#sarah had the one with the glowing red buttons and it reminds me of THE best middle school parties

[13beachesxx]

i miss lots of things from childhood, but i miss Them the most

[millersgirl80]

Sarah’s teacher 18+

Pairing: Joel miller x teacher!reader

Words: 2.5k

Rating: 18+

Summary: you meet Sarah’s dad, and agree to a date

Warning: 18+, unprotected p in v (keep it wrapped people)

As the morning sun bathed the school building in a warm glow, anticipation hung in the air like the sweet scent of freshly baked cookies. Today was Parents Day, a special occasion where families gathered to celebrate their children’s achievements.

I had prepared a few surprises that I hoped would make the day memorable for my students and their families.

The classroom buzzed with excitement as the children whispered and giggled, sharing their thoughts about what their parents might say or do. Sarah, with her brown eyes and curly hair, was fidgeting at her desk. She was one of those students who always shone brightly in class but was often shy when it came to sharing her achievements with the adults in her life.

When the bell rang, signaling the start of the festivities, the classroom door swung open, and in walked Sarah’s dad, Mr. Miller. He was a tall man with a kind smile and tired eyes. White button up shirt and a red tie. As he scanned the room, he spotted Sarah, and his face lit up with pride. She beamed back, clearly relieved and happy to see him.

After a warm welcome, I invited the parents to take a seat while I began showcasing the children’s projects. Sarah’s artwork was displayed prominently on the wall, a colorful representation of her favorite memories from the year. As I spoke about the projects, I watched as Mr. Miller leaned in, listening intently. Sarah, though nervous, gradually began to relax, her smile growing wider with every compliment her father offered.

After our presentation, I proposed an idea, a little adventure together outside the classroom. I encouraged everyone to step out into the schoolyard, where we had set up various fun activities. The response was enthusiastic, and soon we were all crowded around the hand-painted signs that marked different stations: a scavenger hunt, a relay race, and even an art corner where children could make something for their parents.

As we moved outside, Sarah clutched her dad’s hand, looking up at him with an expression that mixed excitement and a hint of nervousness. I could see that she wanted to show him how much fun they could have together. Mr. Miller noticed too and knelt down to her level, whispering something that made her giggle. It warmed my heart to see such a close connection.

We made our way to the scavenger hunt station, where I explained the rules. Each child was to team up with their parent to find items that were hidden around the schoolyard. Sarah’s eyes sparkled as she scanned the area, and she tugged on her dad’s sleeve, urging him to follow her.

“Come on, Dad! We need to find the red leaf and the shiny stone!” she exclaimed, launching into the hunt with infectious enthusiasm. Mr. Miller chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment.

As they began searching, I wandered a bit closer, watching them from a distance. Sarah was in her element, running from tree to tree, her father close behind, cheering her on and playfully pretending to be exhausted. “We’ll never find that shiny stone at this rate!” he joked, and Sarah laughed, refocusing her determination.

After a flurry of excitement, I called for everyone to gather around. The parents were beaming with pride as their children presented their findings, each treasure accompanied by giggles and stories about the hunt. When Sarah brought forth a bright red leaf and a surprisingly shiny rock, I could see Mr. Miller’s tired eyes shine with pride.

“That’s my girl!” he proclaimed, lifting her up in a playful embrace. The joy radiating from both of them reminded me of the true essence of Parents Day — it was not just about showcasing academic achievements but about celebrating the bond between parents and their children.

As the day drew to a close, I watched the families pack up their things, smiles stretching from ear to ear. Mr. Miller pulled me aside for a moment, thanking me for organizing such a wonderful event. “Sarah has had a fantastic year,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough for believing in her.” “Of course Mr. Miller, Sarah is one of my brightest students. I enjoyed having her this year.” I smiled.

“Joel. Please.” He insisted. “Can I ask you out for dinner tonight?” He smiles. I stood there for a moment smiling thinking about my answer. “I’d like that.” I finally answered. “7 okay?” Joel smiles. “7, sounds great.”

Joel grabbed Sarah’s bag and headed out of the classroom. I greeted a few more students and parents, until everyone was packed up leaving. I walked around my room making sure everything was cleaned and put back in their spots before heading home to get ready.

An hour later, I found myself standing in front of my mirror, adjusting my dress nervously. The last thing I wanted to do was complicate our dynamic as teacher and parent, but there was something undeniably magnetic about him that I couldn’t ignore.

When the doorbell rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I took a deep breath and opened the door to find Joel standing there, looking handsome in a fitted jacket and a warm smile. “Wow, you look beautiful!” he said, his eyes lighting up.

“Thanks! You’re looking pretty sharp yourself,” I replied, trying to mask my flustered state. I stepped outside and felt the cool breeze against my skin as we walked to his car. “How’d you know where I live?” I chuckled. “Sarah told me. She saw you out here a couple times.” He scratched his neck nervously.

We chose a cozy Italian restaurant nestled in the heart of town, where the ambiance was filled with softly flickering candles and the aroma of garlic and fresh herbs. Over plates of pasta and glasses of red wine, exchanged a few kisses and touched here and there, our conversation flowed effortlessly. We laughed about the funny things our students did, exchanged stories about our lives, and connected over shared interests—movies, books, and Joel’s work.

Finally, as we wrapped up our meal and the server brought us dessert, a dramatic plate of chocolate lava cake, I couldn’t help but tease him. “You know, I didn’t sign up to be your date consultant for Sarah’s projects. Maybe next time, I’ll charge you for my services!”

Joel chuckled, a warm laugh that filled the space around us. “How about I trade you one lesson plan for another? I could use the insight.” I felt a spark of connection that went beyond just a simple dinner; it was clear that this could lead to something deeper.

As we walked back to Joel’s truck, our arms brushed, and a spark ignited. Joel felt his dick twitch in his pants at the simple touch, I gave him a sly smile, my lips curved in a way that made his mouth water. The ride to my apartment was a comfortable silence full of tension.

Once we arrived. Joel hurried around to my side opening the door. I walked up to the front door unlocking the door to my apartment. “Would you like to come in?” I smile stepping to the side. As Joel took in my appearance once more. I wore a tight black dress that hugged my body, accentuating my cleavage and toned legs. My hair tumbled over my shoulders, and my scent—a mix of musk and vanilla—filled his senses, Joel smiled stepping past me into the apartment.

"It's a lovely place you have here.” Joel says, turning to face me as I closed the door. Joel takes a couple steps towards me towering over me with my back barely touching the door. My eyes flickered with desire, and I bit my lip trying to think of something to say, a gesture that sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin. “Thank you Joel, can I get you anything?” I whispered, intimidated by his size. “No. I’m fine darlin” he whispered back slightly cocking his head to the side.

He stepped closer, his body responding to me like a magnet. Our lips were inches apart, and I could feel his warm breath on my skin. I rose on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. The kiss was electric, our mouths opening to each other instantly, tongues tangling and dancing in a passionate embrace. Joel's hands found their way to my hips, pulling me against him as he deepened the kiss, tasting me, devouring my mouth.

