#sarah counsell

[nerds-yearbook]

In 1890, painter Vincent Van Gough was troubled by an invisible monster that he alone could see. He found help with the sudden appearance of a time traveling alien known as the Doctor (Doctor 11) and his companion Amy. ("Vincent and the Doctor", Doctor Who, vlm 3, TV) Later that year, Vincent was inspired to paint a picture of the TARDIS, the Doctor’s time/space machine, exploding. ("The Pandorica Opens", Doctor Who, TV)

[sarah-yyy]

the worst part of this job is client interaction because i can really be out here asking y/n questions and my client will literally tell me every single thing EXCEPT the answer to my question

[nickbutnodick]

weird

[felassan]

SAG AFTRA news update:

"SAG-AFTRA Members Who Work on Video Games Go on Strike July 25th A.I. Protections Remain the Sticking Point SAG-AFTRA National Executive Director & Chief Negotiator Duncan Crabtree-Ireland, acting under the authority delegated by the SAG-AFTRA National Board, and with the unanimous advice and counsel of the Interactive Media Agreement Negotiating Committee, called a strike of the Interactive Media Agreement, effective July 26 at 12:01 a.m. Today’s vote to strike comes after more than a year and a half of negotiations without a deal. The convenience bargaining group with whom SAG-AFTRA is negotiating includes Activision Productions Inc., Blindlight LLC, Disney Character Voices Inc., Electronic Arts Productions Inc., Formosa Interactive LLC, Insomniac Games Inc., Llama Productions LLC, Take 2 Productions Inc., VoiceWorks Productions Inc., and WB Games Inc. Any game looking to employ SAG-AFTRA talent to perform covered work must sign on to the new Tiered-Budget Independent Interactive Media Agreement, the Interim Interactive Media Agreement or the Interim Interactive Localization Agreement. These agreements offer critical A.I. protections for members. Negotiations began in October 2022 and on Sept. 24, 2023, SAG-AFTRA members approved a video game strike authorization with a 98.32% yes vote. Although agreements have been reached on many issues important to SAG-AFTRA members, the employers refuse to plainly affirm, in clear and enforceable language, that they will protect all performers covered by this contract in their A.I. language. “We’re not going to consent to a contract that allows companies to abuse A.I. to the detriment of our members. Enough is enough. When these companies get serious about offering an agreement our members can live — and work — with, we will be here, ready to negotiate,” stated SAG-AFTRA President Fran Drescher.   “The video game industry generates billions of dollars in profit annually. The driving force behind that success is the creative people who design and create those games. That includes the SAG-AFTRA members who bring memorable and beloved game characters to life, and they deserve and demand the same fundamental protections as performers in film, television, streaming, and music: fair compensation and the right of informed consent for the A.I. use of their faces, voices, and bodies. Frankly, it’s stunning that these video game studios haven’t learned anything from the lessons of last year - that our members can and will stand up and demand fair and equitable treatment with respect to A.I., and the public supports us in that,” said Crabtree-Ireland. “Eighteen months of negotiations have shown us that our employers are not interested in fair, reasonable A.I. protections, but rather flagrant exploitation. We refuse this paradigm – we will not leave any of our members behind, nor will we wait for sufficient protection any longer. We look forward to collaborating with teams on our Interim and Independent contracts, which provide A.I. transparency, consent and compensation to all performers, and to continuing to negotiate in good faith with this bargaining group when they are ready to join us in the world we all deserve." said Interactive Media Agreement Negotiating Committee Chair Sarah Elmaleh.  For more information and to search whether a video game is struck, please visit sagaftra.org/videogamestrike."

[source]

[theetherealbloom]

YOU'RE THE RISK, I'M GONNA TAKE IT

Summary: You help your boss, Joel Miller, buy flowers for his date. Or so you thought.

Paring: No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, SMUT, Light Angst, Reader Dislikes Roses (i also dislike them :P), Kissing, Cheesy, Crush, Grumpy Single Dad, Office/Workplace Romance, Assistant!Reader, Billionaire!Joel, CEO!Joel, Boss!Joel, She Falls First and He Falls Harder Trope, Grumpy/Sunshine Trope, Idiots-In-Love, Confessions, PWP (wrap it up ya’ll), Fingering, Power Imbalance, Pet Names, ‘Good Girl’, ‘Darlin’,

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: SOOOO WE’VE ALL SEEN THAT PIC RIGHT???? FML, if I ever saw that man carrying flowers and gifting them to me, I would marry him right away. 

This is for @morallyinept Jett’s Flora & Fauna Writing Challenge for May! I was obviously inspired by the picture in the moodboard above and my love for Gracie Abram’s new song Risk! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated, thank you all for reading and supporting my deluluness tehe.

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

Song: Risk by Gracie Abrams

Main Masterlist

In the elegant floral shop, the scent of fresh blooms enveloped you as you stood beside your boss, Joel Miller, a man of many responsibilities and hidden depths. His piercing gaze fixed on a display of vibrant roses, seeking your opinion on a matter close to his heart - choosing the perfect flowers for a date.

Joel, a handsome billionaire with a company to run, a daughter to care for, and a brother to watch over, often sought your counsel on matters both personal and professional. Whether it was a crucial business decision or selecting a gift for Sarah's upcoming birthday, he valued your input more than he let on.

You studied the roses with a critical eye, your brows furrowing slightly as you considered the implications of his choice. "I think Lauren will love it," you finally offered, your voice tinged with a hint of reservation at the mention of Joel's recent romantic interest.

The name 'Lauren' left a bitter taste in your mouth, a woman who seemed more interested in Joel's wealth and status than in him as a person. You couldn't shake the feeling that she was using him for her own gain, and the thought of Joel falling for her facade made your stomach churn.

Joel's keen observation didn't miss the subtle shift in your demeanor. "Why are you makin' that face?" he questioned, his narrowed eyes fixed on you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Your heart raced at being caught off guard, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "What face?" you attempted to deflect, but Joel saw through your facade with unnerving accuracy.

"The one you make when you don't like somethin'. You're scrunchin' your nose and everythin'," he pointed out, his gesture leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Caught in his perceptive gaze, you struggled to find the right words, knowing that you couldn't deceive him. There was an unspoken connection between you, a bond that transcended the boundaries of employer and assistant, leaving you feeling both exhilarated and unnerved by his proximity.

Joel's expectant gaze bore into you, his hand resting casually on his hip as he awaited your response, a subtle sign of his contemplation or frustration. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a silent understanding passing between you as you navigated the delicate dance of honesty and restraint in your shared space.

You settled for the truth, pinching your lips as if you were thinking how to phrase the next few words, eventually meeting his brown eyes and saying, "I don't like roses." The words hung in the air, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying.

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. Before he could respond, you cut him off, rambling on in a nervous attempt to clarify your thoughts. "I know, I know, it's just... my preference. It's not that I don't find them pretty... I do. It's just, sometimes it feels like there's no thought into getting someone roses."

You really should shut up, but you couldn't stop, your words tumbling out in a rush. "That's not to say you're not like putting in the effort to get Lauren... roses or something. It's just there's a whole language to flowers and their meaning, and there's definitely more options than just a whole bouquet of roses."

The silence that followed was oppressive, Joel's eyes roaming all over your figure as if taking in every detail. You felt like you were going to vomit, because there was no way you had just told your boss that he wasn't being thoughtful as he was getting the bitch flowers.

"What d'you like then?" Joel's deep voice asked, his tone low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. You took a moment to formulate an answer, your heart racing with anticipation.

"Red Peonies," you swallowed, the words feeling like a revelation.

"Why?" Joel asked, his eyes never leaving yours, and you swear he took a small step closer to you, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing.

"Besides it representing love, it also represents passion, honour and respect," you explained, trying to sound calm despite the turmoil inside. "There's just something more to it, I guess."

The air was tense, Joel's gaze burning into you like a brand. You felt like you were drowning in the depths of his eyes, the silence between you a palpable thing. You knew you should look away, but you couldn't, your gaze locked onto his as if drawn by an unseen force.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in a moment of raw emotion. You knew that you had crossed a line, but you couldn't help the way you felt. The truth was out, and now you just had to face the consequences.

The sharp chime of a phone shattered the charged silence between you, pulling you both back to the reality of the moment. You reluctantly pulled out your phone, a sigh escaping your lips as you delivered the news. "Your 3 p.m. meeting with Bill and Frank is coming up. We should buy those roses and go—"

But before you could finish, Joel interjected, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of reluctance. "We can come back for them later."

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden change of heart. Quickly regaining your composure, you slipped back into your assistant mode. "I could have them delivered and—"

"Don't worry about it, darlin'," Joel cut you off, his deep Southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine. "Let's go to the damn meeting before Tess starts tellin' me off again."

Without another word, Joel strode towards the waiting car, the driver opening the door as you followed, slipping into the plush leather seat beside him. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken emotions between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

As the car pulled away from the curb, you found yourself acutely aware of Joel's presence, his warmth and the subtle scent of his cologne enveloping you. The silence stretched on, neither of you quite sure how to navigate the charged atmosphere that had settled over the two of you.

You stole a glance at Joel, his brow furrowed in thought, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on the armrest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the gap that had suddenly opened between you, but the weight of your professional relationship held you back.

The drive to the office was a blur, the familiar sights and sounds of the city passing by in a haze as your mind raced with a thousand unspoken thoughts. When the car finally pulled to a stop, you both exited in silence, the weight of the unresolved tension hanging heavy in the air.

As you made your way through the bustling lobby, Joel's hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You couldn't help but wonder if the touch was intentional, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that simmered beneath the surface.

But as you turned to leave, Joel's voice stopped you in your tracks. "Darlin'," he murmured, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. "We need to talk."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to face him, unsure of what could possibly be running through Joel's mind. The intensity of his gaze only added to the butterflies in your stomach, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of hope and trepidation at what he might say.

"What is it, Joel?" You asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

He took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your heart skipped a beat at his touch, and you couldn't help but lean into it.

"I can't ignore this any longer," Joel began, his voice low and full of raw emotion. "I've been trying to fight it, but I can't deny how I feel about you any longer."

Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke those words, a rush of emotions flooding through you. Could it be possible that Joel felt the same way about you? Or was this all just some cruel joke?

"Joel..." You started, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No, let me finish," he said firmly. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I haven't been able to get you out of my head. And when we spent that night together at the charity event...I knew then that I had feelings for you."

You were speechless, unable to believe what was happening. You had harbored secret feelings for Joel for so long and never thought they would be reciprocated.

"I know there's the whole boss-assistant dynamic between us," Joel continued with a small self-deprecating smile. "But I can't let that hold me back from telling you how I feel."

A mix of emotions swirled inside you, and you couldn't help but feel torn. On one hand, you wanted to give into the feelings that had been building between you and Joel for so long. But on the other hand, the thought of risking your professional relationship and possibly even your job was a daunting prospect.

"Joel, I-I don't know what to say," you stammered, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said softly. "I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Silence fell between you as you both stood there, lost in your own thoughts. You were torn between what your heart wanted and what your head was telling you was logical.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you gathered the courage to speak again. "Joel, I care about you too," you admitted quietly. "But there are so many complications..."

"I know," he said with a sad smile. "But we can figure it out together."

His words filled you with hope and warmth, but at the same time fear also crept in. You knew that pursuing a romantic relationship with Joel would be risky and could potentially cause problems at work.

Before either of you could say more, there was a knock on Joel's office door. Startled out of your reverie, you both turned to see Chelsea peeking her head inside.

"Hey guys, sorry to interrupt," she said apologetically. "But, Mr. Miller, we have that meeting with McKenna about the upcoming merger in 10 minutes."

After Chelsea left, Joel turned back to you, a hopeful expression on his face. "Can I see you later? Outside of work, I mean."

Your heart raced at the thought of spending more time with him outside of the office. You knew it was risky and could potentially cause problems, but the thrill of taking a chance with Joel was too enticing to resist.

"I'd like that...a lot," you replied, unable to stop a small smile from forming on your lips.

His face lit up at your response and he took a step closer towards you. "Can I kiss you?" he asked hesitantly.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."

Without any hesitation, Joel leaned down and gently pressed his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss at first, but quickly became more passionate as the chemistry between you two intensified. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss.

Eventually, the need for air forced you both to pull away. You gazed into each other's eyes, both panting slightly from the intensity of the moment.

"I should go," you said reluctantly.

Joel nodded and gave your hand one last squeeze before letting go. "I'll see you later then? I’ll meet you at your place.”

You smiled and nodded before heading out of his office. As you walked back to your own desk, your mind raced with thoughts of Joel and what this could all mean for your future.

Later that evening, as you heard a knock at your door, you couldn't help but feel excited and nervous. You had been thinking about Joel all day and now here he was, standing outside your door with a beautiful bouquet of peonies.

