#look I'm not necessarily saying one is better than the other
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seawitchkaraoke · 20 hours ago
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pearl saying the other day that she doesn't care about being on the leaderboard and skizz saying he doesn't believe her was interesting to me bc I believe pearl and I find it really relatable. Of course it looks like she's a massive sweat from the outside and of course she does care about doing well so that assumption isn't even entirely wrong it's just that.
I think Pearl is motivated by scores, of course she wants to get a good score of course she cares, but she doesn't necessarily care about the Highscore
She's motivated by knowing she can still do better and do more. She's not motivated by someone else doing better, otherwise she'd have stopped playing hungry hermits already since no one is beating her scores anyway. But she wants to get to day 8, she wants to find the even more ideal way to play, she sees what she can improve and so she has fun with consistently improving it.
There's a reason pearl, out of everyone, focused on the solving all the secrets part of decked out 2 rather than on winning the competitive part of it. Bc at a certain point there is an ideal strategy to maximising the score you get out of your run, but to complete the game you need to still keep looking and keep exploring and doing new things
I relate to that, I'm a completionist at heart, I want to find all the secrets! I want to find the ideal way to do the thing! But I don't like grinding just for grinding's sake, I would never have the motivation to, idk, run frogger the amount of times jevin has.
Pearl isn't on all the scoreboards bc she'll grind for ages to get the highscore, she's just enjoying the games and is also just, y'know. Good at them
Because she's a gamer
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perksofbeingahalfie · 2 days ago
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A type of character that I'm OBSESSED with is the character who is turned into a symbol for a cause they don't believe in. The character who is cast in a story that they don't care about. The common man turned into a mythic figure, but who doesn't actually participate in the mythology.
I'm talking Jinx Arcane, who is seen as a symbol of the Zaun revolution despite the fact that she never was a freedom fighter. Any violence she committed against Piltover, her breaking the people out of jail, even her joining the fight in the finale - all of it was done for self serving reasons, it was all personal. She was never on the ground putting in the work or participating in mutual aid or even trying for an independent Zaun like Sevika or Ekko or Silco, yet she is painted on the walls and looked up to as a figure, a part to play. Not as her full person. So much so that just Isha imitating Jinx is enough to spark the fire.
Spinner from My Hero Academia is almost a c list character. He's a member of the League of Villains, but not a particularly important one. He is a follower at his core, first of Stain and then of Shigaraki. But for the final war, All For One decides to elevate him to the status of leader. He gives him additional quirks and paints him as a symbol of the heteromorph population who have been constantly oppressed and discriminated against, stirring up tension and recruiting many regular citizens who have no experience fighting to AFOs side in the final war. But at the key moment, the pivitol point that could change the tides of war, it falls apart. Because Spinner was never that figure, just a flimsy icon. He's not fighting for the heteromorph cause, he's not even fighting for AFO. He wasn't a mindless pawn, he *allowed* AFO to do these things to him, but for his own reasons. As he's deteriorating under the strain of the quirks and the pressure of the masses, he says explicitly its because he cares about Shigaraki and nothing else. Because it's personal.
In Black Sails, a story all about narratives and who you pretend to be, John Silver is literally crafted into the mythical pirate king by Flint and Billy. He plays the part of Long John Silver to a certain degree, but he's never more than an actor in a role. And at his core, Silver is a liar, a *very* good one. And so Billy and Flint forget this, they forget the fact that Silver doesn't care about the war and never has. He is a man with no past and no future, no story. A man who not only knows he's in a story, but also is one of the few to escape the constraints of the narrative by surpassing it entirely. By no longer being the character he was cast as, both textually and metatextually. He refuses the narrative, and he even has the power to do the same for Flint at the very end.
And it's not even the fact that they don't care or don't believe in the cause. Because they can and often do, though extremely temporarily. Spinner does express outrage against heteromorph discrimination, and Silver does find himself begrudgingly caring about his crew. Even Jinx can rally to save the city to some degree. But it never *really* matters to them. It's never even close to the main motivator, and a character quite literally lives and dies by their motivations. They're always operating on a different level than the other characters. Not necessarily a better or worse level, but just a purely different one. Or at least a level that the other characters don't understand/continually forget about. Most of the series, Jinx is purely reactionary, not doing things with much forethought or meaning behind it, but acting on emotional impulse. Spinner is a follower who is content with being a follower, who only really cares about his friends, his found family, not the war hes leading. And Silver is perpetually in survival mode, never dedicating himself to cause nor creed bc he doesn't allow the audience to make him into something more than a creature staying alive, regardless of what they might believe.
I dunno, there's something about characters that are made into symbols for causes they don't champion, and the rest of the characters having to deal with the fallout of their misbelief that really gets me going. They're the worms in my brain that keep coming back around
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blairwaldcrf · 3 months ago
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THE VAMPIRE DIARIES - 2x06 / 7x05
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ms-demeanor · 3 months ago
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Sometimes college professors like to hop on my posts lamenting the sorry state of syllabi these days and joke about how they haven't thought that far ahead in the course themselves, or talk about how they struggle to complete a schedule for their students.
With all due respect, that's your job. If you can't do your job, you should have a different job. If you need help, ask your colleagues or your department chair or *someone* because I know that professors aren't given a hell of a lot of education on how to educate, so you probably *need* help.
But every single time I make one of those posts I get anywhere from ten to thirty messages, replies, reblogs, and asks say "oh man, that's exactly why I had to drop out of school; I couldn't keep up with the assignments because I didn't know when they were due until the week they were due."
I have been a college student in three separate decades, and "not having a schedule of assignments in the syllabus" is new to my experience. That shit didn't fly in the 2000s or 2010s and I think it likely has to do with professors being overly reliant on apps.
AT A MINIMUM your syllabus should have:
Contact information (including preferred method of contact) for the professor
Office Hours
Grading Policy
Assignment schedule.
Your assignment schedule doesn't necessarily need to have the exact page numbers of every reading or a full assignment sheet for each project, but it should have things like:
December 1st - Major Project 3 second draft due December 9th - Quiz 10 December 12th - Major Project 3 final draft due December 15th - Final Exam
If you end up presenting a more thorough schedule with readings and homework later, that is acceptable to present a week or two into the semester but it is absolutely insane to me that students these days don't know what homework they're going to have to get done over Thanksgiving break during the first couple weeks of class.
If I had three professors at once who didn't give me a schedule, how on earth would I know if I was going to have to read three chapters of a novel, take a midterm and turn in two stats homework assignments, and complete a history research paper the same week that I'm planning to travel to see family? If I'm aware of this from the beginning of the semester I can make sure not to pick up extra shifts, or I can plan to leave a day later to accommodate the midterm, or I can start working on the paper early to complete it before the due date but if I don't know what's going to be due when, I'm going to have a big problem.
If you don't give your students a schedule you are communicating that you don't care about their schedule, and that you think it's their responsibility to contort their life (and their job, and their other classes) around your class, and honestly my advice to students in that situation is "drop in the first week and pick up another class". That's actually part of why I recommend signing up for one more class than you can really manage - if you get a professor whose class looks like it's going to be a disaster because they don't have a schedule, you can bail before the withdrawal period and get a refund for the class.
I'm only in one class this semester but the professor's response has fully dropped me into "Fuck it, I guess I'll fail" mode and I don't even know if I can pull myself out of my current D grade because I don't know how many assignments we have left in the semester.
This is a shitty way to run a class. If you can't do better than this, you shouldn't be running a class.
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trans-leek-cookie · 2 years ago
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vague thought but I feel like we and I mean like. Everyone of us needs to learn to like. Idk self reflect and learn not to be voyeurs... Like this is abt myself as well. Specifically in cases of real life tragedy, like, when do we go from learning abt something to using it to feed a sort of entertainment (in a similar way to a horror movie)? How do we learn to identify when something is excessive? Sure, details can be important, but when do they stop teaching and start just being fuel for a morbid fascination?
#Ask to tag#Not abt oceangate surprisingly#In this case I'm thinking abt animal attacks and cults bc it's like. Ok reverse order but I have an interest in cults and am trying to#Specifically focus on stuff made by survivors and such and I found a p good podcast (tho it has Other Issues for sure) that's really helped#Me re evaluate my feelings on a lot of things and I think is genuinely teaching me ways to better my instinctive thought processes (even if#It isn't the exact things the hosts suggest) and I'm interested in a specific incident regarding animal attacks but it does come down to#Like. Do I want to learn or Consume (in the way one would consume media). Esp bc these are p much Offshoots of true crime media. Which is#Complicated because there's probably something to learn from discussion of cases esp ones that aren't necessarily as famous But. Y'know.#That isn't really how it works right? You only hear about the famous ones. And it can also fuel biases just bc of how cases are presented#(idk exact like numbers but like. Missing White Woman Syndrome stuff). And that's just looking at What Is There To Learn From This? Rather#Than the other side of. Is this just for something... Idk. Entertaining isn't quite the right word. It's vague but I would say it's looking#For something stronger. You can remind yourself horror is fiction. But true crime is. True crime. So it's that level of titillating and#Distressing that horror isnt. Idk I just think this is something that could be good to talk abt in general#Last thought on The People Who Romanticize Serial Killers And Shit: I'm about to commit a new True Crime if you don't cut that shit OUT
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mcrdvcks · 2 months ago
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i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1854 - could it be love?
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chapter summary: You meet Logan, a young man who is briefly stopping by in New York City. Despite both of your better judgments, you quickly realize that perhaps there's nothing wrong with falling in love.
word count: 22.2k+
pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader
notes: ahh!! welcome to this new series! i'm very excited to start this journey with all of y'all! just a note, when i say 'character death(s)' in the warnings it means that reader is going to die at the end of every chapter. that's the entire premise of this series, which was inspired by the 11th doctor and clara (iykyk). but first, we have a lot of time to cover before we even reach the first x-men movie so strap in!
i also didn't mean for this to be as long as it is, oops
warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, slow burn, illness, character deaths
series masterlist → chapter 2
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You didn’t necessarily love your job, but it was better than other options available for you. You grumbled to yourself as you walked down the sidewalk of New York City, horses neighing and wheels rattling on the brick street.
The bonnet on your head protected you from the sun beating down, keeping you from further heat in your dress. You had many things to do while you were out, get the children some new clothes and toys, buy some groceries, and buy some extra cloth for when you eventually had to sew their clothing.
As you passed by a small shop, you paused, peering in through the window. A few wooden toys sat on the shelf inside, simple and sturdy. Perfect for the boys. You pushed the door open, a little bell jingling as you entered, and you made your way toward the display.
"Can I help you, miss?" The shopkeeper’s voice startled you, but you smiled politely.
"Just looking for some toys," you replied, eyes scanning the shelves.
As you picked up a carved wooden horse, the door opened again behind you, letting in a bit of fresh air and a man’s heavy footsteps. You didn’t pay it much mind until you felt a presence nearby, a little too close for comfort. You turned slightly, catching sight of a tall man with dark hair and an unshaven face, dressed in a rough shirt and worn pants, a bit out of place among the polished streets of the city.
He glanced your way, his sharp eyes catching yours for a brief moment before he looked back to the shelves.
Something about him felt different—dangerous, but not in the way that made you want to run. More like it pulled you in, made you curious.
You turned back to the toys, but your mind kept wandering back to the stranger standing nearby. You couldn’t help but glance his way again.
"Those are good for little ones," the man said, his voice rough but casual. He nodded at the toy horse in your hand. "They hold up well. Tougher than they look."
You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden comment. "You have experience with them?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile. "A bit. Used to make ‘em myself."
You looked him over more closely now, intrigued. "You don’t seem like the toy-making type."
His eyes flicked to yours, something amused in the way he looked at you. "Not anymore," he said, then turned his attention back to the shelves.
There was a silence between you for a moment, but it didn’t feel awkward. If anything, it felt like he didn’t mind you being there, like he was used to people drifting in and out of his space.
You finally spoke again. "I suppose these are sturdy enough for two boys, then."
"Yeah. They’ll survive a beating."
You laughed, the sound surprising you. He gave you another look, a bit more interested this time. There was something about him that made you feel seen in a way that was different from how most men looked at you.
You gathered a few more toys, careful not to spend too much, but you couldn’t resist getting something extra for the little girl you looked after. She was sweet, and it wasn’t her fault she was stuck in such a strict household.
The stranger watched you with those sharp eyes, like he could see more than what was right in front of him. You wondered what his story was, but you weren’t about to ask.
As you headed to the counter, he followed, though he didn’t buy anything. The shopkeeper took your coins, and you gathered your parcels, still feeling the man’s presence behind you.
"Thanks for the advice," you said over your shoulder, more as a courtesy than anything else.
He nodded, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Anytime."
With that, you left the shop, stepping back into the sunlight, the weight of your errands still on your shoulders. But as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe that wasn’t the last time you’d see him.
---
Edwin and Phillip seemed to enjoy the toy you got them, already fighting over who gets to play with it first. They were the eldest, Edwin was 9, Phillip was 7, and Ada was 6. You handed her the toy you got for her, one she got to keep all to herself.
Ada's face lit up when you handed her the small, carved doll. She held it in her hands gently, like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"For me?" she asked, her voice soft with disbelief.
You smiled and nodded. "Just for you, Ada."
Her eyes sparkled, and she hugged the doll to her chest. "Thank you!"
Edwin and Phillip were already in the middle of their tug-of-war with the wooden horse, the two boys shouting over whose turn it was.
"I had it first!" Edwin argued, pulling the toy toward him.
"You always get it first!" Phillip shot back, his voice growing louder.
You sighed and stepped in, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Why don't you take turns? If you can't share, I'll have to take it away, and no one gets to play with it."
They both groaned but reluctantly agreed, setting the horse on the floor. Edwin was a bit of a handful, but he could be sweet when he wanted to be. Phillip, the quieter one, usually followed his brother’s lead. At least Ada wasn’t much trouble.
After helping Ada settle in with her new toy, you turned to check on the boys, making sure they hadn’t already forgotten your words. But as you did, your thoughts drifted back to the man in the shop. There was something about him—something that lingered in your mind even now. He didn’t fit in with the usual crowd you saw around here, but he didn’t seem bothered by that.
It was odd, though, that someone like him would be in a toy shop of all places. You tried to shake the thought away, but it kept creeping back, a sense that your brief encounter meant more than it appeared.
Later, after the children had settled down, you found yourself with a rare quiet moment. You sat by the window, staring out at the street below, watching the people passing by. The day was winding down, the sky fading into hues of orange and pink, and yet, the man’s sharp eyes lingered in your mind.
You shook your head, scolding yourself for thinking too much about a stranger. It was just a passing moment—nothing more. You had far more important things to focus on, like taking care of the children and making sure everything ran smoothly for the household. That man, whoever he was, wasn’t part of your world.
But still, something in the back of your mind whispered that you’d see him again. And the thought of it didn’t exactly bother you.
---
The next few days were a blur of your usual routine. The children kept you busy, and you barely had a moment to yourself. But even as you went through the motions of your daily life, you couldn't help but feel that sense of something—or someone—waiting.
It was on a brisk afternoon, a few days after your encounter at the shop, when you found yourself running errands again. The streets were busier than usual, with carriages clattering over the cobblestones and people bustling past in a hurry. You had a long list of things to pick up, and the thought of weaving through the crowded market already had you dreading the trip.
As you made your way through the streets, you spotted a familiar figure standing at the corner near a fruit stand. The man from the shop. He hadn’t seen you yet, but something about the way he stood, slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, watching the passersby with a quiet intensity, made you pause.
You debated for a moment. Should you approach him? Or would it seem too forward?
Before you could decide, his gaze lifted, and he spotted you. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing over his features, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, watching you.
You took a deep breath and made your way over, your curiosity getting the better of you.
"Fancy seeing you here again," you said, trying to sound casual as you approached.
"Didn’t expect to run into you either," he replied, his voice still rough, but there was a hint of something in his tone. Amusement? Interest? You couldn’t quite place it.
"I was just running errands," you said, gesturing to the market behind you. "You know how it is."
He nodded, his eyes flicking over you for a moment before landing back on the crowd. "Yeah, I get it."
There was a beat of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it almost felt... familiar. Like talking to him wasn’t so strange after all.
"Are you from around here?" you asked, breaking the silence.
He shook his head. "Not really. Just passing through."
"Do you always pass through toy shops when you're in town?"
His lips quirked into that almost-smile again. "Only when I feel like it."
You couldn’t help but chuckle. "Mysterious, aren’t you?"
He shrugged, not giving much away. "Maybe."
You were about to ask him something else when a shout came from behind you. You turned to see one of the street vendors, an older man, calling out angrily at a young boy who had clearly tried to swipe an apple from his cart.
Before you could even react, the man next to you stepped forward. His movements were quick and fluid, like he was used to handling situations like this. He reached the boy before the vendor could get too close, gripping the kid by the collar.
"Hey," the man said, his voice low but firm. "That’s not how you do things."
The boy froze, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting to be caught so quickly.
"Put it back," the man ordered.
The boy, trembling slightly, dropped the apple back onto the cart. "I’m sorry!" he blurted out before scurrying off into the crowd.
You watched as the man exchanged a few words with the vendor, calming him down before he turned back to you, his expression unreadable.
"You didn’t have to do that," you said, surprised by how quickly he had handled the situation.
He shrugged again. "The kid’ll learn his lesson. Better this way than the other options."
You looked at him, a little more curious now. He wasn’t just some rough-around-the-edges stranger. There was something deeper to him, something that made you want to know more.
“I don’t think I caught your name the other day,” you settled on, meeting his eyes as the energy of the crowd buzzed around you both.
He gave a small nod, like he was considering whether to answer or not. "Logan," he said simply.
"Logan," you repeated, trying the name on your tongue. It suited him, rough around the edges but solid. "I’m Y/N."
His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he gave another slight nod, acknowledging it. The silence between you wasn’t heavy, but it felt like something unspoken passed through the space. Something that told you he wasn’t just another passerby in your life.
"Thanks for helping that kid back there," you said, breaking the quiet. "Not everyone would step in like that."
Logan shrugged like it was nothing, his eyes scanning the crowd again. "Not a big deal."
You tilted your head slightly, studying him. "You do that a lot? Play the hero?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, barely there, but it was enough. "No. Just don't like seeing people get hurt when I can do something about it."
There was a gruffness to his words, but it didn’t feel forced. It felt real. And it was clear that he wasn’t the type to go around explaining himself to anyone. You liked that.
"Well, either way, it was good of you." You glanced down at the parcels in your arms, suddenly remembering the rest of your errands. "I should probably get going, before I’m late getting back."
Logan gave you a small nod, his eyes flicking down to your parcels. "You take care."
You hesitated, a part of you not wanting to walk away just yet. But what could you say? You didn’t know this man, not really, and yet you felt drawn to him in a way that was hard to explain. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, like he had been through more than he let on. Or maybe it was the quiet strength in him that made you feel oddly safe.
"Maybe I’ll see you around?" you offered, not wanting to make the goodbye feel so final.
Logan’s eyes met yours again, and for a moment, there was something softer in his gaze. "Yeah. Maybe."
With that, you gave him a small smile and turned to leave, weaving your way through the bustling street. As you walked, you couldn’t help but glance back once, just to see if he was still there. He was, standing where you left him, watching you go.
---
The following days fell back into your usual routine—taking care of the children, running errands, keeping the household in order. Yet, no matter how busy you were, your thoughts kept drifting back to Logan. Something about him lingered in your mind, and it wasn’t just because he had helped out that kid. There was something deeper, something you couldn’t quite shake.
You found yourself wondering if he really was just passing through, or if there was more to his story than he was letting on. You didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did.
One afternoon, as you were helping Ada tie the ribbon on her new dress, she looked up at you with her big, curious eyes.
"Y/N, are you thinking about something?" she asked innocently.
You blinked, surprised. "Why do you ask?"