He moaned into my mouth as he felt me grind my pelvis against his throbbing cock. My dress rode up, giving him access to my thighs. Joel groaned, he couldn't help but wonder how she would feel wrapped around him, her pussy tightening around his throbbing dick.

Breaking the kiss, I trailed kisses along his jawline and down his neck, my breath hot against his skin. "I want you to take me, Joel," I whispered, my voice thick with need. "I want to feel you inside me."

Joel's hands moved to the zipper of my dress, slowly pulling it down, his eyes fixed on mine. The dress slid off my shoulders, pooling at my feet, leaving me standing there in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties. My nipples already hard and begging for attention.

Kneeling before me, he placed soft kisses along my stomach, smirking, enjoying the way I squirmed and the little gasps that escaped my lips. His hands caressed my ass, squeezing the firm flesh as he pulled me closer to the edge of desire.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growled, his hot breath fanning over my sensitive skin. "I've wanted to taste your sweet pussy since the moment I saw you."

I whimpered as Joel hooked his fingers into the elastic of my panties, slowly peeling them away, baring me completely. The lips already glistening with anticipation. He paused for a moment, admiring the sight before him, before leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss on my inner thigh.

"Please, Joel," I begged, my hands tangling in his hair. "Eat me. Make me cum."

Joel needed no further encouragement. With a deep groan, he leaned in and flicked his tongue against my clit, circling the sensitive bud before delving into my wetness. He lapped eagerly, savoring the taste of my arousal as he slid his tongue deep inside me.

I cried out, my hips bucking as i threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him against me. Joel moaned, the vibrations sending shivers through my body as he continued to feast on my pussy, sucking and licking until I was squirming and gasping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Oh God, I'm close," I panted, my body trembling on the edge of climax. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Joel looked up at me, his eyes dark with lust. "Cum for me baby" he ordered, his voice hoarse.

His words sent me spiraling over the edge, my body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through me . Joel drank in my essence, lapping at my pussy as my juices flowed, my cries of pleasure filling the apartment.

As my orgasm subsided, I gently pulled him to his feet, my eyes smoldering with desire. "Now, it's my turn to taste you," I murmured, my fingers already tugging at his belt.

Joel's heart hammered in his chest as I undressed him, my eyes flashing with anticipation as I stripped his body. His cock twitched eagerly, leaking pre-cum as I freed it from the confines of his pants. I ran my fingers along the length of his shaft, admiring the way it pulsed in my hand.

Dropping to my knees, i wrapped my lips around the head of his cock, sucking gently as my tongue swirled. Joel's eyes rolled back in his head as pleasure sang through his body. My mouth was hot and wet, and I took my time, teasing him with slow licks and sucks before taking him deeper, my hand stroking the length of his shaft.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair as he gently guided my head. "Take it deeper, baby. Suck my dick."

I obeyed, taking him as deep as I could, my throat contracting around him. Joel could feel his orgasm building, his balls drawing up tight as I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard. With a growl of warning, he exploded, his cum shooting down my throat as I swallowed greedily, milking him dry with my mouth.

They took a moment to recover, their breath coming in ragged gasps, before I stood, my body flushed with satisfaction. I pulled Joel towards the bedroom, my lips finding his in a passionate kiss that left both us hungry for more.

Falling onto the bed, we pulled each other close, our hands roaming eagerly as we kissed, exploring each other's mouths with a feverish desperation. I straddled Joel, guiding his hard cock to my entrance, then slowly sank down, impaling myself on his length.

We both groaned at the feeling of becoming one. After adjusting to his thickness I began to move, riding him with slow, my tits began to bounce Joel reached up to squeeze the soft flesh, pinching my hard nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh yes, just like that," I purred, tossing my head back setting a relentless pace. "Fuck, Joel! I’m going to cum again."

Joel's hands gripped my ass, helping to guide me as I bounced on his cock, clenching around him with each thrust. The bed creaked while our moans fill the room.

Reaching between us, Joel rubbed my clit in circular motions "Come on,baby. Let go," he urged, his voice hoarse with his own need. "I want to feel you squeeze my cock with your pussy."

His words sent me over the edge, I cried out, my body shaking as I came, contracting around him in waves of pleasure.

"Turn," he groaned, pulling out of me. Flipping me on my hands and knees.

I whimpered, already sensitive from my previous orgasms, as Joel thrust his cock back into me lining his thumb up with my ass, applying a little pressure behind it. I gasp slightly jerking away. “Tell me to stop,and I will” Joel slowed his thrust down. I shake my head pushing against him more. He starts to fuck me with his thumb, as he continues to thrust into my pussy. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, and I let out a high-pitched whine. Joel grins, his other hand reaching up to pinch and roll my nipple. “You’re fucking amazing baby” he kisses my shoulders “Goddamn, I’m going to fucking cum, baby” His voice turns hoarse as he struggles to hold back. He feels me convulse around him, my high-pitched cries filling the room. It's his undoing. He lets out a feral growl and buries his face in my neck as he spills into me, his body stiffening as he unloaded deep into my pussy, his hot cum mixing with my juices.

Collapsing onto the bed, Joel rolled off me and we lay tangled together, our breath slowly returning to normal. I traced lazy patterns on Joel's chest, a satisfied smile on my face.

"That was incredible," I murmured,"I can't wait to see what else we can get up to." Joel smirks kissing my forehead.

[hideawayintheimaginationworld]

Could we get a short story about Millie having a nightmare about Molten Freddy?

Millie was in the graveyard, it had become like her original Dreamscape for the last few months.

It was more like Hell.

Her own personal handcrafted Hell.

It was always cold here, even wearing her black and purple hoodie, she was hugging herself to keep herself warm and to try to feel safe.

She walked ahead, she was not wearing shoes but she didn’t feel the ground physically on her feet, she just felt numb besides the feeling beneath her cold skin, it was like a cold that was freezing the insides of her bones, like sharp icicles grew in her body and muscles, making her walking almost robotic and stiff.

She ignored the tombstones around her, there were many, she knew looking at them was a mistake, there were the many, many symbols of death. She wanted to forget this place but something just kept bringing her back it appeared.

She looked around, she knew she was alone but she felt like she was physically stalked by a predator, she wondered if this was how someone as paranoid as Delilah felt at times, just the deep pit in the gut feeling, something dark creeping not too far behind, sharpening its claws.

She wanted this to end, it was just an open dead land full of broken tombstones, open graves, and trees that snapped like bones when she stepped on them, and a ground that was dead and dry.

Millie started to walk up a hill, the ground almost seem to scratch at her feet like it was trying to make her uncomfortable, she kept going, she tried to push away the thought that something bad was there, she was in control of her dreams, she could leave when she wanted, she wasn’t trapped against her will.

She sometimes couldn’t help but feel like a lost spirit looking for a purpose, even in the real world. She just existed instead of living, she could walk in the streets, listening to music and feel just as empty as right now.

Like something was missing.

Maybe something actually did die on that day when she met Funtime Freddy.

Maybe it was her hope if she ever had any in the first place.

“Keep running, we'll be there.”