You quickly peeked through the door viewer, confirming that it was indeed Joel standing there. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hi Sweetheart," he said with his perfect smile, his dimple making an appearance on the left corner of his cheek.

"Hey," you replied with a bashful smile. "Come in."

Joel stepped inside, holding out the vase of peonies towards you. "I brought these for you," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection.

You took them from him and breathed in their sweet scent. "Oh, Joel, you remembered.”

"Anythin’ for you," Joel said with a small grin.

You couldn't help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you for remembering. They're beautiful. Thank you."

He shrugged nonchalantly before turning to take off his shoes. "So what should we do tonight? I can cook us dinner or we could go out somewhere if you prefer."

The idea of Joel cooking for you sounded wonderful, but at the same time, going out together also seemed like an exciting adventure.

"How about we have dinner here tonight and then we can go out tomorrow?" You suggested.

"That sounds perfect," Joel agreed with a smile.

As he prepared dinner in your kitchen, the two of you chatted comfortably about work and other random topics. It felt easy to talk to Joel and be around him, like it was just natural for the two of you to be together.

After enjoying a delicious dinner cooked by Joel (who turned out to be quite the chef), the two of you sat on your couch watching a movie. As the movie played on, you couldn't help but steal glances at Joel, his eyes intense as they flicked between the screen and your face. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows that danced across his features.

Joel shifted slightly, his arm brushing against yours and sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to him, your heart pounding in your chest, and found yourself caught in his gaze. Without a word, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

The world around you faded away as Joel's mouth finally met yours in a searing kiss. His hands roamed over your body, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume everything in its path. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate.

You melted into each other, lost in a haze of passion and desire. Clothes were shed in a frenzy of need, skin meeting skin in a symphony of sensation. Joel's touch was electric, sending sparks throughout your body and setting every nerve on fire.

As you lay intertwined on the couch, your breathing heavy and your bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat, Joel's eyes searched yours intensely.

"I've wanted to do this for so long," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

You couldn't form words as he began trailing kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands explored every inch of your body, worshipping you with his touch.

"I want you," you finally managed to say, arching your back as he grazed his teeth along your collarbone.

With a growl, Joel lifted you up into his arms and carried you to the bedroom. 

He laid you down on the bed with a hunger in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and dip as if he was mapping out his favorite treasure. You moaned softly as his lips grazed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Joel's kisses grew more urgent, more demanding, igniting a primal need within you. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered his name like a prayer. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth with a fierce intensity that made your head spin.

He teased and tormented you with his touch, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your breath hitched as he plunged into you, filling you completely and setting your senses ablaze.

The rhythm between you grew frantic, fueled by a hunger that could not be satisfied. Every thrust brought you closer to the edge, your body yearning for his touch, craving the sweet release that only he could bring.

He whispered filthy words into your ear, his voice gruff and raw with desire. "You want it," he growled, "You need it." His fingers gripped your hips, guiding you onto his shaft with deliberate precision. You groaned, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, your body begging for more.

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue dueling with yours, their movements synchronized with the wild rhythm of their bodies. His hands roamed over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, as he explored every inch of your body with a possessive possessiveness.

You moaned, writhing against him, your body trembling with need, your heart pounding in sync with the frantic beat of his, as he plunged deeper into you with each thrust. Your nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks that would later serve as a reminder of this night.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses as he nuzzled your collarbone, then your chest, and finally your nipples, which hardened under the gentle caress of his tongue. You arched your back, your body craving for more, as his hands cupped your breasts, kneading them with a ferocity that made you gasp.

As he continued to ravage your body, you could feel the heat building between your legs, a fiery ache that begged for relief. Your hips bucked against his, seeking that sweet release, the friction sending spears of pleasure through you. He groaned, his own arousal swelling, and he thrust harder, his hips meshing with yours.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your curves, leaving trails of electricity in their wake. You arched your back, your breasts thrusting forward, begging for his attention. He didn't disappoint, his mouth closing over one taut nipple, teeth gently scraping against the sensitive flesh, while his other hand trailed down your side, slipping between your legs.

Your breath hitched as his fingers found their mark, teasing your swollen folds, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through you. Your body trembled, desperate for his touch, for him to drown you in sensation. He obliged, his fingers delving deeper, slick with your arousal. 

The roughness of his touch against your sensitive skin became a symphony of pleasure, as he slid in and out, his rhythm perfect, his fingers working in unison with the movements of his hips. You could feel yourself nearing the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck, c’mon darlin, be a good girl, give it to me,” He groaned, as he sensed your impending release and increased the speed of his fingers, sending you over the edge in a wave of pure ecstasy. Your back arched off the bed, your nails digging into his skin as you cried out his name. He followed you over, spilling into you with a guttural moan.

You collapsed onto the bed, spent and breathless, but he wasn't done with you yet. He rolled you onto your hands and knees, positioning himself behind you. You felt him smirk against your back before he slammed into you again, filling you up completely.

His pace was rougher now, more primal as he claimed your body as his own. You met each thrust eagerly, reveling in the raw passion that flowed between you.

He reached around to caress your clit, adding another layer of stimulation to the already mind-blowing experience. Your moans and cries filled the room as he drove you both to new heights of pleasure.

As you were both on the verge of climax once again, he flipped you over onto your back and plunged into you one final time. With one hand gripping your thigh and the other tangled in your hair, he pounded into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

When he finally let go and spilled inside of you for a second time, it was like a dam had burst within both of them. You clung to each other as waves of pleasure washed over you both until eventually subsiding.

You lay there tangled together in a sweaty mess, your limbs intertwined as you both fought to catch your breath. The air was thick with the scent of passion, the sheets clinging to your bodies in a sensual embrace. As the haze lifted from your minds and your heart rates slowly returned to normal, you looked up at him and smiled, your eyes shining with a mix of contentment and wonder.

"That was incredible," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate moment.

His lips curved into a satisfied grin, his gaze burning into you with a intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. "You're incredible," he replied, his voice husky with desire, the words caressing your skin like a lover's touch.

You both lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow of your intense lovemaking. The sheets were tangled around the two of you, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of being intertwined with him, your bodies still connected in an intimate embrace.

A part of you couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension, a nagging voice in the back of your mind warning you that this was uncharted territory. You were jumping headfirst into the deep end, and the risk of drowning was ever-present. But as you gazed into his eyes, the warmth and affection you saw there quelled your fears, replacing them with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation.

"I can't believe this is happening," you murmured, your fingers tracing the contours of his face, as if to reassure yourself that this was real. "I never thought we'd end up here, but I'm so glad we did."

He chuckled, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a shiver of delight through you. "Darlin', you have no idea how long I've been waitin' for this," he confessed, his hand caressing your cheek with a tenderness that belied the passion that had just consumed them.

You felt a surge of emotion welling up inside you, a mix of joy, trepidation, and a deep, abiding love that threatened to overwhelm you. "I'm scared," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm also so excited to see where this takes us."

His expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, reassuring kiss. "I'm here, darlin'," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "We'll figure it out, together."

As you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, you knew that no matter the challenges, you would face them side by side. The risk of drowning may have been ever-present, but with him by your side, you were ready to dive in, to explore the depths of this newfound love and see where it would take you.

[cameronspecial]

I Want To Be Your Boyfriend

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Sex

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.9K

Summary: Rafe never thought that he could fall for a Pogue, but the Goddess in front of him might change his mind.

A/N: This is a prequel to I Want To Be With You and requested by @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

When he first saw her, he thought she was the most beautiful Kook he had ever seen. The lavender silk Prada shirt she is wearing crops just above her belly button. It reveals a delicious sliver of her stomach that he just wants to rest his hands on. The recognizable double G of her creamed colour belt displays the girl’s financial status. But as Rafe’s eyes trail down to her pants, confusion crosses his features. The black jeans she wears are distraught with holes in a fashionable manner, yet, he doesn’t recognize the brand and the material looks too cheap to be a brand name. Her shoes also don’t match the top half of her outfit as the white Sketchers look so worn out that it had to be done because she can’t afford new ones and not because of aesthetics. 

Sarah and the rest of the Pogues joining his Goddess help put the puzzle pieces together in his mind. His sister is known for her love of sharing her clothes with her Pogue friends, so the Goddess in front of him must be a Pogue. Unlike Sarah, Rafe would never associate himself with Pogues unless they were working for him. Yet, the concern she shows for JJ over a bleeding cut on his forehead from falling down makes Rafe realize he doesn’t care that she lives on the wrong side of the island. She lets out the most amazing laugh he has ever heard and he has to be the one that makes her smile. He makes his way over to talk to her, but Kiara stops him in his tracks. 

“Don’t even think about it. She is too good for you,” she warns him away. He tries to sidestep her, “Come on, Kiara. Let me talk to her.” The girl shakes his head and turns him away. He doesn’t want to make a scene in front of the goddess, so he walks away in defeat. Throughout the night, he tries to talk to her and is intercepted by the other Pogues. 

——

For weeks he has been trying to talk to her, but every time a Pogue is there to stop him. At least he learnt her name. Y/N Y/L/N, the name of a goddess. He is sent by his dad to pick up something to eat at The Wreck and this is when he sees her next. She is whipping down a table on the far side of the room, which makes him switch course toward her. JJ spots Rafe’s new direction and runs into his path with a smirk. “I’m sorry, man. I can’t let you near her.” “You can’t tell me what to do, Pogue,” Rafe spits out, standing up straight so the small height distance looks a little bigger. JJ wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand to try to hide his chuckle, “When it comes to her, I can. Now, as the French say, arrivederci.” Rafe is going to argue more, but the call of his name for his order pulls him away from the blonde.

——

It felt like fate when he got to the coffee shop to see her hunched over a notebook by herself. He looks around the store to check that she really is alone and no other pogue is in sight. He grins at this new revelation, sliding himself across from her in the booth. “I’ve been trying to introduce myself for weeks. I’m Rafe,” he sticks his hand out for her to shake. She brings her hand to his and he notices that although they are calloused, they are still supple, “I know your name silly. And I know you know that you have been trying. My friends don’t keep things from me.” 

“Right, so you’ve just been making me chase after you on purpose.” 

“You know, Rafe, you are the one with the name that means counsel of the wolf in Old Norse. I’m starting to see that it is a pretty accurate name.”

“You are just as smart as I thought you were because I have no idea what you mean.”

She finds his honesty cute, “I’m saying that wolves are predators and you have been chasing after me like a pray for weeks.” He likes that she isn’t condescending when she explains the joke to him. “Ahh, I totally understood that. Please, keep blessing me with your wisdom.” 

——

Rafe has been talking and texting Y/N for a month now and he is finally convinced they are not going to be caught hanging out together by the other Pogues. This means he is finally going to ask her to go steady with him because he is assured they can go on a date without being caught. She stares at her TV show while his head is resting on her thigh near her stomach. He is between her legs and his focus is on his phone. “Y/N,” he catches her attention. “I want to be your boyfriend.” His tone is practically begging her to say yes. She looks down at him with a soft smile and her fingers lace through his hair. “Rafey, I would love for you to be my boyfriend. But I don’t think there is going to be much of a difference in our relationship,” she confides, twirling his hair between her fingers.

“Why not?” 

“I don’t think you can get any more clingy than this, Rafey.”

“True, but there is something I can start craving more than your touch, Baby”

He lifts his head off her thigh and brings himself to hover over Y/N. He gives her a peck before moving in to deepen the kiss. His hands find the buttons of her shirt as he begins kissing his way down her neck. Forget about her laughter, her moans are the most amazing thing he has ever heard.

[wildemaven]

life and loss | joel miller

pairing: dave york x f!reader / joel miller x f!reader word count: 1k content warnings: 18+ blog; death, grief/loss, major character death (no description of said death), AU and crossover universes, kind of fluffy, navigating loss, reader is non descriptive/blank slate. notes: this randomly came to me yesterday on my walk. It was meant to be just a moodboard and a small blurb to go along with it… and then this happened. Oops! Tried to pack a lot into a small thing so hopefully it makes sense.

Momentos of him, your late husband, have remained tucked away for the last year following his unexpected death. As you settle into your new widowed life and new home over a thousand miles away from the life you created with Dave, all the beautiful memories reside in cardboard boxes out of sight. 

Word travels quickly through the small neighborhood about your arrival and marital status— or lack thereof. Welcoming introductions turn into unannounced check-ins and flowers. Uncomfortable small talk on your front porch is sprinkled throughout the following weeks, a hand on your shoulder accentuates their let us know if you need anything. Sympathetic casseroles finally dwindle allowing you to finally ease into this new season of your life. 

The hammock left by the previous owners becomes your sanctuary most evenings. Searching for the brightest star in the night’s sky, then asking Dave how he’s doing before reading aloud to him the words from your latest book. 

