#wilson is the best house can do period

[thankstothe]

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Part 1 (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge (I will be adding more and tag the Masterlist) Thank you @hellishjoel for putting on this contest. It's a lot of fun!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: Roughly 5000

Warning: Dilfy smut, age gap (23 & 42)

Mid-June, 2024. The first summer back home upon college graduation. You knew there would be an adjustment period and while you didn't necessarily feel unhappy, there was a strangeness that left you with feelings you couldn't quite pinpoint. This was your childhood home, your hometown, your room - but still, somehow it felt foreign.

You hung up the maroon cap and gown that showed off the primary color of Texas A+M, the college where you had spent the last four years studying your ass off to get a degree in criminal justice. At twenty-three years old after spending the last few years in a little off-campus apartment with some friends, you were feeling both aggravated and nostalgic upon returning to your parents' house in the suburbs. They were great and you got along just fine; but the freedoms that had gone along with renting your own place were now reeled in a bit tighter. At the very least you knew your mother would likely stay awake on the nights you were out late. Still, you appreciated how much they cared about you.

You moved to your bedroom window and flung it open to let in some air to get rid of the stuffiness that lingered in the house. Immediately, your eyes landed on a man next door standing behind a grill as smoke filtered up above him in a faint, little cloud. He flipped a burger with a pair of metal tongs and took a sip from what looked like a bottle of beer.

"Hey, honey."

You jumped at your mother's voice as if you'd been caught doing something wrong. "Hey." You pressed your eyebrows together and motioned out the window as she entered the room. "Who's that?"

"Oh, I guess it never came up in conversation," your mother said with a shrug, "That's our new neighbor. He moved in back in January."

You glanced back out the window.

"He’s a bit too old for you,” she teased with a laugh.

You whipped around and made a face. "I'm not... I'm not checking him out. I'm just asking why there's a stranger in the Wilsons' backyard." You smirked and raised your eyebrows, "Maybe if my mother told me things I wouldn't have to play detective."

"Isn't that what you got your degree in criminal justice for?"

You chuckled, knowing she would most certainly outwit you in a verbal battle. "And I'm 23 years old. No one's too old for me anymore."

"Well, in that case I hear they just built a nice, new nursing home down the road with plenty of widowed men. I can drive you there if you'd like."

You let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll pass."

The two of you giggled and your mother continued, "Will you be joining your father and I for dinner tonight? We were thinking of just going to Chili's and then heading to a play at the little theater downtown. The kids are putting on Grease."

You smiled as your phone vibrated with a text from your best friend. "It's Holly."

"So, I guess the answer is going to be no," your mother suspected. She smirked and got the hint. “Keep in touch.”

"Okay," you agreed and then cleared your throat when she turned to go. "Mom, what's his name?"

"Huh?"

"The neighbor," you went on, "I should probably introduce myself since I'm going to be a resident of 45 Harding Drive again."

"Joel," her mother replied, "Joel Miller."

Your parents left soon after and so you wandered out to the back steps, waiting for them to take off first before popping open a beer. The ice cold beverage tasted better than normal because of the incoming summer heat that was supposed to really strike the following morning. With a content sigh, you leaned your elbows back on the top step of the set of four that led from the back door into the oversized backyard.

"Jennifer?" a deep, scratchy voice made you jump for the second time that night. You put a hand on your chest and glanced off to the side when you realized a man had called out your mother's name.

The neighbor, you thought, feeling your stomach knot up.

You cleared your throat and rose to your feet, leaving the beer on the top step. "No… I’m (Y/N)." You took a few steps in his direction though he made his way almost all the way to the steps.

"(Y/N)?" His features became clear when he stepped into a small, back light beside the door. The man flashed a friendly, boyish grin from beneath a trim beard. "Tim and Jen’s daughter?"

You looked down sheepishly and smiled before lifting your eyes to meet his stare. "Yeah."

He’s hot, your inner monologue informed you, as if your cheeks hadn't suddenly grown hot.

His eyes shifted to the beer and his grin widened even more before he extended a hand. "I'm Joel... your neighbor."

"Nice to meet you." You gave a closed-mouth smile and took in his appearance, consciously telling herself not to stare. His plain white t-shirt showed off his broad chest and shoulders

Joel cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," you assured him and then cleared your throat, "Do you want a beer or something?"

A smirk twisted onto his face., "No thanks. I was actually just coming over to see if I could borrow some butter."

"Oh..." You glanced over your shoulder at the back door and then back to Joel.

"You don't have to," he said reassuringly, unable to keep the grin from his face. "You don't even know me yet so-"

"No.” You cut him off, "No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Joel's voice cut through you like a knife and he kept his eyes firmly locked on yours.

You nodded, unable to look away for a moment and then waved him inside.

"Don't forget your brew here, honey." He reached down and scooped up the beer as you flung the back door open.

You smiled again, "Thanks."

Joel nodded and followed you in, before glancing around at the modest but modern kitchen. "You, uh... you even old enough to drink this shit?" He motioned to the beer.

You rolled your eyes, "I can show you my ID if that makes you feel any better." You flung open the refrigerator, "I know my parents are going to treat me like I'm in high school again."

"Well... they're just trying to protect you," Joel said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-three." You glanced over her shoulder at him, somewhat pleased to catch him staring - or so you thought. It prompted him to look elsewhere.

"Here." You removed a stick of butter and crossed the room to hand it to him. When the butter landed in his hand you decided to be bold and didn't immediately let it go, "How old are you?"

He chuckled before holding a wicked smirk and again held her captive with his playfully intense eyes. "How old do you think I am?"

You stared back, somewhat used to gaining control over the guys you had dated or been interested in in the past. Already, this time you felt a bit outmatched and part of it was your instant attraction to him. When Joel took one step in her direction, you swallowed hard and gave a random answer.

"Thirty-two?"

Joel laughed a little louder, putting a hand on his stomach. He ran the other hand through his messy brown hair and pointed. "You're so full of shit."

You smiled at him, "I was thinking more of thirty-eight, thirty-nine."

He sucked his teeth and gave you a look up-and-down before smiling wide again. When he didn't say anything in response you flat out asked, "Am I right?"

"Forty-two," Joel finally informed you after a long pause.

"Over the hill then?"

He snickered and then motioned to the fridge, "Ya know... I will have that beer if you don't mind."

You smiled before reopening the fridge to fetch one for him. When you placed a bottle of Bud Lite in his hand he used the counter to pop the top rather than twist it. When the dented bottle cap fell to the floor and danced in circles for a moment you glanced back up to find him continuing to stare as he took a long swig from the bottle.

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your dad going to notice that a few of these are missing?"

"They're mine," you informed him, "And I'm not-"

"A kid, I know..." Joel rolled his eyes now and the two of you shared a laugh, "Believe me when you're my age you'll love that someone will accuse you of being younger."

"I'm sure I will."

He reached down and scooped up the cap from the ground and then held it out in his palm. When you went to reach for it he closed his hand and smiled playfully.

"I'll take it," Joel offered, "Don't want you to get caught drinking these things when your parents come home." He continued to tease you about your age.

"You know, I could've guessed you were fifty."

He laughed out loud. "Smart mouth on you," Joel flashed his index finger at her with the hand that held the bottle, "I like it."

You looked down and laughed again, feeling your cheeks grow hot again from his remark.

"Anyway, I should be getting back." Joel continued to smile, almost triumphantly and winked. "It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too.”

He held your gaze for an extra second, forcing him to smirk a final time before heading out the back door.

"Thanks for the beer," he said casually, "I'll see ya around."

8:15 pm - the following evening

"Sorry I couldn't make it out last night," Holly said to you. The two of you sat side by side at barstools down at one of the local bars in town. "My boss can be a real pain in the ass sometimes."

"It's fine. I had the house to myself so I kind of just had some time to chill and binge watch some old shows."

"Sounds terrible."

You laughed and shrugged. "It was alright."

"Well, here's to... summer?" Holly raised her martini glass and you tapped her beer bottle gently against it.

"To potentially the weirdest summer of my life."

"Why's that?"

You shrugged, "I don't know. Being back home doesn't feel so 'at home' anymore."

"Give it time." Holly sipped her drink, "In a month it'll feel like you never left."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Hey, it's not so bad. I'm here." She smiled and raised her eyebrows, "Jill and Molly should be home within the week too. We can get the old crew back together before we all get real jobs and have to do shitty adult stuff."

"I'll drink to that," you agreed, taking a longer swig of the beer. You sighed and began to peel at the blue Bud Lite label, letting your mind drift to the night before with Joel. You envisioned him snapping the cap off the top of the beer bottle, using the counter. A smile crossed lingered on your face.

"Ooohh... someone's checking us out," Holly commented, "Or maybe they know you..." Her eyebrows pressed together and she motioned using her head toward a table in the corner of the bar.

"Oh shit." You couldn't contain your response but realized it must've sounded out of place.

"What?" Her friend asked, "Do you know him?"

"That's my neighbor," you informed her, "New neighbor."

Joel smirked and gave a wave but quickly entertained a conversation he was having with two other men at the small, corner table.

"He's kind of a Dilf."

You snickered and shrugged, unable to take your eyes off of him. When Joel glanced back in your direction you looked away and quickly took a sip of your.

"You think he's hot," Holly suspected with a laugh.

"What?" You shook your head, "No... I mean he may have some Dilf qualities or something like you just said but…” The sentence drifted off.

"Mm-hmm..." She continued to stare at her friend with playfully accusing eyes.

"Stop," you joked, "I just met him last night."

"Last night?" Holly perked up, "And..."

"And what?"

"You tell me."

You laughed again, "He came over to the house because he needed some butter."

"More like some sugar," she winked and glanced up toward a television that had a baseball game on in front of them.

You let out a hearty laugh and shook your head.

"He keeps looking over here." Holly’s voice perked out, "Oh! He's getting up," Holly whispered, stalking him for a moment with her eyes.

You glanced over and felt your stomach twist in knots when he headed in their direction.

"So you are over twenty-one," Joel cracked a wide smile and tapped the back of her chair as he continued to walk by.

"Twenty-three," you called after him, smiling wide.

He glanced over his shoulder, winking once before continuing on around a corner toward the bathrooms.

You let out a sigh and Holly turned back around.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" her friend asked. Before you could attempt to plead your case Holly went on, "He's hot... and he's totally flirting with you."

"He's not flirting with me."

"That was a Frank Sinatra-worthy wink."

You shook your head, laughing again. "Where do you come up with these things?"

"You're glowin. You're crushing on this guy. Who cares if he's your neighbor. Get on that."

"He's forty-two," you lowered your voice.

Holly raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the doorway where Joel had just walked through before returning her attention to her friend.

"Forget it." You sipped your drink and tried to pretend like you were nterested in the game on the television.

"At least admit you're crushing."

She turned to her and shook her head, "Fine... he's hot. Okay?" You focused on the screen for as long as she could and tried to pretend not to notice when Joel rounded back into the bar. You let out a deep breath as he crossed behind you and felt a rush when he came up beside you to flag down the bartender.

"Another round?" the middle-aged bartender asked, already reaching for a beer.

"Please,” Joel said with a nod, "You can put it on the tab." He turned to you, "Any interest in playing darts over here?" He nodded toward a dart board in the corner.

"Sure."

"Don't feel obligated." He forced your eyes back to his and continued to stare into them.

"I don't." You felt that intense paralysis again and couldn't turn away. When the bartender came back with the round of beers for Joel, you felt relieved and let out a breath.

"Get these two what they want," Joel added to the bartender, "Next round's on me when you finish those."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's fine. I owe you one from last night." He headed back to the small table with his friends and Holly finally snapped you out of your daze.

"I thought you just gave him butter," she whispered with a giggle, "What was last night?"

You swallowed hard and rose to your feet, prompting Holly to do the same. "I offered him a beer and he took it," she said, "It was nothing... believe me. If I had anything interesting to share I would tell you."

Your legs felt heavy as you crossed the dark bar that was scattered with only a handful of other people. While the two other men began collecting darts and erasing the chalkboard to the side, Joel stood staring with his elbow on the table. For a moment everything else was in the background and you could only focus on him.

Shit... Any wit she had going for her had betrayed her. The instant, intense attraction you had to him was completely clouding your judgment. You felt like you were about to enter a wolf den, though you didn't at all mind playing the part of Little Red Riding Hood.

The anxiety-ridden feeling you had had leading up to the game of darts diminished as the night went on. You played a few games, swapping teammates several times, beginning with a 'boys versus girls' theme and then pairing off randomly when one game ended.

"He's going to fuck it up, you watch," Joel taunted as his friend lined up, closing one eye as he released the dart, only sending it clunking off the board and to the ground. "You didn't even hit the fuckin' board." His words drew laughter from everyone and the man that missed stumbled to retrieve it, chuckling as he went.

"I'm fucked up," Skip, the older robust man, remarked as he struggled to pick the dark up from the floor.

"Ya think?" Joel joked, continuing to sip on his beer.

"It's about time I get this man home to his wife and let her deal with him," the other man, Charlie, chuckled from behind a pair of alcohol-induced crimson cheeks. "Can't hold his liquor."

Skip huffed a breath and closed his eyes with a hand on his head. "The old lady's going to be mad at me. Especially when I tell her we've been hanging out with these lovely ladies." He motioned to you and Holly, laughing at himself and making the others do the same.

"I'd leave that part out if you knew what was good for ya," Charlie informed him with another laugh. "Come on Skippy. It's past your bed time."

"Game over?" Holly asked you.

"I guess so." You raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Charlie, you guys to get home?" Joel asked.

"It's just a quarter mile down the road," Charlie waved a hand. He smiled, "Good night ladies."

"Goodnight," you both said at the same time before Holly turned to you.

"I'm heading to the bathroom. Be right back." She raised her eyebrows, noting it would give you and Joel a moment alone and you tried to play it off coolly.

"Okay." She watched a moment as Holly made her way down the bar and around the corner.

"Hope I didn't kill your girls night," Joel said.