Her empty feeling was replaced by fear, it grew deep roots and twisted her in such a way she stood still, hearing leaves rustling around somewhere. She didn’t like how quiet this world was.

“The dead are also quiet.”

No, you won’t.

She started running forward, as she did, her legs started to burn and ache, she felt some resistance like something was trying to pull her back, she kept reminding herself of how strong she was, she was still alive and she wouldn’t fall, so each time she was caught and put down, she could rise stronger than ever.

The ground started to wobble like she was running on a soft surface like pillows, Millie tried to keep running but fell back into something, her heart gave a nasty start as she looked up and saw a glowing orange eye and sharp teeth greeted her.

She jumped up to avoid a wire grabbing at her, she ran ahead, seeing it had given her the strength to run in fear, this isn’t real, she reminded herself, I’m not trapped, this is just a stupid dream!!

The beast snarled at her, she heard it pounding the ground behind her as it ran, well it ran strangely. It was a strange version of Funtime Freddy, it was missing its body and only had the broken, jagged face, sharp teeth and sharper claws, the whole body was made up of wire tendrils that twisted and slithered like a snake. She heard it make another strange gargled sound.

“MIlliE.”

She tripped, she didn’t realise it tripped her leg until she was dragged backwards.

“sTAy wITh mE, L-LeT'S cOunT thE wAys.”

Her fingernails tried to dig into the dirt so she wasn’t pulled backwards, all it accomplished was her fingernails getting large chunks of dirt that started to get under her skin, making her whine in pain, she turned to see the broken face, it had a face.

It had a weakness.

Millie let herself be pulled towards him before lifting her leg, and delivering a hard kick to the broken face, hearing it crack and crumble, the beast grabbed his face with one of its hands and screeched in what sounded like pain. Millie felt the wire on her leg was loose so she backed away on her hands and knees before she stood up and ran as fast as she could, reasoning she had time to outrun it as it didn’t even have a real body.

Plus this was Funtime Freddy.

Well a version of him at least, she had seen he wasn’t a fast runner.

She felt a rush of adrenaline and almost pride that was shown in her running picking up speed, she had always been a scared little girl and she had just kicked him to escape, she never stood up to him, usually, she'd cower like a little rabbit and someone else would have to help her. Her heart felt ready to explode from her chest, she didn’t know if it was from fear or feeling happy she escaped without help.

She could see the sky above change, from the endless cloudy night sky to sunset colours, vibrant splashes of orange, yellow and pink, this filled her with hope, she kept running, wanting to escape the dark and go to the light, the hope of a better tomorrow.

She was on the top of the hill, she saw the tall iron fence, and the gate.

She ran to the gate, trying to pull it open, but it only rattled slightly, she looked at the giant padlock on the other side. Locked, she immediately grumbled in her thoughts thinking of the inconvenience of it being locked.

She thought of how she could open it, forcing it open wide enough so she could squeeze through or even climbing over the fence, when she saw a few metres outside of the fence was a wooden bench with a man sitting on it.

She recognised him immediately.

“Grandpa!”

Her Grandpa just sat there, he was looking around, all Millie saw was the back of his head.

“Grandpa, I’m here! Can you help me?” She asked.

She heard footsteps, she saw Lefty had come from nowhere, his face was fixed into a frown.

“What are you doing outside? It's cold.”

“Lefty! I need help he's after me!!” Millie told him.

“Stephan?”

Millie realised that was her Grandpa, he didn’t even seem to know she was there.

It was like she disappeared completely.

“Lefty, I need help!!” She started to shake the gate nonstop, she looked behind her anxious it would crawl up behind her at any point, she started to sweat and shake at that possibility.

Lefty stepped to her Grandpa, putting his hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Lefty shook his head.

“No, no, it's not your fault,” She heard him sniffle.

Was he crying? She had never heard him cry, he was such a positive person, he never cried, he did look sad and disappointed but Millie had never seen him cry

“Oh no, please don’t cry...”

“I would honestly give anything for another day with her...”

“We all would, Millie was more valuable than she thought... and I will not let a monster steal another child from me...” Lefty responded, “Let's go away from this place of misery...”

“Lefty!! Grandpa!!” Millie cried desperately, she looked behind her again before shouting, “He's going to kill me, help!!” She watched helplessly as they walked away, she reached out her hand waving it around watching them slowly faded into the white space ahead, Millie saw a better place within her grasp and it was fading away.

She started crying and let out a scream, she wanted to be seen. She wanted to be heard.

She existed!

She was real!

She screamed again when she was pulled backwards.

She was forced face to face by the beast, it snarled at her, wires tangled around her torso, hanging her off the ground, she used her hands to try and force them off, she looked behind her and she could still faintly see Lefty and her Grandpa.

“ThEy cAn't hear you lambchOp...”

She looked at Funtime Freddy's broken face with teary eyes, she could see the orange light flicker blue then turn red, a bright red that blinded her, she shielded her eyes, frowning and pulling herself to get away from him.

“How UnFortuNAte...” Funtime Freddy snapped his jaw after saying that, Millie flinched, seeing the wall of teeth.

The wires around her torso tighten, it felt like a series of ropes pulling and pulling, she swore she felt her skin burn and her muscles tensed.

“GooDBye!”

She was suddenly thrown upwards then abruptly thrown back down, and she realised the ground was there, she was going to have her head smashed.

She couldn’t even scream.

She felt her head beginning to ache, she turned her head to try to shield the impact, hoping it would be quick at the very least.

She gasped as she fell out of bed instead, landing on the floor with a thud.

She looked around, everything changed.

She forgot she was in a nightmare.

She was in her room, she had tangled herself in her blanket, which she immediately pulled apart, thinking of the constriction and wanting to be free.

She looked around, she could hear the faint ticking of Sarah's wristwatch across the room, she saw the silhouettes of the bookshelf, the closet, and Sarah herself, still asleep, obviously having a dreamless sleep tonight.

Millie sat on the ground, trying to make sense of what she saw when she realised she was still crying.

She was just terrified, having no real idea of where that manifestation came from, it was like a snake, ready to strike whenever.

Like the real Funtime Freddy, moving silently in the night like a monster.

She got to her feet, wobbling, she grabbed onto her bed to support herself while she stood up, she walked a few shaky steps and reached for the door handle, pulling it open then looking outside.

The hallway was empty, she could see the darkness ahead but she knew at the end of the hallway, Lefty was asleep in bed, undisturbed.

She wondered if he ever had nightmares.

She stepped back to look at her bedside table and felt around for her phone, she didn’t keep much on her little table, usually, the current book she was reading, her medication, a small notebook, earphones, and her lamp.

She finally got a grip on the shape and pulled it up, pressing the button which illuminated the screen and the current time.

4:56 AM.

Of course, everyone else would be asleep, she would have to be awake for school at 7:30 AM. School was actually the last thing on her mind right now, she couldn’t really talk at school.

She pressed the button to turn off the screen and placed it down, she then looked back into the hallway.

She took two steps out and silently closed the door behind her, she then quietly walked ahead to Lefty's room.

She was confronted by the door, which was the final gate.