It's days later when you’ve read the final word that a small voice from over the fence manifests as a quirky teenage girl sitting at a table you’ve set up on your back patio. She has a million and one questions about the book and is filled with theories about what happens beyond its ending. The side gate is never regularly latched closed now, eagerly awaiting Ellie’s return. She navigates most of your late night conversations that follow, including personal stories and the history of her life. My grump of an old man is in construction. He’s single by the way— not by choice, but life happens. 

His voice is calloused the first time he makes his presence known to you. Goddamn it, Ellie! I told you to leave her alone! They exchange brittle words back and forth through the shared barrier, before you insist he join the two of you. The crunch of his boots on the ground stall when he towers over where you’re still seated. His hand engulfing yours, warm and gentle as he tries to determine where his gaze should fall— you, the ground, the smirking teenager sitting across from you. Joel. Joel Miller. Uh, Ellie n’ I live next door. Not sure how long she’s been botherin’ you, but I’ll be sure it doesn’t happen again.

It’s weeks later when you run into Joel at the mailboxes. The clanking of keys and squeaky hinges fill the space between you before you’re both retreating back to your respective pathways. Your hands fidget and twist the bills and letters from your parents when you bravely initiate a conversation before he’s able to reach his front door. She’s the first person since moving here who wanted to talk to me about something other than the death of my husband. I don’t think I’ve laughed as much as I have with her in a long time. She’s welcome over here anytime. 

He reeks of nervousness as he stands on your doorstep the following evening. The ambered hue of his eyes absorb the warmth from the front porch light, adding a brightness to them that they seem to be commonly lacking. His words waver a bit as he begins to speak, starting and stopping, scrubbing his hand down his face before he attempts to start again. You offer him nothing but patience, sensing the mournful energy radiating off him— similar to the one you’ve been carrying. My wife and older daughter— they were both in an accident on their way to Sarah’s soccer game. I was pickin’ up Ellie from her counseling group for adopted kids. We were headin’ to the soccer field when I got the call. Some days are harder than others. And everyone wants to help, however that may be— lots of food as I’m sure you know. It doesn’t ever really get easier, but you learn to live with grief. Anyways, if you ever need anything or just want to talk— you know where I live.  

He accepts your impulsive invitation to join you for dinner, offering him the open seat across from you in the same spot as your timid first meeting. The crickets orchestrate the evening ambience as you share stories you’d tucked away, too painful to revisit until now. You find you laugh just as much, if not more, with Joel. Even among the tears shed, the conversation is filled with a hope and optimism that you longed for. 

You still feel his wholesome embrace long after you’ve called it a night to seek out much needed sleep. But much like the nights that ensued after Dave’s death, loneliness and the weight of your grief rear its head. 

The black ink glides over the surface of the paper. Line after line formulated a year’s worth of unsaid words that had been bottled up and blockaded by the rigid walls you’d built around them. Joel was right about the therapeutic effect of getting rid of the burdensome thoughts that come with loss, finding it’s hard to stop now that you’ve started. 

You convey the love that you still carry for Dave, something you’ll never willfully ignore or regret. It feels wrong but you touch on the hatred you feel towards his death; you hate him for leaving you, hate that you miss him, hate that some nights you forget the small details that you cherished about him. You tell him about Joel and the kindness he’s afforded you in a short time of knowing him and that there’s life beyond losing the love of your life. To look for the light even when shrouded by darkness. 

Pictures and trinkets find their way out of the cardboard confines Joel helped pull out from the guest room closet. The bare walls now filled with familiar faces and shelves adorn with colorful memories that you tried so hard to keep hidden. 

Joel and Ellie being a constant presence in your life allows you to see that life can surprise you when you least expect it and there’s room for new love. 

[senselessviolets]

being roman roy’s personal assistant (and his obsession) would include…

Rating M

WARNINGS:

Language, sexual tension, degradation, power imbalance, Roman being Roman weird.

Author's Notes:

Pretty self-explanatory. No uses of Y/N. Some brief RomanGerri. Very much inspired by @nanabrainrot's fic series with Pervert!Roman because it's divineeee. Highly recommend it!!

Roman never saw himself as the type to have an assistant. In fact, he was the only one of the Roy siblings to not have one. Kendall, of course, had Jess, Shiv had Sarah, and even though Connor never liked to bring it up out of fear of making him seem less earnest and hardworking to his supporters, he too had a “yes man” managing his personal affairs for him. 

It was following the Hungary company retreat that Gerri offered to set Roman up with an assistant. She knew of a trusted agency that would be able to help him narrow down candidates and find a person best suited for his needs. 

That person just so happened to be you. 

Roman absolutely wolf-whistled at the picture attached to your portfolio when thumbing through the candidates he was matched with through the agency. Gerri made him promise not to make any untoward or inappropriate comments to you during your interview for the job. Roman saw it as a ‘woman thing’ but Gerri being legal counsel saw it as a nightmare waiting to happen.

Upon meeting with you and the hiring manager, Roman scoured the internet for any information on you. Even though all of the important need-to-know info could be found on your resume or your fucking LinkedIn profile—that wasn’t enough for him. 

He tore through all of your public social media accounts, saving any particularly flattering images of you (swimsuit pictures, nightclub outings, etc.) and examining them throughout the day.

Suffice it to say, you got the job.

At first, Roman doesn’t know what to make of you. He sits you at a small desk on the opposite side of his own in his office.

Personality and demeanor-wise you’re in line with what he had wanted. Physically, he was already well-acquainted with your curves and the way certain types of clothes clung to your body. 

In the long stretches of silence of you two working in the same room, he imagined briefly what you looked like underneath your clothes. 

At home when it was just him and his right hand, he imagined what it’d be like to tear them off and leave them in tatters on the floor.

The better you get to know each other, the bigger his private album devoted to images of you grows.

Roman starts to pry into your personal life, asking if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Then he makes random passes at you throughout the day. Having worked with a wide array of smarmy, gross men in the past—you were hardly phased. Because a part of you sees through the facade. You know he just wants to rile you up—to get a reaction out of you.

You realize after a while that he wants you to be repulsed by him. 

This incites something within you.

Roman starts dragging you to one-on-ones with investors and having you sit in on board meetings, much to the annoyance of many.

Shiv tells you (jokingly) to run before you wind up being chased down the hallways with a chainsaw. 

While waiting together outside of a rather important meeting with many high-level executives, Greg informs you of a rumor that Roman has a dick pic circulating the office. But that in particular—he had meant to send it to you. 

You don’t know how to feel.  

These forced attendances at random meetings turn into becoming his designated armpiece for public events and parties. 

At one of them, Stewy taunts Roman, saying you’re not the only woman he pays to touch him. 

You laugh loudly at this joke which surprises them both. You crack a few of your own at Roman’s expense. Some are based on fiction, the others in fact. The shame floods his cheeks but the way he grips tighter at your waist tells you to keep going. To get meaner. So you do. You get a lot meaner.

Roman’s jaw clenches for a moment. Then his lips part. You convince yourself it's just a buzz from the drinks you’ve just had; that you did not just shit-talk your boss into arousal. 

But the clumsy way Roman adjusts his stance, the subtle outline of something forming at the front of his pants, and how he excuses himself to the bathroom says otherwise.

The text you receive moments later from his number confirms this; “You know what you did, you fucking bitch.”.

It’s your direct reply to that message though that makes his breath hitch; 

“Show me then, you sick fuck.”

{ Feedback is welcome! }

Follow me on twt: @endlessviolets

<3

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 1

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

“Tell me again how it happened.”

It’s a standoff in the kitchen. Ellie’s face, flushed and furious, twists in a pout. Joel grips the back of a dining chair with one tight fist.

One week. It’s been one fucking week since school started, and Ellie has already come home with the pink slip of all pink slips.

“She tried to take my pen. Twice.”

“And?”

“So I…I took my knife out…”

“Uh-huh.”

 “...and I stabbed it into her desk…”

Joel winces.

“...and I told her if she tried that shit again I’d do the same to her fucking finger.”

“Ellie–”

“It’s not my fucking fault no one taught her to keep her hands to herself!”

“I know, and she–she shouldn’t have done that, Ellie, but you can’t just–”

“It’s not like I actually stabbed someone, Joel!”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, kid. You can’t–you can’t do that shit here. This ain’t FEDRA. There’s no hole. Keep it up and they’re liable to put us outside the damn wall.”

“Tommy wouldn’t–“

“He doesn’t run this place. An’ Maria’s already on my ass about…everythin’.”

“Maybe we should leave, then,” she huffs.

“You don’t mean that.”

“We made out okay. We could do it again.”

“Ellie,” his voice softens. He draws his palms down his face. The start of a headache pulses behind his eyes. “Look, I know it’s…different. But we’re here now. We gotta make do.”

Four months in Jackson. Four months since he shot his way out of a hospital in Salt Lake City and carried the unconscious girl to safety. Four months since she asked for the truth and he told her the whopper of all lies instead.

When he thinks about it that way, things are going about as well as he has any right to expect.

He’d hoped going to school would give her some structure, that she’d make a few friends, but so far, every morning has been a trudge, every night a standoff. When she’s not clinging to his side like a lost lamb or waking from nightmares to crawl into his bed, she’s hurling sharp words and slamming doors and stomping around.

Months on the road together, but he’s never seen her so goddamn bratty.

He’s taking a lot of deep breaths. He’s counting to ten. He’s trying not to see the judgmental frowns from his sister-in-law when Ellie storms out of a family gathering or calls him an asshole at the caf in front of the whole fuckin’ town.

She’s never had the space to act out, he reminds himself. She’s never been fed enough, warm enough, safe enough, loved enough, and he gets the brunt of her anger. The way Sarah would come home after a long day at school and turn into a grouchy wildebeest for him after being an angel for her teachers.

It’s normal, he tells himself on the worst nights. Ellie’s making up for fourteen years of repression.

But he’s tired and she’s strumming his last nerve like it’s a fuckin’ guitar.

She’s holding out another note, this one hand-written and co-signed by members of the council. He notes Maria’s signature at the top with some disdain.

“Counseling,” Joel sighs, skimming it. “Mandated. Twelve weeks.”

“You’re not really gonna make me go, are you? C’mon, man, it’s a death sentence!”

“Hardly. You’re lucky they didn’t suspend you.”

“I wish they had. Then I wouldn’t have to go to that stupid fucking school.”

“Ellie–”

“I hate it here,” she spits out. Her lower lip trembles and he has to look away, eking out a tight breath.

“Yeah, kid. I know. But you gotta give it a chance.”

“I did, and it sucks.”

“You’re not giv–”

“Going to my room,” she huffs, already moving for the stairs. 

“You need to eat first,” he says, gritting his teeth when she rolls her eyes. “And you’re grounded.”

Those words have never come out of his mouth. He doesn’t even know what being grounded looks like in this day and age.

“What?! Joel–”

“You heard me,” he says, making it up as he goes. “Two weeks. You’re back here every night after your assignments. No wanderin’ around with your friends.”

“Lucky for me I don’t have any fucking friends.”

“That ain’t–“

“This is bullshit,” she seethes, then turns on her heel and stomps up the stairs.

“Damnit, Ellie, you need to eat–”

“I’m not hungry!”

The door at the top of the stairs slams shut, ending the conversation and leaving Joel to collapse into a chair with his face in his hands.

“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Yeah, this is bullshit.”

One week later she’s sulking over breakfast at the house.

“The guy wants to talk to you,” she says through a mouthful of eggs.

“‘The guy’? And close your mouth when you chew.”

Ellie wrinkles her nose, opening her mouth wide to show him her half-chewed breakfast, a move that’s painfully reminiscent of a different time, a different kid.

“I told you at dinner. The counselor guy.”

He frowns. “It’s a guy?”

She rolls her eyes. “And women can even be doctors! Dude, you are so old .”

“S’not what I meant, smartass,” he mutters. “I just…I know you’ve had some, uh…issues with…guys.”

Since Silver Lake , he doesn’t say.

“Only the creepy ones,” she says, stabbing a piece of potato. “Ezra’s not creepy. He’s, like, cool. He has a huge record collection.”

“Uh-huh. An’ he needs to see me why?”

“I don’t fucking know, dude. Unlike you, I didn’t give him the third degree.”

He bites his tongue. “Alright. When?”

“Before school. Today.”

Joel looks at the clock, then back at Ellie. 7:50 .

“So we need to go…right now,” he mutters, draining his coffee and gathering his dishes to put them in the sink. “Thanks for the notice.”

“I told you last night! Not my fault you’re deaf.”

Admittedly, she’d talked a lot at dinner last night. Mostly about how some kid named Dina was a jerk who deserved to have her finger taken off for being a ‘fucking klepto’ with her pen. But he’d been so tired and the headache behind his eyes won’t give him a rest.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sighs. “Don’t forget your bag.”