"Because you’re smiling," she said, her voice soft and sweet.
You hadn’t even realized. "Oh," you said, chuckling softly. "I guess I was just lost in thought."
Ada giggled, her small hands playing with the ribbon you had just tied. "You think about a lot of things."
"That’s because I have to keep track of all you rascals," you teased, tickling her side gently.
She squealed in delight, wriggling away from you, and you couldn’t help but laugh. But as you settled back into the moment, that same thought returned, uninvited. Logan. Would you see him again?
---
It wasn’t long before the answer came.
You were out in the market again, picking up some fresh bread for dinner. The smell of the bakery wafted through the air, warm and comforting. You had just handed over your coins to the baker when you felt that familiar presence—something just outside the edge of your awareness, like a shadow that suddenly moved.
Turning slightly, your eyes caught sight of Logan standing near a fruit cart, his hands in his pockets, watching you. It wasn’t a surprise this time, but your heart still gave a little flutter at the sight of him. You made your way over, the crowd parting as you walked.
"Logan," you greeted, a smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it.
"Y/N," he replied, nodding in acknowledgment. His expression didn’t change much, but there was something almost... pleased in his eyes. Like he had expected you to come over.
"Still passing through?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He glanced around the busy street before answering. "Seems like I’ve been here longer than I planned."
"Any reason for that?" you asked, half-joking but also genuinely curious.
Logan looked at you for a long moment, like he was debating how much to say. Finally, he shrugged. "No reason."
You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it go. Instead, you gestured to the bread in your basket. "If you’re still around tomorrow, you should come by the park. I take the children there sometimes in the afternoons. It’s quieter than here."
Logan’s eyes flicked to yours, considering. "Maybe I will."
You nodded, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction from his answer. It was small, but it was something.
"Well," you said, shifting the basket on your arm. "I should get back before the boys tear the house down."
Logan smirked at that, and you felt a warmth spread through you at the sight of it. He wasn’t a man who smiled easily, but when he did, it felt like a reward.
"Take care," he said, his voice low and steady, and you couldn’t help but notice how those words made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t expected.
As you walked away, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, lingering long after you’d turned the corner.
---
The next day, you found yourself at the park, just as you had promised. Edwin and Phillip were racing around, laughing as they chased each other, while Ada sat quietly by your side, her doll clutched in her hands.
You tried not to look around for Logan, but you couldn’t help it. Every time someone passed by, your heart gave a little jump, only to settle back down when you realized it wasn’t him.
Just as you were beginning to think he wouldn’t show, you heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
"Mind if I join you?" Logan’s voice was calm, but there was something in it that made you smile.
You glanced up, meeting his eyes. "Not at all."
Logan gave a nod, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. He stretched his long legs out, looking completely at ease. The sounds of the children’s laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you just sat in companionable silence.
“Boys giving you trouble?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
“They always do,” you replied, watching as Edwin tackled Phillip to the ground. “But I think they’d explode if they didn’t.”
Logan’s lips twitched at that—almost a smile. “Kids’ll do that. Got too much energy.”
You tilted your head, studying him out of the corner of your eye. “You got siblings?”
Logan paused for a second, like the question had caught him off guard. “Yeah. A brother.”
You didn’t press, sensing there was more to the story but knowing better than to pry. Instead, you turned your attention back to the children.
“Do you have any?” Logan asked, nodding toward the boys.
“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I look after them for the family I work for. They keep me busy, though. Might as well be mine.”
He gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, resting his elbows on his knees.
“And her?” Logan nodded toward Ada, who sat a little apart from the boys, her doll tucked protectively in her arms.
“That’s Ada,” you said, smiling softly. “She’s the quiet one. A little sweet thing, really.”
“She’s got good taste,” Logan remarked, glancing at the doll in her hands.
You chuckled. “That was the least I could do for her. Life’s not exactly fun in that house.”
Logan’s gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in his expression. “It never is.”
You frowned, catching the weight behind his words, but before you could ask what he meant, Ada wandered over to you. She gave Logan a curious glance but stayed close by your side.
“Who’s he?” Ada whispered, gripping your sleeve.
You smiled. “This is Logan. He’s a friend.”
Logan gave her a small nod, and Ada, ever cautious, just stared at him with wide eyes. After a beat, she leaned in close to you and whispered, “He looks like a bear.”
You tried—really tried—not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway. Logan gave a low chuckle of his own, shaking his head slightly.
“Smart kid,” he murmured.
Ada, encouraged by your laughter, gave a shy smile. Then she wandered back toward the boys, apparently satisfied with Logan’s presence.
“She’s got you figured out,” you teased, grinning.
Logan’s expression softened just a bit, and he gave a small shrug. “Kids see things plain.”
You leaned back on the bench, letting yourself relax. It was strange, how easy it felt to be around him. You didn’t know much about him—hardly anything, really—but something about Logan made you feel like you didn’t need to fill the silence with useless conversation.
“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked suddenly, curious. “You said you were just passing through, but it seems like you’ve stayed a bit longer.”
Logan didn’t answer right away. He stared out at the park, his expression thoughtful.
“Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not often, though.”
“That sounds lonely.”
His jaw twitched slightly, and he turned his head to look at you. “You get used to it.”
You held his gaze for a moment, sensing that there was more beneath the surface than he was letting on. But instead of prying, you just nodded, accepting his words for what they were.
“Well, if you ever feel like staying in one place for a bit, you know where to find me,” you said lightly.
Logan’s eyes flickered with something—something you couldn’t quite name—but he gave a small nod, like he was filing that thought away.
“Appreciate it,” he murmured.
Before you could say more, Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, out of breath and covered in dirt.
“Y/N! Y/N!” Edwin shouted. “Phillip said he could run faster than me, but I totally won!”
Phillip scowled, wiping mud off his cheek. “Only because you pushed me.”
“You pushed him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at Edwin.
Edwin squirmed. “Not that hard.”
Logan snorted quietly, drawing both boys’ attention. They looked at him with wide, curious eyes.
“Who’s that?” Edwin whispered loudly, leaning closer to you.
“That’s Logan,” you said. “He’s a friend.”
Edwin tilted his head, squinting up at Logan. “You look tough.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “I get that a lot.”
“Can you fight?” Edwin asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up. “Like—like really fight?”
“Edwin!” you scolded, but Logan just gave a small chuckle.
“Yeah,” Logan said. “A bit.”
“Whoa!” Edwin’s jaw dropped, clearly impressed. Phillip, more cautious, stayed quiet but kept his eyes on Logan like he was trying to figure him out.
“Alright, enough of that,” you said, gently ushering the boys away. “Go play before I make you help with dinner.”
Edwin groaned but dragged Phillip along, the two of them running back toward the trees.
You glanced at Logan, shaking your head. “You’ve got yourself some new fans, it seems.”
Logan huffed softly. “Kids are alright.”
There was a pause, and then you asked quietly, “You really do keep moving, don’t you?”
Logan looked at you, his expression serious. “Yeah.”
You bit your lip, unsure of what to say. There was something in his eyes that told you he’d seen more than most—more than you could probably imagine.
“Well,” you said softly, “if you ever get tired of running, you know where to find me.”
Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, with the barest hint of a smile, he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
---
You saw Logan more often than not. Truth be told, you enjoyed his presence. He was different than the other men you had met, not as harsh, didn’t look down on you, or see you as an object.
One day, while walking around the market with a small basket, filled with a few apples and some bread, you looked at a carriage, rolling along the brick road with a horse in front.
“I never learned how to ride a horse,” you said, glancing at the carriage as it rolled along the cobblestone street. The words came out before you even knew why you said them, maybe just filling the space between you and Logan.
Logan, walking beside you, gave you a sidelong glance. The faintest trace of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. “That right?”
You shrugged, shifting the basket in your hand. “Never had a reason to, I suppose. And it’s not exactly something you pick up living in the city.”
He made a low noise in his throat that could have been agreement. For a moment, the two of you walked in companionable silence, the sounds of the market buzzing around you—vendors calling out, the clip-clop of hooves, the soft rustle of autumn leaves underfoot.
“Wouldn’t take much to learn,” Logan said finally, his voice easy. “Reckon you’d be good at it.”
You shot him a skeptical glance. “How would you know?”
Logan gave a lazy shrug. “Just a guess.”
There was something in his tone, though—something soft and amused that made your cheeks warm. You glanced away, pretending to be very interested in a stall selling ribbons, though your attention kept drifting back to Logan.
“You know how to ride, then?” you asked after a moment, keeping your tone casual.
He nodded. “Yeah. Picked it up when I was a kid.”
You raised an eyebrow, curious despite yourself. “Where’d you grow up?”
“Here and there,” he answered vaguely, though not unkindly. You got the sense that there was a lot more to the story—things he wasn’t ready to share. And maybe things you weren’t quite ready to ask about. Not yet, anyway.
“Would you teach me?” you asked on impulse, surprising even yourself.
Logan glanced over, one brow raised, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave a small nod, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sure,” he said simply.
A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
“When?” you pressed, feeling strangely excited by the idea.
Logan thought for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the road ahead. “Next Sunday,” he decided. “There’s a place just outside the city. I know a guy who’s got a couple of good horses.”
You felt a flicker of doubt—after all, you had responsibilities, and it wasn’t as though you could just abandon the children for the day. But Logan must have noticed your hesitation because he gave you a reassuring look.
“Bring the kids,” he offered. “They can run wild while you learn.”
That made you laugh softly. “You really think I can keep up with them and learn to ride a horse?”
Logan’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle the boys if they get out of hand.”
You gave him a skeptical look. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”
“I’ve handled worse,” Logan said with a grin that made your stomach do an odd little flip.
You opened your mouth to respond, but just then, a vendor called out, advertising fresh apples, and you were drawn toward the stall. Logan followed at a leisurely pace, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.
You picked a couple of apples, inspecting them before adding them to your basket. As you handed a coin to the vendor, you glanced at Logan again.
“Next Sunday, then?” you asked, as if you still needed confirmation.
Logan gave a small nod. “Next Sunday.”
Something about the way he said it—calm and certain—made you believe it would actually happen. And for the first time in a long while, you found yourself looking forward to something.
---
The boys were already running rampant in the large field, their shouts of laughter echoing across the open space. You could see Edwin trying to race Phillip again, their legs kicking up dirt as they charged back and forth. Ada, ever the quiet one, sat nearby on a stack of hay, her doll in her lap, watching them with a little smile on her face.
You stood near the horses, feeling a flutter of nervous energy in your stomach. Logan was beside you, calm as always, holding the reins of a chestnut mare with an ease that made it all look far simpler than you knew it was. He glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching yours, and you could see the trace of a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You sure about this?” Logan asked, nodding toward the horse.
You swallowed, staring up at the mare. “Sure. How hard can it be?”
Logan gave a quiet laugh, clearly not convinced. “We’ll see.”
He held the reins steady, motioning for you to come closer. You did, taking a deep breath as you placed your hand on the saddle. The horse shifted slightly, and you jumped back a little, making Logan chuckle again.
“She’s not gonna bite,” he said, his voice low and amused.
“I know that,” you muttered, embarrassed but trying not to show it. “I just wasn’t ready.”
Logan gave a small shrug, stepping around to stand beside you. “C’mon. Foot in the stirrup. I’ll help you up.”
You hesitated for only a second before nodding. Grabbing hold of the saddle, you placed your foot in the stirrup just like he’d told you, and then you felt Logan’s hand on your waist, firm and steady. With one swift movement, he lifted you up onto the horse, and suddenly you were sitting much higher than you’d expected.
You gripped the reins tightly, your heart racing a little.
“There,” Logan said, standing back with his arms crossed. He looked up at you, giving a small nod of approval. “Not bad.”
You glanced down at him, a bit breathless. “I’m on the horse, but that doesn’t mean I can ride it.”
Logan smirked. “One step at a time, darlin’.”
He moved around to grab the reins, keeping his voice low and calm as he spoke to the mare, guiding her gently in a slow circle around the field. You held on, trying to keep yourself steady in the saddle. It wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be, but every time the horse took a step, you felt your stomach flip a little.
Logan kept walking beside you, close enough that you could hear him, though his voice was quiet. “You’re doin’ fine.”
“I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, glancing over at the boys to make sure they weren’t watching. Of course, they were, but they seemed more interested in their own games than in you wobbling around on a horse.
“You look fine,” Logan said, and there was something in his tone that made you glance at him sharply.
His eyes flickered up toward yours for just a moment, and you felt that familiar warmth in your cheeks again. You looked away quickly, trying to focus on staying upright.
“You’re just sayin’ that,” you said, trying to sound casual.
Logan chuckled. “No. If you looked ridiculous, I’d tell you.”
The confidence in his voice made you smile despite yourself. You loosened your grip on the reins just a little, letting yourself relax. The horse moved steadily beneath you, her pace slow and even, and after a few moments, you realized it wasn’t so bad after all.
“You ready to try it on your own?” Logan asked, his voice easy.
You blinked. “You think I’m ready?”
“Yeah.” He handed the reins over to you, stepping back a little. “Just keep her steady. She’s not gonna take off on you.”
You nodded, taking a deep breath and gripping the reins tightly as you urged the horse forward. She responded, moving into a gentle walk, and you felt a little thrill of pride. Logan walked beside you for a few more steps, watching, but then he stopped, folding his arms across his chest as he watched you guide the horse around the field on your own.
“You’re a natural,” he called out, a grin tugging at his lips.
You laughed softly, feeling a bit more confident now. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
As you circled back around toward him, you slowed the horse, bringing her to a stop in front of Logan. He looked up at you, his eyes warm and approving.
“Told ya,” he said. “Not so hard, is it?”
You shook your head, smiling. “Not as hard as I thought.”
Logan reached up, taking the reins from your hands. “C’mon. Let’s get you down.”
This part felt a little trickier, but Logan was there, steadying you as you swung your leg over the saddle and slid down. His hands were firm on your waist again, and for just a moment, you were standing close enough to catch the scent of leather and something else—something distinctly Logan.
“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him.
Logan’s eyes held yours for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. Then he gave a small nod, stepping back.
“Anytime,” he said, his voice low.
Before you could say anything else, the boys came running over, breathless and wild from their playing. Edwin looked up at the horse, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Can I ride next?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.
You glanced at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “You said you’d handle them if they got out of hand, remember?”
Logan sighed, giving you a wry smile. “Yeah, I remember.”
He looked at Edwin, then nodded toward the horse. “Alright, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
As Logan helped Edwin onto the horse, you stepped back, watching with a small smile. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the field, and for a moment, everything felt peaceful. You glanced at Ada, who was still sitting on the haystack, her doll in her arms, watching the scene with quiet interest.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to let yourself enjoy moments like this.
As Logan guided Edwin around the field, you found yourself watching him more than the horse. There was something about the way he moved—strong, sure, like he belonged here, like he was more comfortable in this quiet, open space than anywhere else.
And as he turned, catching your eye for just a moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he’d found something here worth staying for.
---
“You ever think about gettin’ outta the city?” Logan asked, his voice low. “Findin’ somewhere quieter?”
You glanced at him, a little surprised by the question. “I’ve thought about it. But… I’ve got responsibilities.”
Logan nodded slowly, his eyes distant as he stared out at the horizon. “Yeah. Responsibilities.”
The way he said it made you wonder if he was thinking about something—or someone—far away. You’d learned quickly that Logan wasn’t one to talk much about his past, and though you were curious, you didn’t push.
You turned a jar of honey over in your hand, Mr. Thomas had asked you to buy them another jar while you were out. “If I didn’t have responsibilities, I’d like to live out in a cabin, away from everything else. Sometimes things here are noisy. I’d just like to… I don’t know, exist without worryin’ about anything.”
Logan, standing beside you, his hands shoved in his pockets, gave a small grunt of agreement. "Sounds nice."
You glanced at him, curious. "You ever think about it? Leaving the city behind, finding a quiet spot somewhere?"
Logan paused for a moment, his gaze distant. "Yeah. Sometimes."
The simplicity of his answer hung in the air between you, and for a second, you wondered if he'd actually let himself think about settling down. It seemed unlikely, given how much he kept moving, but there was something in the way he said it, something almost wistful.
"You don't seem like the kind of guy who stays in one place for too long," you teased, shifting the basket in your hand as you handed the vendor a coin for the honey.
Logan shrugged, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Guess not."
You both fell into a comfortable silence as you continued walking through the market. The streets bustled with people, but somehow, with Logan by your side, it all felt a little less overwhelming. You didn't have to fill the quiet with pointless chatter. He wasn’t like the others in the city—constantly rushing, looking for something to gain. He just… existed, like you wanted to.
As you passed by a small stall selling flowers, you slowed down, your eyes catching on a bouquet of wildflowers that reminded you of something you'd see out in the countryside. Logan noticed, his eyes following your gaze.
"You like those?" he asked, nodding toward the flowers.
You smiled softly. "Yeah. They remind me of… I don’t know, freedom, I guess."
Logan gave a small chuckle. "Freedom, huh?"
You shrugged, suddenly feeling a little silly. "I know it sounds strange. It’s just… being stuck in the city all the time, I don’t get to see much of the world outside these streets."
He didn’t laugh or brush it off like most people would have. Instead, Logan looked at you for a moment, his expression serious.
"Maybe one day," he said quietly, "you’ll get that cabin. Find some peace."
There was something about the way he said it that made your heart skip a beat, but before you could respond, a commotion erupted a few stalls down. Edwin and Phillip came barreling toward you, laughing and out of breath, their hands full of something they clearly weren’t supposed to have.
"Y/N!" Edwin shouted, holding up a small sack of apples. "Look what we got!"
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "And how exactly did you 'get' those?"
Phillip, ever the quieter one, shifted nervously on his feet. "We didn’t steal them! Mr. Turner gave them to us after we helped him with his cart."
You glanced over to where Mr. Turner, a kind old man who often sold apples at the market, was smiling and waving in your direction.
"Alright," you said, sighing with relief. "But you’d better not be causing any trouble."
Logan chuckled under his breath, watching the boys with amusement. "They’re just having fun."
"Yeah, until someone gets hurt," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile at their excitement.
Edwin, noticing Logan for the first time, grinned. "Hey, Logan! You ever been in a real fight?"
Logan smirked, glancing at you before turning back to the boys. "A couple."
Edwin’s eyes lit up. "Tell us about one!"
"Edwin," you warned, shaking your head. "Logan doesn’t have time to tell you all his stories."
But Logan didn’t seem to mind. He crouched down to the boys’ level, his expression serious as he spoke in that low, gravelly voice of his.
"Alright, but just one. There was this guy… big, tough-looking fella, thought he could take me down. We were out in the middle of nowhere, no one around for miles. He comes at me with this huge stick, thinking that’ll be enough."
Edwin and Phillip leaned in, wide-eyed, hanging on every word.
"So, what happened?" Edwin asked, barely able to contain himself.
Logan’s smirk deepened. "Let’s just say, he learned real quick not to mess with me."
The boys erupted into laughter, completely captivated by the idea of Logan taking down some big, burly guy.
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. "You’re gonna give them ideas, you know."
Logan stood, shrugging casually. "Kids need a little excitement."
"Not too much," you muttered, though you were grateful for the way he interacted with them. Most men in the city didn’t have the patience for children, especially not boys as wild as Edwin and Phillip.
As the boys ran off again, Logan glanced over at you, his expression softening just a bit.
"They look up to you," he said quietly.
You looked down, shrugging. "They’re good kids. Just need someone to look after them."
Logan was quiet for a moment, watching the boys as they disappeared into the crowd. Then, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, he turned back to you.
"You ever think about having your own?" he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.
The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You hadn’t really thought about it—not seriously, anyway. Your life was too full of other people’s children, other people’s problems.
"I don’t know," you said slowly, glancing up at him. "Maybe someday. If I ever get that cabin, I might think about it."