"No." You turned back to him and leaned an elbow on the table, "We were just bored. Had to get out of the house."

"Mmm..." He slid back down into a seat and you took upon herself to join him as you waited for Holly.

Joel leaned both elbows on the table to straddle his beer, "You're probably used to night clubs filled with young guys just dying to buy you a drink. This has to be fuckin' lame."

"I was over that scene by my junior year," you told him with a laugh as you shook your head. "They were all the same with their cheesy cologne and gelled up hair."

Joel huffed a laugh and took a sip of his drink. "Sick of that shit huh?"

"Very." You mirrored his position and continued to sip on the beer you had been milking for the better part of an hour, "I'm kind of over the party scene... and the being at home scene."

"You've been home for one fuckin' day." He raised his eyebrows, "Get over it. You're saving money."

You nodded, "Yeah... yeah you're right."

"I know I am." He smiled, a charming arrogance radiating out of him.

When your phone buzzed in your pocket you jumped and quickly removed it, finding a text message from Holly.

I'm getting in my car. Snuck out the back. Have fun. You'll thank me later.

When you looked back up Joel was grilling you with his eyes. You wondered if he had managed to read the message or not. You cleared her throat. "Holly," you said simply.

"You guys need to go?"

You opened her mouth to speak, still unsure if he had seen what your friend wrote but decided to chance it and lie. "She... got sick. She's on her way home."

"She okay?"

You nodded. “Just a little embarrassed I think and decided to go." You took a sip to buy yourself some time in case he asked any more questions. When he didn't you tried to change the subject. "This place is dead."

"What's so bad about the college scene?" Joel asked.

"Huh?"

"The young guys, the night clubs..."

"Oh... nothing, I guess." You cleared her throat feeling like he was trying to read your mind. Again, your face felt flush with heat and you continued, "They're just... all the same. There's no appeal anymore. When I was eighteen I thought it was cool sneaking into bars and all that." You smiled and shook her head before looking him in the eye. "This is more my speed."

Joel stared back and didn't immediately say anything.

You almost couldn't take the quiet stalemate. The sexual attraction for Joel burned in your chest and in that moment, in the quiet corner of the bar, it was hard to fight it. All the same, you felt like you had to be reading his body language correctly in assuming he was feeling something too. Still, the fact that he was your older neighbor, who you didn't know very well, lingered in the back of your mind.

Getting involved with Joel would satisfy your instant craving for him but beyond that you knew it could only lead to making both of your lives more complicated.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," you told him, when you couldn't contain your feelings any longer. It was the only thing you could say without leaping across the table and initiating a make-out session that played out animalistically in your mind.

"You gunna disappear on me too?" he joked, though you could see there was a hint of seriousness in his piercing eyes behind the wicked smile that hadn't left his face all evening.

"Not a chance." You felt embarrassed by the bold nature of your words, but took a deep breath and made the long walk across the bar into the restroom area. When you pushed open the door you felt relieved that no one else was in there and quickly made your way to the sink to pat some water on her face. You let out a breath, leaning both of her hands on the counter and then took in your appearance to make sure you was satisfied with the way you looked.

I'm being ridiculous, you thought. I'm too old to feel this out of control over a guy... or a man.

Joel was a man. He wasn't at all like the college boys you had been surrounded by who loved to crush beer cans on their heads, brag about how many consecutive beer pong games they'd won and worst of all when they threw the cheesiest lines at you and your friends to try to get laid. Joel didn't have to say or do anything in particular. He could simply look at you the right way and you found yourself ready to obey any request or demand he threw your way.

I’m in over my head, you thought, but I don't care.

You took in another deep breath and felt like you had the quick break that you needed to hold a sensible conversation with him without the constant interference of your out-of-whack hormones.

"Okay," you whispered to yourself and fiddled with your hair before pulling the door open to head back into the short, dark hallway. When Joel rounded the corner at the same time from the bar both of you stopped abruptly.

His eyes stalked the length of your body before finally re-settling on your gaze.

"Checking to make sure I didn't bail?" you joked, nervously laughing just after. Your tongue danced along your bottom lip, and you couldn't help but look him up and down the way he had just done to you.

Joel swallowed hard, tipping his mouth up into a half-smirk before walking past the men's room door in your direction.

You didn't have time to process all of the questions in your mind because he marched up and planted his lips against yours, immediately penetrating them with his tongue as his hands successfully shoved you up against the door to the women's room. It opened a few inches beneath the force.

You felt an explosion of adrenaline filter through your body as you kissed him back even more savagely than in your daydreams.

Joel pushed the door all the way open with one hand, not separating himself from you as he gripped your ass with his free hand and pushed his hips firmly against yours.

You tangled a hand in his hair, kissing him back with a heated passion that you didn't bother to try masking now that he had initiated the fantasy that had been playing out in your mind since you had him.

He moaned into your mouth before taking a breath and crushing his lips back against yours. Your back collided with the tile wall at the back of the bathroom, and you arched your neck as he began to ravage you, sliding a hand down the front of your pants while gripping your face with the other to kiss you hard again.

It all was happening so fast. You struggled to keep up but couldn't process a conscious thought when his first two fingers slid inside of you.

You bit down on your lip in a break in the kiss and spread your legs wider to give him more access.

Joel left a single kiss on her lips and spoke against them in a husky whisper, "Let it out honey," he kissed you again, "Let it out."

You knew the bar was nearly empty and there wasn't another woman that had been there. Even if there had been you didn't know that you would have cared. When his fingers twitched, arcing perfectly in his technique to make your entire lower body shiver with pleasure, you groaned.

"Fuck Joel," your whined his name, desperate for his tongue to dominate your again as he continued to finger you relentlessly until you felt like you were going to explode.

Joel's arousal heightened when he traced your lips with his thumb of his free hand, prompting you to take the tip of it into your mouth.

"God," he closed his eyes relished in the feeling, pushing his fingers deeper into you.

You whimpered again, writhing beneath his touch and attempted to reach for the belt buckle on his pants. "I want you."

He removed his hand from beneath your slick panties and placed his hands against the wall on either side of you as you managed to undo his buckle and shove his pants down off his hips.

Instinctively, you dropped to your knees, taking in as much of him as you could. Joel moaned and bucked his hips once as he grasped the back of your head with one hand. You looked up, watching his head fall back as his closed eyes pressed shut tighter. Joel allowed you to have your way with him as you continued to go down on him like you might never get another opportunity to do so. "Fuuucckk." He drew the word out, encouraging you to continue as he grabbed a fist full of your hair. "Ohh shit..."

Had anybody walked by the door there would have been no way to mask what was going on. Joel didn't hold back and felt an additional jolt of pleasure when you stroked him with your hand before quietly demanding him to come.

He opened his eyes, letting his mouth hang open as he glanced down, making eye contact with you as you engulfed him again.

"Jesus..." Joel's eyes closed and he felt an unmistakable buildup brewing below his waist. He couldn't ask you to stop, not when he was on the verge of exploding. "I'm gunna come." He shouted the words so loud that you thought for sure that someone had to have heard your encounter from somewhere in the bar. Still, you didn't let up and allowed him to push deep into you, gripping the back of your head with such force that you couldn't have separated your mouth from him if you tried.

He groaned, not attempting to hold back what he was feeling, alternating different curse words in between uneven breaths that ultimately left him panting as you finished him off. With a final breath he released your hair, letting his hand drop toward your face as you wiped a hand across your mouth and slowly rose to your feet.

Joel stood there for several seconds, breathing heavy with his pants at his ankles and a hand still on your face. When he finally came down off the high enough to speak, a chuckle left his mouth and ran a hand through your now-messy hair. "Shit honey... you didn't get yours." He let out another breath and then retrieved his pants from the floor and straightened out his appearance.

"It's alright," you told him with a sly smile, noting the heat that was still brewing between your legs.

He huffed another breath and adjusted himself over his pants before regaining your gaze. Joel smiled and drew his thumb gently under your eye, "Mascara's running. Sorry honey."

You closed her eyes as he continued to wipe the stray makeup away from your face. When you reopened them, Joel sported a half grin and he raised his eyebrows.

"Guess I fuckin' owe ya one."

You snickered, pleased to know that he wasn't at all expecting this to be your only encounter. "Yeah... you do."

Joel took a final, deep breath. "Well... you know where to find me."

"Next door."

"If you see me outside come on over to... borrow some butter or something.”

"Butter..." You snickered and then swallowed hard when he took a step toward her and slid a hand back down the front of your pants.

Joel touched his lips to yours as he spoke and this time gently began to massage up and down your wet center. When your mouth twisted up in a smile and you closed your eyes again he grinned and removed his glistening fingers. "It's a shame this is going to go to waste. Too bad you're so damn good at giving a blowjob. I had all the intentions of fucking you but I could just not ask you to stop.”

"Damn," she said quietly, but smiled, praying he might have it in him to continue.

Joel smiled, reading the disappointment on her face. "I'll be in and out tomorrow," he claimed, "You see me and you feel like bringing me over some butter…”

"I think you’ll definitely need some."

He looked down and made his way to the sink to wash his hands before turning to her with a smile. He ended the night the same way he had the night before, "I'll see ya around."

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2

[lanawinterscigarettes]

hiii i just found your blog, I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE, and if i can request like an angsty story about house and wilson with reader, and the reader has like some disease that'll kill her😭😭😭😭😭im just craving angst

YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU 💞💞 it's been awhile since I've written a good angst fic so this is perfect for me

Your Last Breath (Greg House x gn reader x James Wilson)

Warnings: talk of hospitals/medical procedures, reader has a mystery illness that kills them, they/them pronouns used a few times to refer to the reader in a gender neutral way, hurt/no comfort, heavy angst, main character death (spoiler: it's you)

The doctors had been trying for months to figure out what was wrong with you. Months of invasive tests, months of going back and forth with possible explanations, months of being put on temporary treatments that seemed to work for a short while before you eventually succumbed to whatever was causing your problems again.

Everyone was stumped, and by everyone I truly do mean everyone. Not even House could figure out what was wrong, something that frustrated him to no end for multiple reasons. And by the time he was finally able to figure out what the cause was, it was already too late.

The disease had progressed too far along on its course for the doctors to be able to treat it properly. The best they could do was make you comfortable for the few weeks you had left to live.

Usually he liked having cases he couldn't crack, he liked figuring out the puzzle of what was bothering his patient, he liked being able to go to Cuddy and say "I told you so" when it ended up him being right and everyone else was wrong. But not this time.

This time all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die. If only. He'd gladly give up both of his legs if it meant you'd get better.

Meanwhile, the resident head of oncology wasn't taking the news very well, either. It was normal for House to shut himself away for extended periods of time, but not Wilson. He barely left his office anymore, not to check on his own patients, not to accept a request for a consult, nothing. In fact, the only time he ever did leave was to visit you.

Most nights were spent with either him or House at your side, checking your vitals and fetching whatever it was that you needed. You ended up having to beg the both of them to go home at some point, even if it was to just shower and change, but they still refused, choosing to stay at the hospital instead.

Occasionally one of the ducklings would stop by if either of them couldn't for some reason, whether that be due to another patient needing attention or because you finally convinced them to take a break for once.

Foreman was solemn, talking about arrangements that could possibly be made for your body after death if you hadn't decided already. Cameron was sympathetic, reassuring you that they'd make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during your last days on earth. Chase was playful, trying to take your mind off things by cracking a joke or two. And Cuddy was surprisingly very nurturing when she managed to make the time to check in on you.

The whole thing was very bittersweet. While you appreciated everyone caring so much about you, it hurt to know why they were doing it.

Your final day was surprisingly quiet, with no nurses stopping by to check on you every hour or so like they had been for the past couple of weeks where you'd been bedridden almost completely. You suspected someone had requested for that, so you could have a bit of peace in the last few hours you'd be alive for.

House stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you slept. He looked like he was about to say something when Wilson suddenly spoke up from the armchair beside your bed.

"Don't even think about it, House. You're not waking them up right now."

Despite Wilson's firm tone, House couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like it matters much, they're going to be dead soon anyway."

It took everything in the oncologist not to snap and strangle the man in front of him. The only thing that managed to stop him was the sound of you letting out a hacking cough as you woke up. Even with the oxygen machine, it had become increasingly more difficult for you to breathe.

"Guys, don't fight," you tried to make your tone stern as you lectured them, but your throat was dry and therefore made your voice weak and raspy when you spoke.

"Hey, hey, don't speak, it's alright," Wilson gently reassured you as he reached out to take one of your hands into his. Your skin felt clammy, but he didn't care.

House had a pained look in his eyes as he watched you, but he did his best to cover it up with his usual snark. "We were just talking about you. Trying to figure out who should get your stuff when you die."

Wilson gave him an evil look, but you simply laughed. At least, they thought you laughed. It was kind of hard to tell given how sick you were.

"You guys are funny."

If it were any other time, House would've beamed with pride and joy at being able to make you smile with one of his quips, but this time he just felt empty inside, knowing that it was possibly the last one you'd ever hear. He quietly observed as Wilson helped you drink some water out of a small paper cup, one hand helping you hold it up to your lips while the other rested on your shoulder.

"Thank you," was the only thing you managed to get out once you were done, your breathing stalling yet again when you tried to speak. The three of you knew it was getting close to when it was going to happen. The problem was that only one of you had accepted it, and it wasn't either one of the two doctors who were in the room.

"I love you guys," ended up being your final words, a bittersweet smile on your face and tears in your eyes as you took your last breath. You hoped they knew that you meant that. You hoped they knew that you didn't blame them.

And you hoped that your death helped to bring them closer together rather than tearing them apart. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but who really cared? It's not like you'd be around to witness it anyway.