They step out into the streets of Jackson on a mild September morning. It’s the rush hour–if a town of a few hundred can be said to have a rush hour–with shift changes on the wall and everyone off to their assigned duties. They pass familiar faces; neighbors Joel still doesn’t have names for, kids he recognizes from Ellie’s school who give them a wide berth. Joel hunches inward, following the maroon cast of her sweatshirt through clusters of Jackson residents.

“You don’t have a brother, do you?” she says out of the blue.

“You know I do,” he frowns.

“No duh. But you don’t have another brother, right?”

“Not that I’m aware of, kid.”

“Like, what if your dad had a secret family–”

“Christ, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“C’mon, it can happen! I just–I wondered–”

“What the heck are you gettin' at, kid? Spit it out.”

“It’s nothin’,” she says, but there’s a weird little smile on her face. “You’ll see.” 

She leads him to the little house at the other end of town and knocks on the blue door. Ellie keeps looking up at him with the same funny smirk.

A dark-eyed man answers, peering through the screen. Dark, fitted T-shirt, slim black jeans. Younger than Joel by at least ten years, probably more, with a wide smile and messy black-brown curls with an odd streak of white at his temple.

He looks like a fuckin’ punk.

“Hi, Ezra,” Ellie says breezily. “This is Joel.”

“Hello, young prodigy,” he smiles, drawling in a southern accent that Joel can’t quite place. “Come in, come in both of you…join me in my humble abode.”

He leads them inside and to the right, to a little den just off the entry. It’s a snug office with a couch and chair, a coffee table in the center, and bookshelves lining the walls on either side. A record player sits on a podium in one corner.

Joel puts out his hand, realizing too late the other man isn’t able to reciprocate, lacking an arm with which to do so. Ellie watches with a smug smirk, lips twitching a little as Joel drops his right hand and fumbles through a handshake with his left. He shoots her a glare.

Couldn’t have mentioned that?

She shrugs, feigning a wide-eyed innocence, then looks between the two men with a kind of manic glee, as if waiting for something.

“...what?” Joel finally asks.

“You don’t see it?” She gestures to the other man.

“I don’t–”

“Jeez, I know you’re deaf but I didn’t think you were blind, too,” she groans. “He looks like you! If you weren’t, like, ancient.”

Joel’s face flushes as Ezra tries to hide a smile behind his hand.

“Enough of that, you little shi–smartypants,” Joel mutters.

“I suspect your young prodigy here gets the sense we might be of blood relation based on a similar, uh, distinguished profile.”

“That’s not, uh…that’s not possible, kid.”

“I agree,” Ezra says smoothly. “The universe is rife with serendipitous occurrences, and I do believe that’s what we have here. The mind is a funny thing. We see what we want to see, Ellie.”

“Seriously?!”

“Your dad here–”

“He’s not my dad,” Ellie corrects automatically. Joel can’t help but feel a pang of indignation at the speed with which she pipes up.

“My apologies,” Ezra murmurs. “I stand corrected. This is your…?”

“He’s just Joel.”

“Of course, gem. Just Joel,” Ezra smiles in his direction. “So I asked your Joel here to ensure you understood what we’re doing. As your guardian, Joel needs to be an integral part of this process.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that–what exactly are we doin’ again?” Joel asks.

“I suspect your young prodigy here is finding the adjustment to life in Jackson a bit…finicky. I’m here to help ease that transition in whatever way I can.”

“You can start by telling the other kids to stop fucking touching my stuff,” Ellie adds.

“Christ, Ellie–”

Ezra holds up his hand, cutting off Joel’s growl and addressing the girl. “Let’s not get weighted down by the minutiae of the situation we find ourselves in, gem. Suffice it to say, we have some work to do, and we need to do it cooperatively.”

Ellie crosses her arms and huffs, but Ezra’s easy manner seems to soothe something in the girl.

“Now that you’ve delivered your…Joel…to me, he and I are going to have a little tête-à-tête . Nothing damning, just the facts. And you, if I’m not mistaken, will be late to school.”

He leans down to scribble something on a notepad, then hands it to Ellie. “Give this to your teacher.”

“You go straight to school an’ home after chores,” Joel adds, watching the late slip disappear into the pocket of Ellie’s jeans. “You’re still grounded, ‘member?”

“Like you’d let me forget,” she mutters, trudging out the door, leaving it cracked slightly.

They hear the front door open and shut, but Ezra holds up one finger, watching the entry with sly eyes.

Wait.

Joel catches his drift.

“Ellie,” he says.

“Aw, c’mon, man,” she grumbles from the entry. “If you’re gonna talk about me, I should get to hear it.”

“We’re not going to talk about you, gem,” Ezra says. “But this is a private conversation between your esteemed guardian and myself. Please give us your discretion and make haste.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Ezra goes to the office door and gently shuts it. Suddenly closed in the small room with a stranger, Joel feels a familiar but unwelcome prickle of fear take root. It’s the same feeling that has him sleeping with a gun under his mattress and locking his door at night, despite Tommy’s assurances that Jackson is safe as houses.

Without thinking, he reaches for his holster–the holster that isn’t there, because he doesn’t wear it unless he’s on patrol, because Jackson is a community and not the fucking QZ. It’s a subtle tic, but Ezra notices.

“We can open it if you’d prefer to partake of the fresh air.”

Joel swallows his fear with a dollop of shame. “S’fine.”

Ezra nods. “Have a seat if you like.”

He takes the chair across the small room, considering Joel through thick lashes. His face is kind, but something about the man’s gaze leaves Joel uneasy, like a bug under a magnifying glass. There’s a warm, simmering coil of tension in his gut that he can’t place.

Indigestion , Joel decides. Too much coffee.

He settles on the couch, old cushions and springs protesting, then leans forward on his knees, glancing around.

“You, uh…you like music?” he says, gesturing to the shelves of vinyl just behind Ezra.

“I do,” he says. “I was fortunate to find this sizable collection in the attic upon being assigned a house. I’ve added to it as I find new treasures to trade. And you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you enjoy music, Joel?”

“Uh, sure, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his lips self-consciously. “Play a little here and there. Guitar.”

Ezra’s face lights up. “Ah! A musician!”

“Hardly.”

“Speaking as one who can’t carry a tune in a bucket, color me impressed.”

The office window is wide open, a cool autumn breeze floating through and rifling the other man’s already unruly hair, but a deep heat has settled at the base of Joel’s neck and the room suddenly feels like a hot summer’s day.

He clears his throat. “So, uh…Ellie says you’re a counselor?”

“Indeed.”

“An’ you have, uh, qualifications? Somethin’ that says you’re the man for the job?”

Ezra grins at this. “I know I don’t look the part of the sage, and I can appreciate your frank concern. I do have some experience in this area, surprising as that may be. Before the outbreak, I was a Master’s student in clinical psychology. Although I didn’t get much opportunity to practice for reasons that should be quite obvious.”

“Right.”

“The fine folks of Jackson have been kind enough to give me a place and a profession that suits my abilities. I’m not much use drawing a plow or riding a horse, I’m afraid,” Ezra continues, nodding to his right shoulder.

“But before we proceed, I should like to understand your expectations and to set a few of my own. For one, I’m not here to play Freud. And I’m hardly qualified to make a diagnosis of any sort,” he continues. “A diagnosis isn’t worth a damn in this day and age, and I suspect you’d agree.”

Joel bites his lip. “Look, uh, I’ll be honest. Last time I set foot in a place like this, it did jack shit and ended in a divorce. So you’ll forgive me if I ain’t entirely comfortable with my…with Ellie…comin’ in here and talkin’ your ear off.”

“Trust that you are not the first to express concern or have a, let’s say, downright suspicious quality about this particular practice. But I hope you’ll humor me when I say that I, like you, only want what is best for Ellie. She’s a bright girl, that one. Very perceptive.”

Joel huffs softly. “Too damn smart for her own good sometimes.”

This elicits a tiny smile, leaving Joel worried he’s spoken too harshly.

“But she’s a good kid,” he adds quickly. “A really…good kid.”

Ezra nods. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I think she could benefit from the ear of a friend. As I said, she’s bright. I wanted to try to get a clearer picture of her through your eyes. Your family dynamic, if you will. I take it there’s no Mrs. Joel? Or…Mr. Joel?”

Joel snorts. “Just me an’ her.”

“And she’s adopted?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel murmurs, scratching his chin. “We, uh…I had a job to move her out here. From Boston. Was supposed to find, uh…her relatives…but that didn’t work out and my brother, Tommy, gave us a place here.”

Ezra nods but doesn’t say anything further. He sprawls in the chair, legs spread, almost slouched, one forearm draped over the side. Relaxed but intent, eyebrows drawn together with an unspoken question. Joel swallows, finding his mouth suddenly dry.

“You, uh, need to write this down or anythin’?” Joel coughs, gesturing to the notepad on the coffee table in front of them.

Ezra shakes his head, smiling slightly. “No…no, we’re just having a conversation. No need to put it on the record for now. So…Boston to Jackson. That must have been quite the excursion.”

“You could say that.”

“I expect it wasn’t exactly uneventful?”

“No,” Joel says, almost too quickly. “No, it was, uh…she went through a lot. Stuff no kid should have to see…to do. You’ll have to ask her about it, though. S’not my place to talk for her.”

“I intend to do that,” Ezra nods. “I look forward to getting to know her over the next twelve weeks. And hopefully beyond, if she’ll give me the chance.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Joel mutters. “She’s a bit…gunshy. Especially around, uh, men. Even Tommy…she can’t be alone with him, an’ he’s about as tame as they come.”

“But she feels safe with you?”

“Think so. I mean, I’m all she had for months…out there,” he shrugs. “But that went both ways. We’re prob’ly what you shrinks call, uh…codependent.”

Ezra nods, voice softening. “A little codependency can mean the difference between life or death in a difficult time. And I imagine it’s been an adjustment…all this. I know we–I–found it difficult at first. Even the thickest of walls aren’t enough if we don’t feel truly safe in the heart and mind.”

Joel bites his lip. “Yeah…yeah. It’s different.”

“And how about you, Joel?”

“How ‘bout me what?”

“You’ve been through a similar ordeal, I presume, traveling together. And now you find yourself the unexpected father figure to a dynamic and spirited young lady–”

Joel bites back a scoff. “This ain’t about me.”

Ezra shrugs. “I don’t mean to pry, and you’re free to pass on anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, of course. I’m just trying to build a picture in the interest of aiding my work with Ellie.”

The temptation to pass is strong, but that heat in his gut is still there, a distraction loosening his tongue. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s, uh…it’s been a lot. For both of us, but mostly her,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She’s not used to havin’ someone in her corner. She’s…she was an orphan…before.”

He sighs, allowing himself to sink back into the couch cushions, shoulders loosening a fraction.

“I told her not to bring that damn knife to school in the first place,” he says, glancing down at his broken watch. “But she needed it when we were on the road. She’s prob’ly needed it all her damn life. Seems wrong to ask her to give that up when we’ve only been here a few months. Not that she’s s’posed to be waving it around at folks, or…y’know.”

“Mmm,” he says. “Well, I don’t intend to lay blame here. Raising a child…alone…comes with its fair share of hardships and trials. Regardless, it’s a noble endeavor, to take one into your care.”

He snorts. “Think she’s done more to take care of me than the other way around.”

“If I may be so bold…I suspect you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

“I’m sure she’ll tell you,” Joel says drily. “Kid’s not one to hold back.”

Ezra grins. “I sensed as much.”

He stands, offering his hand, and Joel takes it. The man’s grip is firm and warm and the memory of his touch lingers on Joel’s skin long after he’s left. That warm flare in his gut throbs, a not-unpleasant heat licking gently at the base of his spine, and he finally places it.

It’s been so damn long since he’s felt that particular burn, being on the road for months, never safe, never alone given Ellie’s constant companionship. There was probably a time or two in his early days with Tess when he found himself surprised by desire, but it was easily smothered, tamed, wrested into submission.

That night, Joel tosses and turns and finally gives into the low-level arousal that’s plagued him all damn day, palming himself roughly through his sweats until he’s fully hard.

He imagines Ezra’s eyes on him, watching, remembers the feel of the man’s skin against his palm. He bites back a groan of pleasure when he eases his waistband over his cock and takes himself out, allowing his grip to tighten and find a familiar, easy rhythm. He can’t get the younger man’s voice out of his head, that low, rumbling baritone, so oddly soothing.

He presses his face into the pillow to muffle the sound when he comes.