Logan nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He just walked beside you, the two of you falling back into that easy, comfortable silence.
It wasn’t until later, as you lay in bed that night, that you found yourself thinking about his question again. The idea of a quiet life, away from the noise and chaos of the city, didn’t seem so impossible anymore—not when you imagined Logan there with you.
---
One night, after you had put the boys to sleep and were in Ada’s room to read a story to her, she asked you a question. “Why aren’t you like mama and papa?”
You raised your head from the book you were reading to her, “what do you mean?”
Her lips formed a small pout, “mama has papa, but you don’t have anyone.”
You blinked, caught off guard by Ada’s question. Her innocent curiosity made your heart ache, but you kept your voice steady.
“Well, sweetie,” you started, trying to find the right words, “sometimes, people are just on their own for a little while. It doesn’t mean they won’t find someone. Maybe they just haven’t yet.”
Ada considered this, her small brow furrowed in thought. “But you’re so nice. Why doesn’t anyone love you?”
The simplicity of the question stung more than it should have. You chuckled softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not that simple, Ada. But thank you for saying that.”
She didn’t seem satisfied with your answer, her tiny face still scrunched up in confusion. “Don’t you get lonely?”
You hesitated, glancing out the window at the darkening sky. The truth was, sometimes you did. Even though you were surrounded by people—taking care of the children, managing the house—you couldn’t deny that feeling creeping in every now and then.
“I have you, don’t I?” you finally said, smiling down at her. “And Edwin and Phillip. You three keep me pretty busy.”
Ada giggled softly at that, settling into her blankets. “I guess. But I think you should find someone, like mama did.”
You gave her a light kiss on the forehead, smoothing down her hair. “Maybe one day, kiddo.”
Ada yawned, her eyes drooping as sleep crept up on her. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Ada,” you whispered, watching her drift off. You stayed there for a moment longer, thinking about her words, before quietly slipping out of the room.
The house was silent as you made your way down the hall, but your mind was anything but. Her innocent question stirred something inside of you, a longing that you hadn’t let yourself fully acknowledge. It wasn’t like you to dwell on what you didn’t have, but maybe… maybe Ada was right. Maybe there was something missing.
But it wasn’t something you could focus on right now. You had responsibilities. This family depended on you, and that was enough for now. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.
As you reached your room and closed the door behind you, you caught sight of the bouquet of wildflowers Logan had quietly bought earlier in the day. You hadn’t noticed him purchase them at the market, but when you returned to the house, they were there on the doorstep, a small note attached that simply read, Thought you’d like these.
You smiled to yourself, gently picking up the flowers and placing them in a vase by the window. You hadn’t thought much about having someone of your own, but as you looked at the flowers, you couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like.
And, for the first time in a long while, the idea didn’t seem so far away.
---
The next few days passed quietly, with Logan visiting you at the market more frequently, though neither of you mentioned the wildflowers. There was an unspoken understanding between you—neither of you rushed things, but the connection was undeniably growing.
One afternoon, as you sat outside with Ada on your lap, reading her a story, Logan appeared at the gate. The children spotted him first, of course, and Edwin ran over, grinning ear to ear.
“Logan! You’re back!” he shouted, tugging at Logan’s coat. “Did you bring us any stories?”
Logan gave a soft grunt, glancing over at you with a smirk. “I might have one or two left.”
You shook your head, amused. “They’ll never leave you alone if you keep telling them stories, you know.”
Logan crouched down, ruffling Edwin’s hair. “I don’t mind,” he said, his gaze softening as he glanced at Ada in your lap. “How’re you doin’, kid?”
Ada looked up from the book and smiled shyly, giving him a small wave. “Hi, Logan.”
He smiled, the sight of the children always easing something in him, though he didn’t let it show too much.
As the kids ran off to play, Logan took a seat beside you on the bench. The two of you sat in silence for a while, watching the children chase each other across the yard.
“They’re good kids,” Logan said finally, breaking the quiet.
“They are,” you agreed. “They’ve got a lot of love to give, and not always enough people around to give it to.”
Logan turned his head slightly, his eyes studying you. “That include you?”
You looked down, fidgeting with your skirt. “Maybe. I spend so much time looking after everyone else, sometimes I forget there’s more to life than just… this.”
Logan didn’t say anything at first, just watched you quietly. Then, his voice low, he asked, “You ever think about finding something more?”
You turned to him, surprised by the question. “I don’t know if I’ve let myself think that far ahead,” you admitted, your heart beating a little faster under his gaze.
Logan looked away, his jaw tightening slightly as if he was holding something back. “Maybe you should.”
The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt a pull—a possibility of something beyond the life you’d built here. Something you hadn’t allowed yourself to dream about until now.
But before either of you could say more, the children’s laughter echoed through the yard, and the moment passed. Still, the feeling stayed with you long after Logan left that evening.
---
The sky had taken on that soft orange hue of evening, the kind that made the whole world feel suspended between day and night. You and Logan walked side by side along the Hudson River, the sound of water gently lapping against the shore mixing with the distant hum of the city. It had become your routine over the past few weeks, these evening walks—quiet, almost intimate, even though neither of you said much.
Today, though, something felt different. Logan had been quieter than usual, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the fading sunlight. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, as if there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.
“You alright?” you asked, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.
Logan nodded, though his expression didn’t quite match the motion. “Yeah, just… thinkin’.”
“About?”
He stopped walking, turning to face the river. You followed his gaze, watching the way the sun’s reflection danced on the surface of the water. After a long moment, he spoke.
“I’ve never really… had this before,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Y’know, just… bein’ with someone like this. Feels kinda strange.”
You smiled softly, stepping closer to him, close enough that your arm brushed against his. “Strange in a good way?”
Logan let out a short, almost nervous chuckle. “Yeah. In a good way.”
The two of you stood there, side by side, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. You could feel the warmth of his presence, his arm just barely touching yours, and it sent a small thrill through you. You hadn’t been sure at first if what you felt for Logan was mutual—he was quiet, reserved, hard to read—but moments like this, when the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, made it clear. There was something unspoken between you, something neither of you had dared to put into words.
After a while, you turned to face him, studying the way his brow was furrowed, like he was deep in thought.
“Logan,” you said softly.
He looked at you then, really looked at you, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a kind of intensity that made your heart skip a beat. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with something unsaid.
Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached out and took his hand, your fingers slipping into his. Logan stiffened at the touch, his eyes flicking down to where your hands were joined, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he stepped closer, his fingers curling around yours, holding on a little tighter.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before either,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Logan’s gaze softened, his usual guarded expression cracking just enough to let something more vulnerable show through. He hesitated, like he was trying to find the right words, but then decided words weren’t necessary.
Instead, he took a small step forward, his free hand coming up to gently cup the side of your face. His touch was warm, rough, but there was a surprising tenderness in the way his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his eyes flicking between yours as if asking for permission.
When you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance.
The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But the second your lips met his, something inside you seemed to melt, and you leaned into him, deepening the kiss. Logan responded in kind, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulled you closer, the space between you disappearing entirely.
For a moment, it was just the two of you—the sound of the river fading away, the world narrowing down to the warmth of Logan’s lips against yours, the feel of his hand cradling your face like you were something precious.
When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, your foreheads resting against each other as you stood there, wrapped in the soft glow of the setting sun.
Logan’s eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a small, almost sheepish smile. “Didn’t think I’d be kissin’ you tonight.”
You laughed softly, still a little breathless. “Neither did I.”
He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as he held you against him. The two of you stood there in the fading light, wrapped up in each other, the world beyond the river momentarily forgotten.
---
Logan thought back to your conversation about living in a cabin more than he cared to admit. The thought of it seemed nice, peaceful, and dare he say it perfect.
After a few weeks of being together, Logan had made a decision and scrounged up any money he could before buying a modest ring from a jeweler. He wasn’t going to propose yet but carrying the ring in his pocket felt right.
He had been coming over to the Thomases’ sprawling estate more often, whether it was walking with you from the market to the large house or even just stopping by of his own will. At first, it had been an occasional thing—a quiet visit here, a quick walk there—but lately, Logan found himself looking for excuses just to be around. You didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made him feel something unfamiliar, something good.
One late afternoon, Logan leaned against the garden gate, watching as you knelt by a row of flowers, tending to them with your usual care. He couldn’t help but admire the sight—your sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, a small smile on your lips as you worked. It made something in his chest tighten. He fingered the ring in his pocket, feeling its weight. He had no plan to use it anytime soon, but carrying it felt right, like a promise to himself.
You glanced up, catching his eye, and smiled, wiping your hands on your apron as you stood. "Back again, Logan?"
"Guess so," he replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Thought you might need a hand."
"Well, I could always use one," you teased, stepping closer to him. "But you don’t strike me as the gardening type."
Logan chuckled, reaching out to take your hand, pulling you a little closer. "Not much of a gardener, no. But I can stand here and look good while you do all the work."
You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t let go of his hand. The easy banter between you had become natural, and the affection between you had grown, unspoken but undeniable. After a moment, you tugged him toward a bench under a nearby tree.
“Sit with me for a minute,” you said softly. “I’ve been out here all day.”
He followed, sitting beside you as the evening breeze rustled the leaves above. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun began to set. Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the warm light catching the curve of your face.
“You ever think this is enough?” he asked suddenly, his voice quiet but clear.
You looked over at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
Logan hesitated, his fingers still laced with yours. “Just… this. Bein’ together. Doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.”
You smiled softly, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I think it is enough,” you said after a moment. “I like this, Logan. I like us.”
His heart beat a little faster at your words, and without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. It wasn’t a big gesture, but it felt natural, like something he’d been wanting to do for a while. You tilted your head up, meeting his eyes, your lips curving into a gentle smile.
“You keep that up, and I’m never gonna let you go,” you teased, though there was something softer, almost serious, in your tone.
Logan smirked, pulling you closer until your legs brushed against his. “Don’t see a reason to.”
Your fingers traced absent patterns on the back of his hand, your touch light and thoughtful. “You know, I used to wonder if I’d ever feel this way about someone,” you admitted softly, your eyes focused on your hands. “If I’d ever meet someone who made me feel… like this.”
Logan was quiet for a moment, watching you, feeling the warmth of your words settle deep inside him. He’d never thought he’d find someone who made him feel like this either—like he didn’t have to keep moving, like maybe he’d found something worth staying for. He wanted to tell you that, to say what he was feeling, but the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he squeezed your hand, hoping you’d understand what he couldn’t say yet.
You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you, the pull, was undeniable. Logan leaned in, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was slow, tender, like both of you were taking your time, savoring the moment. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and for a second, the world outside the garden didn’t exist.
“I could stay like this forever,” you whispered, your breath warm against his lips.
Logan’s hand tightened on yours. “Maybe we will,” he murmured back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
You smiled, your eyes soft as you leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet. When you pulled back this time, you didn’t say anything, just settled into his side, your head resting against his chest as the two of you watched the sky shift into shades of pink and orange.
The world outside may have been complicated, full of responsibilities and noise, but here, with Logan beside you, it felt simple. Peaceful. Like this was all that mattered.
---
One late afternoon, you were sitting on the porch with Ada and the boys, telling them stories while they played at your feet. Logan leaned against the fence, watching you from a distance, his heart swelling at the sight of you surrounded by the children, laughing and carefree.
“You look like you’re thinkin’ about somethin’ serious,” your voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. You stood up, walking over to him, a teasing smile on your face.
Logan shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just thinkin’ about how you handle those kids like it’s nothin’.”
You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Trust me, it’s something. They’re a handful.”
Logan smiled, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re good at it. I like watchin’ you with them.”
Your cheeks flushed slightly at his compliment, and you glanced down, trying to hide the small smile playing at your lips. “Well, you’re not so bad with them yourself. Edwin won’t stop talking about that story you told him.”
Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Kid’s got a wild imagination.”
You leaned in closer, your fingers playing with the hem of his sleeve. “Maybe he gets that from you.”
He smirked, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “Think so?”
“I know so,” you whispered, your breath brushing against his neck.
For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, and it was just the two of you, standing in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Logan’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin before he leaned down and kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the feel of your lips against his.
When he pulled back, your eyes were half-closed, your expression soft and content. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “What are we doing?”
He looked at you, his thumb still tracing soft circles on your cheek. “Doin’ what feels right.”
You smiled, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah. It does feel right.”
The sound of the children’s laughter broke the quiet moment between you, and you both turned to see Ada running toward you, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could. “Y/N! Y/N!” she shouted, her face flushed with excitement. “Come play with us!”
You laughed, pulling away from Logan just enough to crouch down and catch Ada in your arms. “Alright, alright! I’m coming.”
As you stood, you glanced back at Logan, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. He gave you a small nod, his lips quirking into a smile, and you turned back to the children, running off with them into the yard.
Logan watched you for a while longer, his hand slipping into his pocket where the small ring rested. It wasn’t time yet, but someday, maybe he’d ask. Someday, when the moment was right.
For now, this was enough.
And for the first time in his life, that was all Logan wanted.
---
“Mrs. Thomas is sick. She wanted me to pick up some things for her before the doctor comes to check her out,” you explained, adding a sprig of thyme to your basket and handing the vendor a coin.
Logan stood beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, watching you with a casual ease that had become second nature to him. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, though his tone wasn’t heavy—just curious.
You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Probably just a cold. She’s been coughing a bit, but Mr. Thomas thinks she’ll be fine.”
Logan’s jaw ticked slightly, his eyes following the movement of your hand as it tucked the hair behind your ear. “You sure you should be around her if she’s sick?”
You smiled at his concern, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “It’s part of the job, Logan. Besides, I’ve been with her every day. If I was going to get sick, it would’ve happened by now.”
He frowned, not entirely convinced, but let it drop. You were stubborn like that—always brushing things off when they concerned you.
As you moved from stall to stall, picking out fresh herbs, bread, and tea, Logan trailed beside you, a silent presence at your side. It was comfortable—natural, even. You could feel him close, his arm brushing yours now and then, and though neither of you said much, it was the kind of quiet that felt good.
When you handed the grocer a coin for a small loaf of bread, Logan’s voice broke the easy silence. “You want me to walk you back?”
You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Trying to sneak more time with me?”
Logan grinned, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets. “Maybe.”
Your laugh was soft and warm, and Logan swore it was one of his favorite sounds.
“You don’t have to, but I won’t say no if you want to,” you teased, shifting the basket on your hip. “The Thomases live all the way across town, though.”
Logan rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Don’t mind.”
With that settled, the two of you set off toward the Thomases’ estate, falling into step beside each other. The streets bustled with the usual afternoon crowds—vendors hawking their goods, carts rattling down cobbled roads, children darting through the streets. Yet somehow, it felt like the two of you existed in your own little world, insulated from the noise of the city.
“You been working much?” you asked after a moment, glancing sideways at him.
Logan nodded. “Yeah. Couple of odd jobs here and there.”
“Same ones?”
“Mostly.” He paused, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Not much call for a guy like me who’s no good with flowers.”
You laughed, the sound light and easy. “Well, I’m sure someone will take pity on you eventually.”
He bumped his shoulder against yours gently. “You already did.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile stayed on your face. “Lucky you.”
The walk was long, but neither of you minded. You pointed out things along the way—shops you liked, shortcuts you’d found, little bits of the city you’d come to know well in your time working for the Thomases. Logan listened, his attention fixed on you, and though he didn’t say much, you could tell he was soaking up every word.
When the two of you reached the tall iron gates of the Thomases' estate, you hesitated, lingering just a bit longer with Logan at the edge of the garden.
“Thanks for walking me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing over his for the briefest second.
“Anytime,” he murmured, catching your hand before you could pull it away. He gave it a squeeze, his eyes lingering on yours. “You alright?”
You nodded. “I’m fine, Logan. Just worried about Mrs. Thomas, I guess.”
He studied you for a beat longer, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the back of your hand. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
You gave him a small smile, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah. I will.”
Neither of you moved at first, as if caught in a moment you weren’t quite ready to let go of. Logan’s gaze flickered to your lips, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you—right there at the gate, with the late afternoon sun warming your skin and the scent of lavender drifting from the garden.
But instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to leave you breathless.
“See you soon,” he murmured against your skin.
You swallowed, your heart thudding in your chest. “See you soon,” you whispered back.
Logan stepped away, his hands reluctantly slipping from yours, and you watched as he made his way back down the path. He didn’t look back, but somehow, you knew that he felt the same pull you did—the one that always seemed to draw you closer, no matter how far apart you were.
With a soft sigh, you turned and pushed open the gate, your basket swinging gently at your side as you made your way toward the house. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the neatly trimmed lawn.
You didn’t know it yet, but the weight of that moment—of Logan’s hand in yours, of the way his kiss had felt against your skin—would stay with you. It would become one of those memories you’d carry in the quiet hours, long after everything had changed.
But for now, it was just another afternoon. And that was enough.
You slipped inside the Thomases’ estate, greeted by the familiar smell of baked bread and lavender from the garden. The children’s laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the unease you felt about Mrs. Thomas.
As you moved through the grand hallway, the weight of Logan’s lingering kiss on your temple stayed with you, soft and comforting. His presence, though absent now, always seemed to cling to the air around you like the warmth of a hearth after a long day.
“Y/N!” Edwin’s voice called from the top of the stairs. You looked up to find him peering down at you, his unruly curls falling into his eyes. “Can we go to the park after tea? Phillip says he can run faster than me, but I bet I’ll beat him this time.”
You smiled up at him, though your thoughts were still on Mrs. Thomas. “We’ll see about that, Edwin. But let’s check in on your mother first, alright?”
He nodded, though his face fell a little, understanding the importance of that moment.
Making your way to Mrs. Thomas’s room, you found the air heavier, a staleness clinging to it that made you pause at the door. You knocked softly before entering, the creak of the door barely disturbing the quiet. Mrs. Thomas lay in bed, propped up by pillows, her face pale and drawn. Her once vibrant eyes were duller now, and the small cough you had heard earlier seemed more persistent, rattling in her chest.
“Mrs. Thomas,” you said gently, approaching her bedside with the basket of fresh supplies. “I’ve brought some thyme and tea. The doctor will be here later this week.”
Mrs. Thomas offered a faint smile, though it barely touched her lips. “Thank you, dear. You’re always so thoughtful,” she said, her voice raspy. She shifted slightly, wincing at the effort it took. “I’m sure it’s just a little cold.”
You forced a smile, though something inside you tugged with worry. “Of course. Just a little cold.”
After a few more moments, you excused yourself, promising to return later. The house felt stifling, the sense of something being wrong making your chest tighten. Logan had been right to be concerned. But you brushed it aside, focusing on the children.
A few hours later, after Edwin had indeed beaten Phillip in a race through the park, and Ada had insisted on collecting wildflowers for her mother, the three children were settled with tea. You were cleaning up the kitchen when a familiar knock came at the back door.
Opening it, you found Logan leaning against the frame, that easy smile already softening the tension in your shoulders.
“Thought you might like some company,” he said, stepping inside and pulling you into a gentle embrace. The warmth of his arms around you instantly melted away the weight of the afternoon, and for a moment, you simply leaned into him, breathing him in.
“Good timing,” you murmured into his chest. “The kids are winding down for the night. Edwin’s convinced he’s going to be the fastest man in the world.”
Logan chuckled, his chest vibrating against your cheek. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to challenge him one day.”
You smiled, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “He’d love that.”
There was a beat of quiet as Logan’s hand came up to brush a stray hair from your face, his thumb lingering just under your jaw. His gaze softened, searching yours for something. It was moments like this—small, tender—that reminded you just how much you’d come to care for him in these past few weeks.
“You alright?” he asked, voice low.
You hesitated, then nodded. “Just… worried about Mrs. Thomas. I don’t know, Logan, she seems worse than she’s letting on.”
Logan’s brow furrowed, his hands slipping down to rest on your waist. “She’s tough, right? She’ll pull through.”