End notes: I rarely ever finish a request this early so please don't expect this to become a normal thing 😭 I just got really into writing this for some reason and once I started I just couldn't stop

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🏷 taglist: @pigeonmama @caplanreblogsfics

[straightbaittournament]

may the best bait win! propaganda under the cut:

ichigo and rukia:

Oh man, where do I even begin? So, for some context, Bleach starts when Rukia (a shinigami) gets critically injured saving Ichigo from a monster, and she transfers her powers to him so he can finish it off. Instead of transferring half her powers as planned, however, she transfers all of them, which forces Ichigo to take over her job as a shinigami. During this time period, Rukia... lives in his closet. Yeah. The entire first arc of the manga is dedicated to their relationship, and while a lot of it is playful banter, Rukia's presence in Ichigo's life fundamentally changes it for the better. Rukia then gets kidnapped by the rest of the shinigami who aren't at all happy she gave her powers to a human, and the main plot ensues from there. Throughout the story, Rukia and Ichigo constantly save each other when they're at their worst. When Rukia thinks she deserves to die, Ichigo is there to tell her she deserves to live. When Ichigo is in a funk about his superpowered evil side, Rukia is there to snap him out of it (something his canon love interest explicitly realises she was unable to do). They share a sun/moon motif for crying out loud, and yet like that last sentence said... they don't end up together, but with other people instead. Yeah. No shade to the canon ships, but Ichiruki is peak straightbaiting, honestly. They have a lot of banter/chemistry, fundamentally change eachother's lives for the better, save each other when they're at their lowest, and have a very deliberate sun/moon dichotomy... but they both end up paired off with different characters instead asdfghkl

house and cuddy:

The show spends 7 seasons hinting that House is going to end up with Cuddy, and then writes her out in season 7. In the finale, he has a flashback of people who impacted his life and she doesn’t even show If House and Wilson can’t be together, then House and Cuddy should

[notsofriendlyfriendlyreminder]

Movies you should watch °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

non-spoilery reccomendations, actors bolded, three movies incoming :>

Dead poets society (1989)

dark academia, coming of age, how I wish I was born a boy

Who is surprised that I'm mentioning this movie first? Not people who have seen my account. Especially if you watch House and like Wilson, Neil Perry (Robert Sean Leonard) is the main character and trust, you will fall in love with him and all of his friends. Who doesn't want to see Todd Anderson (Ethan Hawke), the new student, come out of his shell thanks to the new friends he found? And see young minds stir thanks to the new english teacher John Keating (Robin Williams)? There are many scenes which will make you laugh, cry, and scream.

My personal rating: 5/5⭐, all time favourite in my household

────୨ৎ────

Much ado about nothing (1993)

Shakespeare drama, romance, period piece

The two literary teachers I had in my life didn't agree on much, but one thing was certain, "You can read dramas, but it's always better to watch it." This, in my opinion, is the most important aspect if you want to enjoy any act. This play in particular is one of Shakespeare's comedy, centering around two couples, Benedick (Kenneth Baragh) and Beatrice (Emma Thompson), bickering, arguing, and on the other hand Claudio (Robert Sean Leonard) and Hero (Kate Beckinsale). But the stacked cast doesn't end there! There's also the prince, Don Pedro (Denzel Washington) and Don John (Keanu Reeves). Watch to see if Benedick and Beatrice ever stop arguing, if Claudio and Hero do end together, and how much can the angry Don John cause just to find revenge.

My personal rating: 5/5⭐

────୨ৎ────

Brokeback Mountain (2005)

neo-western, romance, lgbt+

It wouldn't be possible for me to do a movie reccomendation list without Brokeback mountain. The best way to watch movies is to know nothing about them, and this is true with this movie also. The monologue (you will know which one I mean), is never escaping my soul. The beautiful scenery, the main duo Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal), the women caught in it Alma (Michelle Williams) and Lureen (Anne Hathaway) and whatever happened on the mountain. While Much ado about nothing can be watched with any of your friends, I'd say this is a movie to watch alone or with someone you know you trust.

My personal rating: 5/5⭐ (Rewatched too many times)

────୨ৎ────

[immeasurablesaladagere]

hiya!!!! can u write about autistic regressor house going non verbal when upset and how wilson deals with it

- @tummy-rubs-for-wilson-pup

Order up! Also a little headcanon to go with even if it doesn't come up in the fic, but I feel like Wilson attempted to teach him baby-sign for non-verbal episodes but House just refused to learn it and took it as an excuse to learn as many inappropriate signs as possible to use while regressed.

-----

Word Count: 950

Summery: Wilson is paged down to House's office by the ducklings to find that House has barricaded himself inside. Two sleepless days have triggered a meltdown and a non-verbal episode and Wilson helps him calm down.

-----

Wilson was just filing his last batch of paperwork for the night when his pager went off, because of course it would. Who really wants to leave work on time? Not him, no sir. Even worse, he was being paged to House’s office, which meant a case, which meant he might not be getting home that night at all. Excellent. 

It was best not to keep House waiting, so off to his office we went. But as he came down the hallway he paused. Standing outside of House’s door lost and confused were Cameron, Chase, and Foreman. It was at times like this that House’s nickname “ducklings” made sense. They really did look aimless without him.

“I was paged?” He asked, and all three looked some form of relieved.

“Perfect. House is in his office and won’t talk to us, we were hoping you could figure out what was going on.” Cameron explained, looking over her shoulder into the shuttered window of the office.

“Okay? That sounds like typical House behaviour, what makes this special?” It wasn’t exactly uncommon for House to shut himself away from people for extended periods of time. Sure, at work it might be a bit more socially inconvenient, but House had never been one to care about that. 

“Well he ran out in the middle of a DDX for one,” Chase chimed in, and that was concerning. “And then when I tried to check on him he pitched his tennis ball at me. I think he’s hiding under his desk.”

Why hadn’t they led with that? Now that they were standing here, it was blatantly clear how tired the three of them were. Their eyes were tired, postures slouched, and Cameron was even rubbing her eyes. “Out of curiosity, when was the last time you all went home?”

“Two days.” Foreman answered flatly.

Wilson sighed. And knowing House, he’d probably been there longer. “Okay. Why don’t you guys go home, get some sleep. I’ll deal with House.”

“Thanks, Wilson.” Cameron said, and the ducklings left down the hall for what what Wilson hoped would be a restful night’s sleep.

He tapped gently on the glass door. “House? Can I come in?”

He didn’t get a response, but he wasn’t expecting one. If House was sleep-deprived, had fled from a meeting and was hiding under his desk like Chase said, then Wilson suspected sensory overload, maybe a meltdown. He gently pulled on the handle and to his surprise, the door opened. The office was dark, and thankfully the tennis ball was laying on the ground a few feet away. He just hoped House hadn’t found a better, heavier weapon to ward off unwanted guests.

Sure enough, he could just barely make out the form of one Gregory House huddled under his desk, arms pressed against his head and rocking back and fourth. With his suspicions confirmed, he quietly came closer and pushed aside the desk chair to sit down on the floor. His bones creaked.

“House? It’s Wilson. What do you need from me?” He asked quietly.

House didn’t stop rocking and he didn’t speak, but he did look up. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and the bags underneath them were heavy. But there was something else, too. He nodded slightly.

“What do you need?”

House made a broken groaning sound and rocked a little harder, pressing the heels of his hands against the sides of his head and dragging them up and down his scalp.

Wilson took a guess. “Do you want pressure?”

He got a nod. Carefully, he reached forward and pulled House out from under the desk and held him with his back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around House’s shoulders and squeezed as tightly as he could, and House let out a sigh and slowly relaxed.

He began to lean against him more and more the longer they sat, and eventually he was so still that Wilson thought he had fallen asleep right there, until he felt House’s hand reach for his own and begin to play with his fingers. There it was. 

“…How old are we, House?”

The hand stopped, like he was thinking about it, then gave four gentle taps.

“Thank you for telling me, you did a good job House. The ducklings told me you’ve been here for a couple of days, was it for a case?”

House nodded.

“Well, I think it’s time to go home and get some sleep, hm? You’ve been working hard for a long time.”

A firm head-shake. Of course. 

“What if I told you we could get burgers on the way back? Would that sweeten the deal?” He offered. No amount of reasoning like you’re too tired or you’re too little would make a difference to House, so he went with the next best thing. Bribery.

And just like he expected, House only took a second to think about it before nodding.

“And should we go to McDonalds to get a toy? I hear they have Hot Wheels.”

Like a switch House was suddenly much more eager to get going, wriggling off of his lap and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt as if to say “Then what are we waiting for!?”. 

“Okay, okay! I get it. We have to stop by my office to get my things, then we can—.”

But House was already on his feet, cane in hand and hobbling away before Wilson could even finish his sentence. Wilson chuckled, and his poor old-man bones as he got up to follow. God only knew what chaos a four-year-old House could bring upon the hospital.

“Slow down now, old Wilson can’t keep up with you youngins anymore!”

[jen-with-a-pen]

Hello! Welcome to my OFFICIAL Masterlist!

Here you'll find links to my written works and other odds and ends. I hope you find what you're looking for– and if not, feel free to drop in a prompt, some inspo, or an idea you think you'd like to see! My ask box is always open and I try to answer any and all messages as soon as possible.

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Please consider reblogging my work! Reblogging helps others to be able to enjoy mine and other writers' works! Help me help you help others and reblog <3

Spam liking my works will result in an automatic block!

Dirty Dishes

Bucky x F!Reader (CATWS/CACW time periods)

You and Bucky share an apartment in Bucharest. Some nights are fine, others are tough. Nights with storms are especially tough.

WARNINGS: Angst, Bucky having flashbacks, panic/anxiety attacks

18+ Impressions On the Inside of Your Thigh

Beefy!Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x F!RanchHand!Reader

Head Ranch Hand James "Bucky" Barnes has had a very, very long day. Only way to remedy it is to make you squeal.

WARNINGS: grinding, pet names/name-calling, making out, dirty talk, oral sex (f!receiving)

→ Fan Favorite on AO3!

18+ FOXHUNT

WS!Beefy!Bucky Barnes x F!Avenger!Reader

Not only has HYDRA successfully executed their infiltration on S.H.I.E.L.D., but they have also reclaimed their finest weapon. Your safety isn't the only thing that's compromised.

WARNINGS: being hunted, implied non-con elements, violence, cursing, blood, bruising, beating, passing out, forced nudity

18+ Chains Around My Feet

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader; established relationship/friendship and most of work is told out of Reader's POV.

Being held captive and experimented on definitely wasn't in your job description. After what seems like months in HYDRA captivity, rescue finally arrives– but what is rescue if not relief from the suffering?

PLEASE SEE POST FOR FULL LIST OF WARNINGS major warnings: graphics horror elements, blood + gore, whump, hurt and absolutely ZERO comfort, major character betrayal, major character death, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

18+ FILTHY, IMPETUOUS SOULS

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

Honeysuckle

Bucky x F!Reader

The adventures of one James "Bucky" Barnes and our reader, Honeysuckle, mixed with a lot of mutual pining, with some help from Sam 'Wingman' Wilson. No real story line, just a mix of one shots that might end up loosely connected one day.

WARNINGS: mutual pining, requited love, idiots in love, slow burn, tooth-rotting fluff, maybe a little angst, established friendship, yes this takes place in the Tower

This House Had Swing In It - Coming Soon/Being Rewritten

DEVILISHLY HANDSOME, ENTICINGLY BEAUTIFUL - Coming Soon

FALLEN STARS - Coming Soon

If You Go, I Go

CAFTA!Closeted!Pre-Serum!Steve x CAFTA!Closeted!Sergeant!Bucky Barnes

It's Bucky's last night before deployment. The evening does not go the way Steve, nor Bucky, thought it would.

WARNINGS: angst, loneliness, pining, closeted feelings, messing with canon

Dancing in the Kitchen

slightly possessive!Best Friend!Steve Rogers x Best Friend!F!Reader

Tony dumps you. Steve picks you up and puts you back together again.

WARNINGS: fluff and angst, insecurities, verbal abuse and insults/language, VERY SLIGHT possessiveness, emotions™

18+ ALL TIED UP (IN A BIG RED BOW)

Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

Inexperienced and still freshly-traumatized by his first heartbreak, Steve Rogers decides to finally move away for college after taking two gap years to work, save, and help his Ma around the house. It’ll be good for him. Away from his ex. Away from his hometown. He's excited to finally chase his dreams and begin again as a promising fine arts student at Richards College. Well, almost. Thanks to a generous scholarship spanning the next four years of his life, Steve is required to participate in on-campus Greek life. It’s simple: join a frat. They shouldn't be too intimidating. At least they're not as bad as they are in the movies, right? Right..?

general series warnings: frat bros being frat bros, sorority sisters being sorority sisters, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, fluff, angst, whump, explicit forced s3xual acts, slow burn, dissociation, nud1ty, dubcon (bordering noncon), forced drvgging, mentions of kidnapping, emotional damage, Steve's just trying his best, Bucky and Sam are major frat bros, Tony and Clint are somewhere I swear

18+ ALL WRAPPED UP (IN A BIG RED BOW) - COMING SOON

The Weight

Modern!Avengers!Stucky

Steve betrays Bucky in the worst way possible.

WARNINGS: angst, cheating, emotional damage/hurt, no comfort, swearing, mentions/desc. of vomiting

Coming Soon

Reading Lists

This House | Honeysuckle | DHEB

Fic Recs | Spicy Fic Recs | Not My Masterlist

OMEGAVERSE

DEVILISHLY HANDSOME, ENTICINGLY BEAUTIFUL

Honeysuckle Vibes

Hurt/Comfort

This House Had Swing In It

This House: The Swing Collection

Tooth-Rotting Fluff

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

@/natrace's Stardust Reblog Challenge Masterlist

@/flordeamatista's Jardin de Poemas Challenge

@/targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge

WHUMPTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

[all-pacas]

i know everyone loves the og ducklings (and so do i), but i find the second gen so compelling, especially some of the ones that didn’t make the final cut, and i’d just love to hear your thoughts on some of the more major players in the fellowship reality show

In all honesty, I don't have super strong opinions, but I'll do what I can!