[marquezian]

#literally them in our pregnant marc hooking up with bezz au <- will counsel please approach the bench and explain

SCREAM… APPROACHES CAUTIOUSLY… we have nothing concrete its just vibes. and deranged and incoherent.

sarah @girl2dirt (everybody say hiiiii sarah.. shes new here) and i's favorite topic has been pregnant marc recently and we've also been talking about how, unrelated to pregnancy, marc and bezz should have sex thats like, marc getting his needs met purely a physical thing its not about bezz (or vale) or anything its just. marc notices bezz is willing. its post-injury marc this is post sepang marc hes more clinical more methodical more guarded. harder better faster stronger.mp3. so for marc its literally like ok. let me take care of my needs. this is fine. its of course earth-shattering mind melting sex for bezz though!!!!

this convo has led to me receiving the following message from sarah yesterday: "marc pregnant vale’s baby has sex with bezz bc horny and convenient question mark send message" and i promptly blacked out…

how and why marc is pregnant with vales baby isnt important (can i get a yay for an emotionally fucked up 2024 rosquez one night stand thoughhhhhh) the important thing is the premise of pregnant marc so horny hes like a genuine omega in heat due to pregnancy hormones. needs someone to fuck. and we were like discussing vale doesnt want to be in the picture, so the fun angle would be bezz accidentally blabbing to vale that hes been seeing marc.

why are you seeing marc, bezz? ehhh we've been hanging out. hes my friend now. allora bezz… since when is he your friend you didnt tell me..

vale grills him but has of course figured it out as soon as bezz says hes been seeing him LOL ! remembers instances of sheepish guilty puppy bezz evading questions about where hes been recently but they all thought hes just been slutting around. it all adds up immediately.

yayyyyyy !

this switches a flip in vales brain that bezz will forever wish had never been flipped because his relationship w vale will never be the same. it activates vales worst impulse.. he now sees bezz as a rival, yayyy sexual competitiveness… but its also the catalyst for marc/vale reconciling properly in this lil universe…stay with me

so we were like talking about all that leading to a threesome between bezz vale marc. theres immediately an air of vale Watching what bezz does, instructing him and guiding him bc he knows marcs body best, still, even a decade after they were first together. and bezz watches as vale does things to marc that marc never mentioned to bezz that he likes.. touches marc in ways bezz has touched marc but with bezz they never made marc quiver and react like hes reacting to vales touch… constant pangs in bezzs stomach… but its also like. bezz Notices for the very first time that vale is playing with him. vale wants to make a point vale wants to draw a line for bezz, that this isnt his playground. that BEZZ crossed a line doing this with marc. bezz sees something cold and calculating in vales eyes when he looks at him, hes only ever seen this directed at others never at him, it breaks something in him… he never forgets it ! never forgets how the realization that hes been cast out of the inner chamber of vales heart is so tied to vale instructing him to cum inside marc, and bezz cumming harder than ever before.

on the other hand marc also obviously notices vale being vale about bezz so now marc has genuine sympathy for bezz and starts liking him more. humiliatinggggg for bezz. for vale all is fine with bezz now that he drew that line in the sand :) like he made is point ! bezz "listened", its all good! conflict resolution a la valentino rossi. bezz wishes he could go back to before he and marc ever had sex. YAY

threesome leads to marc and vale having sex regularly... getting back together... vale DOES desperately want to raise that baby with him.

[sarah-yyy]

two lawyering moods

me: why am i always right

me: why is everyone else always wrong

[whencyclopedia]

Twelve Famous Native American Women

Native American women are traditionally held in high regard among the diverse nations, whether a given people are matrilineal or patrilineal. Traditionally, women were not only responsible for raising children and caring for the home but also planted and harvested the crops, built the homes, and engaged in trade, as well as having a voice in government.

The history of the women of the Native peoples of North America attests to their full participation in the community whether as elders and "medicine women" or as skilled agriculturalists and merchants and, in some cases, even warriors. Although hunting and warfare were traditionally the provenance of males, some women became famous for their courage and skill in battle. These women, as well as others in the arts and sciences, are often overlooked because they do not fit the paradigm of what has been accepted as American history.

Pocahontas and Sacagawea are usually the only North American Native women that non-Natives have heard of, but even their narratives have been obscured by legend and half-truths. Many other Native American women have simply been ignored, and among them are most of those listed below. These women, and the nations they were citizens of, include:

Jigonhsasee – Iroquois

Pocahontas – Powhattan

Weetamoo – Wampanoag

Glory-of-the-Morning – Ho-Chunk/Winnebago

Sacagawea – Shoshone

Old-Lady-Grieves-the-Enemy – Pawnee

Pine Leaf/Woman Chief – Crow

Lozen – Apache

Buffalo Calf Road Woman – Cheyenne

Thocmentony/Sarah Winnemucca – Paiute

Susan La Flesche Picotte – Omaha

Molly Spotted Elk/Mary Alice Nelson – Penobscot

There are many others who do not appear here because they are more widely known, such as the Yankton Dakota activist, musician, and writer, Zitkala-Sa (l. 1876-1938) or the Cheyenne warrior Mochi ("Buffalo Calf", l. c. 1841-1881). Modern-day figures are also omitted but deserve mention, such as the activist Isabella Aiukli Cornell of the Choctaw nation, who drew national attention in 2018 with her red prom dress designed to call attention to the many missing and murdered indigenous women across North America, and poet/activist Suzan Shown Harjo of the Muscogee/Southern Cheyenne nation. There are many more, like these two, who have devoted themselves to raising awareness of the challenges facing Native Americans and continue the same struggle, in various ways, as the women of the past.

Jigonhsasee (l. c. 1142 or 15th century)

According to Iroquois lore, Jigonhsasee (Jikonhsaseh, Jikonsase) was integral to the origins of the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) Confederacy dated to either the 12th or 15th century. She was an Iroquoian whose home was along the central path used by warriors going to and from battle and became well-known for the hospitality and wise counsel she offered them. The Great Peacemaker (Deganawida) chose her to help him form the Iroquois Confederacy, based on the model of a family living together in one longhouse, and, along with Hiawatha, this vision became a reality. Jigonhsasee became known as the 'Mother of Nations' and established the policy of women choosing the chiefs of the council in the interests of peace, instead of war. The American women's suffrage movement of the 19th century called attention to the freedom and rights of Native American women, notably those of the Iroquois Confederacy, in arguing for those same rights for themselves.

Continue reading...

[thepersonalwords]

He would let Violet find her own way and time to tell Elizabeth. In the interim, he would listen and hold her hand and offer his counsel, but he would not push. He understood now how deep her wounds ran, how hard it was for her to trust that she could make mistakes and still deserve love.

Sarah Mayberry, Her Best Worst Mistake

[october-writes]

Icarus sneak peek...

Okay, so I'm being super generous with this sneak peek because I have no idea when I'll be ready to post the whole fic. Pandora!Verse Leon has a long, bittersweet backstory and I love it, but it's a lot to get down especially when all I want to do is cry and hug him. 😫

Thank you for your patience. Any likes/comments here or on Pandora are the fuel that keeps the fic engine running.

‘Is this really where you grew up?’ she asked, her voice light with surprise.

He turned in time to see her cringe at the question. She’d been quiet since the drive away from the motel and the scene with Russ and his posse. No, scratch that. Ada had kept to herself because he’d asked her to and he’d been kicking himself for that ever since.

His stomach flipped whenever Ada asked him about himself; one part excitement, one part terror. He wanted to tell her everything and, in turn, he wanted to know her as well as he knew his deepest desires. But he was scared of the guy in those stories. Steadfast, optimistic, stable, responsible. He was sure that version of him had died on a forest floor. Now he was trying to live up to his own ghost.

Leon swallowed before replying glibly, ‘Nope! I grew up in a house.’

‘You know what I meant, Leon.’

God, he loved the way Ada said his name; like she owned the word, like no one had ever called him that but her.

‘Okay. I spent a lot of time here too,’ he conceded, nodding at the front facade of the church and the flawless circle of its Gothic stained glass window, ‘One Easter when I was fourteen, me and the chaplain’s son changed the sign out front to read: “Honk if you love Jesus”.’

She spluttered on a laugh, ‘You did what?’

‘You could barely hear mom’s sermon ‘cause of the car horns. I would’ve been grounded ‘til Christmas, but lucky for me she has a sense of humour! Damn. I was such a little asshole when I wanted to be.’

Ada bit her bottom lip until it shone pearlescent pink and he couldn’t look away from her mouth.

‘I could show you around,’ he offered suddenly, ‘If there was time.’

‘Really? And where would you take me?’

Her eyes glinted like a dare. He’d reignited her interest in him and they were back there again, at the edge of something beautiful and dangerous.

Go ahead. Impress me, rookie.

‘Well, um... there’s the Boott Cotton Mills Museum just across the canal,’ he suggested weakly, his throat suddenly dry, ‘I uh... I wrote an essay on it in High School.’

Her eyebrows twitched, ‘High School...?’

‘Yeah, it was on child labour reforms during the Industrial Revolution. I got an A minus.’

Oh for the love of- Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Ada blinked at him before turning away, ‘Interesting. Maybe some other time.’

Her eyes went dull, the glint of challenge extinguished. They were left beneath the cool light of the street lamp looking at everything but each other.

‘Come on. We should get going before I’m recognised,’ he said, leading her across the street, ‘We’ll check out the back lot.’

Leon remembered the first time Sarah had taken him to First Presbyterian to help out the day crew, officially as penance for his reckless escape attempt on his first night under her roof. He hadn’t been due to start school for another week and, while he’d been sincerely forgiven for his antics, he’d still been grounded.

The church ran a Day Centre from Monday to Friday, the doors opening at eight on the dot come rain or shine or biblical levels of snow. Refreshments, clean clothes and pastoral counselling were available no questions asked and, in the evenings, volunteers served hot meals alongside a rotating programme of art therapy, sign language classes, and addicts anonymous meetings.

Sarah had started the programme during her first few months in Lowell. The way some locals liked to tell it, Sarah had crashed into town on a wave of radical ideas. The Day Centre hadn’t been popular with everyone, bringing ‘undesirables’ and addicts from the fringes into the centre of town where they were harder to ignore.

‘I’ve brought the poor and the sick to Jesus’ doorstep, just like he instructed,’ she’d retorted, knowing the Bible was her home turf and she’d arrived ready to fight dirty, ‘If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him!’

‘I’m on a first name basis with the Mayor’s office,’ Sarah had boasted as they’d carried boxes of donated clothing through the back of the church, ‘Mayor Wiggins reminds me every time I stop by that I shouldn’t let it go to my head! I think he preferred the old pastor, Reverend Dawson. But Wiggy knows I’m better at getting things done. He’d rather boil his own head in lard than admit it though, so I’m not holding my breath for the key to the city!’

Young Leon had tipped his head back to take in the building’s decadent red brick and stained glass, its silver spire bouncing the sun towards every corner of Lowell.

‘Is all this yours?’ he’d asked.

He’d lingered at the threshold, a deep breath ballooning his stomach as he’d prepared himself to enter. The air had smelled apple-crisp, the pavement sun-dappled and warming the tops of his sneakers. It had stirred something familiar inside of him. But he hadn’t been inside a church since... since they’d buried his mom.

Sarah had chuckled, bumping the backdoor open with her behind, ‘Oh, no! Frannie belongs to everyone. But I am humbly responsible for her, like a sheepdog with her flock.’

She knew the church well enough that she could walk through it backwards without knocking into anything. All the better to keep her eye on Leon so she could read her new foster son’s lips.

‘What does that make me?’ he’d wondered as he’d followed her, ‘Like... a stray puppy or something?’

She’d hooted at that.

‘I don’t tell people who they are, Leon. But if I am to be completely honest, which under his roof is essential,’ she’d thrown the box of donated winter coats onto a nearby table and had turned to relieve him of the ones he’d carried, ‘I am sincerely looking forward to meeting the man you’ll become some day.’

Leon hadn’t known what to say to that.

Old foster parents, social workers, even a cop once; they’d all warned him that who he was becoming was someone he should be afraid of, ashamed of. But Sarah had greeted all sides of him like they’d known and loved each other for years.

The Day Centre had become a fixture of Leon’s teenage years from that day on. He’d never been much for the services, the singing, the prayer. But he’d helped out with the art classes and he’d learned how to cook in the community kitchen. He’d taken sign language classes after school and pulled weeds from the community garden across the street. He’d done his homework in Sarah’s study, her day sermons sailing in through the open window like a warm breeze.

When he’d turned fifteen and grown a foot taller in what had felt like a week, Leon had begun captaining one of the local street hockey teams. Their casual league had been run out of the back lot of the church.

He remembered long afternoons three times a week, two dozen kids howling like wild animals after sunset, and sweating even when it was so cold he could see his breath. Rhonda in the goal, as reliable as rain in September. She’d used the church to escape her alcoholic dad for a few hours a day. And Marty, a formerly homeless teen, playing offense and doing a backflip every time he scored. The slap of hockey sticks, rollerblades tearing up the tarmac, a puck smacking off a brick wall, his heart in his throat as a shot narrowly missed a car window.