You nodded again, though the doubt lingered. “I hope so.”
Logan leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, the weight of his presence anchoring you. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”
“I will,” you whispered, your hands resting on his chest.
He pulled back just enough to catch your lips in a slow, gentle kiss. It was familiar, the way his mouth moved against yours—steady, comforting, with that undercurrent of longing that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface between you two. When you finally parted, his thumb brushed your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours.
“I hate leaving you here,” he murmured, the frustration clear in his voice. “Especially with her sick.”
You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine, Logan. Go home, get some rest.”
He gave a small grunt, clearly not thrilled with the idea of leaving, but he knew better than to argue when you got like this—determined and stubborn.
With a sigh, he leaned in once more, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before stepping back. “Alright. But I’m checking in tomorrow, whether you like it or not.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you teased, though the warmth in your chest grew at his protectiveness.
Logan gave you one last smile before turning to head back out into the night, his coat swaying as he disappeared into the shadows. You watched him go, the familiar tug in your chest pulling at you again, but this time it wasn’t just affection. It was worry—a gnawing sense of unease that had been creeping in since that afternoon in the market.
You stood there at the back door for a moment longer, staring into the empty street, wondering if Logan could feel it too—the quiet, unspoken fear that something was about to change.
---
The next few days passed quietly, the routine of the Thomases’ household carrying on as usual—though the coughs from Mrs. Thomas’s room seemed to grow more frequent, more strained. You tried not to think too much of it, telling yourself it was only a cold, that the doctor would sort it out when he came to visit. But there was a part of you, small but insistent, that couldn’t shake the unease gnawing at your thoughts.
The children kept you busy, of course. Edwin was endlessly energetic, challenging Phillip to races and daring Ada to climb the low trees in the garden, much to your chagrin. Ada, sweet and delicate, clung to your side like a shadow, her small hand often finding yours as she babbled on about her imaginary tea parties and grand adventures. In their presence, it was easy to forget the worry in the back of your mind—at least for a little while.
But then, in the quiet moments—like when you helped Mrs. Thomas to her bed after one of her coughing fits, or when the house seemed far too still after the children had fallen asleep—your thoughts would drift back to Logan. To the way he had kissed your forehead that day at the back door, how his hand had lingered in yours just a second longer than usual, as if he’d sensed it too. That something was wrong.
You found yourself waiting for him. Every evening, as the sun dipped low over the city and the shadows lengthened in the streets, you listened for that familiar knock at the back door. And every evening, without fail, he would come—never too late, never too early, always arriving when you needed him most.
Tonight was no different.
You were sitting at the small table in the kitchen, a pot of tea cooling beside you, when the soft knock came. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it, your heart lifting in that familiar way as you crossed the room and opened the door.
Logan stood there, his dark hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze, his expression soft but watchful. He gave you that crooked smile that always seemed to make everything feel lighter, as if the world wasn’t such a heavy place when he was around.
“Thought I might find you here,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
You shrugged, the smile still playing on your lips. “Where else would I be?”
He chuckled, moving to lean against the counter, his eyes flicking briefly to the teapot on the table. “You drinking alone?”
“For now,” you teased, pouring him a cup. “But I suppose I can share.”
Logan took the cup from you, his fingers brushing yours in that familiar way, sending a small, warm spark through your skin. He didn’t move to sit, though. Instead, he stayed close, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read something in your face.
“What?” you asked softly, the weight of his stare making your heart flutter.
“Just checking in,” he said, his voice lower, more serious than before. “You look tired.”
You gave a small, weary laugh, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Logan. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Mrs. Thomas?” he guessed, sipping his tea.
You nodded, glancing at the floor. “She’s getting worse. I’m trying not to worry, but… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right.”
Logan’s brow furrowed, and he set his cup down, moving to stand beside you. His hand came up to rest on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your sleeve. “If you need me to do anything—get more medicine, fetch the doctor sooner—you just say the word.”
You met his gaze, your chest tightening at the concern etched into his face. He always made you feel safe, even when you didn’t want to admit how scared you were. You reached up, covering his hand with yours, squeezing it gently.
“I know,” you murmured. “Thank you.”
For a moment, the room was quiet again, the sounds of the city muted by the walls of the house. You could hear the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth, the distant hum of life outside, but here, in this small space, it felt like it was just the two of you. Just the two of you, and the warmth of his hand on your shoulder.
Logan shifted slightly, turning to face you more fully, his other hand coming to rest at your waist. He tugged you closer, his expression softening as he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in that tender way that always made your heart skip. But this time, he didn’t stop there. He tilted your chin up gently, his gaze flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“C’mere,” he whispered, and you didn’t need any more coaxing.
Your arms slid up around his neck, pulling him in as his lips met yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was soft at first, tender, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, a sense of urgency you hadn’t felt before. Maybe it was the weight of the unspoken worry hanging between you, or maybe it was just that every time you kissed him, it felt like it could be the last. Either way, you melted into him, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours, the way his hands tightened around your waist as if he didn’t want to let you go.
When you finally pulled back, your breath mingling with his, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he let out a long, slow sigh.
“Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You hadn’t meant to say it, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them. The thought of being alone with your worries, of facing the uncertainty of Mrs. Thomas’s illness by yourself, suddenly felt unbearable.
Logan’s eyes opened, his gaze soft but searching as he studied your face. “You sure?”
You nodded, your hands still resting at the nape of his neck. “I just… I don’t want to be alone.”
He didn’t hesitate after that. With a soft, reassuring smile, he nodded and pressed another kiss to your temple. “Alright. I’m here.”
---
The doctor had come by some days later bringing by news, Mrs. Thomas had tuberculosis. He gave her at least another month to live.
Mr. Thomas had instructed you to not let the kids near her as often, to make sure they don’t get sick. He didn’t seem to care much about Logan spending the night with you, or letting the kids be around him.
Logan had been spending more nights with you, by your request. It wasn’t something you talked about, just a quiet understanding between the two of you. The nights felt warmer with him beside you, the weight of the world a little lighter when you could lean against him. He never made a big deal out of it either. It was just...natural.
Tonight was no different. You sat by the fire in the small parlor, the children long since asleep upstairs. The flicker of the flames cast shadows across the room, and you caught yourself glancing toward the door, waiting for that familiar knock.
When it came, it was soft, almost hesitant. But you smiled, already rising to your feet to let him in. Logan stepped inside, brushing off the chill of the night as he shook the snow from his coat.
“Snow’s picking up out there,” he muttered, shrugging off the heavy coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d get here before it got too bad.”
You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself as you watched him. “I’m glad you did.”
He crossed the room, and without another word, his arms wrapped around you. You melted into his chest, resting your head against him as the fire crackled in the hearth. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand running down your back.
“You alright?” he asked quietly, his voice low. “You’ve been quiet lately.”
You sighed, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I’m fine. Just tired. It’s… everything with Mrs. Thomas, the kids… I’m trying to keep it together.”
Logan frowned, his hands tightening slightly on your waist. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. You know that, right?”
“I know,” you said softly. “But I feel like I have to.”
“You don’t,” he repeated, his eyes searching yours. “I’m here.”
That simple statement hit you harder than you expected. You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss. He responded instantly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as if he needed it as much as you did. It was slow and tender, and you found yourself pulling him closer, trying to forget the weight of everything else, if only for a moment.
When you finally pulled back, Logan rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips.
“You should sleep,” he whispered. “You’re exhausted.”
“Will you stay?” you asked, your voice small.
“Always,” he said without hesitation.
---
The nights blurred together. Logan was there more often than not, sometimes waiting for you when you finished putting the children to bed, other times arriving late after a day spent working. You hadn’t asked where he went during the day, and he hadn’t volunteered the information. It didn’t matter. When he was with you, everything else seemed to fade into the background.
The children, especially Ada, had continued asking why she couldn’t see her mother as often. It had broke your heart to tell her and the boys that their mom was sick, not going any further than that.
“They’ll understand one day,” Logan had said, trying to comfort you as you sat by the fire one evening. His arm was around your shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.
You nodded, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn’t lift.
“I just want to help,” you murmured. “But I can’t.”
Logan was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice low. “You’re doing more than you think, Y/N. Just being here for the kids, for her... it matters.”
You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. There was something in the way he looked at you, something deeper than the usual concern. It was a look that made your heart skip, that made you realize just how much he had become a part of your life in such a short time.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before brushing his lips against yours in a slow, gentle kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing that connection, needing him.
When you finally pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Logan’s hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his touch soothing.
“I’m here,” he whispered again, as if the words alone could make everything right.
And for a moment, they did.
---
You could tell that after a month and a half, Mrs. Thomas didn’t have much time left. Maybe a week at the most. She was so young, barely 30 years old, and already having to face the inevitable. Her coughing had become more violent, her body thinner with each passing day, and the sparkle in her eyes was gone. She was fading right before your eyes.
It had been a long day. The kids were more restless than usual, likely sensing the shift in the household. You’d spent most of the afternoon calming Edwin and Ada while trying to keep Phillip out of trouble. Ada, in particular, had been clingy, holding onto your skirt as you moved about the house, asking you why her mother wasn’t coming out of her room anymore.
You gave her the same answer as always. “Your mama’s just resting, sweetheart.”
But even she seemed to sense something was off.
By the time the sun had started to set, you felt the exhaustion in your bones. You barely touched your dinner, pushing food around your plate before giving up entirely. It wasn’t just the physical tiredness, though. It was something deeper. A strange ache in your chest, one you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the weight of everything—Mrs. Thomas’s worsening condition, the children, Logan...
You hadn’t seen him tonight, and that small part of you that had grown used to his presence felt the void acutely. He had a way of grounding you, of making everything seem less overwhelming, if only for a little while. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were beginning to rely on him more and more.
As you climbed the stairs to check on the children, your steps felt heavier than usual. Fatigue, you told yourself. Just fatigue.
When you entered Mrs. Thomas’s room to help her settle for the night, she gave you a weak smile. “Thank you, Y/N... for everything.”
You smiled back, brushing her hair away from her face as you helped her lie down. “Don’t mention it. You just rest.”
Her breathing was shallow, the sound rattling in her chest. You tried not to let it show on your face, but inside, that gnawing worry had grown into a full-fledged fear. You knew the end was coming soon. You just hoped the children wouldn’t have to watch her fade.
---
Later that night, after the house had fallen quiet and the children were asleep, you sat by the small fire in the kitchen. You stared at the flickering flames, trying to let the warmth chase away the chill in your bones, but it wasn’t working.
You weren’t surprised when you heard the soft knock at the back door. Logan’s timing had always been impeccable, showing up when you needed him most, even if you hadn’t called for him. You rose from your seat and opened the door, letting him in with a small, tired smile.
“Cold out there,” he muttered, brushing the snow from his shoulders before stepping inside. He took one look at your face, and his brows furrowed. “You look exhausted, Y/N.”
You waved him off, shutting the door behind him. “It’s been a long day. Mrs. Thomas is...”
He didn’t need you to finish. He’d been coming by enough to know how bad things had gotten.
Logan crossed the small space between you and placed a hand on your arm. “You should be resting too. When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”
You let out a tired laugh, shaking your head. “What is that again?”
“Y/N,” he said, his tone a mix of teasing and concern. “You can’t keep running yourself ragged. You’re no good to the kids if you get sick.”
His words hit a little too close to home. That lingering ache in your chest hadn’t gone away, and now, with him standing so close, it seemed to press harder, making it difficult to breathe. You ignored it, trying to focus on his warm hand still resting on your arm, grounding you.
“I’ll be fine,” you said quietly, leaning against him just slightly. “I just... I need you here. That’s all.”
Logan’s expression softened, and he slipped his arms around you, pulling you close. You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth enveloped you. It felt like everything else faded away when you were in his arms—like the weight of the world wasn’t quite so heavy.
“I’m here,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You stayed like that for a moment, just holding onto him, letting his presence soothe the anxiety that had been gnawing at you all day. His hands ran up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, and you found yourself relaxing, your shoulders sagging as the tension melted away.
But that ache in your chest didn’t fade. If anything, it seemed to settle deeper, a dull, persistent throb that you couldn’t quite shake.
“I don’t know how much longer she has,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Maybe a week. And the kids... I don’t know how to explain it to them.”
Logan sighed, his breath warm against your hair. “You’ll find the right words when the time comes. You always do.”
You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could see the same worry you felt reflected in his gaze. But there was something else too—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat.
Before you could say anything, Logan leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—just gentle, like he was trying to tell you without words that he was there, that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.
You kissed him back, your fingers curling into his shirt as you pulled him closer. For a few seconds, it was just the two of you, the world outside forgotten. But when you finally pulled back, the ache in your chest flared again, sharper this time, making you wince slightly.
Logan’s eyes narrowed, concern flashing across his face. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, brushing it off. “Just... tired, I guess.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it either. Instead, he kissed your forehead softly, his hands still holding you close. “You need to sleep. I’ll stay with you, okay?”
You nodded, letting him lead you to your small bedroom. As you lay down, Logan settled beside you, his arm draped around your waist as he pulled you close. You nestled against him, the warmth of his body soothing, but even as you drifted off to sleep, that strange ache lingered, a quiet reminder that something wasn’t right.
---
Over the next few days, you tried to ignore the fatigue that seemed to cling to you like a heavy blanket. You told yourself it was just the stress, the worry about Mrs. Thomas and the kids. But the truth was, deep down, you knew it was more than that.
Mr. Thomas had been around the house more often, spending almost every moment with his wife before she passed. It would only be a matter of days now. Her condition had deteriorated to the point where she was barely conscious most of the time, her labored breathing a constant reminder of the inevitable.
You moved quietly through the house, keeping the children occupied as best you could. Edwin and Phillip were rambunctious as always, but Ada had grown more subdued. She didn’t ask about her mother as often, as if sensing the unspoken truth everyone was trying to shield her from. You noticed how she clung to your side even more than usual, her small hands gripping your skirts, her wide eyes watching you with a kind of quiet understanding that broke your heart.
It was late afternoon, and the house was eerily quiet. The children were playing in the parlor, their laughter muffled behind the closed doors. You had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when a wave of exhaustion hit you. Your legs felt heavy, your chest tight. You hadn’t been sleeping well, the stress of Mrs. Thomas’s condition weighing on you, but this was different. Your appetite had been lacking for days, though you’d convinced yourself it was just nerves.
You leaned against the counter, taking a slow, deep breath to steady yourself. It would pass. You just needed rest.
Logan wasn’t due to visit tonight. He had mentioned something about work keeping him late, and you didn’t want to ask him to come by, though the ache in your chest—the one you tried to ignore—longed for his presence.
Shaking off the lingering fatigue, you made your way upstairs to check on Mrs. Thomas. As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard her soft, raspy breathing. You hesitated outside the door, your hand resting on the doorknob for a moment, before slowly opening it and stepping inside.
Mr. Thomas sat at his wife’s bedside, holding her hand gently. He glanced up at you, his face pale and drawn, the exhaustion of weeks of worry evident in his eyes. You gave him a small, comforting smile, though you weren’t sure how much comfort you could offer.
"Thank you, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and emotion. "For everything."
You nodded, moving to the other side of the bed to check on Mrs. Thomas. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and uneven. She didn’t stir when you adjusted the blankets around her. The room was stifling, the air heavy with the scent of sickness, and you fought the urge to cough, your throat suddenly dry.
“She’s peaceful,” you murmured softly, glancing at Mr. Thomas.
He nodded but didn’t say anything. His gaze was fixed on his wife, his hand never leaving hers.
You stayed for a moment longer, but the fatigue creeping up your spine forced you to excuse yourself. As you descended the stairs, your legs felt weaker than before, and a dull ache had settled in your chest. You rubbed absently at your throat, trying to shake off the discomfort. It was nothing, you told yourself. Just tired.
The evening stretched on, the children finally quieting down for bed. You tucked them in, lingering for a moment by Ada’s bedside. She reached for your hand, her tiny fingers curling around yours.
“Will Mama be better soon?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “She’s resting, sweetheart,” you said softly. “Just keep being brave, alright?”
Ada nodded, her eyes already heavy with sleep, though the worry didn’t leave her small face.
Once they were all asleep, you returned downstairs, your body feeling heavier with each step. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. You sat by the fireplace, staring into the dying flames, and let the silence of the house settle over you.
And then there was a soft knock at the back door.
Your heart lifted despite the exhaustion weighing you down. You rose slowly and crossed the room, opening the door to find Logan standing there, snowflakes dusting his hair and coat. He gave you a crooked smile, his eyes scanning your face with concern.
“You look tired,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Really tired.”
“I’m fine,” you murmured, though the weariness in your voice betrayed you. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
“I finished earlier than I thought,” he said, shrugging off his coat and hanging it by the door. “Thought I’d check on you.”
Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. You melted into him, resting your head against his chest as the warmth of his body seeped into yours. For a moment, the ache in your chest seemed to ease, the fatigue lifting just a little.
“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
Logan pulled back slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he studied your face. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “I’m here.”
His lips met yours in a slow, tender kiss, and you felt the tension in your body begin to unravel. The warmth of his mouth, the familiar strength of his hands holding you close—it was all you needed in that moment. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours.
“You need to rest,” he murmured. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I will,” you promised, though you didn’t want to leave his arms just yet. You leaned into him, letting his presence chase away the exhaustion for a little longer.
---
The funeral was only 6 days later, 4 days after Mrs. Thomas’ passing. She was buried at the Prospect Cemetery at a small affair with rich people you had only heard of in passing.
The funeral was a somber affair. Mrs. Thomas was laid to rest under a sky that threatened snow, and you stood a little ways back, holding Ada’s hand tightly. She had been unusually quiet since her mother’s passing, and even Edwin and Phillip had sensed the weight of the occasion, their usual energy tempered by the somber mood.
You glanced around at the crowd gathered—a sea of dark, expensive fabrics, murmured condolences, and familiar faces. Most of the people you recognized only by name or through brief encounters at the Thomas house. They didn’t seem to belong to the world you inhabited, their whispered conversations and distant gazes a reminder of the divide between their lives and yours.
Mr. Thomas stood near the front, his face a mask of stoicism as he accepted words of sympathy. His children had not left your side, and you knew why. They found more comfort in you than in the strangers who seemed to only appear during tragedies. You didn’t blame them.
As the ceremony came to a close, Ada tugged at your hand. "Can we go home now?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of rustling leaves and shifting boots in the cold.
You nodded, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “We can, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”
You caught Mr. Thomas’s eye as he stepped away from the others. He gave you a weary nod, and you knew it was time to leave. You guided the children back to the carriage, helping them inside before following. The ride home was silent, save for the occasional sniffle from Ada and the creaking of the carriage wheels on the cobbled streets.
---
Back at the house, the quiet felt heavier than before. You could feel the weight of grief settling over everything, and it seemed to seep into your bones, making the fatigue that had been gnawing at you for days feel unbearable. Once the children were settled, you retreated to the kitchen, needing a moment to yourself.
But the moment you sat down, the ache in your chest flared up again, sharper this time. You tried to breathe through it, but the tightness only seemed to get worse. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you pressed a hand to your throat, willing it to pass. It felt like something more than just exhaustion now. Something was wrong, but you didn’t have time to worry about it.
The back door creaked open, and you startled, your hand flying to your chest as Logan stepped in. His eyes immediately found yours, narrowing in concern.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but urgent as he crossed the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile as you tried to stand. “I’m just tired. Long day.”
But Logan wasn’t buying it. His hand caught yours, and he gently pulled you to him, his other hand resting on your waist. “You’ve been tired for days,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “And you look worse now than you did a week ago.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, leaning into his warmth without thinking. “Just... everything with Mrs. Thomas. I haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”
Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just held you there, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “You need to rest. You’re running yourself into the ground, and I don’t want—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you cut him off, shaking your head as you buried your face in his chest. “I just... I just want to stay like this for a while. Can we do that?”