13: I talk about her a lot. I love her. :( I love that fandom now loves her, I dimly remember folks hated her (and in my archive trawling, I see a lot of it). Probably for being a woman, you know, but also for getting a lot of character focus — way more than Taub and Kutner — at a time people were still salty about losing Chase and Cameron. But 13's so fun. I like her much more… without the meme? I mean, she makes herself into a Mystery Meme, but really she's not that serious. I think she's great in S6/7, when there's no mystery and 13 is just her cute work nickname and she's joking around and having fun. I love that she quits medicine and lives in Greece. I'm not being ironic, I think her decisiveness and willingness to just make huge life changes is … sometimes not great, but also super cool. I love that she was able to just let go and do something new. I like to imagine she and Chase go on friend vacations sometimes.

Taub: I think he's great. He's so fucking funny, first of all. Like he does some of the funniest things on the show. I'll never get over him staying in the room after House tells everyone who hasn't slept with 13 to leave. He's literally just here to have a good time, he's actually a Good Friend and I like how he invites Chase over to dinner after the Divorce and how he and Foreman are besties and how he and Kutner were best friends. I love that Taub is able to befriend all these young doctors with no ego or issue; like, Wilson's a Friendly Guy but absolutely has never considered hanging out with the kids (who aren't Amber), you know what I mean? Taub is a social equal of the department heads, not the baby doctors. I like to imagine he and his wife somehow and implausibly reconcile. He's trash but he's just a little guy!!

Kutner: I admit, I find him a little… tiring? Like, I don't dislike him; I don't dislike anyone. And Kal Penn is great, and I adore the moments Kutner shows just incredible empathy. He has a moment in The Itch where Cameron is trying to get into the dude's house and Kutner stops her in her tracks and explains exactly what she's doing wrong that's just so good. Or him bonding with the girl in Birthmarks. How he just connects with people on the fringes without trying. But, and I do mean this, I do think he's a bit overhyped as like "the next and true House." He's sharp and definitely the most creative of the bunch, but he's awful at procedures and definitely has strong "new kid" vibes. After a few years he would have been a FORCE. When I say I find him tiring, I think I mean that the show at first lent a little too hard into the "haha he sets people on fire" thing. I like him as a weirdo with incredible empathy, but not a meme about incompetence.

Amber: I loved her when she was Cutthroat Bitch, I loved her going up to House like "I'm calling you Greg now as we are social equals," I loved her telling Wilson to buy a waterbed because she could advocate for herself and didn't need him to be gallant on her behalf. I wonder a lot what S4 would have been like if it hadn't been cut short. I think she would have died either way, because Head/Heart are just too good? But I think she was really good for Wilson and even for House, I would have loved to see more of that period. And I love ghost Amber, even if she's very clearly House's idealized version of her. But damn is she good.

Cole: Honestly, he sort of feels like a wasted character. He got a lot of focus, he got development, and then he was just gone. I wonder if there was behind the scenes stuff — he certainly had more focus than Taub for example. Not that I'm suggesting drama, but it is interesting how abruptly they dumped him, you know? I liked him, but I did find him sort of bland. He's another character I would have loved to see interact more with the OG cast. Cameron seemed to like him. I bet Chase would have been wildly hypocritical about his religious stuff, lol.

Brennan: I adore that he just went insane and started poisoning people. He was so normal before that, I wish we could have seen him be nuts sooner. I bet Cameron was like "omg he's in the peace core 😍" about him.

Really I love the original kids so much but I do love the new ones too, I wish we'd seen them all hang out. (I do find it kind of funny that the last ones standing are Taub and Chase. Like Park and Adams too, and 13 soooorta, but it's so weird/funny that the last two fellows over time are those two.)

[holybatgirlz]

Portrait Gallery Visits

read on Ao3

Summary: 

Sophie and Benedict take a little trip together to the Royal Academy. 

Word Count: 10k+

Notes: a little first date Benophie fic.

---

"I have the day off?"

Mrs. Wilson nodded. "Lady Violet gives all the staff a day off each month, and with all the hard work you've been doing recently, I thought it best to make sure you used your day."

Sophie frowned. Staring at the older woman in confusion, she tried to think of an occasion, any occasion, where she recalled another staff member she worked with saying they'd been given individual days off. She had never had one since becoming a maid, certainly not with Araminta, and minus her periods of unemployment since leaving Penwood House, time off was unheard of in her life. 

She studied the older housekeeper skeptically. Was Mrs. Wilson lying to her?

"I really do not need it," Sophie told her. "I already promised Miss Hyacinth I'd help her with her French work. And I'm helping Miss Francesca with preparing for tonight's ball. Not to mention all the work needed for Lady Bridgerton's ball later this week. I'm far too busy to be taking the day off work." 

Somehow, Mrs. Wilson was able to force the kind smile on her face to stay and not let it turn into one of alarm and surprise as she watched the young woman continue to ramble on about all the tasks she had to attend to, what it was she had already done and what currently needed to be completed. She listed the different chores that she’d planned to complete that day, ones Mrs. Wilson had not realized were lacking and had been overlooked. And it was her job to manage Number 5. 

Getting the young Miss Sophie out of the house would be more challenging than she thought. 

"I've already promised Lady Bridgerton you'd be notified, and with only a few days left in the month, it's best you use it now or lose it," she told her, shooing the girl towards the servant's door. She'd at least already been able to get a cloak around Sophie's far too-thin shoulders and a basket of food in her arms, so she had something to eat later.

Sophie's little confused frown deepened. "But…what do I even do?"

Oh, this sweet summer child was going to need more help than Mrs. Wilson realized.

"Well, you can go for a walk. Get some air. It will be good for you. And I made sure you have some of your pay with you," she motioned towards the basket, held in the crook of Sophie's arm. "I put it in the basket. Consider it a little gift. The markets should also be open if you want to get something small. There is a chocolatier near Piccadilly who sells quite wonderful treats for a good price. Maybe you could go there?" 

"Um…alright, then," Sophie told her, still looking completely lost at the concept of not working for the day. Making it all the more apparent to the old housekeeper that something was truly off with her. 

It wasn't normal for a girl of her age to be so adamant about working. Not that Mrs. Wilson wasn't grateful for her; Sophie was good at what she did. And she did it quickly, too, without question. Everything was done perfectly, but Mrs. Wilson noticed how Sophie tended to overstep, taking on tasks she should not have been doing as a maid. While some of the older staff had been happy about having less work to do when they woke up and found Sophie had already done it, the younger staff were the opposite. 

Some of the younger, more gossip-minded maids weren't entirely happy about how close Sophie was getting with the three Bridgerton sisters. Their employers. It couldn't be ignored how Sophie was one of the only servants to repeatedly sit for tea with the three sisters and their mother, not that it was by her own choice, and Mrs. Wilson couldn't ignore how Benedict had suddenly begun showing up more. The same Bridgerton son who got her the job.

And the poor girl was going to work herself to death if she didn't slow down. She needed at least a day to breathe and relax. 

"I'll see you this afternoon," Mrs. Wilson remarked, gently pushing Sophie closer to the door and outside. "See you later, Sophie. Have fun."

She then promptly shut the door in Sophie's face before she even had the chance to change her mind and return inside. Waving her off from the window, Mrs. Wilson waited until Sophie made it most of the way down the servant's alley, rather slowly as she kept looking back at the kitchen door, wondering if she should really leave and looking terribly lost in her thoughts, before finally disappearing around the corner, to which Mrs. let out the breath she'd been holding, her body sagging with relief.

"Is Lady Bridgerton planning to implement this day off for all staff? Or just the new little maids with blonde curls and big green eyes?" Bessie, the cook who'd worked for the Bridgertons for years, inquired knowingly as she continued stirring the morning porridge. 

Bessie knew well enough what it was her old colleague was doing, seeing as Mrs. Wilson had waited till all the other staff members had gone off to attend to their duties before she caught Sophie for a private little chat. 

"Oh, hush you," Mrs. Wilson shushed. "That girl's been working herself to the bone. You saw her this morning. She looked about to collapse from exhaustion."

"And what do you plan to tell her ladyship or the young ladies when they come looking for her?" Bessie asked. 

Mrs. Wilson shrugged. "I'll just tell her she went to run some errands for me. I think we can manage one day without her." 

—

Sophie was completely lost.

Not really. She knew where she was: Regent Street, the hustle of early morning business happening around her as she wandered down the road and through the city. Horse-drawn carriages passed her on the street while Londoners of all classes did their business around her. Her worry of Araminta being in town meant she’d stuck to the back roads, the quieter streets of London.

But she barely heard any noises around her as she continued down the road, lost in thought. 

She was at a loss about what to do with herself for the day. 

She'd never had a day off before, not since Araminta had forced her into a life of servitude. Not even with the Cavanders or the brief jobs she held between leaving London and arriving in Wiltshire. She'd worked every day from sunrise to sunset, sometimes even into the evenings since her father’s death. 

Yes, she'd been a guest while staying with Benedict in the country, but she'd also done work around the home, helping the Crabtrees manage the manor and helping Benedict recover from his fever. She'd not been as busy as she'd usually been as a maid, not even now with the Bridgertons at Number 5, but she hadn't taken an entire day of just doing nothing. No matter how much Mrs. Crabtree demanded her to. 

But the thought of Wiltshire, of her time at My Cottage, brought up a bigger problem in her life. 

Benedict.

It was probably why she’d been keeping herself so busy. Without anything to do to keep her mind elsewhere, she was stuck thinking about him. His charming looks, his crooked smile, how passionate he spoke about his artworks with her, how sweet he looked whenever he attended to his nieces and nephews when they were visiting. The days she'd spent getting to know him better had shaped the fantasize she still had over him. For better or worse.

Not to mention, thinking about him always led to her thinking about the pond incident. The image of him coming out of the water all those weeks ago, completely nude, after she'd stumbled upon him during his morning swim. Her cheeks burned as she remembered that, making her shake her head as if she could rattle the thoughts out of her mind. 

She had to stop thinking about him. It was embarrassing and childish. Not to mention improper. He was nothing more than a distraction, a gnat that constantly flew around her head, annoying her. And she knew her feelings for him would only lead to further pain and heartbreak. 

"Well, isn't this a surprise? Off to do some morning shopping, are we?" the sweet sounds of Benedict's voice floated around in her skull as if he was sitting on her shoulder, guiding her through her day. 

Sophie sighed. "And now I'm hearing him," she muttered to herself sarcastically. "Wonderful."

"Sophie, I'm standing right behind you," Benedict's voice said with an amused chuckle, and this time, Sophie realized it wasn't in her head. 

She spun around quickly, shocked to find that Benedict was, in fact, standing right behind her. Where the hell had he come from? Glancing around the streets, she tried to figure out where it was he'd appeared from or if he'd been following her this entire time. Not realizing she'd walked right past him as he exited White's a few doors behind them, her head so far up in the clouds that she hadn't seen him wave her down or hear him call out after her. She certainly hadn't heard his footsteps as he moved to catch up with her as she walked on. 

Oh, she was never taking another day off again. Ever again.

"How do you do that?" she asked him, stunned.

A dark brow quirked up. "Do what?" he asked back.

"Find me," she clarified an annoyed edge in her tone this time.

But Benedict only smiled. Slowly his sly, lopsided smirk, dragged the corner of his lips upwards as he stepped towards her, towering over her. Looming over her. She mentally cursed him for being as tall as he was. Making Sophie have to tilt her head back just to look up at him. Just so she could see the mischievous glint in his pale, morning-blue eyes as he looked down at her. Tried to ignore the building desire within her that made her want to climb him.

"Like I could ever lose you. Only a fool would let you go," he told her, voice soft.

She stared at him, lips parting, hating how her heart began to start beating erratically in her chest. His voice sounded soft and loving, giving her goosebumps despite the sun shining brightly on them, keeping them warm. All she wanted to do was listen to his voice. 

"Besides, you are far too irresistible to ignore. All the more reason to keep you all to myself. I wouldn't have to worry about you disappearing," he said, more flirtatiously this time. His eyes roamed over her gown of pale green.

Or maybe not.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

"Good day, Mr. Bridgerton," she told him curtly as she opened her eyes and stepped around him, making her way back down the street in the direction she'd come from

He seemed surprised by her dismissing him as if that wasn't a common occurrence for them as of late. She heard him call out behind her. "Sophie, wait!" 

"I'm not in the mood," she told him loudly as he followed her, catching up with her in only a few quick strides. Barely breaking a sweat as she huffed and puffed next to him as she tried increasing her pace. Damn those long legs of him. It was entirely unfair for him to use her short height against her. 

"What exactly are you doing?" he asked, easily keeping up with her. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I have the day off," she told him bluntly.

He frowned. "The day off?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wilson says your mother gives all the staff a day off each month. She made me use mine today since the month is almost over," Sophie continued without even looking at him.

Benedict gave her a confused look, opening his mouth to tell her that was most certainly not true before quickly stopping himself. He slowly realized what Mrs. Wilson had done was a gift. If Sophie had the day off, then she finally had free time. No longer running after his sisters or attending to household chores at Number 5. She was free. 

Free to spend time with him. 

"And what do you plan to do? With your day off?" he inquired curiously. 

"I am not spending it with you. That's for certain," she replied back swiftly as if knowing what he would say next. "I think I'll go to the park. Or maybe just walk around the area. Or buy some chocolates."

He smiled. "You have no idea what to do, do you?"

She stopped dead in her tracks, making Benedict stop too. Her head whipping in his direction to look at him. He watched her dark emerald eyes narrowed into slits as she glared, but she'd proved him right. And even Sophie knew that as she took another deep breath.

"I do not need to explain myself to you," she told him with a huff.

"Have you never had a day off?" he asked.

"Coming from someone who has never worked a day in his life, I'm surprised you would even know what a day off is," she snapped before continuing on in her hasty walk down the street. Her cheeks turning pink.

All Benedict could do was laugh, a loud one bursting from his lips, almost sounding like a snort, as he watched her try to escape him. 

He truly adored annoying her. It always brought out that stubborn personality she kept hidden behind polite submissiveness. It had slipped out here and there while she was working for his family. He'd noticed her snarky little remarks were more likely to come out if she was chatting with Francesca about her suitors. He was pretty sure it was why Eloise had come to like Sophie; her biting remarks tended to go unnoticed by his mother, much to his and his sisters' amusement. 