There was still a dent in a lamp post from where one of Leon’s shots had gone wide. It had struck the post so hard the bulb had gone out. They’d played the rest of the night by the light of the church’s silver steeple and it had felt like an incredible dream.

It had been yesterday and forever ago. But as Leon walked the lot with Ada now, a part of him was convinced he’d be back here tomorrow, hockey stick in hand with his skates tied at the laces and slung over his shoulder.

‘The Day Centre closes early Thursdays,’ he told Ada as they lingered at the edge of the lot, ‘It shouldn’t be this busy.’

The lights were on and the church shimmered from every window. The front of the building was still bustling, so they’d given it a wide berth. Though Leon had his cap down, he’d grown up inside these walls. There was no way he’d make it to the rectory without being recognised.

Ada was getting restless. Her face was hidden by her hood, but Leon could see the tense line her shoulders made beneath her sweater.

‘Maybe things have changed,’ she muttered.

‘She’ll be here,’ he replied, ‘That much’ll be the same. I know it will.’

Minutes later the backdoor to the church opened and Pastor Sarah stepped into the warm summer night.

Her dark hair had regrown in gentle waves, softer and less curly than before her illness and now tinged with grey. She wore a thick cardigan, unbuttoned and showing off a baggy Guns and Roses tour t-shirt that Leon had stolen from her closet about a hundred times before it had stopped fitting him.

Leon muffled a quiet laugh into the collar of his jacket, but deep down he felt like sinking to his knees.

He knew Lowell’s streets. He knew there was a house a few blocks away where his old bed waited and his sketchbooks tumbled out of the wardrobe in an avalanche of memories. But ‘home’ was a complicated concept for a guy who’d had so many. A one bedroom in Chicago snuggled safe between his mom and dad, Buchanan with its dreams unfulfilled, in shady motels forever awake in front of a TV with the sound as low as it would go, and finally seven foster homes; a number that made ‘normal’ people from ‘normal’ families wince so he’d stopped repeating it until he could almost imagine that his early childhood had happened to someone else.

For Leon, ‘home’ had eventually come to mean Sarah reminding him to be back by ten. Home was the leftover casserole in the fridge with his name on it. It was about not being alone at the kitchen table because Sarah would always wait up and ask him how his game went. She’d even pretended to understand the rules.

Someone Leon didn’t recognise stepped out with Sarah. It was an older woman in a long cotton dress. She and Sarah shared a quick hug before the woman left for her car. Sarah stood in the doorway and waved goodbye. Then she slid back into the church, disappearing like a dream at sunrise.

Ada was watching Leon. Her gaze passed up and down his face, mapping the angle of his nose and the cleft of his chin like they’d just met. Leon knew what she was thinking.

He and Sarah sang off-key to the same songs, they ate their eggs over-easy with too much Tabasco sauce, and they both thought cilantro tasted like soap. But they didn’t look even a little bit alike.

‘I’m adopted,’ he explained.

She frowned, surprised, ‘Oh. I see. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not.’

‘I didn’t mean... I just didn’t know.’

‘But you knew my mom was a pastor?’

‘It was in your obituary.’

Leon did a double-take, ‘My... what? I have a damned obituary?’

‘Of course you do! You died,’ Ada replied sardonically, ‘Your colleagues had some interesting things to say about you.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ he winced, and his mind raced to suss out exactly what Ada knew about the old him as filtered through the eyes of his peers. They’d treated Leon like he was fresh out of school and an old man at the same time, ‘Come on. It’s now or never.’

The back of the church held Sarah’s office, a common room for the staff, and a library that smelled like cold coffee and chocolate. Leon opened the door quietly and checked it was empty before ushering Ada inside.

They heard voices echoing from the church hall beyond the big wooden doors:

‘Has anyone seen Pastor Sarah? We’re running low on baby formula!’

‘She’s in her study. Don’t trouble her. I’ll call the supplier first thing tomorrow.’

‘I’ve barely seen her all day, Lucille. Is this ‘cause of that silly protest outside the Governor’s office? I told her to take it easy!’

‘She’s tired, Frank. Let her be.’

Sarah’s office door was ajar. Leon could see her shadow spilling over the desk and onto the carpet. He could smell her hand lotion, its residue on the doorknob. His eyes drifted shut as his hands formed a tight claw around the knob like he’d forgotten how doors worked.

Maybe this was a mistake. A panicked sensation surged inside his chest. Ada was right. Umbrella could be monitoring Sarah. He could put her in danger just be showing his face around town. He should go, shouldn’t he? Right now, just go and leave her be. He could think of another way to track down Jill and Chris.

And what was he going to say to her? How could he explain what had happened to him? She’d thought he was dead for nearly two years, but at least her ignorance had kept her safe.

Leon tensed when he felt a pressure on his forearm. He looked back to find Ada gently peeling him away from the door.

‘I’ll go first,’ she whispered, her dark eyes trained on his face, ‘I’ll make sure she’s alone.’

He nodded but Ada was already slipping past. She opened the door just enough to squeeze through.

‘Pastor Morris?’

A chair scraped the floor as Sarah stood.

‘Yes?’ her voice sounded jittery like she’d just woken from a nap, ‘Hold on... Let me just...’

There was a long pause. Leon guessed Sarah was fumbling with her cochlear implant.

‘Could you come closer, honey?’ Sarah said breathlessly, ‘I can’t quite hear you all the way over there. Are you here about tomorrow’s charity drive?’

‘No. No, I’m...’

Leon swayed on his feet, his ears ringing. He’d been so nervous, he’d forgotten to warn Ada that Sarah was deaf. He mentally kicked himself.

Then Ada raised her voice and when she spoke, she filled all corners of the little study, her voice lifting its high ceiling and rustling the pages of every tome. Like a fair summer wind, she was the little lift he needed to make it home.

‘I’m a friend of your son.’

Then it was as if they were the only three people in the building. A silence enveloped them, as dense and safe as stone. Leon didn’t feel himself move, but he felt Ada’s hand, warm and insistent around his wrist as she pulled him through the doorway and into his mother’s study.

Sarah, to her credit, didn’t cry out. She didn’t seem to be breathing either.

‘Mom?’

Her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes turned red to signal an oncoming wave of tears. But when her hand fell, Leon saw she was smiling like it was the first time he’d ever called her that. It wasn’t, not by a long shot.

Leon took a step towards her. Then he stopped, realising that Ada was still holding his wrist. Her grip was loose, almost reassuring. Not too much pressure, just enough; like a whispered phrase he felt all the way up his arm to straight to his heart: ‘I’m right here’.

When his hand slipped from hers, Leon still felt her warmth; that fair wind driving him forward.

Sarah whined softly. She rubbed at her throat like the words had gotten tangled up in there and she needed pry them away from each other. Her fingers were trembling and he realised she was too overwhelmed to sign to him.

He stepped towards her and raised his hands to tell her:

I’ll explain everything. I promise.

I’m so sorry, mom. I’m sorry...

He made a fist with his thumb extended and scored circles with it deep into the centre of his chest. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Sarah dove forward and latched both her hands over his fist. Then she tugged him forward and threw her arms around his shoulders. She clung to her son like the grave could snatch him back. She buried her wet nose into the crook of his neck. Then she keened against his shoulder, a wordless cry of grief and joy combined that shook his core.

‘I love you so much. Okay? I love you,’ Leon murmured into the crown of her head where his tears were already soaking her hair. He hoped she could feel the raw honesty in his voice even if she couldn’t make out the words, ‘I missed you. I did! I missed you, mom.’

Who knows how long they huddled in the centre of her study? Long enough that his face was still pink but finally dry when they parted. Long enough that Sarah could stand to let him go so she could snatch a tissue from the box on her desk while laughing at how terrifying and strange and wonderful this was.

And long enough that when Leon looked over his shoulder, he saw that Ada had disappeared.

🥲

To be continued...

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose, Chapter Four (Loki x fem! Reader, A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him. When the time comes to fulfill your end of the bargain, you are introduced to a world full of more magic and danger than you could possibly imagine...

Content Warnings: LOTS OF ANGST AT THE BEGINNING! Cheating (not Loki, but...* takes a long sip of a fun little drink with a straw*...dealing with Will Ransome's canon actions and portraying them as bad so Will fans and Lusty Vicarettes you have been warned). Y/N going absolutely feral because I support women's wrongs. Hurt/Comfort Elements Period Typical Attitudes. Mentions of sex and religion and drinking. Typical and fixable grammar mistakes.

Chapter Summary: You confront Will about his infidelity.

Chapter Word Count: 6K

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr (special shout out for a suggestion for this chapter that worked well!)

Chapter One//Chapter Two//Chapter Three

There was silence. Pure silence. Will’s jaw unhinged and his mouth opened, but he did not say a word. The last word rang in the air with the heaviness of a bullet being fired.

 Whore-Whore-Whore.

You glared at him in his beautiful blue eyes. Feeling everything at once looking at him- hatred and adoration, fury and grief and love.

His eyes glared back. You had done it. You had called Cora a whore. You knew he wouldn’t stand it. You could see him tense up, ready to chastise you for what you did. To stand up for her. You could see it in him, see the words forming. Then his jaw closed.  Then he stopped. There was hesitation. You knew he would rush to her defense. And you were ready for a fight. To scold you for what you said- the ugly names you just called his mistress, his real beloved.

 But instead, no, what he asked was this in a quiet, calm tone.

“Y/N, why did you call her that?”

A wave of emotion washed over you. You couldn’t take him anymore- playing ignorant. He should know bloody well why you called her that.

Leaning over, in a split second, you raised your hand and slapped him as hard as you could across his face. So hard, you let out a small grunt as you did. It stung from the swift impact of your hand across his cheek. You could feel the tears welling up already in your eyes as you retreated your hand. He nursed the pink spot on the cheek you once kissed with a hand you once loved to hole.

“Do not lie to me- you know exactly what I mean. I should have done that at the wedding. You- are…you’re having an affair with her Will. Don’t deny it- I saw the love letters! I saw you kiss her!”

You were shaking hard. This was too horrible to be real. This had to be a nightmare. You should have seen the inside of his house, his desk, his tall bookshelves on your wedding day when you were to be brought there as Mrs. Ransome. Not as a fiancée betrayed for another like you were just a toy abandoned by a bored child.  The tears began to make their trails down your face.

“The bishop would counsel us, I remember. He’d tell us we were already considered married…and You dare to break a sacred vow you made before your own God?” you accused.

He began to blink rapidly. His voice remained low.

“I was so…tormented about it…”

“You think you’re the tormented one?!!” you cried.

He held his hands up and continued.

“Cora has endured more than any woman ever should…the things her husband did to her…he’d strangle her, beat her.  I opened up a bit of her collar and saw…saw a bruise, there on her skin. I wanted to…to…comfort her.”

“You could comfort her in ways that don’t involve fucking her in the forest!” you argued, your voice raising.

He kept going on, his voice still quiet.

“She…she…she and I…we are…we are like two bits of one soul…”

“So, which is more important, Will- your cock or my dignity?!” you asked furiously.

He looked up at you. You saw a small flinch from the obscene word, but he remained still. There was another heavy pause.

“Of course, you are more important…” he answered.  “Please have pity on Cora. She has…been through much. She focuses on science, not emotions. She told me…She thinks love is a weakness and it’s not!”

“Her love for you?! Her love for you?!” you cried.

You stood up, gripping the table.

“You promised to love me. You said you could be a devoted fiancée, a devoted husband…So the time we spent together was nothing?! The times you danced with me-they  were for nothing? My every visit to church and every minute I held my tongue and made myself perfect to become your wife was for nothing!? Your gifts-your kisses and promises and declarations-nothing? What of me! Did you forget- you told me every day you loved me! And I love you, Will!  So- is that a weakness? Am I boring?! Am I nothing? Am I nothing to you?! Why is she important and not I? Why is it about her and not I? I’ve known you for years and you now declare to love for a woman you’ve known for four months?! Do you even hear yourself, Will!?”

He frowned and lowered his eyes to the table.

“It wasn’t for nothing, Y/N. I love you…”

You interrupted him.

“Will- you say you love me; you say I am important; you say all of this- but your actions are telling a different story!”

Your voice lowered. You hugged yourself.

“Did you never…. try and resist her? Fight for me? At least try? And did you not think…think to consider…that I’d be hurt?”

This time, he began to tear up a little. But his face remained stoic. He looked off to the side.

“You were dying…. I thought I would lose you forever…and that night, you told me to dance with her.”

Then, suddenly, was a voice in your head. A familiar lilting voice. Too familiar, too like Will’s. But it wasn’t him.

“It’s about time you confronted him, darling.”

You turned around. Was Loki there? Appearing out of the shadows to witness this spectacle? Yet he didn’t appear. Dear God, were you mad?