A gate which she could open.

She had a decision, a sense of freedom she never had before.

She didn’t want to keep living in darkness, she had seen others living in the light.

She wanted that.

She knew she needed help.

Asking was difficult.

She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door, closing it behind her, she saw Lefty asleep on his bed, on his side, looking like a real bear in the dark.

She tiptoed over and was directly next to him, she pushed his shoulder back, Lefty didn’t even move, she gripped his shoulder and shook it.

During the shaking, Lefty's eye cracked open and he looked at Millie.

“Wat do you want...?” He said sounding half awake.

Millie didn’t say anything, Lefty then blinked and it fully opened his eyes, his eye started glowing in the dark room, it was a soft glow like a nightlight.

“Millie?” He asked, his voice still sounding groggy, he pushed himself to sit up and looked at her.

“What's wrong?”

Millie felt her throat tighten, she felt like the monster was behind her, ready to catch her, it seized her throat and stopped her from talking.

She didn’t know if it was Funtime Freddy or fear.

Thinking about that brought tears to her eyes.

She let out a sob before becoming silent, tensing up.

“Millie, it's okay,” Lefty said, he got out of bed, and stood up, immediately hugging her to his torso, she hid her face in the mass of fluff on his chest, “I'm here... It’s okay...”

Millie felt trapped by this real-life nightmare.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He asked.

She pulled away slightly and nodded.

“Would you like to tell me or no?”

Millie wiped away her tears then answered, “Funtime Freddy is a monster...”

Lefty nodded, “I know... he is selfish... it's okay now... it wasn’t real... you're okay... and I would personally throw Funtime Freddy into open traffic before he ever got near you...”

Millie wiped her eyes again, she hated the feeling of crying, it made her feel pathetic, especially crying in front of other people, it was a weakness they could pick.

“You're supposed to be awake in a few hours... Millie...” Lefty spoke softly, “Would you like me to call your Grandpa? You can take the day off school and spend the day relaxing if you want...”

Millie looked away, “He'd be asleep.”

“He said if you ever needed him, you could call him, at any time, I’m sure he doesn’t care if you wake him up.”

That was the type of person he was.

She remembered how awful she was to him at times, how snappy and annoyed she sounded.

He was always so sweet and caring.

“Yes... I'll call him...” She nodded.

Millie was sitting on the sofa downstairs, she had taken her blanket with her, Annabel Lee, being disturbed by her, followed her downstairs and jumped into her lap, Millie held her phone in her hand, hesitating to actually wake up her Grandpa. She looked up at Lefty, watching him talk to Helpy in the kitchen, they were going back and forward, Helpy looked worried and looked around, Lefty shook his head and said something that assured him because his worried look disappeared, Lefty smiled at him and Helpy walked away from the conversation. Surprisingly, Helpy immediately walked over to Millie and jumped onto the sofa, sitting next to her.

As scary as he was because he looked like Funtime Freddy...

He thought about the comment Sarah said about him...

He was like a marshmallow, soft and puffy, and an absolute sweetheart.

“You are much braver than you realise... a normal person would have died by now.”

Helpy turned his head to her, she would sometimes see the menacing blue eyes of Funtime Freddy reflected back... the eyes that wanted to kill her... the bloodthirsty eyes...

But this time she saw almost the colour of the sky.

A bright blue sky in Helpy's big, child-like eyes...

Seeing the sky reminded her she was still alive.

“Are you going to call your Grandpa or do you want me to?” Helpy asked her.

“No... no... I will,” she finally pressed the icon to call the home phone at her Grandpa's house.

She pressed it to her ear, it rang a couple of times before she heard a click.

“Hello?”

“Grandpa? I hope you don’t mind...” Millie spoke sounding nervous at waking him up early.

“No, no Millie... I’m happy to talk to you...” She heard his voice, while he sounded slightly tired, she could hear the warmth in his voice.

She felt relieved but didn’t expect what he said next:

“I'm glad you still talk to me.”

Millie blinked, she then answered, “Of course I want to talk to you.”

“It's always nice to hear from you Millie, you are surrounded by people that care for you, and even when I’m not next to you, I'm still thinking about my brave granddaughter... and how far she has come...”

Millie smiled, life wasn't perfect, but it was the best it could possibly be at this stage.

It was helped greatly by Lefty and her Grandpa, and their reassuring words.

[samwinchestershotgod]

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes, and if i bleed, you'll be the last to know

did someone say samruby ?? i have samruby to spare. (read on ao3?)

“Do you love me?”

Her eyes are wide but they aren’t looking at anything but the floor.

Sam doesn’t answer her. Her blood tastes sweet and cold and he’s lost in it. He hears her, but her words don’t register right away. She pulls her arm back, much to Sam’s dismay.

“Hey--”

“Do you love me?” This time, it’s more aggressive, like she wants a certain answer and she’s afraid of the one she’s gonna get. “C’mon, Sammy, tell me.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sam responds bitterly. “Don’t call me Sammy.”

She smirks. “Whatever. Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “Do you?”

Her face falters for a moment in the moonlight. “No.”

“Then why did you ask?” Sam says, reaching back for her arm. She lets him. She doesn’t respond. In the morning, he’ll look like a corpse. He always does, every morning. It’s a weird side effect from the blood, like it takes all the life out of him for a while before rebooting him. His skin gets all grey, his eyes get all red, and he moves in slow and sluggish ways until he bounces back around noon.

But right now, as the moon makes their shitty motel room bright with the iridescent midnight glow, he looks pretty perfect to her. His hair was a bit greasy and his face was flushed red with the formidable power rushing into him, but he was perfect.

When he stops, she sits down next to him with an air of grace, trying hard to get him to look at her like anything else but a drug.

She reaches over and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear because she can’t help it. He melts into her palm because he can’t help it, either. With slow eyes, he looks at her, and she wants to see something other than craving in them, but she doesn’t.

“What?” he whispers, his voice retaining a bit of childlike innocence, like he was wishing he wasn’t where he was anymore.

“Could you love me?” The words fall out her mouth before she can stop them.

Their faces are so close she can smell her blood on his breath. He kisses her instead of answering her question. She kisses back instead of asking again. Maybe she doesn’t want to know that answer.

~

He drains a demon like it’s literally nothing, but his blood feels hot and stable and strong, so he doesn’t even bat an eye.

In the barn, Ruby twirls around in delight, like she’s dizzy with happiness.

“That was fun,” she grins. “I like doing stuff with you.”

Sam grins back at her, though somewhere deep in him, it feels all wrong to smile at a time like this.

The demon they drained-- who posed as a farmer, who was taking care of the horses when they found him-- hangs loosely against the post they tied him to. Sam tries not to look at it too close, or he’ll be reminded that that was once a real person and that he just ruined their chances of ever being a real person again. He shoves it down as Ruby presses the buttons on the little radio in the barn. She giggles and continues to spin around, this time with a bit more flare.

“What are you doing?” Sam asks, his head still spinning a little.

“Listen to music?” she says, as if it should be obvious.

Sam huffs a laugh. “Right now?”