He loved knowing that he was probably the only one in all of London she'd shown her true self to, her wit and intellect, her fiery passion and kind compassion.

And there was no one else whose company he'd rather keep right now than hers. She filled a hole in his heart, left there by his silver-dressed companion after she disappeared on him two years ago. 

"Come with me," he told her.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Did you not hear me? When I said I had no interest in spending my day with you?"

"I know something you can do."

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Bridgerton, but I'm not interested."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely," she replied defiantly. 

"What a shame," he remarked with a mock pout. "I was so excited to show you my paintings."

She stopped in the tracks, again, slowly turning to look at him once more. "What paintings?"

"The ones the Royal Academy is exhibiting this weekend," he told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You went through with it?" 

She'd been the only one to know about it, about him contemplating returning to the Royal Academy. He wasn't confident he would at this point. The knowledge his original acceptance had been tainted, paid for by his brother, had continued to cloud his confidence in reapplying, but the Royal Academy had a yearly summer exhibition, an event where any artist, known or unknown, could submit their works in the hopes they'd be chosen. Only three pieces were allowed to be submitted to the committee, and Benedict had to pay a fee for each one, but the stress had come from picking which works he would submit. It was why he'd been in Wiltshire to begin with, to focus on his selections. The committee could not guarantee any would be selected, but after finally impulsively entering his choices, he'd heard word the day prior that all three of his paintings had been accepted.

And Sophie had been the cause of it all. He'd told her about it in Wiltshire. About his hopes and dreams of being a famous artist. About how he'd stopped painting after discovering Anthony's role in helping him get that dream. The only reason he'd reopened his box of paints that he'd tucked away after leaving the Royal Academy had been because of the Lady of Silver, the only way he could get her out of his head was by drawing her. Painting that night over and over again. And other pieces because of it. She'd become his muse, reigniting his skills, but Sophie had become his champion, batting away his anxieties with her own confidence and support. Pushing him to submit the paintings, telling him it was better to live with a rejection than never knowing what would have happened if he hadn’t gone through with it. 

When he'd mentioned the exhibition, Sophie had immediately told him to do it, having seen his old and new works hidden around My Cottage. Peeking at his drawings and sketches while he'd slept off a fever. Her encouragement had been the final push he needed to get over himself.

He hadn't even told his family yet. He couldn't. Only after he told her first would he be able to. 

"You got in?" Sophie seemed surprised, stunned by the news. 

"All three of the works I submitted were accepted," he told her, chest puffing up with pride. 

Her stunned shock shifted to delight as she smiled at him, excitement buzzing through her. Excitement she felt on his behalf because of him. 

"Oh, Benedict, that's wonderful!" she remarked, and Benedict felt his heart swell as she used his first name instead of the formal 'Mr. Bridgerton'. 

In her giddy excitement, she threw her arms around him to hug him, and Benedict was all too willing to accept, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body against his, lifting her off the ground, breathing in the smell of vanilla and nutmeg as he held her. For a moment, the whole world around them disappeared, and Benedict only felt utter content by having her against him. 

Then, Sophie snapped away from him, as if she'd been burned, making him quickly put her back down. As if she'd just remembered that only moments ago, she'd been annoyed with him. And that touching him was certainly not something she'd been allowing between them since they both arrived in London. 

But instead of getting angry again, she just grew embarrassed.

"Um…congratulations," she told him nervously, her cheeks turning pink. 

"Would you like to see them?" he asked, trying, and failing to ignore the emptiness that had returned within him the moment she pulled away. The moment her touch left him.

"Oh, I do not believe I will have the time to attend–" she started.

"I mean right now," he clarified quickly. 

She frowned. "How would we do that?" 

Benedict only shrugged. "Let's call it an artist's privilege. I'm allowed to check on my works before the exhibit."

"Um…I don't know…" she trailed off hesitantly, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she thought it over. 

"The Academy is just down the road," he told her, motioning towards the street ahead of them that would lead them both to it. "I'll have you in and out before you know it. It shouldn't take less than an hour. Promise."

She studied him. "You promise?"

"Absolutely," he told her, even though he planned to keep her there as long as possible.

After a moment, she nodded. "Alright. Lead the way." 

Benedict smiled, excitement flaring within him. He held out his arm for her to take, but Sophie merely shook her head and began walking, making him let out a small chuckle as he followed, directing her towards the grand gray and white stone building used by the Academy for its classes and exhibits. He still knew the back entrance Tessa had once shown him, leading Sophie towards it so no one would see them sneak in.

Technically, he hadn't lied to Sophie when he said he could see his works before the exhibit. That was true. He could come and go as needed, but waltzing through the front door with a woman who was not his wife nor known to the Academy, he was bound to get looks and questions from the others. 

But Sophie made no remark as they entered through the back, quietly following him as he brought her towards the exhibition rooms, which, mercifully, were empty. It was still early enough in the morning that the majority of students and teachers weren't roaming the halls yet. And Benedict had it on good authority that the curator would be sleeping off a rather horrid hangover this morning, given his piss poor performance at cards the night before. They had the place all to themselves for now. 

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he watched as Sophie glanced around the room, taking in the many paintings of varying sizes that decorated the walls as she walked around the statues of marble and bronze placed throughout the rooms. 

"Are these all submissions too?" she asked him. 

"Some are," he answered. "Others are donations or works that have been loaned out temporarily from private collections."

"They're quite good," she told him, studying a painting of Cupid and Psyche lounging on a chaise together, one Benedict had been told was on loan from Brussels, made by a French painter while in exile. 

"Really?" he asked her, coming up to stand next to her. 

"You don't like it?" she asked back. 

"It's not that I don't like it, it's…" Benedict paused, trying to figure out what to say next. It wasn't bad, the painting of Cupid and Psyche, it was rather well done, if not more hyper-realistic then the other paintings hanging around them. 

It was just better than his. All the paintings around them were. The one in front of them was from an already established painter, as were the other donated and loaned ones hanging around the room.

At least his works were in the next one. Not put hanging next to established and known painters. 

Maybe he should have them taken out and pull them from the exhibition. It was too good to be true for all three of his works to get picked on his first submission to the contest, but he hadn't spoken to anyone except Sophie about it. There was no way Anthony could have learned about this and involved himself in this without Benedict noticing.

This was a mistake. His heart began to hammer away in his chest. He shouldn't have taken Sophie here. His paintings shouldn't be hanging on these walls. This was wrong. The exhibition wasn't opening till next week; he could get Sophie out of there and wait till the curator arrived, make up some excuse, and get the paintings removed before–

"I doubt it's any better than yours," Sophie commented, her calm voice slicing through his thoughts, stopping his heart momentarily and dragging his attention back towards her, away from his anxious thoughts. 

"I wouldn't go that far," Benedict said sheepishly, motioning towards the painting. "This one is from a far more established painter than me." 

"I've seen your works, Benedict," Sophie told him, giving him a small smile. Nothing but genuine kindness in her eyes. "I liked them much more than this one. Then the works of other more established painters I've seen." 

"Really?" he asked, hopeful. 

She nodded. "And well, you have far more talent than that one," she pointed quickly towards the muddled painting of some kind of animal hanging nearby. "I can't tell if it's supposed to be a terrier or a chicken." 

Benedict laughed. "I think it's supposed to be a horse." 

"Oh, that just makes it worse," she replied, looking horrified, and Benedict could only laugh harder. Her smile returned as she saw him laughing, saw the tension easing away from his shoulders as he relaxed.

"The one next to it would have probably been saved if it had been skied," he told her, playing along, pointing to the portrait of an older, gruff, and angry-looking gentleman with a cane hanging next to the supposed horse painting. The background needed to be lighter and looked unfinished as a result. A window in the background or a few trees would have helped. 

Sophie cringed as she saw it. "Forgive me for not noticing, but I was rather distracted by the model's severe expression." 

An expression that made the man look rather…constipated.

He was unable to prevent the smile on his face from dropping, pointing towards another painting nearby. Seeking her opinion still.

"What about that one?"

Sophie leaned closer toward the wall, studying the painting for a moment. 

"The hound deserves better," she told him as she leaned back, making him chuckle.

He hummed. "And the one next to it?"

"I can tell you with complete confidence that a woman's chest is not supposed to look like that," Sophie replied, looking rather insulted by the female model's appearance. 

He couldn't stop smiling at this point. And when Sophie saw his, she only returned it with one of her own. 

 "You are quite the critic. You're certain you aren't an artist?" he said to her.  

"I can barely draw a flower," Sophie remarked back, giving him a look.

"How do you know so much about it then?" he asked, and Sophie frowned, looking away from him. 

"My father," she answered softly, the smile on her face dropping and Benedict stiffened. "He had quite the collection of works in his home. From different painters. Practically decorated every inch of his home. He liked art. It was the only thing we ever talked about. When he talked to me, that was."

"I didn't mean to bring him up," Benedict told her apologetically. 

She shook her head. "It's fine. I used to study the paintings growing up. Tried to imagine what the words within them were like. Got pretty good at noticing all the little details and how they differed from one another, but I never had the talent for it, though, I'm afraid. But my father would tell me more about them if I asked. He was quite good at noting the flaws and errors. Could even tell two of them had been painted over by the original artist and that one his grandfather had purchased was a fake. He was a very…critical man." 

Critical. Critical could mean cruel. 

"He never said anything to you about–?" Benedict gently started, and Sophie shook her head again, knowing where he was going with this.

"He never spoke up about it to begin with. I could never tell if he just didn't want to talk about it or didn't know how to. It was just one big elephant sitting in the room whenever we were together," Sophie told him. "And he rarely ever told me off. He left that to the servants. The housekeeper and my governess specifically. He'd left them to raise me anyway; might as well let them handle the tougher conversations or discipline."

An uncomfortable pit began forming in his stomach. It was hard to imagine what it was like for Sophie growing up. Besides the matter of her being an illegitimate child, Benedict couldn't begin to imagine not being close with his father, who had been nothing but loving and supportive. A man who had been the complete opposite of Sophies, who supported his artistic interests. Charcoal and some paper were an easy way for his father to keep him distracted when he was little. He'd do it whenever he was watching him and Anthony while working in his office. Benedict had always been the calmer one of the two, Anthony had been more excitable and rowdier when they were little, so his father would keep Benedict quietly drawing so he could keep a closer eye on Anthony.

Even though it annoyed Benedict's mother to no end when she would come to check on them and find Benedict covered in black smears of coal.

" He's got talent , Violet ," his father would tell her with a chuckle as she huffed, wiping at Benedict's cheeks in an effort to clean him up. " I'm only trying to nurture it ." 

And his father would keep his little doodles. Little inside jokes Benedict would draw and leave on his desk for his father to find, to give the old man a good laugh. Weeks after his death, Benedict found some hidden away in his desk drawer after he'd been helping an overwhelmed Anthony locate documents. He was so surprised to see it, having never thought his father had actually kept them, that the grief he'd been struggling to control had clawed its way back up his throat, and he'd had to excuse himself so he could try (and fail) to get a hold of his emotions. 

His parents had both supported him in any endeavor he took, not just his father. His mother had wanted him to further his skills after he finished at Cambridge, offered to help send him to Paris or Florence so he could study, but he declined, not wanting to leave his family behind. His brother was now the viscount and Colin was starting at University himself, but there were still five other young Bridgertons their mother was left raising on her own, two of whom were only toddlers. Benedict couldn’t leave them behind like that. 

But he had support. He had love. 

Sophie never had any of that. 

And he hated it.

"But he's gone now, not much that can be done about it. No point lingering in the past," she added stiffly, as if trying to convince herself of that. 

There was an anger in her tone whenever Sophie spoke about her father, but now it sounded less like anger and more like disappointment. She didn't seem to hate him, though, which Benedict couldn't believe; however, he didn't think Sophie hated anyone. 

Well, maybe him. Sometimes.

She then straightened out her back, holding her head high as she glanced over at him and forced a bright smile. "But enough about me, you said you were going to show me your works." 

"There in the other rooms," he told her, still feeling guilty about inadvertently bringing up her dead father.

She nodded, making her way towards the opening leading into the next room. A room just as extensively decorated as the one they'd just been in. Benedict slowly followed her in, lingering a little ways behind and watching as she did the same as she had when they arrived. Carefully making her way around the room and looking at the works hanging around her. 

"Which ones are yours?" she asked.

"You don't know?" 

"Well, you didn't tell me which ones you submitted." 

Benedict felt a slight tug at his lips. "And here I thought you liked my works."

She stuck her tongue out at him for that.

"Guess," he told her, chuckling.

"Benedict," she whined softly, head tilting to the side . 

"I'm not telling you. You have to guess," he informed her. 

She let out an over dramatic sigh. "Fine," she told him, turning back away from him and scanning the walls. 

He watched her slowly waltz around the room, studying each and every painting. He watched how her curls swayed with every moment of her head. Her day off meant she hadn't pinned any of them up. Her ringlet curls hung loosely around her face, the tips brushing against her shoulders. Soft, perfect circular curls that looked like they were made from gold, shining whenever the sun caught them, and Benedict wanted nothing more than to run his hands through them.

She gave each portrait a moment of her time, and for a second, Benedict thought she'd walk right past them. She looked just about to, and then she stopped. 

"This one," she told him, pointing to it.

A smile tugged at his lips. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You're absolutely certain it's mine?"

She nodded. "I know that pond anywhere."

He came to stand next to her, glancing at the landscape painting he'd submitted. The one of the small pond behind My Cottage, with the little hill leading to it, the two large willow trees rooted by its banks, and the expansive field behind it that led towards a forest far off in the distance. 

The very pond he'd had the most awkward encounters of his life with Sophie at.

But that hadn't stopped him from painting it. He'd gone out one early morning to get it right as the sun was coming up. The sky of the landscape was a soft, dewy pink, and gentle orange, with just a few dabs and swipes of white to be clouds. He'd even added a tiny little detail. 