“No- you’re not mad darling. It’s only your favorite god of mischief here” Loki responded in your head.

“What are you doing?” you thought back.

“Just watching….your thoughts are too loud. Granted, I could be sleeping. But this…this is too interesting.” Loki replied.

You snapped you back to reality, hearing the voice before you.  

“You were…you were dying…you were at death’s door…” Will argued.

“But I was still alive, Will! You thought I was implying for you to fuck her?! No! Dancing is not the same as…as…as an affair! How hard is that to understand?  I said to dance with her! Nothing more!” you responded.”

Your hands curled into fists. He looked back at you with sad eyes and a clenched jaw.

“Do you…realize what this means? This is more than how you have hurt me-When I marry you, you are my foundation for society. My only means of having the money to survive. You’d be the roof over my head- and for our children if we had them! I cannot scrub floors on my own after I marry you- because every penny and every check they give me will go to you! If you leave me and flee with her, I have nothing to protect me. If you took our children with you- I would never get them back because they’d be your children by law, not mine.  I will be dependent on the charity of others all my life, clinging to whatever money you send back. But if you refused to give me one pound to spend it all on Cora-you could legally get away with it! Don’t you realize - this is a threat to my future?!” you cried.

His face softened and he shook his curly head.

“You know I would never do that to you, Y/N…” he replied.

“But you still betrayed me for another woman…is Cora…better than me? Prettier? Superior? What does she have that I lack?” you asked.

He was quiet. He began to blink rapidly.

“You love me…and you told her love isn’t a weakness- so is SHE your weakness?! Or rather-is your love for her your strength and am I the weak one?!” you pressed.

“I…I do love you…but with her I…I…I don’t even have any words to say…” William replied.

You felt your face scrunch up and you felt hot.  Then Loki’s Voice rang in your head again.

 “You should tell where he could shove his Bible, it would be funny!”

But instead, you took his Bible. You held it, feeling the soft brown cover. It was large and worn from so much use over the years. You then looked at him and the book and back at him.

“One thing disturbs me the most- Do you understand what God himself says about this, Will?! What Jesus said about it? How it’s better to pluck your eye out! It’s a commandment, Will- and you dare break it to sleep with her when you promised yourself to me!? How can you go to the pulpit- how can you represent morality in this town?! How can you look at yourself?!”

You wiped off a tear with your hand and continued.

“I loved you because you were open-minded. You weren’t some fire and brimstone Puritan, but you were kind and spoke of love…now I see you were TOO open-minded if you think this is remotely acceptable!” you cried, the Bible shaking in your grip.

This glass of wine I’m having right now is perfect for this. Maybe I should spare one for you too, hm? Loki quipped.

He eyed the book carefully, then he went up to you.

“I must tell you…I went to church right after this morning and I…I prayed. I prayed in the field too, after… I fell on my knees in the church and prayed to God…”

You felt your mouth curl into a snarl. You then lowered your eyes to the Bible. If this was hysteria, you gave into it.

“You know how I like history. And if I recall correctly-The church of England was started by Henry the Eighth-to throw out his own wife who loved him. His wife of many years. To toss her away like she was dirt for another woman. In that case, you’re a perfect vicar.”

You threw the Bible onto the floor-papers flew out. It broke. William ran over, getting onto his knees on the floor in a hurry. He began to hurriedly pick it back up, putting papers back to where they were.

“Love’s not a weakness, is it Will?!Well- it might not be, but I’m about to make you even weaker!” you snarled.

You gave him a sharp kick to the ribs, and he jumped and groaned in pain from your foot. You wished it was possible to kick his crotch. Yet he still fumbled to get the papers and the Bible.

You then knelt to be on his level, flinging your fists to him.  Punching, slapping his beautiful face in a blind fury of the screams and sobs that escaped your throat. He grunted and took some of it, trying to duck what he could while gathering the book. Then he left it and turned to you. Will kept repeating your name, trying to block what hits he could, down on his knees with the floor with you, trying to calm you. It didn’t work.

You glanced at him. The reddish-blonde hair and goatee you once thought- and did think- incredibly handsome. The goatee that tickled the first time he kissed you. The hair that swept in the wind when you walked together. You yanked at his curls to pull it off. He shouted “ah!” and got your arm to stop you. Impulsively, your fingers pinched at the hair of his goatee and plucked at it- trying to rip it out. He let out a cry of pain. Then he grabbed hold of your forearms to keep from attacking him.

“Y/N-Y/N, my love- please!”

“You’re a bastard, Will Ransome! You’re a bastard! A BASTARD!” you shouted.

He finally grabbed your fists. He was so strong, he tried to pull you into an embrace but you pulled away. You felt his large hands become a grip.

“Y/N! I…I love you…I love you so much! Please, Please for-”

He never finished that sentence. You curled up your saliva and spat in his face. He flinched, then released his hand to wipe if off.  You jumped up to your feet. You curled your hands into fists as you backed to the door.

“I loved you, William. I-LOVED you. I gave you everything. I was ready to be this perfect, pristine wife for you-your ministry. I was ready to give you my time, the rest of my youth, my energy, my prayers, my devotion, my virginity, my body- everything! Do you know why I made the bargain? So I could live to be with you-to make you happy. I gave you everything. But now I see the truth.  …”

“Y/N…darling…I do love you…” he pleaded, still on the floor.

You got closer to the door.

“You don’t want a wife, Will. You want a woman to be a martyr for you. To suck her until she’s dry and has nothing left. All while you won’t give her a drop. No one was forcing you to be with Cora, there was no reason- and you slept with her anyway just because you were bored of me. You were bored. She made your cock hard. And you pitied her little sob story and could think of no alternative of consolation than fucking her. And you never considered, even as I was lying in bed, that I needed you there. That my last moments on Earth could be by you, being loved by you-knowing I Was loved and wanted and valued. It would have been better if I died of consumption, believing you still cared about me enough to put my needs before yours…as I did for you…”

You were crying and you could feel snot running from your nose. Your face was hot. Then you turned and looked into those beautiful blue eyes with an overwhelming fury rising in your voice.  

“William, you are a disgrace to the priesthood, to morals, to ethics, to righteousness. You knew very well what your own faith says about this-and you fucked her anyway.”

You turned to open the door. Then returned to look at him as he got up, clinging his Bible and sermon papers.

“Adultery itself is unacceptable But you are more than an adulterer, Will- you’re a hypocrite!”

You slammed the door shut. Then you began running. You knew he’d run after you. You picked up the pace through the dark streets. You were crying. Your lungs burned, but you ran. You never looked at the ocean or the town. Not even a glance to see if he would chase you. You only ran past the streets, right into the forest. Where he couldn’t find you. Where you could be alone.

 You heard a bit of his name calling after you, in an echo. You ran to the shadows of the trees. You hid behind a large oak, the sharp bark prickling your fingers. You heard William’s voice.

“Y/N! Y/N! Come back! Y/N! Where are you?!”

Perhaps you should have fled to someone’s house. You should wake up Stella in her bed-for she, best of everyone, would listen more than speak. She would let you cry into her blue shawls. She would hug you and tell you how it would be better. But she was asleep.

You should have ran home. Ran to cry to your parents. Or anyone in town. But you knew what they would say.

“You’re being irrational. Think of how your reputation will be tarnished should you call it off. And what are you thinking? There was no better match for a lady than William Ransome. So, what if he did something? Men are weak to temptation-it’s just the way they are. Don’t make yourself into a martyr!? You should care first for his home and self being peaceful. You must go through with the marriage! It will be a life of stability with a good, moral man. A good, moral man!”

A very good, moral man indeed, you thought.

You sank into the ground. Tears kept pouring out of you. You nestled up against the tree. Trying to savor what warmth you could. Though there was the rustling of leaves and you heard birds and owls. How peaceful it was when your heart was breaking in pieces.

“Please…I need help…I need to get out of here…I can’t face him…I can’t face anyone…I can’t marry this man. I’m trapped, I’m trapped…” you thought.

It became calm. There were crickets in the night. The sound lulled you. Your emptiness from your rage made you exhausted. Before you knew it, it all became black as you curled up in the forest. Leaving all consciousness as you curled up onto the ground by the tree.

Consciousness arrived. It was still dark in your vision. You felt strong arms holding you up against something warm- flesh like.  And a voice. A familiar voice.

Had William picked you up and carried you back to town? He would. Damn him, he would. That wonderful, horrible man. You didn’t want to open your eyes to see him. You had no strength. You didn’t feel like fighting back. It was as if the crying had drained you dry. You may as well resolve yourself to your fate. Wife to an unfaithful man. You had nothing in you to fight.

Then you felt movement beneath you- something breathing beneath you. A strong smell. You felt hair bristle you. A brushing of lips- a horse.

But you heard…another voice. Another familiar, light, lilting voice. A woman’s voice.

“Poor Y/N! Thank God! Please…please take care of her! Wherever this Asgard is- take care of her!”

Stella! You realized.

“I shall, fair lady. She will be safe there, you have my honored word she shall,” the male voice holding you replied.

He didn’t talk like Will. Then you realized you did recognize it. Henry the Fifth- or Hal!

“But…why was she here? Poor thing- all alone! Do you know? Did something happen?” Stella asked.

“My lady, I do not know. But you must be glad the god of mischief himself is not here and I am. He is capable of many things. And you understand what his powers could do. Anyone who crosses with him soon regrets it.”

“I...I do…” she agreed.

“Then…then I’m off.”

“Please take care of her!”

“We all shall, dear lady.”

There was a sharp turn, and you heard the whinny of a horse. It began to run beneath you. In only a few seconds, there was a blur of light from your closed eyes. The horse kept running. You weren’t fully there yet, but you could hear things, feel things.  It wasn’t time for the bargain yet, but you didn’t care. Darkness overcame you. Before you knew it, it was dark, you felt yourself brought from one pair of arms to another. There was a murmur of voices. Some of them similar. Familiar. Too familiar. An echo. A pebble dropped into the ocean where it rippled. And you were carried.

Finally, you regained enough consciousness to gather that you were in that familiar guest room. You were in Asgard, you realized. In the palace. And right near your bed was Loki. He sat in a chair. A scene you had seen before. The sun was setting there-it was beginning to fall into the purple shadows of night.

“What is it…what’s going on…” you asked.

Loki appeared.

“You ran to the forest and collapsed. You’re in Asgard, Y/N…you’re safe for now…you can process what happened. You can grieve.”

You shook your head.

“You’ll tell me that my grief is excessive…” you said.

“I will say nothing, then.”

“What a challenge for you! But…Will…he…” you began to stutter.

You began blinking. Then you curled up and let the tears fall again.

“He was….everything to me. And now he… My own fiancée. The man I was ready to marry…it’s like he became the serpent and slithered from my side to the bed of another..”

You wiped off tears with your sleeve. You realized you were put into a light nightgown.

“No wonder…Cora’s beautiful and exciting and smart and I’m ugly and boring and nothing…I’m weak compared to her…you can say it, Loki…”

He leaned forward, touching his chin and examining you.

“I will say this- You only look miserable and exhausted…and I did promise you a drink-here. I put the potion mixed with some wine. You need it far more than I right now.”

He handed you the goblet. You took a deep drink. You felt it lull you.

“Get some rest, Y/N. You haven’t slept well in days….”

“H-How…how did you know?” you asked. Taking another sip of the potion.

“Well…in short, darling, I can hear your thoughts. Ever since the bargain, they keep coming to me…”

“Why can’t I hear yours?”

“You should be able to…it’ll take some practice, but you can. But for now…you need to drink your potion and get some sleep, Y/N.”

You cupped both hands around the glass. It was a little bit of red wine, but it was mainly the potion, making the flavor sweeter than normal with some added honey inside. The star marks on your hands seemed a little sore and you rubbed it with your finger. How was it the bargain made you hear each other’s thoughts? Before you could ask, Loki settled the blankets over you. He then walked outside, closing the door with a squeak. As you nestled into the blankets, you heard voices talking in the hallway. Their echoes impossible to ignore.

“So, she’s not a new soldier for this battle? Why her? Wouldn’t the tracker instead be a little more useful?” asked one.

“Don’t be hard on her, Rob. She could be useful. But she should be careful….” Replied another.

“Oh, Jon-don’t push Y/N darling into a battle yet! She fainted in the woods just hours ago! The woman’s distraught!” you heard Loki reply.

“Distraught? What do you mean?” the voice asked.

“Walk down with me, gentlemen, and I’ll explain it in short….” Loki offered.

You heard the footsteps go down the marble hall. Then you could not distinguish any words. The potion lulled you into a deep, blissful sleep.

When you awoke, it was a nice morning. You heard birds- to think you were in a different world and birds still chirruped. Was this the next day? Very likely it was the next day by now in your world, in Midgard. But here, it was morning.