Logan’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We can stay like this as long as you need,” he whispered.
The warmth of his embrace, the steady rise and fall of his chest, calmed the rapid beating of your heart. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away, but it dulled the edges for a little while. You stayed like that, your bodies swaying slightly, as if rocking back and forth would somehow soothe the turmoil inside you both.
After a long stretch of silence, Logan pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft but serious. “You’ve gotta start taking care of yourself,” he murmured. “I mean it, Y/N.”
“I will,” you promised, though you weren’t sure how much of it was for him and how much was for yourself. You could see the worry etched in his features, and it made your heart ache in a different way. “I just... I don’t want to leave the kids right now. They need me.”
Logan sighed, shaking his head slightly. “They need you alive and healthy, not running yourself ragged.”
You knew he was right, but the thought of stepping away—of not being there for them when they needed you most—made your stomach turn.
“I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But I’m all they have right now.”
Logan’s expression softened, and he leaned in to kiss you gently, his lips lingering against yours in a way that felt both comforting and urgent, as if he was trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’m here. Always.”
You closed your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. It was moments like this, in the quiet after the storm, that made everything feel bearable, even when the exhaustion seemed impossible to shake. You didn’t want to think about what came next—the inevitable questions from the children, the grief that would continue to hang over the house like a dark cloud.
For now, you just wanted to be here, with Logan, in this fleeting moment of peace.
---
Over the next few days, that small cough persisted, annoying but easy to brush off at first. You told yourself it was just the cold weather, or maybe the exhaustion still clinging to you. But it stuck around, and soon it wasn’t just a cough. Your chest felt heavier, and there were moments where you had to stop to catch your breath.
You didn’t say anything to Logan the first few nights he visited, not wanting to worry him. It wasn’t like you were coughing up blood or anything, and you figured it would pass, just like the fatigue had started to. But when he saw you rubbing your chest again, his eyes narrowed with concern.
“You’ve been coughing a lot,” Logan said one evening, his arm draped casually over your shoulder as you leaned into him by the fire. The warmth of the flames helped ease the tightness in your chest, but even then, it felt harder to breathe than it had before.
“I’m fine,” you mumbled, tucking your legs under you and snuggling closer to him, hoping to avoid the conversation. “It’s just the cold. Everyone’s getting sick this time of year.”
Logan tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Y/N, don’t pull that. I know you, and you’re coughing more than you should be. This isn’t just a cold.”
You sighed, not wanting to argue, but the exhaustion weighed on you, and fighting him off seemed too tiring. “Okay, maybe it’s not just a cold,” you admitted, glancing at him. “But it’s nothing serious. I’m just run down.”
Logan’s fingers gently traced up your arm, his touch familiar and grounding. He looked at you with that steady gaze of his, the one that made you feel safe. “You need to rest. Real rest, not just five minutes of sleep here and there between looking after the kids.”
You gave him a half-hearted smile, reaching up to touch his face. “I know. But they need me right now, especially Ada. She’s not taking this well, and I can’t just leave her.”
Logan leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re no good to them if you collapse from exhaustion.”
The way he said it—so serious, so protective—it made your chest ache in a different way. You knew he was right, but the thought of taking a step back when the kids were still hurting felt impossible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, but your voice wavered just enough that Logan picked up on it.
He kissed you softly, slow and gentle, like he was trying to pour all of his concern into that one kiss. When he pulled back, his hand lingered on the side of your face. “You don’t have to carry this by yourself, Y/N,” he said softly. “I’m here.”
You looked at him, feeling the weight of his words, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it—that you didn’t have to do everything on your own.
But the next morning, as you moved through the house and got the kids ready for the day, the cough came back with a vengeance. It left you winded, gripping the counter to steady yourself as your breath caught in your throat. Ada was tugging at your skirt, asking for something, but the ringing in your ears made it hard to focus.
“Y/N?” her small voice called, but everything sounded distant.
You forced yourself to smile, pushing through the wave of dizziness. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you said, though it was more for you than her. The ache in your chest was sharper now, and for the first time, a flicker of real fear crossed your mind.
That evening, when Logan came by, you didn’t have the energy to hide how bad you felt. The second he walked through the door, he saw it in your face.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed to your side. “What the hell happened? You look worse.”
You tried to brush it off, but the cough came again, harsher this time, and Logan’s eyes darkened with worry. His hands were on you, steadying you as you leaned into him, the warmth of his body grounding you again.
“You’re not fine,” he said, his tone more serious now. “I should’ve done something sooner.”
“Logan, don’t—”
“I’m taking you to a doctor,” he interrupted, his jaw set. “No arguing.”
You wanted to protest, but the truth was, you didn’t have the strength to fight him. You were too tired, too worn down, and part of you was scared. So you nodded, letting him pull you into his arms as if holding you close would make everything better.
“I’m here,” Logan whispered against your hair, his voice soft and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re not going through this alone.”
---
The next morning, Logan arrived earlier than usual. He wasn’t taking any chances, especially after the night before. You’d barely slept, your coughing keeping you awake for most of it, and when you did manage to drift off, it was only in short, restless intervals.
Logan helped you into the carriage he’d hired, his hands lingering on your arms longer than necessary, his brow furrowed with worry. He hadn’t said much since arriving, just a quiet “Mornin’” before ushering you outside. His concern was written all over his face, even though he tried to hide it behind a mask of calm.
You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes as the carriage bumped along the cobbled streets. Each breath felt heavier, the tightness in your chest worsening by the day. You didn’t want to admit it, but you knew this was more than just a cold. The cough had settled deep, rattling in your lungs, and even though you tried to convince yourself it was nothing serious, the thought that it could be something more was gnawing at you.
Logan sat beside you, his knee pressed against yours as he kept a protective hand on your leg. Every so often, you’d feel his gaze on you, watching, as if checking to make sure you were still holding on. The warmth of his presence was a comfort, even if you didn’t say it out loud.
When the carriage finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw the modest sign hanging above the doctor's office. Logan didn’t waste any time helping you down, his arm tight around your waist as you made your way inside.
The waiting room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Logan barely let go of you the entire time, his arm never leaving your waist, and when the doctor finally called you in, Logan made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.
Inside the small exam room, the doctor—a middle-aged man with silver hair and a kind face—greeted you both with a nod. His expression shifted when he looked at you, though, his eyes softening in a way that made your stomach churn with nerves.
“How long have you had the cough, miss?” the doctor asked as you sat down, Logan standing right behind you.
“A few days,” you said, your voice raspy and weak. “Maybe a little longer.”
The doctor frowned slightly, moving closer to examine you. “And the fatigue? Any weight loss?”
You nodded. “Yes... I’ve been really tired, and I haven’t had much of an appetite.”
Logan’s hand rested on your shoulder, a silent reassurance that he was there. The doctor continued his examination, listening to your chest with a stethoscope, his brow furrowing as he moved from side to side.
After what felt like an eternity, the doctor stepped back, letting out a slow breath. He met your eyes, and you knew immediately that it wasn’t good.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” he began, his voice gentle. “But given your symptoms and the sound of your lungs, I believe you may have contracted tuberculosis.”
The words hung in the air like a heavy weight. You felt Logan tense behind you, his grip on your shoulder tightening ever so slightly.
Tuberculosis.
The sickness that had taken Mrs. Thomas. The same one that had been lingering in the house for weeks.
Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You’d heard the stories—the way it ravaged families, the way it spread so easily. You’d seen it firsthand with Mrs. Thomas, watching her waste away before your eyes.
“How... how bad is it?” Logan’s voice was rough, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.
The doctor glanced at him, his expression serious. “It’s hard to say right now. Tuberculosis can vary greatly in severity. We’ll need to monitor her closely. Rest, proper care, and keeping her away from others as much as possible will be essential.”
You tried to swallow, but your throat felt tight. “What... what do we do now?”
The doctor sighed. “We’ll start with treatment to help ease the symptoms—medicinal herbs, rest, and a strict diet. It’s crucial that you avoid any further exertion. You’ll need to isolate yourself to prevent it from spreading.”
You nodded, but your mind was spinning. The thought of being confined, of having to stay away from the children—it made your chest tighten even more. How were you supposed to care for them when you couldn’t even take care of yourself?
Logan crouched down in front of you, his eyes searching yours as he held your hands in his. “We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said softly. “You’ll rest, and I’ll help with the kids. You’re not doing this alone.”
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. You didn’t want to cry, didn’t want Logan to see how scared you really were.
“I don’t want to leave them,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “They need me.”
“I know,” Logan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hand. “But they need you healthy, Y/N. And I need you healthy.”
You looked at him, your heart aching at the sight of his worry. He was trying so hard to be strong for you, to keep it together, but you could see the fear in his eyes—the same fear you felt deep in your bones.
“We’ll get through this,” he said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Not without a fight.”
You nodded, squeezing his hands as tightly as you could. Logan stayed close, his presence a steady, comforting force as the weight of the diagnosis settled over you both.
---
Weeks passed, and the house became quieter. The children were kept at a distance, the once lively home now feeling more like a tomb as you spent your days in bed, trying to gather what little strength you had left. Logan had taken over your duties, ensuring the children were cared for while also staying close to you.
Your body grew weaker with each passing day, the illness creeping deeper into your lungs. The once mild cough had turned into something far more painful, leaving you breathless and exhausted after every fit. You knew, deep down, that the end was approaching. You could feel it in the way your energy dwindled, the way even opening your eyes took effort.
Logan, on the other hand, refused to give up. He never spoke of what was coming, never let on that he saw the same inevitable truth. Instead, he clung to hope, pushing you to eat, to drink, to rest. His presence was a constant, grounding you even in your weakest moments.
Sometimes you even talked about the future, the one you knew you would never have, and the one Logan hoped you would, with him.
Your coughing fit had died down for now, leaving you in bed with your head resting against Logan’s shoulder. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, and the warmth of his body gave you a sense of comfort, even when the pain in your chest didn’t. You took in a shaky breath and spoke softly.
“I’ve always wanted a dog,” you murmured, your voice still weak. “Maybe two.”
Logan shifted slightly, his chin resting on top of your head. “Yeah? What kind?”
You shrugged, smiling a little. “Doesn’t really matter. I just like the idea of having something waiting for me at home, you know? Something happy to see me, no matter what kind of day I’ve had.”
He chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “You’d be a good dog mom.”
You looked up at him, a playful glint in your tired eyes. “You think?”
“Definitely. You’ve already got all the practice with the kids.” He paused, his thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. “Except maybe the dog would be less trouble.”
You laughed, but it turned into a cough, and you quickly brought a hand to your mouth. Logan tensed beside you, waiting until the coughing subsided before speaking again.
“You’re gonna get better, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice firm, but the edge of worry was clear. “We’ll get you that dog. Or two.”
You didn’t respond right away. You wanted to believe him—really, you did—but each day you felt weaker, and it was getting harder to ignore the reality of your situation. But you also didn’t want to drag him down with your fears, so you leaned into him instead, letting the moment linger.
You put your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him, “how many kids would you want?”
Logan looked at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Kids, huh?” His voice was warm, teasing, but there was something tender in the way he looked at you, like he was imagining it for real.
“Yeah,” you said, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes searching his face. “I know it’s kind of silly to think about right now, but... I like the idea. You?”
He took a breath, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never really thought much about it until you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Until me?”
Logan chuckled softly. “Yeah. Before you, I wasn’t really thinkin’ about things like... a future, you know? I didn’t even know if I’d stay in the city long. But now... now I think about things I never used to.” He paused, glancing down at your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. “Like kids, and... us.”
Your heart fluttered at that, the weight of his words settling in. He’d never said anything like that before—nothing about the future beyond today or tomorrow. It wasn’t like either of you knew what was coming, especially now, but hearing him say that he thought about you in that way made everything feel more real. More possible.
You grinned, nudging him playfully. “So, how many then? Two? Three?”
Logan laughed quietly. “Two sounds good. Just enough to keep us on our toes, but not so many we lose our minds.”
You giggled, a sound that quickly turned into a cough, and Logan’s smile faded a little, worry creeping back into his eyes. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just held you closer, his arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from everything bad in the world.
Once the cough subsided, you leaned your head back against his chest. “I think you’d be a good dad, Logan.”
His hand stilled against your arm. “You think?”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You’re good with the kids now, even if you don’t realize it. They like you, trust you. You’d protect them... care for them.”
Logan was quiet for a moment, and you could feel the weight of his thoughts. “I’d try,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence—it was enough to make you forget, for just a little while, how weak you felt. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of him, of this moment, even though you knew it wouldn’t last.
“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like?” you asked quietly. “If we didn’t have to worry about... this.” You gestured vaguely, meaning the illness, the uncertainty, all of it.
“All the time,” Logan murmured. “But we’ve still got time, Y/N. I’m not giving up on you.”
You opened your eyes, looking up at him. “You really think we’ll make it through this?”
Logan’s gaze was unwavering. “I know we will.”
His confidence, his belief in you, in this, made your heart ache in the best way. You wanted to believe him, wanted to hold onto that hope, even though the fear lingered in the back of your mind.
“You don’t have to be so tough all the time,” Logan said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “It’s okay to lean on me.”
You looked at him, your chest tight for a different reason now. “I know.”
And you did. Logan was always there, steady and unshakable, even when you felt like you were falling apart. You didn’t have to do this alone, even if part of you still felt like you should.
Logan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. “I’m with you, Y/N,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
You closed your eyes again, savoring the warmth of his kiss, the feeling of his arms around you. For now, that was enough.
But even as you rested against him, part of you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that your time was running out.
---
Logan hated the fact that everything you said was in past tense. How you would’ve liked to learn how to bake bread in that cabin you wanted.
How you would’ve liked to learn how to crochet.
Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with a quiet intensity. You had been talking again, your voice soft and tired, about all the things you wished you had more time to do. It was starting to drive him crazy—the way you spoke in past tense, like you were already halfway gone.
“Would’ve liked to learn how to crochet,” he repeated softly, his eyes never leaving your face.
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. I always thought it’d be nice to make something with my hands. You know, like a blanket or something... for the cabin.”
Logan’s chest tightened. He hated this—hated that you were talking about all these little dreams like they were out of reach. He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re gonna be fine, Y/N,” he said, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “You’ll still have time for all that.”
You met his gaze, your eyes soft but filled with something else—something that made his heart ache. “Logan...”
“No,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t get to talk like that. We’re gonna get you through this.”
You let out a soft sigh, your hand coming up to touch his cheek. “You don’t always have to be strong, you know. It’s okay to be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Logan said quickly, though the way he gripped your hand a little tighter gave him away. He wasn’t ready to admit it—to you, to himself—that the thought of losing you scared him more than anything he’d ever faced.
You smiled faintly, shifting on the bed so you could lean into him. “I know you, Logan. You don’t have to pretend for me.”
Logan felt his throat tighten as you pressed closer to him. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his chest, trying to hold on to the moment for as long as he could. Your body felt so fragile against his, like you could break if he held you too tight. But he needed to feel you, to remind himself that you were still here.
“Don’t,” Logan said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t talk like that.” He looked away for a second, trying to regain control of the storm raging inside him. He didn’t want to hear the finality in your voice, didn’t want to acknowledge the possibility that you might slip away from him.
You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you touched his cheek. “Logan, you know as well as I do...”
“No,” he repeated, cutting you off again, his voice gruff but shaky. His hand covered yours, pressing it gently against his face. “I’m not losing you. I don’t care what the doctor says. We’ll fight this. We’ll get through it.”
There was a long silence between you, the air heavy with the unspoken truth. You didn’t have the heart to argue with him, but you knew. You could feel it in your bones, in the way your body was failing you little by little every day. But Logan’s refusal to accept that reality made you love him even more, even if it hurt.
You gave him a sad smile, your eyes locking with his. “I love you, Logan.”
His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The weight of those words—words you’d both danced around but never truly said—hit him like a punch to the gut. He leaned in close, his forehead resting against yours, his voice barely a whisper.
“I love you too, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice breaking just a little.
You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his words wash over you. It wasn’t fair, any of this. You’d only just begun to imagine a life with him, and now that future was slipping through your fingers.
Logan held you tighter, his arms wrapped around you as if he could protect you from everything, even death. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, before pressing a final, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t passionate or desperate—just soft, filled with all the love he hadn’t yet had the chance to show you.
“I’m here,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your skin. “Always.”
And for a moment, despite the pain, despite everything, you believed him. Because even if the future was uncertain, even if you didn’t have much time left, you had this. You had him. And for now, that was enough.
---
Nothing had worked, and nothing was working.
You had already accepted your fate, but Logan couldn’t—no matter how many times you tried to explain. He kept his focus on you, his stubborn hope unwavering, even though you both knew time was running out.
“You’re gonna be fine, Y/N. You’ll see,” he said softly, sitting beside you on the bed. He brushed a hand through your hair, his touch gentle, but the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.
You looked up at him, your chest tight—not from the sickness, but from the overwhelming love you felt for him in that moment. “Logan... we need to talk about this.”
He shook his head immediately, his jaw clenched. “No, we don’t. We don’t have to talk about anything like that. You’re gonna get better, and we’ll figure everything out.” His voice cracked just a little at the end, betraying the fear he was trying to hide.
You reached for his hand, your fingers trembling as they closed around his. “I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want to spend what little time we have left lying to ourselves.”
Logan looked down at your intertwined hands, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. “But I can’t... I can’t think about losing you.”
“You don’t have to think about it,” you whispered, leaning your head against his shoulder. “But we need to be honest with each other. I’m not getting better, Logan. We both know that.”
His whole body tensed beside you, and he turned his head away as if looking anywhere but at you would somehow make your words less real. “I can’t... I can’t lose you, Y/N.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and leaned closer, pressing your lips softly to his jaw. “I love you, Logan. That’s all that matters to me right now.”
His breath hitched, and for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, holding you as if he could protect you from the inevitable, his arms tightening around you.
After a while, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you too. More than anything. That’s why I’m not giving up.”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your heart breaking for him. “I know you’re trying to protect me... but I don’t want you to carry this alone. I need you to be here with me, in this moment, not fighting something we can’t change.”
Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a second, the wall he’d built around himself seemed to crack. “I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to just... be.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” you whispered, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “You can let go.”
His eyes softened, and before you could say anything else, Logan leaned in and kissed you—soft, but with an intensity that made your heart ache. It was a kiss that said everything he couldn’t put into words: the fear, the love, the desperation to hold onto whatever time you had left.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath shaky. “I don’t know how to say goodbye,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, your hand still resting on his cheek. “We don’t have to say goodbye yet. Just stay with me. That’s all I want.”
Logan didn’t respond with words. Instead, he held you tighter, his arms wrapping around you as if he could keep you with him through sheer willpower alone. You could feel the tremble in his hands, the way his breath hitched every now and then like he was fighting back tears.
For a while, you both stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading into nothingness. There was no cough, no sickness, no uncertainty—just the warmth of Logan’s body against yours and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand.
Eventually, you spoke, your voice barely audible. “I wish we had more time.”
Logan’s grip tightened slightly. “Me too.”
You felt a lump in your throat, but you forced a small smile. “You know... if things were different, I think we’d have had a pretty good life together.”
Logan’s voice was thick with emotion as he replied, “We still will. Somehow... someday.”
You leaned your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Maybe in another life.”
Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel the way his body stiffened, like he couldn’t stand the thought of losing you again—even in another life.
“You don’t have to be alone, Logan,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with all the love you had left. “Promise me you won’t shut yourself off.”
He was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was rough and raw. “I can’t promise that.”
You smiled faintly, knowing that was the best you were going to get from him. “Just... don’t forget me.”
Logan leaned down and pressed another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a long time. “I could never forget you.”
The room was quiet after that, the only sound the soft rustling of the blankets as Logan adjusted you in his arms, pulling you closer.