In the distance of the painting, right under one of the willow trees and sitting on a blanket, was a small figure resting against the trunk. Dressed in white. 

Sophie had come outside while he was painting that day. He'd already gotten most of the painting done and was focusing more on the leaves of the trees and bunches of daisies that were growing around the pond, but he couldn't help himself when he saw her relaxing under the tree, reading one of his books as she munched on an apple. His hands had moved without his brain telling them to, adding her to the painting. The angle he'd gotten her at meant most wouldn't notice her at first. One would have to look closer to find her hidden behind the tree, golden curls blowing in the breeze. 

"Is that supposed to be me?" Sophie asked, pointing to her mini-painted form. 

"Hmm, I suppose it is. How did that get there?" Benedict hummed playfully, getting a gentle tap to the arm from Sophie. 

"You didn't need to include me in it," she told him. "I would have moved if you had asked."

"And disturb the quiet respite you were enjoying at the time?" Benedict shook his head. "I'm a gentleman, Sophie."

A dark blond brow rose on her smooth face, telling Benedict she was having a hard time believing that, but she didn't push it.

"That's one," she nodded towards the painting in front of them. "You said three works were accepted, so where are the other two?"

"That's number two," Benedict told her, pointing towards the still life hanging next to the landscape. 

He'd gone with one of each; landscape, a portrait, and a still life. Frankly, Benedict was surprised his still life painting was accepted. It wasn't anything new or interesting. Some fruits on a plate with a goblet. Nothing extraordinary by any means. It was even smaller than the other two. Simple.

"I like it," Sophie remarked, once again cutting apart the anxious thoughts before they had a chance to sink their claws into him. "It shows off your skills. How good you are with light and detail. And the silver looks almost real. The blues and oranges you have from the fruit and plates makes it more eye-catching, too." 

Maybe she was right. Maybe the addition of his mother's blue china to hold the citrus fruits he'd used and the lighting work he'd done on the silver goblet to give it its metallic shine had been intriguing enough to have it hanging amongst the rest. 

"You need to stop second-guessing yourself," Sophie told him, and he looked to see she was watching him. "You are a talented artist, Benedict. People will see that when they see your work. And I'm certain your family will also be proud of you when they see them." 

He didn't doubt her. He couldn't. The certainty in her voice, the sincerity shining in her eyes was all he needed to know for a fact she meant what she said.

"You are far too kind," he told her. "Kinder than I deserve." 

She shrugged. "I meant what I said. You are a talented artist." 

He blushed and Benedict Bridgerton was not the kind of man who blushed. But he actually blushed at her words, like he was some young schoolboy seeing a pretty woman for the first time. He just couldn't help how Sophie set something off within him. Made him feel pride and confidence with a few little sentences and a soft smile. How he felt more than just happy when he was around her. He felt content, as if all the missing pieces in his life had just slid back into place. 

"Now, the third one," she glanced around. "That one in here too?"

"In the next room. They thought it went better with the paintings hanging in there," he told her. 

"Alright, then," Sophie said, heading off. 

Benedict waited before following. Needing a few moments to let his heart relax and for his cheeks to stop burning, regaining his composure and confidence before he headed in after her.

He found her already standing before his last piece, staring up at it. Frozen in place. He smiled. She found it already. 

"It's not my best portrait," he told her as he approached. "I had difficulty getting the face right. Unfortunately, the model could not sit for it, so I had to go off my memory alone."

The Lady in Silver. His muse. He thought it only fitting to have her amongst his submissions. Of the three, she was the one he hoped would be accepted if the others weren't.

He’d made it so she was standing by a stone railing, leaning against it as she looked away from the viewer. It was the only way Benedict could conceal the fact that he couldn't paint her full face without using a mask, having to do a side profile instead. He'd painted the scene like it had been that night, with the moon shining down on her. It was the only one hanging on the wall that had set at night. And that was how it should hang, contrasting sharply against its neighbors and drawing in the eye of anyone who passed it. 

It was, in all frankness, his best work. 

Hair pinned up with pearls, dressed in silver satin, Benedict had spent hours getting each pinned curl perfect, each strand of hair just right, and making the dress look like liquid silver in the moonlight. The lace detail he'd done on the sleeves and bodice had almost killed him. He'd been forced to take multiple breaks due to his hand cramping under pressure.

Sophie was silent as she stood beside him, staring at the painting with wide, surprised eyes. 

"I wanted to have her facing the viewer, but…well, it didn't look right," he explained, feeling nervous now as Sophie continued to say nothing. 

"It's good, Benedict," she told him suddenly, sounding breathless. "It's really, really good."

"You think so?" he asked, giving the portrait another look. 

Sophie's wide eyes darted towards him, a fearful glint settled in them as she watched him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize how suspiciously similar she looked to the woman in the portrait before him. But the recognition never appeared on Benedict's face as he stared at his masterpiece, glancing over towards her to flash a proud smile.

"When did you–?" she started, her eyes snapping back towards the painting. 

"I've been working on this one for almost two years," he told her as he chuckled. "I didn't think I would finish, let alone in time to submit it here. It was killing me not getting her face right, but I finally did. I finally finished it." 

He still hadn't realized. She couldn't believe it. The evidence was standing right in front of him. She was standing right before a portrait of herself, and he still hadn't realized. 

That stupid, gorgeous, idiotic, wonderful fool. She wanted to scream at him.

But she couldn't. It was better he didn't realize, she reminded herself. He couldn't know who she really was. It would just make all of this worse.

"You know what I just realized?" Benedict asked.

If she hadn't already been rooted in place, frozen stiff to the point she looked like the marble statues around them, Sophie might have run. Instead, she slowly looked back towards him, waiting to hear what he had to say, praying he hadn't figured it out.

"One of my classmates. Wilkes. He submitted a piece I was told was accepted. He's a god-awful portrait painter, and if that's what he submitted, I'm sure you'll get a good laugh," he chuckled. "Come on."

Relief and disappointment filled her. It was better he didn't realize, she reminded herself again.

He reached out and grabbed her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, she felt a shock go through her, making her snatch her hand back quickly as Benedict seemed to feel it, too.

"Sorry," he told her. 

She shook her head. "It's fine."

"Are you alright?" he asked, finally noticing her worried expression.

She nodded. "Of course." 

"Sophie, what's wrong?" he asked earnestly, his hand coming to rest on her arm. 

"Nothing. Nothing, I'm fine. Really," she said, forcing a smile. 

"You're still enjoying this, right?" he asked carefully.

"Of course. I was just…I was just a little surprised by the last one."

"In a bad way or…" Benedict gave her a concerned look.

"A good way," she clarified, chuckling. "I mean it, Benedict. I don't know why you keep making me say it, but you're good. Really good. Far better than the rest of them."

Benedict beamed. His expression was soft as he looked at her, a crinkle around his glittering eyes as he smiled. "You are a phenomenal woman, you know that?" he told her gently, and Sophie felt her cheeks begin to warm.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she replied, shaking her head as she let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm serious. I wouldn't have done any of this if it wasn't for you," he said. "I only submitted them because you pushed me to. If you hadn't strong-armed me into doing this, I would still be caught up in my own insecurities."

"I don't think I needed to strong-armed you into doing anything," Sophie said back, a little defensive. 

"Still, I owe you. A lot. For all of this," Benedict continued. He shook his head. "I haven't even told my family."

Sophie blinked at his admission, surprised, but he only continued. 

"I wanted you to know first. Need you to know before I tell the rest of them," he admitted. "I love my family, but they're not why these paintings are hanging here. You are." 

Her warm cheeks only got hotter, burning hotly now. Sophie caught her lower lip between her teeth, chewing nervously on it. There was warmth pooling below her navel, a tightness building. 

"You know," he smirked. "Nobody's around. We can do whatever we want."

Sophie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as Benedict only chuckled softly. 

Of all the moments for him to ruin. 

She sighed, shaking her head. No matter how much she was enjoying herself right now, there was no chance in hell that she would lose herself in the desire she felt for him.

Then a hand came to rest on her hip, a gentle tug, and her feet moved without her telling them to, stepping closer to him. 

"Benedict," she warned softly, placing her hand over his. She wrapped her fingers around it, ready to pull it off–

"We're alone," he whispered, leaning in closer. 

"Benedict…" she repeated again, swallowing as his face came closer to hers. Her heart was drumming against her sternum now.

"No one will know," he assured her quietly, rotating his hand to catch hers now. 

"This can never work. You know that right?" she looked up at him with pleading eyes. "So stop it. Please."

Benedict stared at her. A small arrow appeared between his brows as he watched her, trying to understand why she kept refusing him when they both knew the desire was there. But he didn’t say anything. 

Then he sighed, leaning forward, and rested his forehead on hers. Well, more like the top of her head, with her height, his nose pressed into her curls, his lips hovering over her forehead. 

"Must you remind me?" he asked with a sad little laugh. He was joking, but his voice was still laced with disappointment. 

She only huffed a sigh, training her eyes toward his chest. "I'm trying to make this as painless as possible. For both of us." 

His hand was clutching hers tightly but not painfully. It was more desperate like he didn't want to let go of her. Sophie waited quietly, not moving. She trusted him; no matter how often he tried to push her boundaries, he always stopped when she asked, and she didn't want him to let go of her. Instead, she focused on one of the buttons on his scarlet red vest, waiting for him to pull away. 

Finally, he did. Benedict sighed, his lips gently brushed over her forehead as he gave her a soft kiss before pulling away, releasing her hand as he moved back.

"You'll be the death of me," he joked lightly, to her or himself she wasn't sure. He was smiling again, but it was a forced one this time. 

"I should go," she told him softly. The warmth had evaporated, leaving only an uncomfortable feeling of sadness behind. Disappointment of her own. 

"Sophie–" Benedict started.

She shook her head. "No, it's for the best. I should–"

"Oh!" another voice interrupted her. "I didn't realize anyone was here." 

Turning around to where the voice had come from, Sophie saw a tall, pretty brunette standing in the doorway. A woman she didn’t recognize. 

But Benedict did. 

"Tessa?" Benedict asked behind her.

The tall brunette glanced away from Sophie and towards Benedict. A smile lit up her face as she saw him.

"Benedict? Is that you?" she asked, stepping towards them–towards Benedict. "God, how long has it been?"

Benedict let out a small chuckle as he moved past Sophie and towards her, giving her a quick hug to greet her, leaving Sophie standing awkwardly behind him. 

So, they were friends. That was…okay. 

"How are you?" he asked as he pulled back.

"Well, well," Tessa replied. "Bored, though. Everything got so dreadfully boring around here after you left. No one throws a party like you did.”

Benedict chuckled.

“Not to mention, I was rather insulted that you didn't tell me you were leaving,” Tessa added. 

"Well, I um…I didn't want to be a bother," Benedict awkwardly replied. 

"You shouldn't have taken your brother's actions to heart," Tessa told him. "You had talent, Benedict. It wasn’t something to waste. But I heard you'll be in the summer showcase?"

He nodded. "Yeah. A few of my pieces were accepted." 

"I'm glad to hear," Tessa said, still smiling. 

"Enough about me. What about you? What are you doing here? Have this lot finally recognized your talents and given you a spot?" Benedict questioned.

Tessa chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm still modeling. The Academy refuses to consider women capable of using a paintbrush or a chisel, but I got one of my pieces selected for the exhibit. And something far better than the Royal Academy." 

"And what's that?" 

"A position studying in Florence. Apparently, they are a bit more accepting of women learning the arts in Italy," Tessa replied happily. 

"That's wonderful, Tessa," Benedict remarked. 

"I'll still have to work for it, but I certainly have you to thank for my male figures being more accurate. It certainly was what got me accepted in the first place," she explained.

Benedict chuckled. "You deserve it, Tessa," he told her.

Tessa's dark eyes glanced over towards Sophie, who was lingering in the shadows behind them, trying to stay out of sight. The brunette cocked her head to the side, studying her. A sly smile still ghosted over her lips.  

"Who's your friend?" she asked. 

"Oh, Tessa, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is Tessa, an old friend from when I was studying here," Benedict introduced them quickly.

Sophie nodded politely. "Nice to meet you." 

"Is she your latest? She's a pretty little thing. Wherever did you find her?" Tessa whispered loudly as she leaned towards Benedict, teasing him. 

"Tessa," Benedict warned. 

"You should get her to model here? She'd be well received," Tessa commented to Benedict. "Those looks are divine, and those curls. You must tell me how you get them like that, Sophie. Mine refuse to listen to me. Maybe you could come over to my place before I leave. I'm certain we could exchange tips and–" 

"Tessa," Benedict almost snapped, making the young woman perk up a brow at him in intrigue. 

"Ah, not the sharing sort, are you?" she said knowingly before turning back towards Sophie. "Apologies, I didn't mean any offense." 

Sophie only nodded her understanding, still unsure of what to say or do. She couldn't see any maliciousness in Tessa. The tone of her voice was playful yet kind, flirty even.

Flirty. She was flirting, Sophie realized. And that was when Sophie finally understood Tessa's remark about her male figures and Benedict. The way Tessa brushed a hand over his arm when they had greeted one another, trailing it slowly down. 

They weren't friends. They were former lovers. 

She should have realized there had been others. The charming, gorgeous Benedict Bridgerton wouldn't have much difficulty getting any woman he wanted into his bed. 

No wonder he had no issue asking her to be his mistress. He'd probably already done the same with others. Maybe even with Tessa. Sophie was just another name on a list of women he'd been with and cast aside. Another conquest for him. 

And Tessa had already assumed she was.

God, she was so stupid. Was this just an attempt at forcing her hand? She should never have agreed to come here with him. 

"I-I think it's best I go," she told them.

"Sophie, are you alright?" Benedict frowned, sensing her discomfort. 

"You're welcome to stay. The more the merrier, I always say," Tessa smiled sweetly, oblivious to the chaos occurring. "You can tell me what this one has been up to since I last saw him. I'm certain it was nothing good."

"Oh no, no. I think it's best I let him tell you," Sophie said quickly, shaking her head as she stepped away from them. "I should get going anyway. It's been a long day. Excuse me." 

