling in love?

 Tess sighed and looked back toward the kitchen. “Anyway, I need to get back there. We’re so behind now. This isn’t the best customer service, but we’re really struggling today with manpower—if you need anything at all, please just come pop your head in the kitchen. I apologize, it’s usually not like this—”

 Tom held up a hand to stop her. “I have no problem at all. I think I’m just going to enjoy the quiet and maybe find something to read.”

 “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

 “You really didn’t need to close up on my account,” he reiterated.

 She shook her head. “Like I said, we’re backed up. It’ll help us get back on track… and I imagine you wouldn’t mind not being bothered. Right?”

 He sighed. “You have no idea.”

 “Great,” she said. “Enjoy your tea.”

 With that, she turned and scurried away. Tom reached for a stack of books on another table and quickly settled on the worn bright blue copy of Outlander. He’d never read it, nor had he seen the television show, but he’d certainly heard plenty about it from the women in his life. He figured he might as well give it little read while he relaxed.

  Tess tossed another dirty cake pan in the giant industrial sink, choosing to ignore the growing pile lest she realize she wasn’t getting home anytime before nine that night.

Naturally, as if the universe planned it to happen on their busiest week of the year so far, a summertime flu had circulated indiscriminately around the bakery. It took out everyone but Keisha, the front store clerk, and DeAndre, her assistant baker. Everything else became a comedy of errors as they struggled to complete what a team of six did daily, with Keisha biting the dust in the most epic fashion with a large knife and a flaming hot 16-inch wedding cake tier coming straight from the oven.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren’t right in the middle of wedding season, and she hadn’t accepted five cake orders for this weekend alone. To be fair, though, she’d known about them all well in advance of the apocalyptic flu. Had planned for them. Scheduled the correct staff to fill the orders. But then they’d started dropping like flies and cake wasn’t really something you could make too far ahead. Or with sick people getting their germs into the mixes and decorations.

 She could only hope she wasn’t next. She couldn’t afford a day off.

 She could never afford a day off.

 Days off just weren’t possible when you owned your own business, especially when the business relied on fresh product made every single day the doors opened.

 Sometimes Tess wanted to throw the towel in. It’d be much easier to work in someone else’s kitchen, with set shift times. And maybe with an entire day off here and there. Oh, and paid sick time for herself, and company health insurance she didn’t have to pay through the nose for.

 Even so, all those dreams of easier days floated away as soon as she delivered a cake to a bride on her wedding day and saw the beaming smiles. She always felt the excitement and love in the room on those days. Even the horrible Bridezillas cracked a smile when she showed up with their order exactly how they’d envisioned it.

 There were also the little kids who ran around excited because she presented them with their special firetruck cake, or the cupcakes frosted in the shape of Mickey. Oh, and then there were the mothers who got the thrill of a gender reveal, and fathers who practically collapsed when they found out they were having twins. Or the hundreds of other festivities and holidays she helped people celebrate with a little dose of sugar.

 There was something invigorating about that. Something that kept her going, working. There was something intoxicatingly joyful about being a “neighborhood baker” and being part of peoples’ lives, seeing them grow up, get married, have babies, and then repeat the cycle all over. It was demanding work, but she knew she wouldn’t trade the incredible warmth that exploded from her heart and filled every cell in her body each time she made someone happy. Nothing would ever compare. Nothing could compare.

 So, she slogged on, desperately trying to remind herself what it felt like to deliver happiness.

 Tess groaned and leaned back against the large stainless steel worksurface in the middle of the kitchen. Her fingers had long since gone numb from endless decorative piping. Her legs ached. She hadn’t spent this much time on her legs in front of the oven in ages.

 It was a rare moment of calm, just long enough to catch her breath before the next wave of timers started beeping at her.  The jiggling door handle at the back door stole her attention, and Benny popped her brunette head inside a moment later.

 “Why are you closed?” Benny asked, stepping into the kitchen. Benny made a quick visual sweep of the room, pausing for a moment on the sink and heap of dirty pots and pans. Her lip curled in distaste.

 “Nobody to run the front,” Tess replied, sighing at her sister. “Wouldn’t want to take some time to help me out, would ya?”

 Benny shook her head and laughed. Tess didn’t, but she shrugged. Worth a try, anyway. Benny hated working in foodservice. The customer service always did her in; it often made Tess wonder how she was able to run a successful photography studio with such a short fuse. As affable and talkative and people-minded as she was, Benny had an incredibly tough time dealing with slow or stupid customers.

 Benny held up her oversized coffee mug. The one Tess got her for Christmas that read “Male Tears”. “I’m just here for a refill.”

 “There’s a new pot,” Tess said, nodding to the front of the shop.