You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creeping in again, but this time it didn’t feel so overwhelming. With Logan’s warmth surrounding you, with his quiet strength holding you up, you felt at peace.
---
You had passed away in your sleep that night, in Logan’s arms. He had stayed up, something in his subconscious telling him to keep his eye on you.
And he did, he felt you take your last breath; one that didn’t seem as painful as when you were awake.
Logan held you close, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he realized what had just happened. His mind refused to process it, refused to accept that this was it. He stared at you, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with breaths that felt foreign in his own body. You weren’t moving anymore, not even the faintest stir.
For a long time, he didn’t let go. He couldn’t. His arms stayed wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair, willing his warmth into your body as if that could somehow bring you back.
"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice broken. He lifted his head slightly, his thumb brushing your cold cheek. "Please... wake up."
There was no answer.
Logan swallowed hard, his throat burning, his chest tightening. His hand trembled as it caressed your face, fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear like he’d done a hundred times before. But this time, there was no playful smile in return. No teasing comment about how messy your hair always was.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
He let out a shaky breath, his other hand clutching the bedsheet, the weight of what had happened finally starting to crush him. He knew this moment was coming—he’d known it for weeks, maybe even months—but now that it was here, it didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how it had come to this, how someone as full of life as you could just... stop.
“Y/N... don’t do this... please,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible as if saying it any louder would make it more true. His hand lingered on your cheek, hoping for even the smallest sign that you’d take another breath.
But nothing came.
He stayed like that for a long time, just holding you, feeling the weight of your stillness.
Logan had never felt so powerless in his life. For all the things he could do, for all the strength in his bones, none of it could save you. His healing couldn’t save you. The realization cut him deeper than any wound ever had.
At some point, he felt his chest tremble, felt the tears start to burn at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t cried in years, maybe ever—not like this—but he couldn’t stop it now. Not when he’d lost you.
“I... I love you,” he choked out, the words falling from his lips like a confession, like an apology for not saying it enough while you were still here to hear it. He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice breaking again. “I love you so much...”
The room was silent, except for the sound of Logan’s ragged breathing and the ticking of the old clock in the corner, each second passing with an agonizing slowness. He wished he could turn it back, go back to when you were still here—laughing, talking, smiling. Anything but this.
But he couldn’t.
And the weight of that realization shattered him.
For the first time in his life, Logan had no fight left in him. Not for this. Not without you.
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i'm not gonna lie, i definitely started crying while writing those last few scenes, even though i knew how it was gonna end
just a little note for everyone (i'll probably add this at the end of every chapter just cause it helped me when writing) in this chapter, logan is 22 years old and reader is around the same age.
tags: @seasonofthenerd @golden-ebony @planetxella @tighrenicotine @wittyjasontodd @cherrypieyourface @tumharisakhi @person-005 @zaggprincess2
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youreverydayfangirl · 3 months ago
Text
READY FOR IT
pairing: max verstappen x singer reader
summary: the one where she's adjusted to a new life, she begins to let out her feelings and she meets someone new
warning: none i think this is a pretty cute chapter, maybe alchohol
a/n: another post omg?????
face claim: sabrina carpenter
f1 masterlist
main masterilst
series masterlist
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f1gossip has posted
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liked by 120, 384 others
f1gossip Rumour has it that World Champion Max Verstappen and girlfriend Kelly Piquet have called it quits. The pair was last seen in Febuary earlier this year but an inside source reports they've been broken up since December. Thoughts?
user1 FINALLY
user2 not sure if this is really shocking to anyone
user3 NONONO THEY CANT BE
-> user4 get a life
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y/nsprivate has posted
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liked by keekslikestospamm, thatoneartgirlalex and 23 others
y/nsprivate nothing just hot girl shit
tagged: livbereallydumb, itssabrinaaa
keekslikestospammmm livbereallydumb looking like a queen tbh
-> livbereallydumb don't you know it
thatoneartgirlalex whos the girl in the first slide?
-> livbereallydumb think its y/nsprivate not sure tho
-> y/nsprivate STAWP IT
leosfather i better be seeing you tomorrow
-> y/nsprivate TRUST QUEEN I'LL BE THERE
thatonefrenchguy FINALLY ON THE PRIVATE
-> y/nsprivate you better be grateful and also ill remove you if you get too annoying
-> thatonefrenchguy MEANNNN
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"Y/n. Hurry up please." Y/n rolled her eyes slightly at the persistence of her best friend who had literally just finished getting ready.
"I'm coming," Y/n replied, rolling her eyes with a grin. Tonight was Charles' 27th birthday, and they were all headed out to celebrate. When Y/n finally stepped out, Alex gave a low whistle.
"Wow, Y/n, you look amazing," she said, looking her up and down.
"Yeah, yeah," Y/n replied with a playful smile. "Where's the birthday boy? He can't be running late on his own night."
"Later than you are, which is ironic since he calls me the diva," Alex laughed, wrapping her arms around Y/n.
When Charles finally finished getting ready to go, the trio made their way to the car and headed to the small club Charles had booked for the night. As they drove, Y/n felt a quiet sense of peace settle over her, as if everything in her life might just be okay from here on out.
Arriving at the club, Y/n was greeted by a wave of familiar faces, triggering a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. Many of the people here were mutual friends she hadn’t seen since the breakup with Lando. They hadn’t necessarily taken sides, but after the split, they had drifted out of her life. She politely greeted a few, already dreading the day ahead.
As she made her way to get a drink Y/n bumped into someone, "Oh sorry I- Carlos." She said, suddenly feeling a very strong sense of uncomfort around herself. Whilst her and Carlos were very close during her relationship with Lando, Carlos picked his side and seemed to hate Y/n for it.
"Y/n," he replied sharply, his accent thick with a drunken edge. "How have you been?"
"Fine, thanks," she answered, keeping her tone polite. Before he could continue Charles appeared out of nowhere, throwing an arm around both of them. Whether he knew it or not, he relived the tension and Y/n was grateful for the interruption.
At the sight of his drunk friend, a huge smile spread across Carlos' face, and the two fell into more animated conversation. Y/n found her thoughts drifting. After saying she needed some air, Y/n slipped away and made her way to the balcony, leaning against the railing.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice the soft click of the door opening.
"Oh, sorry... I didn’t realize anyone was out here," an awkward voice said, breaking the quiet. Y/n turned, a bit startled, and found herself face to face with someone she vaguely recognized but had barely spoken to, Max.
God, he’s gorgeous. It was the first thought that popped into her mind. His green eyes caught the light with a slight glitter, and a small, warm smile curved his lips. If looks could kill, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm. He was effortlessly handsome, too handsome, in fact.
As they shared a brief, almost charged silence, Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if he had a girlfriend, or how many hearts he’d broken along the way. Max cleared his throat, shifting his weight a little.
"Y/n," he greeted, straightening his back. She returned his smile, small but genuine. "You look great."
A small smile spread across her face, "Um thanks, you too."
"How’s Gizmo?" Max asked with a soft smile, moving to stand closer to her. Suddenly, any lingering awkwardness between them melted away.
"Um hes good." Y/n said, perking up at the mention of her cat. Something about that simple question made Y/n feel more comforted in his presence. Most people would ask how was she doing or ask about her music. But Max seemed more interested in the little things, who she was.
They slipped into an easy rhythm of conversation, eventually settling down on the balcony with their backs against the wall, the quiet hum of the party inside fading into background noise.
"So," Max began, a faint curiosity in his eyes, "are you seeing anyone at the moment?" His tone was casual, but there was something unguarded about the question that made her laugh.
"After everything that’s happened? Do you think anyone would want to date me?" she replied with a playful smile, although her tone held something else.
Max’s gaze softened. "Why wouldn’t they? You’re stunning, and you’ve got the personality to match."
"Haven't you heard what they’ve been calling me?" She tilted her head, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
"I don’t make a habit of listening to the media," he said, shrugging. "I’d rather form my own perspective." His words were calm, but there was something unwavering in the way he looked at her, something that made her heart stumble in her chest.
She glanced away, her cheeks warming. "I don’t know how true that is," she mumbled, a bit embarrassed.
Max leaned a little closer, his gaze never leaving her face. "Oh, come on. I bet you’ve stolen a lot of hearts."
The way he was looking at her, intensely, with a hint of admiration, made her feel as if she needed to break eye contact, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to.
Just as she was about to respond, the door opened, and Kika’s voice floated over. "Y/n! Come on, come dance!"
Y/n smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. "Just a minute," she called back, then turned to Max. "I guess I’ll see you around?"
Max’s eyes sparkled, and he gave her a small, reassuring smile. "Trust me, you will."
A few shots later Y/n found herself looking for a place to sit and gather herself for a minute. As she turned around the room she noticed him sitting on a barstool and made her way over to him.
"Not enjoying yourself?" She asked him and he instantly perked up at her voice. Something that he internally scolded him self for, don't make yourself seem desperate Max.
"No, I am," he replied, smiling, "just not a heavy drinker." He turned on the stool to face her fully, his posture relaxing as he settled into their conversation.
Suddenly, a familiar song came blaring through the speakers, "I love this song!" Y/n exclaimed, her eyes bright with excitement. Before she could say anything else, Max held out a hand, a playful smile on his lips.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, the formality in his tone nearly too gentlemanly for the club setting.
She gave him a soft smile and slid her hand into his. "Lead the way."
They wove through the crowd and onto the dance floor, where the music enveloped them. As they moved together, Max leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "You know, you never answered my question. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
___________________
y/nsprivate has posted
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liked by keekslikestospamm, thatoneartgirlalex and 23 others
y/nsprivate CHA CHAS BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU BITCHHHHH
tagged: leosfather
leosfather the sister i never had
-> y/nsprivate pascale loves me more tho so...
-> leosfather here i thought you were being nice
-> y/nsprivate NEVERRR
thatoneartgirlalex meeting your wife through your boyfriend>>>
-> y/nsprivate exactly how it happened
keekslikestospammm you and max were looking VERY comfortable last night 👀
-> thatoneartgirlalex WHATTT
-> leosfather SPILL THE DEETS NOW
-> y/thatoneartgirlalex we're coming over now
-> leosfather im bringing champagne
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thatoneartgirlalex has posted
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liked by y/nsprivate, leosfather and 43 others
thatoneartgirlalex you best believe the tea was spilt
tagged: y/nsprivate
y/nsprivate 👀👀
-> thatoneartgirlalex 🤐🤐
leosfather charles erasure 💔
-> y/nsprivate as it should be tbh
jimmyandsassysdad can i know the tea?
-> y/nsprivate what are you doing here?
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charles to max
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y/n and max
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Unknown has been changed to Max
________________
i think this is pretty long but idk
any ways heres another part for you guys ;)
_________________
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felassan · 4 months ago
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New today from IGN: 'Dragon Age: The Veilguard's Devs Reveal New Info About Each of the Companions (and Solas and Varric, Too)'
It turns out The Veilguard really is the friends we made along the way.
Intro:
"Friendships, romantic relationships, and everything in between have always been an integral part of not just the Dragon Age series, but of BioWare in general. From Mass Effect’s Garrus Vakarian to Dragon Age’s Varric Tethras, the characters – and how they get along with the player – are inseparable from titles from the studio. But, perhaps more than any other BioWare game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is leaning in heavily on this idea, as it’s already easy to see from the marketing material. For one, the name changed from Dragon Age: Dreadwolf back in June, with BioWare general manager Gary McKay telling us at the time that it was out of a desire to shift the focus to a “really deep and compelling group of companions.” That would be followed by a first official trailer at Summer Game Fest that put the focus squarely on seven new companions that will be tagging along with the player character, Rook, in The Veilguard. With all that in mind, it’s little surprise to hear game director Corinne Busche talk about how these companions aren’t just central to the story of The Veilguard, but the gameplay and combat as well. “Building a relationship with companions has always been a staple of Dragon Age, but this time around, that relationship translates into how well you work together as a team,” Busche tells IGN. “It is how you're actually going to level up your companions, by getting to know them better. That's how you're going to unlock skill points. So when you look at all of the various abilities the companions have, there's inherent combos and synergies and roles that they'll have on the battlefield.” She uses the example of Neve, the mysterious detective mage who has a wildly useful special ability to slow time in combat. “But if I really get the opportunity to know her,” Busche explains, “whether it's platonic or romantic, I'm going to help be able to shape her skills and augment those abilities that work really well with my own personal build, so our sense of teamwork really deepens.” During our time with the game, IGN got to see some of this in action; unsurprisingly, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has an approval/disapproval system, with pop-up text on the side of the screen indicating whether or not a companion liked what Rook just did or said. But something new in this Dragon Age: even just completing a quest with a companion in your party increases your “bond” with them, whether they agree with how you handled things or not. Your relationship, Busche says, isn’t necessarily about “how much they like you, but how well you get to know them.” “This is about a found family,” Busche tells us. “That is, they have the same goals, different complications in their life, but they're all giving everything they have to defend Thedas. You're going to get to know them really well. You're going to develop trust, understanding. That doesn't mean you're always going to agree.” But, we’ll have plenty more to say about the game systems and combat later. With Busche, we had the opportunity to really dive into the seven companions at the center of The Veilguard and what they’re all about. Here’s what she had to say about each one:"
"DAVRIN Busche: “When we were thinking about Davrin, how we were going to develop him as a character, we had to think about, 'How is he going to show up on the battlefield?' And it was unique because he has this, I guess you could say, companion of his own, the griffon Assan. That makes him, as a companion, very unique, because Assan shows up on the battlefield. So we had to think about how that integrates into his abilities, where Davrin as a Grey Warden is capable on his own, but also, when does he call upon Assan and what does that look like? What happens if you're indoors?... And indeed, when you're doing some of Davrin's content, just seeing Assan gliding through the environments, you really get a sense that they care and they're protective about each other. “…When we think about Davrin and his being the representative of the Grey Wardens within the team of The Veilguard, it was an opportunity for us to really go back to some of those roots that we know our fans, our players, deeply care about. Dragon Age: Origins, of course, was so Grey Warden-forward. We want to evoke those memories, those connections that our players have. And I absolutely love when you're journeying with Davrin, not only his aesthetic, how he carries himself as a Warden, but how he interacts with his fellow Wardens. The little wrinkle of, 'Hey, there actually are some griffons remaining in Thedas,' how he learns as a Warden to train and interact with these griffons that, to our knowledge, haven't existed for quite some time, it's a learning experience on a lost art of the Grey Wardens that is really unique to Davrin's character.”"
"HARDING Busche: “To talk about Harding as a companion, I guess I'd have to go back to Inquisition. Of course, Harding showed up. She was your scout on the field. There was a light romance with her, and I think one of the things that the team didn't quite expect is how much Harding would catch on in Inquisition. Players fell in love with her, and we heard them. They wanted a deeper romance, they wanted more engagement with Harding. So for the team, I felt like it was kind of a no-brainer for us to bring back Harding, and we also wanted to reestablish that connection to the Inquisition in the world of Thedas, which occurred 10 years ago, the events of Inquisition. “Harding serves as our proxy back to those events, and you get to learn about what's happened with the Inquisition since, so she presents some really lovely opportunities for us. I will say, personality-wise and her role on the battlefield, she is among my favorites. When you see her leap into the air, unleashing these devastating attacks with her bow and arrow, I just can't get enough of her.”"
"TAASH Busche: “Taash, in the creation of their arc, is one of our more complex characters. It's a journey along their arc that is about introspection. 'Where do I belong in the world? What are my boundaries? What do I fight for? How do I become at peace with who I am?' So I love the juxtaposition, actually, between Taash's personal journey and this imposing literal dragon slayer, that sort of hard exterior and really gentle interior. It makes Taash a really special companion for me.” (When asked which companion had the steamiest romance): “I'll just speak for me personally, but at the culmination of the romance arcs, I'd have to say Taash. When I got to that scene and saw the finished version of that cinematic, I was hollering. Hollering.”"
"EMMRICH Busche: “The thing about Emmrich that is going to surprise our fans the most is his relationship with necromancy. I really love that we kind of turned the idea of a necromancer on its head here, where you think of them as these conjurers of evil, the certain malice when you hear the term 'necromancer,' but it couldn't be farther from the truth for Emmrich. There is a reverence about the dead. He has a unique relationship with death. You get to explore how he ended up in the Mourn Watch. Death has shaped this character in all aspects of his life, and we frequently refer to him as our gentleman necromancer. I think his proper, kind nature stems from that respect that he's learned about this cycle of life and death throughout his life. “Manfred is like a son to Emmrich. He very much has an affinity for this wisp, this life force that he's given a second chance through this skeletal body, and in many ways, it's the story of a parent raising a child. Emmrich, he needs to teach Manfred and help him along to develop as a character of their own, things like learning new skills, how to assist The Veilguard. Some of our most charming moments are in dealing with Manfred, and I must say I absolutely love the interactions. They just have me rolling whenever Manfred steals the show. “…In my last playthrough, I romanced Emmrich. What I also loved is as I'm synergizing with him as we're doing combos, just having him refer to me as ‘my dear’ on the battlefield. ‘Well done, my dear!’ It just fills me with joy every time.”"
"LUCANIS Busche: “The character that went through the most changes [throughout development] without a doubt was Lucanis. Lucanis is very complex. He's an assassin. He is very skilled in the art of death. The Antivan Crows, they pursue these contracts with a certain level of dispassion, but also, Lucanis is a romantic, and he's dealing with some internal struggles. He's been through a lot of trauma. He's relearning how to trust. And all of those elements come together with a richness, but it creates a lot of complexity in how we tell that story. So I'd say Lucanis is the first one that comes to my mind in terms of the thought that's gone into it, where we've had to make adjustments to really cover all facets of his character.”"
"NEVE Busche: “Neve is our confident noir detective. I love to bring her onto the battlefield because she's just so incredibly capable. She's our ice mage, so really big on controlling the battlefield, and that's actually a good metaphor to her arc. She wants to fight for change. She wants to fight for a better Minrathous, and she's going to use all the tools at her disposal to try and reshape Minrathous into a better place for all. She's very much a Shadow Dragon. This is among the mantra of the Shadow Dragons. They operate from the shadows, fighting for a better Minrathous. So as this accomplished ice mage, she's fierce. She's not going to shy away from any challenge, whether it's taking down darkspawn or dealing with the Magisterium in Minrathous.”"
"BELLARA Busche: “Oh, my dear, sweet Bellara. I relate to Bellara a lot. She is joyous. She's been through a lot, but she remains curious, optimistic. She's kind of a geek. She really likes her fiction. She fangirls over Neve a little bit. She's just so relatable, and I think that's what our players will find and fall in love with when they get to meet Bellara, is just how much you'll recognize some of those patterns and sensibilities that she holds, but don't let it fool you. She is also a Veil Jumper. She's very comfortable in elven ruins. I frequently bring her with me in my party. I like to play rogue. I like to play the Veil Jumper, or the Veil Ranger. Bellara's a fantastic companion to set up that spec with electric vulnerabilities, so I love her both on and off the battlefield.”"
Bonus rounds:
"SOLAS Okay okay, so Solas isn’t technically one of your core companions who will travel with you, but given his place in the Dragon Age story, we still had to ask about his relationship with Rook. Here’s what Busche had to say: Busche: “Rook's relationship with Solas is a complicated one. Everyone has seen, at this point, the gameplay reveal and the opening moments of the game, so you'll know things got shaken up pretty radically for Solas already. He's trapped. He's basically communicating with you as an advisor, and I absolutely love that idea of, ‘He's your lifeline right now, but can you trust him?’ And those touch points with him, ‘Do I take his advice or not? Can he be trusted? Is he going to betray me?’ All the while giving you this information that you absolutely need in order to be successful. “It creates an interesting stage for us, where, I think our fans will agree, Solas is very complicated. He firmly believes he's doing the right thing, and some of our fans will agree that he's trying to do the right thing. Others will not, and this creates a stage for you, the player, where you get to lean into those tendencies of your own as you're taking advice from Solas throughout parts of the game. I think those really interesting debates about, ‘Was he ever redeemable? Can he be trusted? Was he wrong all along?’ You're really going to be able to dive in deep on that.”"