"Sophie! Sophie, wait!" Benedict called out after her.

But she'd already disappeared into the next room, fleeing towards the exit, forcing Benedict to chase after her. He left a surprised Tessa behind, not even turning back to explain or say goodbye as he ran after her. He didn’t even think, he just made a split second decision when he saw her flee to follow her. And that's what he did.

And he caught up with her quickly enough. Those damn legs once again. Sophie grabbed the basket she'd left by the door, and had already slipped into the hallway and then out the side entrance when Benedict caught her in the alleyway. His hand snatched her wrist to stop her, pulling her back.

"Let me go," she ordered, shrugging him off her. 

"Let me explain," he shot back, grabbing her arm.

"Get off me!" she shouted, ripping herself away from him. "I do not wish to speak to you."

"Sophie, please–" he started to plead. 

"What?!" she snapped. "What could you possibly have to say to explain this?" 

"She didn't mean any harm. Tessa was just being herself," Benedict told her. "If she offended you, I know she didn't mean to."

Sophie scoffed. "You mean when she assumed I was your mistress, and you didn't correct her?"

Benedict frowned. "When–she didn't say anything–?"

He stopped. She had. He hadn't even noticed. Just happy to see a familiar face, he didn't notice she'd implied he and Sophie were together. And when he stopped her from propositioning Sophie, he'd only confirmed his interests.

He sighed. "Sophie–"

"I have no need to involve myself with whores," she snapped at him. 

"That's out of line, Sophie," he told her sternly as if admonishing one of his sisters for a cruel remark. "Just because you're upset with me doesn't mean you need to refer to Tessa as a whore."

Sophie stopped, blinking at him, her mouth open in stunned surprise. Staring at him as if he'd just grown another head. As if she couldn't believe what he had just said to her. 

Then, the shock changed to something else. Amusement. With a look of disbelief still on her face, she started laughing at him. Hysterically. Enough that she was left clutching her side as her chuckles descended into a fit, and Benedict found himself uncomfortable with her reaction, unsure what he'd done to cause it. 

"She was not the one I was referring to as a whore," she finally told him as the chuckles subsided, looking at him like he was a fool.

Benedict frowned at her, confused, as he slowly processed the words she'd just said. Then, like hers had, his pale eyes widened in stunned surprise. She'd been speaking of him. And the glower she now had told him it was most certainly him she'd been referring to. Sophie was focusing on keeping her breathing steady to prevent herself from yelling at him.

His frown deepened. Appalled, he asked. Just to make sure. 

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" she shot at him, louder this time. The anger began burning brightly again in her mossy eyes. 

As if struck by a bullet, Benedict stumbled back from her as the insult hit his ego. He won't deny that he'd slept around, finding himself in the company of a new woman each season these past few seasons, but that had been before Sophie. That had all stopped after he met the Lady in Silver, probably even before that, too, if he thought about it. Watching his siblings fall in love and marry, seeing them start their own families, had stirred something deep within him. He realized he was pretty lonely and wished for more than a fleeting fling.

Sophie had probably been the first woman he'd found himself falling for in two years, unable to tear his eyes from her petite form, blonde curls, and bright jeweled eyes. Every time she stepped into the room, he found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. She was the first woman in years he'd desired, even when his mind still harassed him about his silver-dressed companion. The one he had yet to find. 

Not to mention, he was a gentleman. His mother had raised him better. He'd been nothing but respectable to all his previous partners and to any lady of the ton he met. 

And being a gentleman meant he knew marriage was not an option when it came to Sophie, no matter how much his heart screamed at him to ignore society. To just flee to Scotland with her. 

Maybe he should. It would make everything easier. 

But, somehow, even though he knew he was not some cad, that his gender granted him only respect from his peers when they learned of his sexual exploits, being compared to that of a high-class cyprian or some light-skirted doxy was a comparison he found himself not entirely comfortable with. 

Especially when it was coming from Sophie. 

She was still glaring at him, her small chest expanding and contracting with each hasty breath she took. Her nostrils flaring. She was furious; her round cheeks had gone pink from rage, her eyes rimmed red, and why wouldn't she be upset. Intentional or not, he'd embarrassed her. 

He knew Tessa's remarks were not said in judgment but in a friendly jest, mocking him more than Sophie if he was honest, but Sophie, a young woman whose own birth had been the result of premarital affairs and who he knew, from his own teasings, was not comfortable with conversations of sex, had seen it as degrading. An insult. 

He'd stood there like an idiot while Tessa implied Sophie was his latest lover.

He sighed. He was a fool. A giant damn fool. "Sophie, I'm sorry–"

"I don't want to hear your apologies," she snapped. "I've heard enough." 

"Sophie, I don't think of you like that," Benedict told her. "You're far more important to me than some little fling. That’s all it was for Tessa too." 

“You asked me to be your mistress?” she retorted, furiously.

“You said it yourself, we cannot be together,” he shot at her, repeating her earlier statement back.

“And yet you continue to try. To try and ruin me just so you can have me all to yourself,” she angrily remarked.

“Sophie, I love you,” he replied quickly.

He’d said before, but even then Sophie hadn’t believed him. Even though he knew she felt the same towards him, she wouldn’t say it back and she wouldn’t believe him when he said it to her. 

And she didn’t this time either. Sophie only scoffed at him as she shook her head. She turned to leave, moving away from him, but Benedict wouldn't let her get away. Reaching out and grabbing her again, he pulled her back. 

"I said let go of me–" Sophie started, fighting against him as he pushed to turn around. 

And then his lips were on hers. 

She should have pushed him away, told him no, and been done with it. He would have let her leave.

But the moment his lips were touching hers, any capability she had at being rational evaporated. 

Because she did love him, she did, and kissing Benedict was like being set alight. Not in the painful, burning way, but the exhilarating, being sent over the edge and back that felt like every one of Sophie's nerves had just ignited, all buzzing with desire and excitement. Even furious with him, her anger only shifted to passion. The tightness below her belly returned as she felt herself get warm. 

Benedict let go of her shoulders to catch her waist again, snaking around her to come and rest on her back. A spin of the feet and Sophie was against the brick wall. His grip on her waist pulled her hips closer to him, his fingers digging into muscle. She tilted her head back, letting him kiss her harder, her hands clutching at his shirt, then his neck, nails scratching lightly over skin before pushing up into his hair, making him groan against her. The smell of citrus and sandalwood filling her nose. 

His hands were pulling at the fabric of her dress, dragging the skirts up her legs until it was brushing at the back of her calves, then going higher, but Sophie was too caught up in the desperate passion she was more focused on pulling him closer to realize what he was getting close to. 

And she couldn't help it. A small moan left her lips when his fingers lightly skimmed over the skin of her thigh, almost tickling. Slipping from her lips like a desperate gasp as she got a moment to breathe. To pull air back into her lungs.

Reality followed close behind.

Her reaction was instant. Like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on her, dosing the fire racing through her veins, Sophie jumped away from Benedict, pushing him back.

"Stop it," she ordered.

"Sophie–" he stepped towards her.

"No, just stop!" she almost screamed at him.

He stopped, hands up in surrender. He looked guilt-ridden. Unsure what to say. A desperate, lonely look in his eyes. 

Good, she thought, he should be. 

"I'm… I'm sorry, Sophie. Just let me at least walk you back to Number 5," he offered sincerely. "Please, Sophie." 

She shook her head, jaw clenched, as she turned away from him.

"I think it's best if I return alone . Good day, Mr. Bridgerton." 

Then she slipped away from him without another word, not bothering to glance back as she left him standing there in the thin alleyway. Alone. Despair and regret lingered in the air.

But the feeling of his lips on hers, the ghost of their kiss, burned the entire walk back.

[oddlittlestories]

42 + 44 for House, 27 + 37 for Wilson!!

- Housethemd (can’t ask from a sideblog, how annoying)

@housethemd

Ooh making me work for it with Wilson

House

3 comfort items:

The softball canon answer is (1) his ball of unknown origin (2) his motorcycle and (3) his instruments. (Add to that his t-shirt collection, his favorite fruit apron, and his assortment of desk items collected randomly over time. House is a secret collector. He loves his things.)

But I think I can push it further with 3 fun headcanons / fan ideas.

1. Favorite book—maybe Moby Dick (for obsession and a flight of fancy, characters who are even more intense than he is as a way of release) or Twelfth Night (yearning and gender fuckery plus you know he was that kid who devoured Shakespeare in middle school just to prove he could). For a genuinely “really, Bee,” option—the collected works of Sherlock Holmes. There are lots of Sherlock adaptations House wouldn’t relate to but the original works are not one. Anyways whatever it is it would be some old fancy volume with paper thin pages and a leather binding. Smells great. Feels great. Looks great on the shelf. He’s read it so many times he can quote from it so he doesn’t pull it out much anymore.

2. Weighted blanket. This man would love and needs a weighted blanket, but maybe he has one already. He would use it an unreasonable amount. Imagine the Ducklings rolling up to ask him a question and he’s in Thinking Mode but with a weighted blanket.

3. French press. He likes the way it makes coffee, it’s copper and he likes the way it looks. He likes the ritual of it. Yeah. French press.

Also he should have a tiny comfy (as much as possible) folding chair in his kitchen. Just saying.

His happiest memory:

I think this strongly depends on what time in his life we’re talking about, so I’m gonna play with that a bit.

Pre-infarction: the paintball game with Stacy. Can you imagine the sexually-tense snarking? The glowing feeling of meeting someone who implicitly understands you - or at least can match your blunt deviousness? A fun way to meet someone so much like you.

Post-infarction to s3: I like to think that somewhere in there was a fun & tender moment with Wilson that something reminds him of and makes him smile on occasion.

s4-5: his whole relationship with Kutner tbqh. Kutner blowing up patients. Kutner switching to no. 9. Screwing with Kutner in the cat episode.

s6: when Wilson buys the organ.

Thereafter I think his happiest memory is doing the spud gun thing with Thirteen and when she tells him that promising to kill her was the best way she’d ever been loved.

Wilson

Guilty pleasure:

I’m just gonna redefine this as “embarrassing pleasure” for my own sake.

Canon: Telenovelas. Look at his defensiveness. Look at the plea in his voice when he begs for the season finale. This man is not learning Spanish. He knows Spanish. And loves telenovelas.

Headcanon: stuffed animals. He doesn’t keep any in the house for a long period of time, but he buys them as gifts as often as possible. He can’t help but anthropomorphize them and likes to hug them and do funny voices. If he was more able to allow himself to do what he wants and fly in the face of convention, he’d have quite a few. (Not hundreds or anything, bc he’d connect with each one, but maybe four or five. They’d live on the bed or the couch.)

What he really thinks about himself:

See now this is the tough one. So many (all?) of the House MD characters are layers within layers, and Wilson is tough bc he’s often unaware of what’s going on with himself. So what he *really* thinks of himself? Hmm.

I think he thinks he deserves better in so many situations. I think sometimes he might be waiting for someone to save him, that if he’s good enough maybe he’ll deserve it & it’ll happen. I think he believes he has to be as giving of a person as he can be or else he is committing a crime / causing harm / not fulfilling his moral and ethical responsibilities. I think he knows he goes above and beyond but is terrified that isn’t true. (And I do think the one hc that he has moral perfectionism OCD makes a lot of sense.)

[killervelveteenrabbit]

I am so painfully sick of all the major news outlets breathlessly announcing every last congressperson, newspaper editor, and movie star who thinks Biden should drop out, all while publishing a thousand and one editorials and "hot takes" arguing the same.

The primaries are over, and the voters have decided on Biden, knowing he was no spring chicken. Two of America's arguably best presidents, FDR and Woodrow Wilson, experienced periods of infirmity during their terms of office. It doesn't matter if they stick Biden in a rocking chair for four more years and let his aides run around and do everything. That's especially true considering how unacceptable his opponent is and the danger he and his allies pose to the survival of our democracy.

All the newshounds slathering for the latest morsel of gossip about Biden's latest gaffe will be mortally embarrassed if their yellow journalism results in Trump's election. They may find themselves censored, even arrested, for any coverage that doesn't paint Dear Leader in the most glowing terms. Will it matter how many papers they sell today and how many clicks they get this week if tomorrow, the only news they can report is White House-approved agitprop that endorses Trump's past and future atrocities?

[marc--chilton]

foreman is an alpha in mgv au right? what's he like during his time of the month? is he a "i will sit here in this room that i have barricaded and i will not do anything" type? is he a "i am going to do what all other alphas do on ruts and find a partner" type? is he the "i am going to go to work and perform normally because i am so in control of myself at all times that i can just push this out of my head and work" type?

in wcau which clan is he? plainsclan like house? what's his name? i could see him trying to be a deputy or something.

he is! he'll find a partner for his ruts, as that is just the best thing to do for anyone in a cycle period, even if it means hiring help. but in the times he doesn't want to deal with another person at his house (his territory) as those moods are just as common for him, he'll manage by working out instead. without someone to manage him though he tends to go overboard and might end up having to use some of his sick days after his rut passes just to recover from nonstop elliptical + bench use compounded with poor eating habits (typical for alphas on rut to ignore/not register hunger/thirst). the exercise is NOT manageable btw especially not with his job so he doesn't retain the extra muscle outside of his rut, he's not just jacked all the time.

for wcau i'm still pondering his name...... nvm i got it. fourmoor, which nods to his steadfast nature as he traveled from the city (further away from the clans than even wilson's home) to join plainsclan. in reality, he just wanted to get off the streets and its many dangers, and plainsclan was just the first one he ran into, but he let codstar (cuddy) believe what she wanted if it meant he gets to live a relatively safer life. he does aim for the deputy position in due time once he sees the chaos of clan life and comes up with changes he feel would benefit everyone. the deputy isn't really a notable character here (the one before was stillsight [stacy] but she stepped down after house left as she felt her decisions made regarding his care while he was ill proved she's unfit for the position) but foreman is positive he would do much better than them. he's no tigerstar, he's not gonna kill the guy, but if he jokes about it in private with robinchaser [chase] and thirteenclaw, well. they have a good sense of humor

[thislovintime]

Peter during his In This Generation: My Life in The Monkees and So Much More tour; GRAMMY Museum, Los Angeles, June 17, 2013. Photos by Brian Cahn/ZUMA Press, Inc./Alamy Stock Photo, and Rebecca Sapp/WireImage via Getty Images.