“I’m in a good mood,” she shrugs. “You’re all-” she motions vaguely towards Sam with her hands “-and the weather is nice...why not?”

“We’re in a barn, in the middle of nowhere, with a dead body on our hands,” Sam says.

She groans. “God, you are no fun! Live a little, Sammy. Please.”

“I told you--”

“Not to call you Sammy. Whatever.”  Although her words are harsh, her face is a bit sympathetic, and Sam can tell she feels a bit bad for him. They stand about five feet away from each other, while the staticy little radio sings about the starman letting all the children boogie. She takes five steps towards him, that stupid little smirk on her lips, then wraps her pale (perfect) arms around his waist. His breath holts, but he slowly relaxes as she starts to make them sway.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks honestly.

She holds his hand and shakes him back and forth. “Why aren’t you stopping me?”

She’s right, he doesn’t stop her.

The lightbulb from above creates a ring of light around them, like a halo. She might be a demon, but she looked angelic to him right at that moment.

“Ruby...” he begins.

She looks up sharply. He lets her dance with him but forgets to say anything else.

~

“Have you ever loved anyone?” She asks one night, as they eat french fries out of greasy bags and watch a cop show that was essentially the same episode over and over again. However, they were two seasons down, and she wasn’t about to stop.

“I loved plenty of people,” he responds, his voice catching a bit.

“I meant, like, have you ever loved anyone,” she explains. She doesn’t look at his face. She knows there’s a red glow from her own blood still on his lips, but she doesn’t want to look at it right now. She just stares at the FBI agents breaking down a door on the screen.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “My girlfriend in college. I was gonna marry her.”

“Yeah, Jessica. I know,” she responds, surprised by the bits of jealousy in her tone. “The demons always talked about her. They said--”

“I don’t want to know what the demons had to say about her.” His voice is icy. She pulls back. She stuffs french fries in her mouth and bites her tongue.

(When they finally raise Lucifer, together, maybe he’d want to marry her too.)

The thought scares her and she tries to forget she thought it at all.

“There was Madison…” he continues. “She was a werewolf. I killed her.” His voice sounds sad again. She tries not to care. “Or Sarah Blake. I don’t really know what happened to her, though.”

“That's it?”

He shakes his head. “No. Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t tell who I love or who I’d be sad to lose.”

“Would you be sad to lose me?” she asks quietly.

He doesn’t answer for a long time. “Yeah.”

“Because of the...?” She hates what the answer is going to be.

“...Yeah.”

When he figures it all out, he’ll be happy. He’ll be powerful. Maybe he’ll actually want her to stick around.

They return to their fries and their cop show and Ruby doesn’t bring it up again.

~

He’s high. Very high. It feels nice and big and bad and small all at once. She steadies him, holding his head against her chest and pressing her cheek to the top of his head.

“Sam,” she whispers in the darkness. “Was it too much?”

“No,” he says, just as quiet. “No...it’s...it’s perfect.”

“Can you feel it? That kind of power?”  She strokes his hair with a cold hand. “You’ll kill her. You’ll kill Lilith, get your revenge. Can’t you feel it?”

“Yes,” he lies.  

He likes it in her arms. It’s like when Jess would play with his hair...but she’s not Jess. She’s Ruby. He doesn’t love Ruby like he loved Jess.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

“Can I ask again?” He knows exactly what question she wants to ask.

“You can,” he says, “but I’m not sure my answer is gonna change.”

She stays silent. He can’t remember where they are, exactly. They're on the ground somewhere, but the blood’s making him all wonky. He wants Dean so bad it hurts. He suddenly feels like a child, and children want their parents. Or at least, the person who raised them.

“Stop thinking about him,” she says, because she always knows what he’s thinking about.

“Can’t.” His voice breaks.

He doesn’t love her. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

[juliamc1003]

I have always been interested in the printmaking process of Collagraphy. This genre of printing allows room for experimentation, surprising mistakes and interesting outcomes. I’m also interested in Collage making and Collagraphy is a great way for me to combine the two. Even when drawing on paper, I usually feel the need to add something physical to it, to create a texture or create something more tactile. Throughout this research for collagraph artists I have learned more about the genre and I am excited to progress and experiment now that I have inspiration. I enjoy the process of finding day to day objects around me, and to find out how they take ink and print. To create a collagraphy print it’s imperative to correctly and properly prepare your ‘plate’. Your plate is a firm surface which can be scored, etched and different textured paper,gels and paint can be added to create an image. You can transfer your chosen image the plate as if creating a Lino cut image. You must use the correct glue to when building your plate and you can also use string, buttons etc as long as the material used isn’t too soft or absorbent which will affect the inking process. The plate image is then sealed with gloss or varnish (also the back and sides to prevent curving of the plate when being washed). The inking process can be the relief or intaglio method (adding ink on top of the image or adding ink into the image and wiping off then using a press similar to the etching method) I have chosen three artists and of the three I was happy to find Donald Stoltenberg. I also was happy to find information on Atelier 17, a famous print studio in Paris and later New York, set up by a British artist, Stanley William Hayter. He encouraged lots of experimental ways of printing and encouraged artists such as Sue Fuller.

Donald Stoltenberg

Donald Stoltenberg’s collagraph ‘Central Station’, immediately sets the scene. The viewer feels caught up in a timeless romantic narrative filled with anticipation and excitement. We cannot see other passengers which eludes to a journey or travel out-with the humdrum and the rat race. The warm red and orange hues and bright white of daylight from the archway are enticing as if there is another life outside of the dirty smokey city. The title ‘Central station’ reflects the mood of the occasion, perhaps we are waiting to meet a friend we’ve not seen for a long time or we are taking a long train journey. We, as the viewer are given the choice to create the story...the train arriving - who are you there to meet? There is a huge sense of anticipation surrounding this image.

The scene seems to be dateless, could be 100 years ago or yesterday. The image has a heavy vignette and this gives focus to the huge archway of the station entrance and gives the viewer a sense of smokey hazy station. The train to the left of the image... is it arriving, departing or stationary? We are able to create our own narrative and that’s why I feel this image is of a romantic nature.

Stoltenberg trained as a graphic designer before starting his career as an artist. The artist also had a passion for architecture and maritime structures. He has published books in his career, popular books being ‘The Artist and the Built environment” and Collagraph Printmaking. Although Stoltenberg was a successful collagrapher and printmaker, later in life he dedicated his life to watercolour and oil painting as these techniques were less laborious, although his subject matters remained the same. (Destroyer At DryDock for example and can been seen in the link for the Anderson Gallery)

The addition of the bold text and numbers seem to act like a calendar or stopwatch - the countdown to a rendezvous or a holiday. The number 8 seems to be a favourite of Stoltenberg as we see this figure of 8 in his train triptych. Stoltenberg also favours a circular object when fixing his collagraph plate. We can see the circle plays a vital role in many of his other works. (Shipyard 1982, Warship, Wooden bridge, Relic and Coin collection again, in the link provided). The lettering in the station’s large arch window are not recognisable or familiar, therefore I would presume that due to the technique of collography, the letters were used purely for aesthetic reasons rather than for any symbolic reason. With this collagraph, the fonts and figures would have been deliberately chosen in order to sit well on the plate.