"VARRIC Varric, while a part of Dragon Age: The Veilguard and a series mainstay, isn’t part of your core companions either. But, as fans can see in the trailers, he’s still very much in The Veilguard, so we asked Dragon Age creative director John Epler about how he’s changed since we last saw him in Inquisition: Epler: “Since the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition, he has spent the time, just briefly, obviously, [serving as] Viscount of Kirkwall. I mean, anybody who knows much about Varric knows how well a job where he sits around and tells people what to do is going to sit with him. He has been participating in the hunt for Solas. And I think for Varric in particular, that's a very difficult thing for him to do because Solas is his friend. Solas is somebody that he grew close to over the events of Inquisition. They adventure together, they work together. “And now knowing who Solas really is, that eats at Varric. Because Varric always sees, Varric believes he can always make somebody do the right thing. Varric believes he is the most convincing, charismatic, because he cares about people. And he has this belief that as long as I get a chance to talk to Solas, I'm going to be able to turn him. But as he's seeing what Solas' ritual is doing to the world around him, as he experienced in the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing, that eats at him a little bit. That's challenging his world view of him as always being the best judge of people, being able to see that somebody is able to be redeemed. And he's starting to question a little bit, ‘am I right or am I being a fool by believing in Solas?’ ”"
[source]
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goldsbitch · 9 months ago
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can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.
Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻
omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!
This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.
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Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.
You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.
It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.
Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.
"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.
"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.
"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.
"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.
"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."
You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.
The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.
"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.
Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.
//
It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.
In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.
"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.
"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.
"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.
"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.
You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.
"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.
It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.
"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.
Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.
Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."
You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.
Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.
You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.
You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.
"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.
"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."
Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.
"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.
"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.
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lowkeyrobin · 6 months ago
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Hi could I request a Carlos De Vil x reader where maybe she is the daughter of Roger and Anita Radcliffe from 101 Dalmatians. Maybe it could be like an enemies to lovers situation but not necessarily enemies cause Carlos is such a sweetheart
IM SOBBING YES YES YESSSSSS ; also fair warning I only write gn / they/them readers so I keep everything pretty in the middle so everyone feels included haha ; but thank you so much for requesting! I hope you enjoy 🫶
CARLOS DE VIL ; a new story
summary ; yours and carlos' parents were enemies in their stories, but you and carlos, not so much
warnings ; language
track ; something new, tokio hotel
word count ; 1.6k
masterlist
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You knew the story of Cruella De Vil and your parents one hundred one dalmatians. It was told to you as a bedtime story every night you asked for it growing up. So, naturally, you'd grown a distaste for Cruella De Vil, and her son who'd you'd just found out existed, Carlos.
You never sported a fancy dress or a tux, considering you worked with dogs.
During the VK's second day in Auradon, their search for their next class led them past your little pasture of grass where you worked with and trained dogs. From Yorkies to German Shepherds, you had them all.
But you'd unfortunately caught their attention as they passed by, your loud shouting and jogging leading them to you. Mal opens the door, Carlos behind her shivering and shaking at the sight of dogs.
"What are you doing?!" He asks her
Mal rolls her eyes. "Seeing what they're doing with all these dogs"
The four approach you, nearly scaring the hell out of you with their bright hair and clothes. They'd snuck up on you while you had your back turned, in your defense.
"Oh, hello! You must be the new kids?"
Mal nods. "Mal, Maleficent's daughter"
She accepts your handshake as you introduce yourself. "Y/n. Rodger and Anita Radcliffe's kid. Y'know, Cruella De Vil and the dalmatians?" You chuckle
Mal, Evie, and Jay all look over at Carlos, practically pretzeling himself as he holds his arms to his chest, feet stuck together to make himself a smaller target for all the dogs.
"Evie, daughter of Evil Queen" The blue haired girl smiles.
"I'm Jay" The boy with the long hair flexes his muscles.
Mal snaps at Carlos.
"Uh- Carlos."
"Cruella De Vil's son" Mal smirks.
You blink, staring at the boy. "Uhm, so! Why are you guys here? Shouldn't you be in class?"
Mal shrugs. "We'll be fine. What's with all the dogs?" She asks, watching a pitbull nearly tackle you as it jumps on you.
You giggle, rubbing his back. "I train dogs" You answer, looking back up at her.
"At school?"
You shrug. "Better than on the street. Fairy Godmother allowed it cause I'm such an excellent student" You give them a fake smile, knowing your grades were fairly average, maybe just below. "But, it's either this or they get killed" You shrug, "I work with cats as well, but my friend Marie is mostly in charge of that"
"Let me guess..." The purple haired girl begins. "Marie, like those three little talking kittens?"
You nod. "You can play with them," you say, referring to the dogs, "I'm not gonna tattle on you for skipping, I couldn't care less."
Carlos shrieks, jumping onto Jay's shoulders quickly as a small dog attempts to jump on him, wanting attention. Your eyes quickly widen, looking up at him. You look back at Mal, curious as to why he was so jumpy.
"He'll tell you" She snickers, her and Evie walking off to play with one of the smaller dogs.
Jay shoves Carlos off his shoulders, leaving him cowering in fear to chase after one of the larger dogs. Carlos stands still, staring at you while the dogs bark and growl, playing with each other and with his friends.
"Why are you so scared of dogs?" You chuckle, picking a little Shitzu up, holding her in your arms.
"My mom told me that dogs are little demons that eat boys when they're bad" He answers quickly, the words falling out of his mouth. His eyes are running wild, trying to make sure none of the dogs approached him.
Your expression softens, realizing he's not some evil asshole that you'd thought he was at first. Christ, he wasn't gonna hurt these dogs, he couldn't even be within the same space as them.
"Well, your mom lied to you. These dogs are the nicest creatures on this Earth, they wouldn't ever think of purposefully hurting you, let alone think of eating you" You chuckle, scratching the ears of the dog in your arms.
A slightly wide eyed look appears on his face, like he couldn't believe that his mom would lie to him about that, especially so much to create a phobia. But, it made sense to him, she's lied before, she treated him like some servant to her.
"You wanna hold her?" You ask him, referring to the dog in your arms.
He quickly shakes his head no, still a little too scared to wanna face his fear. For all he knew, you could've been lying to him.
"That's fine," you softly smile, trying to make him feel comfortable. You could tell he was a bit less tense, but you tried keeping things calm for him. The audible laughter of his friends fills your ears, seeing them practically playing tag with a handful of the dogs. "You don't have dogs on the Isle, do you?"
He shakes his head again.
"Well, feel free to do as you please. I don't think your friends wanna leave anytime soon"
"I don't think so either"
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It'd been a while since your first encounter with the new VK's. But, you didn't think they were some delinquents with no hope for a future like others did, they were just misunderstood and needed a chance to succeed.
Carlos, by himself, had come down to your spot one afternoon.
You were occupied with brushing the shed fur off the longer haired dogs, working on a retriever when he entered.
"Hi" He shyly smiles.
You turn back to look at him. "Oh, hey, Carlos!" You smile. "What's up?"
"I don't think dogs are evil anymore"
"Good" You chuckle. "What changed your mind?"
He shrugs. "You"
You roll your eyes, turning back to the retriever to hide the fact your face was heating up.
"You need any help?"
You stop yourself, looking back at him. "If you'd like to"
He smiles, approaching you to help.
"Just hold her paws like this. She likes squirming"
"She's pretty"
"She's got a hell of a coat"
He jumps as the dog barks, wanting out of your grips.
"Calm down, it's almost over"
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Carlos was still kinda jumpy with dogs, even after he'd been on the tourney team for nearly a year. You, in honor of his growth with his exposure to his fear, decided to give him a dog to finish his exposure therapy. That was all his idea, you never thought for a second to try and force him to get along with dogs.
But, he wanted to be closer to you, which meant he'd have to get used to the dogs.
To be totally open and honest, he'd quickly developed a crush on you. Crush as in he was totally, completely in love with you.
He adored your soft smiles of encouragement and reassurance, how you were so kind and understanding, how you saw him for who he was. A lot of people assumed that he and his friends were pure evil, not thinking for a moment that maybe since they were raised by and to be villains, that they had things backwards but had grown into good people. You did that for him like how Ben did for Mal, how Doug did for Evie, how Lonnie did for Jay.
He just wanted to love you, to hold you close, and thank you for being truly you.
If he had to admit it, he'd be honest about how he was damn near mortified of you after hearing who your parents were, thinking that you were just like the retelling of your parents in his mother's stories. Thank God you'd exposed him to the true story and proved to him that you weren't some asshole.
He never expected to fall in love with you like this, your stories of the past told in the present, just a little backwards. How funny would it be to explain how your parents were rivals in the past and you'd fallen in love? How ironic.
He knew at least that your parents liked him, he was not planning on introducing you to his mother though, if that ever could've happened. The barrier still being up was the perfect excuse not to.
But, he desperately wanted to ask you a very specific question, something that could really make or break your relationship.
"Do you wanna go to the cotillion with me?"
"Sure" You shrug. "But, I do have a little surprise for you"
"Hm?"
You stop yourselves on the path in the woods. You whistle, causing a dog to sprint up to you from the woods. He stops at your feet, barking at his arrival. You smile, picking him up, handing him to Carlos.
Carlos, confused, looks up at you.
"His name is Dude. Don't ask about that. But he's yours. He needs a home, you're a pretty fit candidate" You smile
Carlos happily pouts. "Why are you?-"
"Because I can" You shrug. "And you've come a long way with your fear. I'm proud of you"
He scratches Dude's ears, a happy smile upon his face. "Thank you?"
"You're welcome"
"I still don't understand how or why you decided that I needed a dog, but I appreciate it"
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At the cotillion, you and Carlos, after Uma's final attack, dance in the pool of water together, soaking yourselves while Mal and Ben dance together. Evie and Doug and Jay and Lonnie do as well, eyeing yours and Carlos' looks at each other, like you had hearts in your eyes.
You both jump in the water, splashing each other with it purposefully.
"Stop!" Carlos laughs, picking up a cupped handful of water to splash your face.
"Oh, you're dead!" You giggle, doing the same to him.
"Watch out, lovebirds!" Mal laughs, running past you two as Ben chases her.
"Lovebirds?"
"Do not act oblivious." Evie rolls her eyes playfully. "Just kiss already"
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luveline · 1 year ago
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could i request teacher!reader with hotch? like maybe she’s jacks teacher
thank you for your request! fem!reader, 1.2k
You're a teacher: you're always tired. Overworked, underpaid, everybody knows how it goes. And maybe you've let yourself go because you don't have any real material hopes for the future beyond getting Macy Danish to read at a first grade level, but how were you supposed to know that Jack Hotchner's father would be so overwhelmingly attractive? It's not fair. 
He's handsome though older than you'd been expecting, but that isn't the cut and dry of it. When he comes in, it's alone, in a well-fitted suit. He's tall and remarkably dark-eyed, shaking your hand without trying to impose any authority, as some of the fathers tend to do, and when you call him Mr. Hotchner, he says, "Aaron, please," but continues to call you Ms. L/N.
"Aaron," you say, pulling your skirt under your thighs as you sit down. You're dressed in nice clothes for the parent-teacher conferences, but you could've covered your sleeplessness better. "Jack is the nicest boy in class. He's actually my loveliest kid. Um…" You search through your notes for the preliminary assessment of Jack. "Sorry, two seconds." 
"Take your time. I know what it's like to dig through a mountain of paperwork every day." 
"Jack mentioned you work in the government, he calls you a special agent," you say, smiling. "You get the bad guys." 
"I am a special agent. Supervisory." Aaron is conscientious enough to pretend he doesn't notice your surprise. "I'm chief of the behavioural analysis unit." 
You can't even begin to guess what that entails. "Oh," you say breathlessly. 
"I understand that it sounds fantastical." 
"It sounds impressive," you say, floundering to correct yourself. Behavioural analysis? It must be obvious to him how nervous he's making you, then, and when you realise that, you get worse. "I'm so sorry about this. I should be more organised. I usually am." 
"That's alright. Take your time." 
Does he always speak that way? His voice is like fucking silk? Is he messing with you?
You yank the notes you made for Jack from the pile and flatten them across the desk. "Okay, sorry. Like I was saying, Jack is really the nicest kid, him and his friend Molly. They're both lovely, and teachers shouldn't have favourites, please don't tell the other parents, but they're my favourites." You smile at him quickly and return your eyes to the paper. The words swim in front of your eyes. "Jack can read better than you could ever hope for a first grader, he's immensely intelligent for his age group. He's patient. He'll explain anything to anyone if they ask him too, and he does it well." 
"I'm glad to hear that," he says, again so softly. 
You pick up one of your skinny biros to have something to fidget with. He's a very good looking man, but you're a good teacher. You can focus on what to say. Some parents need good things only. Some need reassurement that they're doing a good job. Aaron is harder to read, but you know what he needs, too. 
"He can be lonely," you say, looking him in the eye. "I don't think that that's down to any fault. I'm sure you know better than I do why he might feel that way." You know about his mom's passing over a year ago. You've seen grief in children too many times. "He… I understand if this isn't okay with you, but he eats lunch with me sometimes. I encourage him to sit with his peers, of course, but I think he runs out of energy pretty quickly." 
Aaron nods thoughtfully. His brows quirk into a furrow that you're afraid is directed at you. 
"I don't think he necessarily has trouble connecting with his friends." 
"What do you think?" 
"I think something awful happened to your family, and Jack will feel it for the rest of his life, but that it won't stop him from being great. It already isn't. And… he clearly has a father who loves him and who he admires. You're his second favourite topic." 
"What's his first?" he asks. 
"He's really into Fruity Fridays," you say with a laugh. "I bring in fruits you don't get often in America. Someone would've had to sign a form." 
"No, I remember signing it. He likes that?" His smile is golden. "I can't get him to try new things." 
"He had all the leftover gold kiwi last week." You rub your lips together. Time is ticking. You have nearly thirty parents to see tonight, but talking to Mr. Hotchner has been so normal. He's a regular person in a sea of inattentive helicopter narcissists. It's a relief and a half to meet him and know a kid as gentle as Jack is in good hands. "Mr. Hotchner, I have to tell you, I'm really relieved to meet you." 
"Aaron," he corrects.
Your tone drops too low. "Aaron." 
"I'm more than relieved," he says. "I knew that this year would be harder for him. I didn't know… I'm grateful to you, for being so kind with him." 
You look down at your notes, flushed from head to toe despite your airy skirt. Crossing your legs, you shake your head. "It's my job." 
"To let him take up the only break you get all day?" he asks. 
"It's not like that. Jack doesn't bother me." You fold your notes in half. "I can see his role model measures up." 
"I could say the same thing." 
The next time you see Jack, bright and early Monday mooring shepherded by his aunt Jessica, he's very happy to see you. You offer him a hug and pat his back when he wraps his arms around your hips. "Hello, Jack. Was your dad pleased with your drawings?"
Jack smiles at you. "I have a note for you." 
"You do? Can I see? Where is it, honey?" 
Jack takes off his backpack and pulls out the note and a tupperware container. "Oh, wow, did you make treats for the class? Jack, that's so nice!" 
"No. Dad said those are for you. He said you should have nice for nice, or something," Jack informs you. 
"You'll share with me, though? I can't eat them all by myself," you whisper. 
He nods with enthusiasm and runs off to put his backpack in his cubby and his coat on the hook. You look down at the cookies and note, which is actually an envelope. 
You open it with your thumbnail. The writing is Aaron's usual tight cursive.
Dear Miss L/N, 
I hoped to thank you again in person, but work makes that hard. I appreciate everything you do for Jack. There are teachers who work, and there are teachers who go above and beyond. I can feel confident anywhere in the country knowing Jack is being taught by the latter. 
Gratefully yours, 
Aaron Hotchner. 
P.S. Please don't feed Jack too many cookies. They're not for him. 
You keep the letter even if it's lame to do so. When is the next parent teacher conference, anyways?
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unsolicited-opinions · 3 months ago
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Bro no one hates jews for ethnicity, news are hated for faith.
If you are an atheist "jew", no one gives a shit about you.
Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemitic struggles.
I'll address these point by point.
Jewish readers, please share your thoughts!
You wrote: "No one hates Jews for ethnicity, [J]ews are hated for faith."
"Hitler...defined the Jews as a race and not a religious community, characterized the effect of a Jewish presence as a “race-tuberculosis of the peoples,” and identified the initial goal of a German government to be discriminatory legislation against Jews."
[Source]
More here
As David Baddiel put it, "I'm an atheist, but that would get me no free passes out of Auschwitz."
The Jews are a people. Judaism is the traditional religion of that people. A Jew who does not engage with that religion does not cease to be a Jew by Jewish definitions OR by antisemitic definitions.
You wrote: "If you are an atheist Jew, nobody gives a shit about you."
First, see above.
Second, you're incorrectly assuming that a Jewish atheist is not engaged with Judaism.
Here's the thing:
Judaism isn't necessarily theistic.
Let's set aside the explicitly non-theistic movement of Humanistic Judaism for a moment (huge topic for another time) and just talk briefly about theism in Judaism.
Most kinds of Judaism, while certainly encouraging faith, do not require it. There are no thought crimes in Judaism, no crucibles of faith, and no requirements that one announce or perform proof of belief for witnesses. Those things are often parts of Christianity and Islam, but in Judaism...not so much.
In Jewish thought, it is not what you believe about metaphysics which lifts you up, ennobles you, improves you, or makes the world a better place. In Judaism, you pursue those things by how you behave.
Sola fide is a Christian concept which Judaism does not share. Judaism is a profoundly existential religion with ethics which are overwhelmingly humanist.
I was raised in Reform and Conservative congregations...and non-theistic/atheistic/humanistic views were very common there.
When I was studying to become Bar Mitzvah, our congregation's Rabbi made crystal clear to me that there was no contradiction between my identity as a Jew and my inability to swallow the idea of an anthropomorphic, sapient, interventionist God who cared at all about petitionary prayer. He felt that wrestling with God was a very Jewish thing to do. He introduced me to Maimonides' apophatic theology. Decades later, I'm still grateful.
Many Jews pray, I believe, not to be heard by God, but so they can hear their own hearts and minds. This is why kavanah is important and why I disliked (and still dislike) prayer-by-rote and rituals performed for the sake of ritual. It's more mindfulness meditation than petitionary prayer.
There's a famous Hasidic story, recorded by philosopher Martin Buber in his "Tales of the Hasidim," about how Judaism views atheism:
The Master teaches that God created everything the world to be appreciated, since everything is here to teach us a lesson.
One clever student asks "What lesson can we learn from atheists? Why did God create them?"
The Master responds "God created atheists teach us the most important lesson of them all- the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in Goda at all, so his acts are based on an inner sense of morality. And look at the kindness he can bestow upon others simply because he feels it to be right."
"This means," the Master continued "that when someone reaches out to you for help, you should never say 'I pray that God will help you.' Instead for the moment, you should become an atheist, imagine that there is no God who can help, and say 'I will help you."
You wrote: "Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemtic struggles."
I invite other Jews to advise if I have appropriated anything which is not mine.
Your opinion, though? Your view, as a non-Jew, about what is or isn't Jewish? On what is or is not mine in my heritage? Your claim, framed by your obvious and absolute ignorance of my life, my family's history, Jewish history, Jewish theology, and Jewish philosophy, that I have not experienced antisemitism and am "appropriating?"
I don't have a single fuck to give about any of that, and neither does any other Jew
Still, thank you for the writing prompt. It helps to crystalize my own thinking and provides an opportunity to educate.