 “Thanks!”

 Tess watched her twin flit into the other room, but soon followed her. “You know, I should start making you pay for all the coffee you drink. It’s not cheap.”

 Benny frowned. “But you know what I’m like if I don’t have my coffee.”

 “Right,” Tess said with nod. Benny was a witch without sufficient caffeine. “I should probably check on my guest while I’m out here.”

 “I thought you were closed?” Benny asked, setting the coffee pot back on the warmer.

 Tess shook her head. “I let him stay.”

 “Who is it?” Benny inched slowly to the edge of the wall and peered around the corner. “Oh! Hi! I didn’t expect you to make it so soon!”

 Tess cringed at her sister’s voice. The woman couldn’t stop flirting if her life depended on it.

 “I had to see what the fuss was about,” Tom replied softly.

 Tess sucked in a breath and closed her eyes, listening to their conversation and the deep purr of his accent. Goodness, it was so much more lethal in person. He was so much more lethal in person. It had taken all her courage to speak to him. Heaven knew how she was able to carry on an intelligent conversation with him while she delivered his order.

 He looked good. Better than good. Handsome, polished, English. She knew that, of course. Even with the day-old scruff and droopy, tired blue eyes, he was dangerous and beautiful. It should be illegal for someone to look as good as he did in old jeans and a threadbare shirt.

 “Tess?”

 Tess startled and cleared her throat. “Yeah?”

 “Come here,” Benny called.

 She quickly patted down the front of her apron and stepped into the dining area. “What’s up?”

 “I was perusing the menu,” he said, looking right at her, making her feel like she was the only person in the room, and that her more gorgeous, more buxom, more everything sister wasn’t sitting at the table with him.

“Oh, right.” Tess grinned. “Would you like something else?”

 “Ah, no,” Tom said, his lips pursing curiously for a minute. He looked somewhat like a bird cocking his head to the side, watching her, probably trying to figure out how she and Benny could be twins because they were so dissimilar. “Not right now, at least. It’s my turn to host a house party on Saturday and I thought some of the adult cupcakes would be a good addition. Could you possibly fit an order in?”

 “Sure,” she replied, without really thinking about it. Could she really spare the time to fit in yet another order when she was already behind? One look at his handsome face, and she already knew the answer to that. “Yeah. Let me get an order form. I’ll be right back.”

 Tess didn’t hear what Benny and Tom spoke about as she went to her office for an order form. When she returned, Benny was smiling again and leaning conspiratorially close to Tom. She straightened up and looked over Tom’s head, directly at Tess, knowing she’d been caught.

Tess sighed. Of course, another man under her spell.

 “Here it is,” Tess said, sliding the paper in front of Tom after she sat down across from him. She pulled a pen from her apron pocket and drew a bracket around the upper portion of the form. “Fill out your info here, address for delivery, and a number to reach you if I have any questions.”

 Tom clicked the end of the ballpoint pen a few times after she pushed it over to him.  He set the point on the paper and glanced up at her. “Is there any chance this info will somehow find its way outside this bakery?”

 Tess shook her head emphatically. “No, of course not! In fact, I’ll keep the order form private.”

 “Good,” he replied with a small smile that she imagined was one he used to calm someone. It had little effect when it came to alleviating her anxiety.

 The bakery had a long history of working with celebrities, thanks to Benny’s involvement at the movie studios around Atlanta. Tess had never had a problem with the security of client information before, and to have him worry about it made her question whether he truly believed she was trustworthy. Had she mistakenly given him the wrong idea?

 No, she thought. She couldn’t have, or he wouldn’t purposely be dragging out their involvement with each other just for a few dozen cupcakes for a party. And yet, a part of her wondered if wasn’t just because he was interested in Benny.

 Tess cleared her throat and asked, “When would you like delivery?”

 “Um,” he squinted, “any time after four-ish? Whenever you and Benny can make it, that’ll be great.”

 “Oh, Benny won’t—”

 Benny reached out and placed a hand on Tess’ arm. Tess frowned and looked at her sister. “What?”

 Benny didn’t reply, just rolled her eyes and shook her head. It was Benny-speak for ‘I can’t believe we shared a womb for nine months, I don’t understand how we can be related.’ Tess’ frown deepened. What was she missing?

 “I guess I didn’t really make myself clear,” Tom said with a chuckle. “You’re both invited, too.”

 “But we—”

 Benny squeezed her arm this time, stopping Tess’ words. Really, it wasn’t right to expect an invite to the party. Had he thought she was digging—hoping—for one? Goodness, what must he think of her? Benny’s reaction said otherwise, though.

 “We’d love to come,” Tess said quickly. “My last wedding cake delivery is at three, so we probably won’t make it until five. Is that possible?”