The Artist has achieved a sense of movement with the train lines and carriages moving from the foreground of the image into the distance. He has also achieved the sense of direction and movement with the hazy shadows from the outside of the station tunnel. The artist has used both vertical and horizontal lines overlapping giving a sense of the enormous structure of the station and how it seems to loom or envelope the trains and passengers. The glass archway is almost central to the image and our eye is led to the incoming train with it’s white dot as a light. The viewer easily places themselves standing on the platform in anticipation...

Works Cited

ARCHIVE, ARTWORK. “Art Collection from Anderson Gallery - BSU.” Artwork Archive, 2021, www.artworkarchive.com/profile/jay-block/artist/donald-stoltenberg. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021.

“Donald Stoltenberg.” Wikipedia, 18 May 2020, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Stoltenberg.

“Zullo Gallery - Current Exhibit.” Www.zullogallery.org, www.zullogallery.org/printmakers_page_1.html. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021. ‌

KATHLEEN BUCHANAN

This image is by the Collagraph artist Kathleen Buchanan. Titled ‘Flock and Sea” is conveys a sense of silence and serenity - a slow pace. We find ourselves in quietness, stopping to appreciate the landscape on a hazy Scottish island perhaps.

The sheep are in a restful mood, however there is a humorous element to them. Our eye is drawn to the crumpled sheep coat - like an old paper bag, random like litter in the lush green grass being anchored by the boulders. In a light hearted way we could see that the boulders are preventing them from sliding down the hill. There is also a sculptural feel to the sheep’s coats which gives them a comical look, like they’re are wrapped up in a duvet keeping warm.

It’s Spring time but still cold, the slight haziness and speckled effect in the blue of the sky reminds me of the Scottish midge fly buzzing around with the sheep unperturbed.

The sheep are relaxed, reminding us of the harmonious relationship between nature and animals.

The viewer cannot see the eyes of the sheep, but Buchanan has caught the personality of sheep - one always seems to be curious or suspicious. The distant sheep of the flock could be the dreamer or the outsider - the ‘black sheep’. The other sheep make the viewer feel ignored by the deliberate positioning of the animals .

The boundary line, between the sea and the hillside divides the image. There are many outlines in this image - around the boulders, the sheep coats and the island - giving a sense of heaviness and solidity.

Kate Buchanan, by profession is a biologist and her background in science links well with printmaking. Both fields of study involve great observational skills and this is obvious with her great understanding of the natural landscape and its inhabitants.

Works Cited

Design, Doug Felton Web. Kathleen Walsh Buchanan Fine Art Printmaking | about Me. www.greysealpress.com/about. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021. ‌

SARAH AMOS

Sarah Amos, is a master printmaker who divides her time between Australia and America and her art combines collagraphy with mixed-media or more recently, stitching. Her recent work is based on images from the vast Australian landscapes. This collagraph is from 2011 and is not so typical of her recent work however it immediately caught my attention. The title is called Little Red Wonder and it’s an apt title. There’s no obvious narrative, but the artist evokes nostalgia, and grabs your attention through the colour and lines and form alone. So many words spring to mind on viewing this image - it feels like Christmas. It’s candy canes and gift wrapped boxes under the tree. It’s like a hazy red glow of the fairy lights and the warm fire. The image reminds me of sweeties and paper straws, strawberry shoe laces, and toffee apples at Halloween. The geometric lines and shapes and the vibrancy and the mottled marks conjure up visions of and old-fashioned circus and the high trapeze -the big top. Or a slice of cool watermelon or Summer Cup cocktail. The white lines, in strange directions, as if holding up the makeshift tent, cosy and warm, safely camping in your bedroom. The image is fairytales of Dorothy and her ruby red shoes and The Queen of Hearts in Wonderland all in one box of wonder.

As much as the image gives a sweet naive impression, we can also imagine the polar opposite. The colour red is a very symbolic colour, maybe the artist chose this particular hue of red to translate an emotion. Could this be an angry expression with the jutting disjointed lines. The lines are hard and edgy and there is no flow. Is the emotion aggression - the white lines in the centre of the image seem to puncture the composition - like exposed bones through blood. The viewer feels small, as if we are underneath a structure and it feels looming and foreboding. The two blocks each side of the image seem to be leaning in and are imposing.

With the nature of collagraphy, the inking and printing process almost always gives a dreamlike quality, a little hazy but alway an honest and sincere image.

Reference list

AMOS, S. (2021). Master Printmaker | Sarah Amos Studio. [online] sarahamosstudio.com. Available at: http://sarahamosstudio.com/index.php [Accessed 8 Mar. 2021].

Bunyan, D.M. (2001). Sarah Amos. [online] Art Blart. Available at: https://artblart.com/tag/sarah-amos/ [Accessed 8 Mar. 2021].

‌

[comicgirl08]

Supergirl recap: Kara and Lena try to Eve-n the score

Three separate stories this week track our favorites and our least favorites (hey, Bennie boy) as we race toward the season finale.

First to Alex, who experienced every human emotion tonight. The vicissitudes of aging. The shock of getting a call that a 17-year-old is about to give birth and chose her to be the adoptive mother. The frustration of not being able to reach Kara to talk it out. The terror about what kind of mother she’ll be. The heartbreak of learning that the birth mother changed her mind. The devastation of suffering an emotional wound that may never heal.

By her side for all of it is the kind, patient Kelly, who stands in for Kara, waits with Alex during the labor, assures her that she’ll be a wonderful mother, and comforts her when it falls to pieces. She shares her own heartbreak when her engagement to her sergeant had to remain a secret while they were serving abroad, and how she wasn’t able to mourn her publicly when she died on patrol.

“What’s a deep wound today will be a faded scar someday,” she says, assuring Alex that she will find another person someday who’ll make her smile.

On the human/alien front, Lockwood storms out of his wife’s funeral while George is giving the eulogy, too worked up to focus on anything but putting the full might of the DEO behind capturing the Brevakk who killed his wife and the one who commandeered the airwaves to call for an uprising against the government.

Brainy tries to stop him from invading Lena’s lab, but Lockwood shoots his way in and finds raw, undiluted vials of experimental Harun-El, which gave James his superpowers. Brainy warns him that James’ dosage was carefully calibrated, and what Lockwood’s holding could kill him. “You’re grieving,” Brainy says. “Your son needs you now.”

But Lockwood ignores this advice and grabs the case of Harun-El to join the DEO strike team moving on the building where the Brevakk is hiding. They arrest her, and he orders the other aliens sheltering there to be renditioned for enhanced interrogation for the crime of harboring a murderer.

Brainy is super not cool with any of this, and he’s joined by Dreamer and a mask-less Guardian (I mean, why bother, right?) Lockwood shouts at the DEO to arrest “the hero and the blood traitor.” But Brainy reminds the DEO that they swore an oath to defend the country and the constitution, both of which are being subverted by Lockwood’s orders.