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restinslices · 3 months ago
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Can we take our beautiful boy Smoke's virginity? 🙌🏾
I was thinking of a drabble but you can write this however you find easier ;)
If Tomas has no fans, then I'm dead. No gender is specified and reader is a softie because it's what everyone in this situation deserves. Also POV jumps from his to the readers. This was supposed to be a drabble but then I kept typing :D
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Tomas was considered behind when it came to certain life experiences. It wasn't something he was necessarily ashamed of, but it was something he knew was true. His type of life didn't allow him to worry about certain things.
Dating was one of them. He knew that teenagers and young adults were supposed to date and experiment, but he never did. Never dated anyone, never held hands, kissed someone, went beyond that.
That didn't mean he had no desire to.
"Are you sure?" You asked softly, eyes observing his reaction to everything. "We can stop. I won't be upset or anything". The truth was that you wanted him badly, always had and always would. You would've certainly lost track if you had to count the amount of times you daydreamed about having him all to yourself, lips on yours, hips moving in a steady rhythm. But a relationship and sex wasn't a one way street. You wouldn't pressure him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with, even if you would be old and wrinkly by the time he wanted to be inside of you.
Tomas on the other hand felt a sense of nervousness he had never felt before. As bad as it sounds, killing someone was easy. He did it without thinking. Now though, you were depending on him for pleasure. "I'm gonna be incredibly bad at this... " he mumbled.
"That's alright" you said in the same soft tone, hand wrapping around his, which was wrapped around his cock. "Everyone's first time is weird. You'll get better over time. I'll help you".
Your other hand cupped his face, your thumb tracing his cheekbone when you noticed him leaning into your touch. "You can say no whenever and we'll stop. I promise"
"I want this". Nerves and all, he wanted this. Your hand stayed on his, guiding him closer and closer to your entrance, his nerves becoming stronger.
And then his nerves stopped, replaced by something far stronger; pleasure. He felt a chill go down his spine, and he only had the tip in. How long was he expected to last when you felt this good?
He felt equally good to you. Sure, you had been with other men before, but they were smaller. Everything about Tomas was bigger - his dick, his arms, his pecs, his height, everything about him made him better than any man you ever met.
You continued guiding him, making him stretch you around his cock slowly until eventually you could feel his balls pressed against you. And although you wanted him to pound inside of you right then and there, you forced yourself to remain patient. Tonight wasn't just about you. It was about him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer to you, taking in how pretty he looked with his lips parted and deep breathes coming in and out of him.
"Wow" was all he could muster when he finally spoke.
"Good wow or bad wow?
"Definitely good- wait. How long am I supposed to last?
"Uhh" how long? Um, long enough? You didn't know if there was an average time, but you knew the chances were low that he'd make it. "Don't worry about lasting long. It's your first time, okay? You'll last however long you last"
He nodded before his lips found yours, muffling both of your gasps as he pulled out, then pushed himself back in. "Was that okay?
"Perfect. Keep doing that" your legs wrapped around him, keeping him close as he began to find his rhythm.
Tomas couldn't understand why he hadn't done this with you before. Well, he understood that he simply wasn't ready before now, but the way you gripped him made him forget all about those previous worries. You were perfect. Stretching you open was almost too easy, but now that he was inside you, your hole held him tightly, letting him feel every bit of you. Every bit of your insides that were made for him.
He didn't know how fucked out he looked. That's what added to your pleasure besides the obvious. He had bit down on his lip to stifle his moans at first, but after some time he just couldn't keep quiet. If he wasn't kissing you, whines were falling out his mouth. Here he was, an assassin with arms bigger than your hands and a heavy cock in between his legs, whining because of how good you felt.
It wasn't one sided. He felt perfect to you aswell. His thick cock stretched you open, his veins rubbing against your insides. You hardly needed to instruct him. His tip always managed to be exactly where you needed it to be.
"I'm-" his sentence was cut off by a choked groan, his eyes squeezing shut as he shot his load inside of you.
You placed soft kisses on his cheeks, soothing him as he came down from his orgasm. "You did really good" you praised in between kisses.
His head fell to the crook of your neck, your fingernails gliding along his scalp and you unwrapping your legs around him. "You didn't cum" you heard him mumble against your neck. Well, you both had known he wouldn't last long
"No big deal. Tonight wasn't about me, it was about you. Did you like it?
"You have to ask?
You chucked, "I just enjoy clear communication"
"Then yes, I liked it". He lifted his head up enough to give you a kiss on the cheek, "should I feel this tired after?
You nodded, then tried to push him off only to feel him swat your hands away. "Wanna fuck you again, just need to breathe. Stay"
Who were you to turn your pretty boy down?
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vieoeil-riae · 1 month ago
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could you arcane steb x mage reader who travels a lot but when they met steb they decided to permanently live in piltover relationship headcanons
steb/mage!reader hcs
steb/gn!reader
warnings: SFW, short, honestly I might turn it into an actual fic one day when I have the time lol
hi hi!! thanks for the request! i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing with headcanons tbh, but i hope you enjoy it anyways 🥳💞
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magic being unwelcomed in piltover, you had your work cut out for you busking with magicless party tricks you'd learned over your travels - but you couldn't resist adding a little magic flare
it drew Steb's suspicion and led to your first meeting
not necessarily illegal, he had nothing to arrest you for
this happened again and again, each time you used your magic to tease him a, blowing little magic hearts at the pretty, straight-laced enforcer who seemed to never leave you alone once he saw you
you weren't a stranger to tough situations and originally, you had the resolve to cut loose and run for it should you get into trouble but after months spent wandering the city and wondering about Steb - you found yourself thinking up getaway plans that didn't involve abandoning the city altogether
Steb, on the other hand, was left questioning policy, you never did anything wrong but if you were found out you'd get damn near the same treatment as Demacia, just without the obvious jail cell
you were nice to him, a funny-man to his straight-man he supposed - attractive, even
your eyes glittered with a kind of seeing that felt rich on his skin when you looked at him, trying to figure him out in ways he'd never encountered in the passively ruthless city, it made him fluster inside
he was pulled between two angles, and in a rare thought, he wanted a drink
you spent the night in a small bar, tucked neatly into a little residential area, thinking about the enforcer, Steb, that you kept running circles around
you'd never been so attached to toying with someone during your travels before, you swirled your drink in your glass and fell into an old debate about staying or going
the seat next to you squeaked with the weight of someone familiar and you almost choked on your drink at the sight of his frills fluttering with the air change as the door swung shut
you chatted at him, normally, without teasing or magic or any complicating factors other than the drinks in your hands and it eventually turned into your verbalised self-debate
his eyes widened and his ears dropped when you mentioned the possibility of you leaving, a pang in your gut wordlessly saying how much you never wanted to see that crestfallen look on his face again
you wouldn't have a place to stay if you chose to, a frown on your face that was quickly wiped away into confusion at Steb's hands moving in a flurry - far more hastily than you'd ever seen the stoic man move
giving up, he quickly reached over the bar for a pan, scrawling an offer down on a napkin
you could stay with him, if you want
he snatched it back almost the same second he slid it towards you, furiously writing again before bashfully handing it back to you
you didn't have to, he knows you don't know him well and it would be a little weird and he'd totally understand if you didn't want to-
you laughed out a yes, patting his slightly slumped shoulder in reassurance you understood, flicking another magic heart at his face and watching it break like shimmering steam over his nose
he blushed, frills fluttering, and you couldn't say you were much better
should anything happen, you could take care of it, the magic in your veins giving you a weapon that could only be taken from you with petricite
weeks passed in each other's company, domestic moments that made your heart flutter married to the does-he-doesn't-he of blossoming feelings, you never felt as antsy as you thought you would've when Steb was around
he was so sweet to you in a way that was such a departure from your usual firmly independent style, sticking to you like glue and listening to every story you'd tell in a way that went past just being invested in the narrative
you told him a story from Ionia once, you heard it while passing through a small seaside village, star-crossed lovers and magic and celestials - but when you turned to see his reaction all you found was a soft, adoring look that pierced your travel-built confidence
he kissed you in that moment, soft like the gentle lap of the ocean at your finger tips, and formlessly you made a promise to yourself to stay
Steb wouldn't keep you trapped however, often encouraging you to travel, safe in the knowledge you'd always return to him
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A/N: okay no one be surprised if i end up making this into an actual fic 💀💀💀💀💀 it's a really good idea i found myself like having Thoughts And A Half about it yk??????
banner cr: @/cafekitsune
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yeoldenews · 8 days ago
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Can you shed any light on how Santa came to give naughty children coal, when coal used to be a reasonably useful present?? I tried googling it but nothing that came up seemed researched better than folk wisdom, or modern-day people trying to make it make sense.
Considering that the holiday has come to dominate upwards of 1/12 of the cultural calendar every year in much of the world - there has been shockingly little academic research done on the history of Christmas and Christmas traditions. So unfortunately folk wisdom is kind of all we have on this subject.
Coal has long been associated with various cultural figures who fall under the "winter gift-bringer" archetype. The Italian witch-like figure Befana brings coal or ashes to bad children, and the Basque Olentzero was traditionally a charcoal burner by profession. However, as most folk-lore consists mainly of unwritten cultural tradition, it is very difficult to determine exactly when and how these figures developed, and what, if any, influence they had on one another.
(For the duration of this I'm going to dub any item brought by Santa as a punishment as an 'anti-gift' for a lack of a better term. Also, the following information is specific to the continental US, as that's the area I most focus on.)
To begin with - coal, in the anti-gift sense, does not necessarily refer to valuable high-grade anthracite. It could just as easily refer to low-grade industrial coal or even charcoal. It was also given in such small quantities (small enough to fit in a child's sock, as that's what stockings were originally) as to be worth almost nothing, no matter the quality.
I actually tend to agree with what most modern articles written on this subject theorize - which is that coal was just a conveniently located item that every household had. Stockings were traditionally hung on the mantle or around the stove, so the coal scuttle was right there for any disgruntled parents looking to punish their child's misbehavior.
This theory seems to be supported by other anti-gifts I've come across in Dear Santa letters which appear to be overwhelmingly fireplace related - ashes, sticks, sand (commonly used in fire buckets) and once even buffalo chips.
Ashes in particular were a very common anti-gift in much of the US in the late 19th/early 20th century. Though often the belief was that Santa would throw ashes in your eyes if you peek at him, rather than leave them in your stocking for bad behavior.
By far the most common non-fireplace-related anti-gift I come across in Dear Santa letters is switches (as in branches/rods used for corporal punishment). I've only done the scantest of formal documentation on the subject but, just given my general observations, - I'd say that switches were just as common of an anti-gift as coal, if not more so, up until the mid-20th century when corporal punishment/spanking began becoming less culturally acceptable. I have also noted that switches were noticeably more common in the Southern US, where it is not uncommon to see them mentioned in Dear Santa letters well into the 21st century (though my attempts to document any very recent data on this has been somewhat complicated by the introduction of the Nintendo Switch.)
Coal being a relatively useful and valuable item seems to have been a joke for as long as it has been a tradition, and it is not at all uncommon to see adults pointing out that fact - especially during strikes and shortages.
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Even in times of scarcity, I suspect most stocking coal ended up right back in the coal bucket, as I can't imagine most children were interesting in keeping it - thus costing the parents (or Santa) absolutely nothing.
Was coal the traditional anti-gift where any of you grew up, or was it something else?
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edwardteachswombtattoo · 9 days ago
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"Namby-Pamby in a Silk Gown": Our Flag Means Death, Toxic Masculinity, Queer Culture, and the Feminine Man
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So. Masculinity. Piracy. Our Flag Means Death. Gentlebeard. Izzy. Colonialism. What the heck does all this mean?
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I've watched a lot of queer media in my life, from John Waters movies to more contemporary modern queer cinema like "Portrait of a Lady on Fire" and "The Handmaiden". I even watched through all six seasons of "The L Word". I had the original DVD box set and everything. But when I think of queer cinema, I think of camp. I think of old classics from the seventies and eighties and nineties. The Watermelon Woman, To Wong Foo, But I'm a Cheerleader!, Female Trouble, etc.
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Our Flag Means Death is very camp. I'm not comparing it to classic queer cinema, it's a completely different experience from, say, watching a John Waters movie. But the show clearly pulls influence from classic queer cinema, at the very least for aesthetic purposes, i.e. Wee John's drag look in "Calypso's Birthday" heavily inspired by drag queen Divine. What makes Our Flag Means Death unique is it's artful sincerity and unabashed queerness for a show made so long after artful sincerity and unabashed queerness have become "taboo" in Western cinema.
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This isn't me trashing modern queer cinema and modern queer fiction. I immensely enjoyed The Handmaiden and Badhaai Do, two excellent pieces of queer cinema that have come out within the past decade. Our Flag Means Death has entered the coveted position of best queer TV show I've personally seen in a very long time because of it's artful sincerity and unabashed queerness, not because it's better than anything that came before it...because it's not better or worse than anything that came before it! OFMD is it's own thing, it's own vibe, it's own story.
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Our Flag Means Death is a story. And you can either engage with the story as written or engage only with certain small parts of it. The disconnect between audience and writers (and I say this as a writer myself) is that writers (most of them anyway) write stories for a media literate audience. But fundamentally, you do not need to reach a certain threshold of media literacy before you are allowed to engage with a story...you just engage. And this is both bad and good. No one should be barred from engaging with a story because they won't get it or even can't get it. Because if we prevent people who don't get it from engaging with the text, how are they ever going to learn how to engage with the text? They won't, is the answer. You can't gaslight gatekeep girlboss people into media literacy.
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Our Flag Means Death is not a complex story. It's very straightforward. If you do not understand what the story is doing, it's not because you're being tricked or lied to: it's because, somewhere along the line, you've misunderstood. So when the story isn't making sense, it's useful to ask yourself: is this bad writing or have I misunderstood what's being said? And sometimes it is bad writing! Sometimes it is! But which is more likely: it's all bad writing or I've personally misunderstood what the story is trying to do? If you don't understand what a story is doing, all these little moments might look like bad writing--because your brain does not know what's happening! Your brain is trying to put a puzzle together but the pieces are all flipped over so you can't see the actual picture!
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What is Our Flag Means Death is trying to do? If it's trying to do anything at all, what is it? And why does it make perfect sense for some people while others are confused, angry, even upset? And do they have a right to be? Fundamentally, if you think a story is trying to do something and it's failing at that, you have a right to be upset--and stories have a right to try and fail! That does not necessarily make the story objectively bad!
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Our Flag Means Death is trying to commentate on masculinity. Like the oft misunderstood Fight Club (coincidentally, Fight Club was written by a gay man). This is relevant. It's actually all very relevant. There is a difference between what Our Flag Means Death is attempting to do vs. what it actually does. And the line between is thin to the point of nonexistence. The discussion surrounding masculinity and what it means to be a man is just so vast, so entangled with white colonialism and imperialism and racism that any discussion requires an understanding of how these systems function. And Our Flag Means Death invites this discussion--perhaps not intentionally, but it's there. It has to be there. We can't talk about what it means to be a man without talking about race. You cannot write a story featuring an indigenous brown man that partially centers masculinity without at least grazing these topics, intentionally or unintentionally.
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This show is a comedy. A romantic comedy. I know that. We all know that. It's not going to spend forty minutes talking about race and colonialism. What it is going to do is have an indigenous man choke out a white colonizer while reading a love letter from his foppy fem boyfriend. What it is going to do is have little Ed murder his abusive white father to protect his mother. What it is going to do is have a bunch of British colonizers die horrifically after being poisoned by a black woman whose establishment they took over. What it is going to do is have Stede burn down a ship full of racist aristocrats while making sure we (the audience) see the servants escaping on a boat in the background while several of the aforementioned aristocrats jump off the burning ship to their probable deaths.
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ed you are so fucking hot holy fuck oh my godd holy fuck
Ahem.
Our Flag Means Death is not a subtle show. So when it looks you directly in the eye and says "HEY!! THIS CHARACTER IS BULLYING THIS OTHER CHARACTER WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE A FEMININE GAY MAN! I WONDER WHY THAT IS HMMM???" you should perhaps take that into consideration.
This show loves it's small details, it's winks and nods at the audience. Stede not wearing his rings the morning after "Calypso's Birthday", Wee John having a place to sit at all times, etc. But when it comes to overarching super important plot points? It's never whispered, always shouted. Or whatever Hozier said.
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"Some namby-pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend" --Izzy to Ed "A proper little seductress" --Izzy to Lucius "Who's the big gal?" --Jack to/about Stede "a heavyset woman in a silk dressing gown" --one of the British naval officers about Stede
White colonial masculinity tightens a proverbial vice around all the men in Our Flag Means Death. Some of them die for it. Others overcome and live beyond it. But it is a system enforced through emotional and physical violence. Bullying from your peers, threats of physical or emotional retaliation for stepping out of line. The coveted status of Man (patriarch, father, husband) and the inferior status of Woman (mother, wife) that must never touch. The status of Failed Man (feminine, weak, soft).
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I think Orville Peck and Willie Nelson said it first.
"And I believe to my soul that inside every man is the feminine And inside every lady, there's a deep manly voice loud and clear" ... "And inside every lady, there's a cowboy who'd love to come out And inside every cowboy, there's a lady who'd love to slip out"
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The answer to the question What is Our Flag Means Death trying to do? is a simple one. The show tells us, in very few words, what it is trying to do. The answer to Does it succeed in what it's trying to do? is subjective.
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Stede's escape from traditional colonial masculinity and his subsequent disavowing of it are subjective interpretations. But what is objective is how Our Flag Means Death chooses to approach masculinity. "Gal", "woman", "namby-pamby", and "seductress" are words used against the least traditionally masculine characters by characters who (arguably) exemplify what being a man is supposed to look like--in other words, they are being degraded by men who exemplify that traditional colonial masculinity. And because they exemplify traditional colonial masculinity, degrading men who do not follow the doctrine is an essential part of that. There must be the status of Man, the status of Woman, and the status of Failed Man that overlaps with the status of Woman. Stede is the Failed Man who overlaps with the status of Woman.
And what of Edward Teach?
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This is where the status of Man, Woman, Failed Man, Failed Woman becomes less relevant. Because of course it's all fucking made up and the whole damn concept of the gender binary is colonial nonsense. But it is especially colonial nonsense when we're talking about an indigenous brown man whose concepts of masculinity are so very removed culturally from the fast encroaching shadow of colonization. The divide becomes more vast and deliberate than when we talk about Stede, because Ed and Stede's concepts of what it means to be a man are not fundamentally identical. And then we arrive at the part where Ed chokes out a British colonizer with one hand while reading a letter from his boyfriend with the other hand. And you know, it's very hot and I think we need more of that.
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"Calypso's Birthday" is a celebration of queer love and queer joy and it's also where the themes of masculinity and embracing the feminine become so relevant. Because what else is there to say, except how much of this episode hinges on the transformative powers of love and the transformative powers of self-expression through gender fuckery? Wee John and Jim in drag, Izzy (the guy who spent most of last season getting upset that everyone on the fag ship was fagging it up all over the place) in drag, Stede and Ed's first time. And let's not forget the original plan for Episode 6 was for Stede to get a sexy makeover that involved him wearing eyeliner. We were robbed and I will be mad about this for the next 20,000 years.
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There's a part of Our Flag Means Death that's about the transformative power of love and another about how toxic masculinity literally kills and another about how artful sincerity is more attractive than ruthless cynicism in fictional media and a big huge one about how you can't critique traditional toxic masculinity without getting into these discussions about colonialism. And Our Flag Means Death does these things very well, even when it's not doing them very well it's still doing them okay. I think the gay pirate show is going to be one of those "classic" pieces of queer media that people look back on fifty or so years from now in the same way people look at queer cinema from the seventies, eighties, nineties, etc. "Oh, Our Flag Means Death? That was a fun time. I wish there were more shows like that nowadays".
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