 “Perfect.” He grinned. “People just seem to filter in and out at these things, so I can never guess at a proper time… and it goes to until the last person passes out.”

 She nodded and pulled the order form back after he finished writing. “Do you know how many and what kind you’d like?”

 Tom laughed. “I have no idea how many. Maybe three dozen? There’ll be other things there.”

 “Alright. Then three flavors,” Tess said. “I recommend a different flavor profile for each so you hit all the right spots.”

 “I never have trouble hitting the right spot,” he murmured, with a wolfish grin and a wink.

 Tess barely caught it, said as it was sotto voce and under his breath. Her face warmed in a blush. She had absolutely no idea how to handle it. What was he playing at, anyway?  

 She reached for the menu and flipped it over to the side with the adult cake flavors. “Um, my favorites are The Tequila Sun Also Rises, James and the Giant Peach Bellini, and the Dubliners’ Chocolate Guinness and Whiskey.”

 Tom laughed. “I love these names.”

 “It’s what you do when you have a degree in English and end up a pastry chef,” Tess replied. 

 “I like it,” he replied, eyeing her again.

 Tess shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Benny, who had been unusually quiet during this whole exchange. She started to ask Benny about helping her deliver other cakes on Saturday, but stopped when the timer on her watch began beeping. The cakes in the oven were ready to come out.

 “Darn. I need to take some things out of the oven. Each dozen is $60, plus tax. Benny, can you ring that up for him?” she asked.

 Benny nodded and waved her hand. “Got it, sis.”

 By the time Tess had emptied the ovens and placed the cakes on cooling racks, Benny sauntered back into the kitchen, sticking her hip out and resting against the center island. Tess glanced at her sister and her overly smiley face.

 “What?” Tess asked.

 “He just left,” Benny replied. “And gave you like a hundred-dollar tip.”

 Tess frowned. “So? He knows we’re busy, he’s just being nice about the last minute order.”

 “He likes you.”

 “Most people do because I’m actually nice to them. You should try it on occasion,” Tess said.

 “No, Tessy,” Benny said with a laugh, “he’s totally into you.”

 Tess shook her head. “That’s ridiculous.”

 Benny held up her hands in surrender and backed away from the island. “Alright, if you say so. But don’t come crying to me when a good thing passes you by.”

 “It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’s here for what? A month? And then he goes on with his life back in England. My life is here,” she said. “If he’s into me or anyone else here, he only wants a warm body in his bed. Not someone like me.”

 “You don’t know that,” Benny said.

 “I know that you have a long history of being one of those warm bodies for itinerant actors here filming,” Tess replied. “So forgive me if I don’t quite trust your opinion on what he does or does not want from me.”

 Benny groaned and rolled her eyes. “You know what? You need to get laid. It’ll loosen you up. You’re wound too tight all the time.”

 Tess leveled a glare at her sister. “There’s massages and vibrators for that. Isn’t that why you took me to that store, anyway?” Tess was still dying from secondhand embarrassment after listening to Benny discuss the pros and cons of specific adult toys with the sales clerk. For two hours.

 “Baby,” Benny said, “Ain’t no vibrator taking the place of what a man can do to you. And I’m telling you, that man that just left? He’s got it all.”

 “You couldn’t possibly know that.”

 “Well, as you say, I know men,” Benny said. “And I know what to look for outside of bed that translates to skill in bed and Tom Hiddleston is tops. He’s a people pleaser, like you. Won’t stop ‘til you’ve had yours.”

 Tess’ cheeks enflamed again, the heat burning down her throat and fanning out through her body. So… what? He’d make her feel great and then she wouldn’t know what to do... and end up making a fool of herself with someone clearly much more practiced than she. Not to mention the fact that he had gorgeous models and actresses and popstars beating down the door to be with him, too.

 It just wasn’t going to happen, no matter how optimistic her sister was.

 Though, Tess had to admit, it was nice to know her sister thought so highly of her.

 With another sigh, Tess turned to look at Benny. “I appreciate your concern, but I need to get back to work or I’m going to fall even further behind. And DeAndre won’t be back from his son’s doctor’s appointment for another hour.”

 Benny lifted her mug to her lips as she moved toward the back door. It would be easier just to go through the door connecting the formal dining room and the photography studio, but Benny never did things that were easy. She stopped at the door, and before closing it behind her, and poked her head back in. “Just think about it, Tess. You gotta take care of it sometime. Why not have a story to tell?”

 The door closed, leaving Tess in silence.  Tess closed her eyes and counted to twenty, reining in her emotions. Benny just didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly, seeing how extroverted she was around others. None of this was that simple, and it would never be that simple for Tess.

 It was best to forget about it.