When the agents stand down, a furious Lockwood injects himself with the Harun-El, and I must say, he adapts to it much better than James did, not that it’s a competition. His broken arm is immediately healed, and he and James start throwing trucks at each other, which is awesome.

Martian Manhunter swoops in next and tries to talk Lockwood down, warning that the last man who stood against him suffered a terrible fate of his own making. (Still miss your joie de vivre, Manchester!) At James’s suggestion, he tosses Lockwood into a tanker, which explodes. But that just shreds Lockwood’s shirt and makes him mad. Still, it gives the good guys time to free the detained aliens.

Lockwood cleans himself up and finds George sitting alone in the church, simmering with rage at his father, whom he blames for his mother’s death. “You did this for yourself,” he says. “I hate you.” Lockwood’s left sitting alone, gazing at his wife’s framed photo and cradling a glowing vial of Harun-El as his eyes flip black.

Finally, to Kara and Lena, who are off to Kaznia. Although Kara says it’ll be faster if she flies alone—commercial, she adds—Lena won’t hear of her not riding along on the pilot-less plane she designed herself. But when it’s hit with decidedly unnatural purple lightning (which is never explained, actually), Lena races to the cockpit to take control, shouting at Kara to strap in and put on her oxygen mask.

Nuh uh. Kara zips outside and lifts the plane’s nose away from danger, helping Lena with the manual landing and then racing back to her seat to pretend to have passed out. “God, I hate flying,” she says. I stan one amazing super-lady team!

They find the Kaznian base deserted, with Amertek-branded equipment that was used to torture aliens from the DEO’s desert facility, according to the paper files they find. (Remember, paper is un-hackable.) One of them is Copy, who cloned himself curing the carnival attack.

Then a noise startles them, and a door swings open to reveal Eve. But, like, a weird Eve. She’s bizarrely glad to see Kara and Lena, saying she loves them but she loves Lex more.

Lena orders their very own Eva Braun to talk, and when she does, she spaces out and greets Kara all over again. She claims someone inside the DEO helped them acquire the aliens but won’t say what they want with them. Then the good guys notice claw marks heading to a lab, where they find Harun-El and Kryptonite.

They also find plans indicating that Lex is helping the Kaznians invade America, which Lena compares to a child throwing rocks at a tank. Then Kara notices a sigil, familiar but different, and presses it to fire up Red Daughter’s training footage.

Lena quickly realizes that, just like the Harun-El split Sam and Reign, Supergirl must’ve come in contact with it, too. She’s horrified at the thought of this blank slate being tested, trained, and indoctrinated by Lex in a prison in one of the most repressive regimes in the world. She’s concerned about what kind of damage it could do.

‘She is not an it,” Kara says, insisting there has to be some part of Supergirl in her. Then these two amazing, capable women are taken by surprise when Eve, who’s been acting verrrrry strangely, turns out to have duplicated herself using the Copy powers they were just discussing. C’mon, they’re both smarter than that.

Anyway, Eve sets off a timer that gives them ten minutes until the building self-destructs, and Lena and Kara split up to find the exit, which allows Kara to find Red Daughter’s cell. It’s filled with pictures of Kara and Supergirl both, so now Kara knows that Lex knows!

She also finds a journal, her journal, with a photo of her and Alex. Then Lena calls for her, and she scrambles to keep her friend from discovering all the incriminating evidence on the walls.

She suggests climbing up and out through the air vents, then claims she forgot her tape recorder and runs back to eye-laser all the evidence. Does she not have super-speed? Why did she not do this when Lena approached? Let’s chalk it up to the shock of her discovery and move on.

With four minutes to detonation, they find a file indicating that President Baker’s chief of staff, Sarah Walker, is the mole working with Lex. Kara stays to gather evidence, while Lena chases Eve out the door.

On the plane, Lena—who is the coolest human being in the galaxy and if you don’t agree, you can meet me outside—reaches down to her boot and pulls the chunky heel off to reveal an extendable baton. Then she and Eve fight, with Lena trying to convince her that Lex only loves himself.

Inside, Kara fights off several copies of Eve, cutely quipping, “ Thank you, next,” before she’s hit with the next wave. And look, I’m just gonna say it, she had way more trouble with these copies than she should have. It’s one of those situations where she’s as strong as the plot needs her to be, and in this case, the plot needed her to be inside the building when it exploded so Lena would think she was dead.

That momentary distraction is what Eve needed to stab Lena with her weapon, but oh ho ho, Kara’s recorder was in her pocket, and it deflected the blade. She knocks Eve out, getting her own quip about a snake on a plane. But this was a copy Eve, and she disappears.

Regardless, she’s overjoyed to discover that Kara’s safe but still blames herself for putting her friend in a situation that could’ve killed her.

“It wouldn’t have,” Kara says. While Lena’s back is turned to fuss with champagne, Kara stands and takes off her glasses. IS IT HAPPENING? IS IT???

But no. Lena talks about how hard Eve’s betrayal was, having been lied to every day for a year. “I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from it,” Lena says. In fact, it’s only Kara’s friendship keeping her trust alive.

In the background, Kara slowly puts her glasses back on as all of us weep for the close call. “I’m always going to be here for you,” Kara promises.

Back in National City, Kara tells James all about Red Daughter, pointing out that it easily could’ve been her raised as a weapon. Also, she swears that as soon as Lex is behind bars, she’ll tell Lena the truth, even if she hates her. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Then she’s doing her duty as any American citizen should do when she discovers that a government official is working with a foreign entity determined to hurt the country: She reports it. She’s escorted into the Oval Office, where she notices Kryptonite sitting around as a Supergirl deterrent, and warns Baker that his chief of staff is complicit in working with Lex and the Kaznians.

He sends everyone out of the room, puts the file in a drawer, and confirms that she hasn’t told anyone about the information. Then he activates a button under his desk, and Kara finds a black bag slipped over her head.

Snaps of the cape

Daaang, we knew the president was a no-goodnik, but I was thinking he was more a useful-fool kind of evil and not an active collaborator.

Think the Children of Liberty will react well to Lockwood’s new superpowers? Or will he use his rhetorical gifts to spin it in his favor?

Fun exchange between Dreamer, sporting a cool new braid hairstyle and a huge alien-powered hammer, and the newly fire-proof James: “Now, I’m gonna hit you with this, and we’re gonna see what happens.” “Not in the face.” That’s no doubt when he suggested introducing Lockwood to the tanker truck: Flames would slow him down but not kill him.

[rather-impertinent]

Cream Tea and Confrontation

A/N: I We’re probably going to get a version of this conversation in 4.05, but I wanted to share my take that I wrote ages ago. I don’t usually include Ross in my fics, much less write from his point of view, so I’d like to know what you think. Enjoy x

Ross Poldark was shown into the house by an unknown servant with a cold, strictly professional manner. He disliked the vast grandeur of this London townhouse unlike any other; it’s fruity smell and finely papered walls an unwelcome reminder of one of the most challenging times in his life.