It was Sunday. It would be hard not to think of Will on Sundays.

There was a knock on the door. It was a servant bringing some breakfast. A wooden tray with poached eggs, buttered toast, fresh fruit, and plump sausage links.

“Could I have coffee?” you asked.

The servant blinked.

“What is that?” she asked.

Loki’s voice rang in your head with a sigh.

“Oh, allow me.”

With a whiff of green magic, a blue, porcelain cup with the rich drink appeared on the tray. It warmed your hands as you held it, like a small hug in a cup.

After scarfing it all down, another brought you some clothes. They would be long, flowy robes the blue of a robin’s egg secured with a bronze belt. They were pretty, you had to admit. But you only sat in your room on the chair. Staring out the window. Thinking. Ruminating. Playing the scene that happened last night. Then playing through every memory you had of Will.

There was the time in spring when you played with his dog by throwing sticks for the pet to fetch under the blossoming trees. There was the time he walked around in the muck of the marshes. Mud and dirty got on his clothes and face. So when he returned to town, you cleaned off his face with your handkerchief. The time he proposed, and you through your arms over her broad shoulders and embraced him with a “yes.” Every polite kiss on the hand that scratched from his goatee. Every lovely dance at a party where he looked in your eye as you both moved to swelling string music. Every sermon that you took note of while admiring the grey morning light of the church and on his white robes with green sashes.

Then the letters. The morning in the field. Cora.

 Every flash of his black with the small white flap of the collar that made you smile and your heart race with excitement. The sign that he represented God. Now it was something different. Black on white made your insides watery-once he represented God and now, he represented all things bad and wrong with the life. No- not with life-with men.

There was a knock on the door. Loki opened it. You stayed at the chair, turning to him. He was in his usual black and green robes. His blue eyes bright and his face had a gentle frown, rather than the proud, smug smile that was typical of him.

“How are you now? Slept alright?” he asked.

“Hadn’t slept this well in ages….” You answered.

“Do you…need anything, darling?”

“Don’t call me darling. And no.” you replied.

He took a step forward. You feel yourself lean a little back. The sunshine of outside melted its golden light into the room. It illuminated his face. It made the little embellishments on his clothes glow and patches of it warmed your skin.

“If you need anything, let a servant know. Or me.”

“If you can read my thoughts now, why bother asking?” you asked.

“Just to make sure, Y/N,” he said.

You stood up and crossed your arms.

“Why are you even here? Offering all these things, making me coffee in a cup?  I know why-only offer nice things to me, so I owe you. To force me to sleep with you. How disappointing-You might be a god, but you’re just like all the other men.”

You turned to look out the window. He let in a deep sigh, his eyebrows briefly shooting up. He didn’t reply at your comment.

“The gardens and libraries and every nook of the library is free for you, should you want them.” He offered. Then he closed the door and left.

You did not feel like talking to Thor. As you passed him, you would only smile in greeting.

“Why-Y/N? What’s the matter?” he asked in his booming voice.

“Nothing, just…leave me alone…” you said, increasing your pace.

You curled up in the library. You grabbed volumes of sad romantic poetry. You read and re-read them to cry and cry your heart out. It was a release. It was something- the sadness that never left you.

I was never enough for Will. I’m not enough for him, for anyone… you kept thinking. When the last rumble of your latest crying session ended, you felt raw. Squeezed out like a wrinkled fruit. You noticed tear stains on the pages of the book. When you looked out the window, you realized how much time had passed. It was either the late afternoon or early evening. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“I’m not in the mood, Loki!” you dismissed.

“I’m not Loki, my lady…” answered a similar voice.

When you opened the door, you saw Prince Hal.  He had two silver glasses of what smelled like wine.

“He told me what happened. And I thought dealing with my father was bad.”

He walked inside. He handed you the wine. It’s dry, rich taste was welcoming. As you wiped your mouth, you noticed the deep red stain on your sleeve. The fireplace to the library crackled with a fresh ember.  Both of you sat on the chair and sipped your glasses.

“So, it was you who brought me here?” you asked.

“Yes. Loki said he heard your cry for help. Your pain. He didn’t tell me why at the time, but he insisted I go and fetch you. He used his magic to send me there- said you deserved a ‘handsome prince on a horse’ to help you. But that his kind of prince would not be preferable to you. Hence me.”

You nestled into the chair. Hal cupped his goblet with one hand and began to take big drinks of it down.

“You said Loki…he told you what…what Will did…” you prodded.

Hal nodded, you could see an auburn curl fall free from his head.

“Yes. He did, he confirmed.

“And you saw Stella?” you asked.

He blinked rapidly. His eyes went to the corner and then back to yours in realization.

“Ah! The maid? That was her name? To be honest, I think she saw me. She was the first to find you,” he recalled.

“The First? She was in the forest at night?” you asked.

“Not night- the early morning. She was up early- I saw she had a basket for picking berries, as maids do. I heard her cry for help. Twas how I found you. I watched the maid pitifully try to carry you and fail- her delicacy not strong enough to carry you back to safety. You should have seen her amazement upon my steed. I told her who I was and who sent me, and she believed me. Then I could carry you like a babe and set us both on the horse and away. Her gentle heart fretted over you, my lady. I had to assure you many times you would be safe here in Asgard.”

You nodded. For the first time, you smiled at her. At the memory of your friend.

“Stella’s a good friend of mine. I’m glad she found me…” you responded.

Hal finished his wine with a big gulp. You weren’t even halfway done.

“You…you loved your intended. And he hurt you…I cannot imagine what it is to be hurt like that,” he said.

You made no comment, staring at the dark red of your wine in your cup. So dark, that it almost looked black. Hal then leaned forward, half ready to spring up from his chair.

“Perhaps…we should go to a tavern here. We’ll have another drink or two. I’ll tell you how I once scared an old man robbing a lord-get your mind off!” he offered with a smile and a wink.

A tavern. A place with low-lives, drunkards, and street walkers. A place where he would be emboldened with drinking and partying. Hal would flirt with you and smile at you. And then he would offer a room with one bed for the night. And it would not be for sleeping. Will seemed calm. He seemed chaste and appropriate. He seemed respectful of you. He seemed focused on God and his position. But his shaking cock could not lie. If this was how vicars acted, then how would this wild prince be like?  No-no you had no taste. No- that was what Hal was after!

“No thank you, Hal. But…thank you for the wine.”

With that, Hal left.

The next two days followed that pattern. You took long baths full of hot water and scented soaps. You walked in the garden, never wanting to talk to anyone-not even Queen Frigga. You went to the library and curled up on a chair watching the fire, mostly to read the sad love poetry and wallow. You cried in every spot. On the garden bench, on the library rug, by a stone column, and on the long, marble steps. You cried in the morning. You cried in the afternoon. You cried at night. You would wake up late at night and begin crying again. You drank wine and stuffed yourself full of every tray of food. But thankfully, with the potion, your sleeping improved. You would awake to orange morning light and the crisp cool of the air of a new day. Refreshed and feeling new energy in you than the heavy weight of insomnia.  

On the third day, Loki knocked on the door again to you. You were just enjoying a cup of coffee (the staff of Asgard figured out how to make some especially for you) and looking over the pages of a book you borrowed from the library.

“Y/N…do you want to return home?”

You shook your head.

“No. I can’t. I’m not ready,” you answered.

“But…anything from your home you would like?” he asked.

“I would like…my clothes. And my journal and embroidery from home.”

“You mean-the bustle and all those heavy skirts?” he asked with a curl of his lips.

You gave him a frown, furrowing your brow.

“Yes, my bustle and skirts!” you insisted.

Loki let out a sigh then tipped his head to the side.

“That can be done.”

“Loki…why are you so kind to me?” you asked, folding your arms in a hug for yourself.

Loki shrugged.

“It’s not a good look on the palace to have a guest be unhappy.”

“You sure do seem a little too grateful just for giving you milk,” you replied.

“I am not an ungrateful man, despite what my father will tell you…” he said. You got up from your chair and took a step closer to him.

“Loki…do you…do you know what’s going on back home? I know Stella saw Hal. And Hal told her I was taken to Asgard.” You asked.

“She’s telling them that you were hurt and was sent to Asgard for help.”

“So, they believe her?”

“Of course, they don’t believe her. They believed in a serpent. Now that they have been proven there is no serpent, but there is me, their imaginations are still running. They keep whispering to each other how you were abducted by the Norse God to be his whore. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not to them-That’s what they believe. Makes for a good story, don’t you think?”

You decided not to ask about Will.

With a flick of Loki’s hand, out came a dress, corset, bustle, stockings, and petticoats and bustle laid on your bed. The dress was one of your own and a favorite of yours for the day- white with green stripes and pink embellishments. With another snap of his fingers, you saw your old journal and your embroidery, thread, and needles were there on the desk.

You smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Ah- I finally get one from you.”

He went over to the bed, observing the clothes.

“The more I look, the less bad I think they are…. your time’s fashion,” he commented.

“They are mine. They are a part of me- and it’s how I like to dress. I, for one, think your Asgardian dress is strange!” you shot back.

He crossed his arms and then leaned against the wall. You noticed a small laugh escape him in just a exhale. But then he flashed a handsome, winning smile.

“Oh- wait until you meet the others. There’s three- the new one dresses right in your era. But the other two of them are dressed strange, I can tell you that!”

You turned up.

“New men?”

“Yes- the new form. We’re all making a circle of each other for support!”

“For your war!”

“The one from your time is busy right now-so he will very likely be late. But the two others- the ones from the future- they will be here today at breakfast. But…I know that you have been taking your meals alone…I don’t wish to bother you,” Loki shrugged. “Like I said, it’s mainly for a meeting. About this little war. The danger to our worlds and all that.  But you might as well distract yourself. Unless you’re not ready…”

You got up.

“No…I’d like to meet them, please. Just let me get dressed.” You insisted.

He smiled and then left to give you privacy.

You sighed with relief putting on your own fashions. It felt like missing a part of your skin. You didn’t feel like a creature in a zoo repeating a mindless pattern. No, you were a person. Once you were done, you opened the door. Loki was pacing about. He stopped and smiled at you.

“Here- allow me to escort you…”

Loki offered his arm. You hesitated, then You took it and began to walk with him. He felt warm from being so close. Even the leather of his sleeve was warm. He did smile a small smile but offered no remarks to you. That is, until you finally walked into the dining room. Of course, Hal was there, running a hand through his hair.

“Ah! My lady! You’re right here! You can meet them!” Hal said with a greeting smile.

“Who’s them?” you asked.

As if on cue, in walked another gentleman. He had the same look as them if you saw his face- cheekbones and blue eyes. But his skin was a bit tan, and his hair was short. Blonder than the others. He wore strange clothes- you could see a white shirt with a blue jacket and blue pants that matched. Though he looked at you. He at once went up and shook his hand and smiled.

“Oh- you are out and ready? Are you a guest here as well? The woman from Aldwinter?” he asked. His voice was formal and his manners proper, despite the oddity of his clothes.

“Yes, I am,” you confirmed. Loki let you go from his arm as you approached the gentleman.

“Pleasure to meet you- my name is Jonathan Pine.”

You curtsied and he looked at you in amusement. His hand reached out to shake yours, then it retreated.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m Y/N,” you replied dutifully.

Loki let out a little laugh. He stayed standing, pulling up a chair intended to be yours.

“Oh, Jonathan! You do have a weakness for beautiful women in need of help!”

Jonathan shot him a look.

“I’m only greeting her, sir,” he said.

“You’re not at work, Jonathan-and no one’s here to watch you. You can finally relax here…” came another voice.

In walked another similar looking fellow. Only he had redder hair that was a touch longer. He wore a white shirt and dark pants and something funny and dark around his neck. His sleeves were rolled up and you saw a watch around his wrist. But something in his pale face and there was a slight sadness in his eye.  But he looked up at you and they shone.

“Ah, the new girl!” the stranger said.

He went up and shook your hand. You were a little shocked at the intimacy-touching a man you didn’t know!-but went with it.

“I hear Hal gave you quite a ride the other day. Well, I can give you one too if you like,” he said with a wink.

You felt yourself become hot and flustered and fluttered your eyes down. You even frowned and when your eyes went up you glared at him.

“Sir! Do not speak to me in that way when I don’t even know your name!” you said.

“Oh, please- Robert! You don’t even know her name! Robert, this is Y/N. Y/N- this is Doctor Robert Laing. I promise you, he doesn’t bite!” Loki assured.

“Hard” added Robert with a playful shrug.

With that, the men sat at their seats before the food and you.

Loki swept his arms up. “And now I was told the other would be late- we may begin gentlemen…and lady…”

[tsims]

MACDONALD

The MacDonalds went for couples counseling, and Sarah attended a house party before the little family made their way to the local resort that they'd booked two nights at (I just needed someone to test out the lot, and so far so good!)