He found Caroline in the parlour. She appeared genuinely glad to see him, though an air apprehensiveness coloured the room as they embraced, each planting a fond kiss on the other’s cheek. Ross found her just as strikingly beautiful as always, though noted the mischievous twinkle in her eye was dimmer, almost absent. And so she seemed, to Ross’s eye, reinvigorated by London society and yet wilting at the same time - like a rose whose stem drank greedily from the water of the vase but whose petals shied away from the glow of the sun. Caroline sipped her tea with elegance; fixing her gaze on the newly picked tulips on the lace-clothed table. She pretended not to feel his intense gaze.

Ross licked his lips, watching her closely, quite aware of her avoidance; and the question that had been bothering him for months finally broke through: “Are you angry with Dwight?”

There was a tense pause as their eyes met each other, both expressions smoothed into perfect indifference; outside they heard a group of women giggle and the click of horses hooves against the pavement as they passed by the open window.

“Yes,” she said finally, her shoulders slackening slightly as the weight of her confession lifted.

Ross nodded in acknowledgement; he had guessed she would be. Ross, too, had been angry with Dwight following Julia’s death, just as he had been angry with Francis; with Elizabeth; with Geoffrey Charles; with Demelza; with himself; with the birds in the tree; with the clouds in the sky; with the whole, entire, bitterly unfair world. “Because he did not tell you of Sarah’s illness sooner?” Ross guessed in a low voice.

“No,” Caroline said after a moment, almost gently. “No, not for that. I know he tried to... and in the end, I’m not sure how much difference it would have made...” She took a large sip of her tea and sighed heavily as she placed her cup down. “I find that I am angry. Angry at what, or whom exactly, I know not. I am just angry, Ross. I tell you this now because I do not suppose I could ever find another person who would understand the anger I feel. Dwight and Demelza are too gentle and kind to feel too much of such a thing... But we two are much alike in many ways.” She paused and inhaled. “It... consumes me. I see the flowers blooming in the garden and instead of picking a pretty bunch for the parlour I wish to hack them all to pieces with my riding crop for simply daring to exist. Oh, how ridiculous you must think I am!” She laughed nervously and took another sip of her tea, and if her hand was less steady than it was two minutes ago, Ross did not judge her for it. “As for Dwight...” she heaved a sigh and stared guiltily down at her hands, which were folded neatly on her lap, “Anger, I have learned, is much easier to navigate and overcome when you’ve someone to direct it at.”

Ross could tell this speech had been in Caroline’s head for some months. He considered her thoughts for a moment and presently said: “Blame is no substitution for acceptance.”

Caroline frowned at him, not even the energy to tease him with a comparison to Aristotle or Plato. “I do not understand what you mean.” She eyed him with caution.

He struggled with finding an explanation, not entirely trusting himself to find the right words. “When I - when we - lost Julia, Demelza was ill with the putrid throat, too, and so I hadn’t any real time to face what had happened as I was preoccupied with many other things. I assisted in collecting the cargo from a shipwreck and went to trial, as you well know. But before the trial, I spent all my time and energy working in the mine, avoiding Demelza and what had happened but in the end-“

“What is it that you’re trying to say, Ross?” she demanded, sensing some hidden meaning.

He did not hesitate before he continued. “What I am trying to say is that these things, these terrible, unfair things, are out-with the control of man. You will achieve nothing by remaining here in isolation from everyone you love and are loved by. These people,” he scoffed, gesturing to the busy streets of London outside, “care nothing for you, and you even less for them, I imagine.” He took a breath and softened his tone before he continued. “Sarah is gone, and though she is not coming back, what use is it to hide here pretending that she never was? Though you may pretend to be immune to the suffering that you feel, you also forget that you are not the only person hurt and affected by her loss, and you do him a great disservice by remaining here. Never have I seen him so...” Ross moved closer to Caroline and took her hand, willing her to look at him. “These are not the actions of the woman I have come to know and call my friend. It’s been months, do you not think the time has come to come home?”

Red flooded her cheeks, and she snatched her hand away, though she knew deep down that he was right. “How dare you!” she sniffed indignantly, her growing defensive anger outpacing the connection between her brain and her mouth. “I thought you came here for tea and a friendly catch up, not to lecture me like brute schoolmaster! I rather think the power of parliament has gone to your head!”

Ross’s jaw tightened, and he gritted his teeth together, his face turning to stone. The trouble with his friendship with Caroline, Ross found, was that they were very similar and so knew exactly which buttons to press to get a reaction. “And I thought we were friends, with whom honesty was valued at above all else! I am not prepared to sit here and assist you in continuing this facade, Caroline! I bid you good day.” He rose without a backwards glance and stormed across the room.

“Ross, wait!” He turned around and looked at her with expectation, his jawline still set in a tense line.

She wanted to apologise to him, to everyone, but the words remained stuck in her chest like the lava which swirls in a dormant volcano. “I’m... it’s...,” she breathed, blinking fiercely and gesturing hopelessly into thin air.

Ross sighed, his annoyance leaving his body, and took several paces towards her again. “I know,” he murmured, nodding in understanding. An advantage of their similarity and closeness was that they could understand each other with very few words being exchanged - a relief; for neither of them were very good at articulating their feelings where matters of the heart were concerned.

She smiled slightly, but it did not reach her eyes. “Before you storm out and leave me, you’ll still say hello to Dwight for me? And to Demelza and my godchildren?”

He approached the back of the chaise lounge and placed his hand on top of hers, where it rested on the wooden frame. This time Caroline did not pull away. He looked at her with soft, yet serious, eyes. “Why do you not return home with me now and say so yourself?”

She averted her gaze and shook her head gently. “No, I cannot. I cannot face it. Not quite yet, I fear.” She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes again. “But soon,” she said, her voice more certain. “Soon, I promise. Pray convey that to everyone. Soon I shall come out of hiding and once again face the cornflowers, but I fear I cannot do so just yet.”

Ross flashed a smile at her, his teeth becoming exposed, finally some good news to return with to Cornwall! “Oh, I will! Everyone will be so glad to hear so, they worry about you, you see.” A smile tugged the corner of his mouth as he thought of Demelza’s constant fretting for her friend, though Caroline and Demelza wrote to each other so often it was as though she had never left.

Caroline worried for them all too and missed them all beyond words. Some more than others. Her mouth twisted into a coy smile. “Do tell Dr Enys that I do not enjoy his substitution of neglecting me in person with that of neglecting my letters! But perhaps he has contracted some ghastly disease amongst his sick people which has rendered him unable to write?”

Ross’ laughter bounced off the walls of the Hatton Garden parlour. “I will call in at Killewarren on the way home to reprimand him in person,” he vowed, his hand on his heart. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, he cursed quietly. “But now I really must go, or I shall miss my coach, and Demelza will be very upset.”

“We cannot have that!” Caroline leaned up and kissed Ross on the cheek. “Goodbye, then.”

He lifted her hand and placed a quick kiss on her knuckles. “Goodbye, Caroline.” He turned around and practically ran to the door, his pocket watch ticking incessantly in his hand.

“Captain Poldark?” her voice called just as he was about to step over the door frame.

He turned around once again, lurking in the doorway, a smirk playing on his lips at the formal address, “Yes?”

“Thank you.”