From reviews of the tour:

“[Peter] picked up a guitar. He played. He was really good. He picked up a banjo. Played. Really well. He sat at the keyboards. Not bad.
 He played the blues, imitated Elvis and did enough of the Monkees repertoire to placate those who desperately needed to sing ‘Daydream Believer’ with him. He told compelling stories, too, all of them rolled into the autobiography that he clearly wanted to convey: Yes, Peter Tork can play, and he can own the stage, alone. He talked about growing up in a house filled with classical music; about moving to Greenwich Village in its folk heyday: about heading to LA, where a friend named Stephen Stills helped him land a job on a TV show about a band called the Monkees. He recalled his frustration that the members of the band were originally denied the chance to play on their records. ‘We don’t want what you have to offer,’ a produced told him when he complained. ‘You’re not the Lovin’ Spoonful.’ On Sunday, he was witty, agile, energetic and sufficiently self-deprecating to balance his caustic streak. He won a standing ovation, fueled by more than nostalgia.” - review by Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune, June 12, 2013

“In real life, Tork is a soft-spoken, sarcastic troubadour-typ; his solo acoustic set was soaked in his deep affection for old folk songs and the blues. If you were looking for a taut run-through of Monkees hits, you would’ve been disappointed. This was a multimedia storytelling event as much as it was a concert. As Tork told us stories of listening to Burl Ives with his parents, struggling as a wet-behind-the-ears Greenwich Village folkie, and following his friend Stephen Stills’ suggestion that he attend a casting call for the show that would become The Monkees, corresponding photographs appeared on the screen above him. It was a gold mine for any serious Monkees fan, if perhaps a little slow for somebody who wanted to show up and sing along. Admittedly, the best moments usually involved Tork getting down to business. A snippet of the lovely folk song ‘The Fox’ made me wish he had done the whole thing. Bluesy renditions of pop hits ‘Last Train to Clarksville’ and ‘She Hangs Out’ exposed their soulful bones. And a banjo-and-vocal cover of Jackie Wilson’s ‘(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher’ was ragged, tender and true. […] [His set] proved that he’s talented, period. Switching between acoustic guitar, banjo and keyboards, the goateed and bespectacled artists (who looks pretty much nothing like the Tork of Monkees days these days) oozed Americana, putting just the right kind of mustard on every chord progression and bluesy lick. His voice was more workmanlike than his playing, but it was invested with an earnestness that felt right. And it didn’t hurt that he was pretty funny. In the middle of ‘Higher and Higher,’ Tork tried to get the crowd to clap along. A bunch of folks started clapping on one and three. ‘You don’t know what clapping is, do you?’ he quipped. There, in that moment, we got a solid idea of who Peter Tork is. He’s got the friendliness and humor of a Monkee, and the world-weariness of a septuagenarian in a small Buffalo club, who just wants a proper backbeat already. You don’t normally get this level of insight from a live show, so for people still in the throes of Monkeemania, this was a very special night indeed.” - review by Joe Sweeney, The Buffalo News, May 5, 2013

Someone on YouTube uploaded clips from one of the performances (in Sellersville, Pennsylvania, on May 24, 2013); here's everything in a playlist..

[webbmcmahon]

BEVERLY MCMAHON EULOGY 11/1/20

On behalf of my brothers and sisters, we very much appreciate you coming during these highly unusual circumstances to celebrate the life of Beverly Wilson McMahon.

My mother was born and grew up in Mobile, Alabama. After graduating high school, her family moved to Baton Rouge and Mom enrolled in LSU.

She joined Phi Mu Sorority where she made many lifelong friends. She worked her way through college since her father wasn’t willing to pay for her school because he did not think it was necessary for girls to attend college.

She met my Dad who had just returned from serving in Korea. They fell in love and got married while my Dad was in law school. They had Sharon, my oldest sister, while in law school at LSU. After law school, Mom & Dad moved to Lake Charles where Susan and I were born. A few years later, they moved to Houma where Neal & Phe were born.

Dad practiced law and Mom taught school. She taught at a number of schools but spent most of her years teaching right here at St. Francis. I am sure that many of you here today were at one time students of my Mom.

In trying to describe Mom, I would first say that most of all, my Mom was a partner to my Dad. They had common interests and common friends. They genuinely liked being together and enjoyed each other’s company. They had complementary personalities that allowed them to adapt to each other’s quirks. They were both unique puzzle pieces that fit together really well.

For those of you that knew my Dad, you probably know that he could be rather loud, especially at home. He would regularly express his emotions at a very high volume. Our home was filled with the recurring sounds of very intense feelings expressed at maximum decibels.

Mom had this innate ability to just put aside or ignore my father’s frequent outbursts and just go on as if nothing had happened. As children growing up, I think we all learned from watching Mom and just accepted that that was how Dad communicated. We all learned to be happy in this very loud, raucous, argumentative environment, and I think that had a lot to do with Mom.

It is hard to think of Mom being separate from Dad because they were both such a big part of each other’s existence.

After my Dad passed away, I think Mom found it very difficult to be without him because he was so much a part of her. She found it difficult to even face things or events that reminded her of the loss of Dad and everything that was part of his world. I take solace knowing that they are reunited and my mother’s heart is no longer broken.

Mom was not only a dutiful wife. She was a dutiful daughter as well

Mom’s mother, or MawMaw as we called her, was an incredibly kind and nice person. She wasn’t the smartest or the worldliest person, but she was the kindest and the sweetest. MawMaw was like our own version of Forest Gump, and I mean that in the best way. She did not know a lot, but she knew what mattered. I think Mom’s kindness came from MawMaw. Until she died, Mom always took care of MawMaw and loved her the way that she was loved.

Mom was also a dutiful daughter-in-law. She also took care of my father’s mother who had Alzheimer’s. She lived at our house and Mom took care of her for a period of time toward the end of her life. Unlike MawMaw, Dad’s mother was not the bundle of sweetness and kindness that MawMaw was. If fact, she could be rather disagreeable. Anyone who has to take care of a disagreeable person in that condition can tell you, it takes a real servant’s heart to do that.

Family was everything to Mom. Besides being with Dad, I would say being a mother to our family and to us kids was a big part of who Mom was. I credit Mom with creating this world of safety and love inside our otherwise very crazy family existence.

Mom was solely responsible for one of our regular rituals that were these big family dinners that we had every Saturday or Sunday. It was our weekly gathering. These dinners were always loud, usually funny, and occasionally dysfunctional. A weekly forum for jokes, arguments, and conversation.

It was a ritual that taught us that despite living in this very loud, argumentative, somewhat abnormal environment, we were loved and accepted. And that was largely due to Mom.

Looking back on Mom & Dad, I think one of the striking things about them was their idea of extended family.

Mom and Dad were not only were they interested in the lives of their children, but they were equally as interested in the lives of our friends. And that was the same for all of my brothers and sisters. They basically considered our friends part of their extended family.

Mom was always supportive and complementary. To quote my niece Mallory, ‘She made you feel like you were the most accomplished and best-looking person in the world”. She would always tell you that you looked great. You could have your head cut off, and she would have still told you that you looked great! No matter what.

If I had to list Mom’s biggest personality trait, I would say it was kindness. When we were young, we had a maid by the name of Mary Manuel who played a big part in bringing us up when we were little. As Mary grew older, she could no longer work or get around, so Mom would regularly check in on her and bring her groceries, and get medicine for her. Like our friends, Mary was part of our extended family and that was forever. Once you were in the club, you were never forgotten.

Mom was social. She loved to talk and loved to be with people. I can’t think about Mom or Dad without thinking about all of their friends and that whole generation.

My parent’s generation brings to mind two things; cocktail parties and very, very large families. It seemed like most of my Mom’s friends had 5 or more children! In that group, you were kind of a slacker if you only had 3 or 4 kids! These were families who were TOTALLY committed to procreation! As a parent, I don’t know how you people did it, but I totally understand your need for numerous cocktail parties.

When I think about Mom, I think about her on the porch next door with our life-long neighbor and dear friend, Mrs. Mary Clair Ward, having evening drinks with their friends.

I also think of our Christmas party that we had every year where all of my parent’s friends came and we were allowed to invite all of our friends too so it was like this big wonderful, extended family.

When I think of Mom, I think back to that circle of people. This snapshot of who we were. I think of all of my parent’s friends. And, I think of my friends and all of my brothers and sisters friends. When I look back now, I think what a great time it was and what a unique and special universe of friendship and love that we all existed in, and that we all grew up in and grew older in.

That picture. That place in time. That was US. That was ALL of us. And it was a great time and a great period in our life. That was also the place where Mom was most at home. And that place was with all of you.

On behalf of my mother, I would like to thank you for being part of her universe and for being part of her life. You mattered to her and you all had a place in her heart.

Thank you again for coming to show my Mom your love one last time. Thank God for blessing me with a Mother who truly loved me and who loved my brothers and sisters, and who loved her friends.

We look forward to the day we can all be reunited. As it was in past, so let it be again in the future, we pray.

[parabestate7061]

Which all are The Cheapest Place to Live in California?

California is known to be one of the most wonderful places to be visited at least once in the lifetime of a human being. In fact it has also been said that there are so many people in the whole world and for them visiting California is known to be a dream come true. Therefore so many people in the world search for one single question every time and that is the cheapest place to live in california.

All though it has been said that California is one of the most expensive and also one of the most wonderful place in the whole world but there are some cheap or we can say that some less expensive places are also there which can be visited by a person in order to their dream with a less budget and less money in the pocket.

Are you also one of those who have been looking for the cheapest place to live in california? Do you also want to live in the california with a less and limited budget?

If yes! Then you are at the right place because here in the particular article we have mentioned the similar thing. Have a look at the same.

People in the whole world find California to be a perfect place to live in for some period of time in their life but a few of the people are not able to do so because of the high cost of living over there in the California in San Francisco as well as Los Angeles. But the best part is that there are few major cities and we can also say that top most or the cheapest place to live in california.

Places to be visited in california

Here are some of the cheapest place to live in california or to be visited. Have a look at the same.

1. Baker’s field

Here you can simply visit the following places:

i) Kern City

ii) Casa Loma

iii) Southgate

iv) Lakeview

v) Park Stockdale

vi) Benton Park

vii) Oleander Sunset

2. Stockton

Here you can simply visit the following places:

i) Midtown West

ii) Wilson Heights

iii) Country Club

iv) Anderson

v) Swain Oaks

vi) University

vii) Holiday Park

3. Fresno

Here you can simply visit the following places:

i) Edison

ii) Central

iii) Fresno High Roeding

iv) McLane

v) Roosevelt

4. Clovis

Here you can simply visit to any of the places because all the places here are affordable in terms of the visit and enjoyment over there.

This place has low crime rates, more happiness index numbers, young and small families in the place, food gardens, etc. many more things are also there.

5. Sacramento

It is also known to be the top most as well as also the cheapest place to live in California where the prices of the houses as well as also the things are low. Along with the same it is the state capital also. There are some of the mentioned things are there for visiting and enjoyment.

i) Tahoe Park South

ii) Colonial Heights

iii) the North Oak Park

6. Fontana

This place is being found right between both the riverside as well as the rancho cucamonga. Basically, it adds up the proximity to the beautiful nature out there and also the multiple activities people perform over there. This place is known to be the wonderful as well as one of the cheapest place to live in california to be visited. This place has comparatively low prices of all the things.

[miralsurvival]

Mags duval eye for an eye song

#MAGS DUVAL EYE FOR AN EYE SONG MP3 SONG#

#MAGS DUVAL EYE FOR AN EYE SONG OFFLINE#

“We've all got those voices in our own heads that we often hear the loudest. It's imperative, as a writer, to be able to spend time alone.” And I do believe that's the birthplace of so many ideas and those reflective emotions that come out of that time. It's so necessary, I think, to be able to retreat into that quiet place. I think there's something so profound about the quiet, as a creative person. All of these things are actual things that I was talking about, the sounds in my house that were driving me insane. And I literally was like, ‘I am going crazy in my house by myself,’ like hearing the traffic going by the window and watching the rain and the washing machine in my house. “I wrote this song over Zoom with my friends Mags Duval and Dan Wilson. I think being alone, sometimes it seems like you're the only other person on the planet who feels that way.” As we were writing it, I was like, ‘Wow, this is scary, how honest this feels and how vulnerable this feels, but I'm doing it.’ And it was so therapeutic as we were working through the verses. And I wanted to write something about how it can feel on the other side of that sometimes. “I was living in my apartment by myself at the time, looking at a stack of invitations for some friends’ weddings, just going through that season of life where it feels like everyone else is finding their person. And it meant a lot to get to talk about that in this song and felt like a really special beginning to the friendship.” To be able to say how we were doing, talking to each other through that period of not feeling fine as an entire globe-I think it's just so important to have those people in your life. “This song was the beginning of friendship, which I think is so cool, because this song is exactly about that, about finding those people in our lives that we really can show up for and that we can be our honest and true selves with. Below, Townes walks Apple Music through each track on Masquerades. Other highlights included “Shared Walls,” a call for unity featuring BRELAND, and the closing, Fleetwood Mac-recalling “Light in Your Eyes,” which is sure to be a staple of Townes’ live sets. Hit single “When’s It Gonna Happen” considers the difficulty of feeling alone when friends begin getting married, while tracks like “Villain in Me” and “The Sound of Being Alone” encourage listeners to get in tune with their own inner selves. Townes digs deep in these seven tracks, drawing heavily upon a period of sustained personal reflection during COVID-19 lockdown. “Spending more time with some of those more vulnerable and uncomfortable and personal thoughts has very much forced me to figure out that process.” “The heart of this music comes from this season of searching that I've definitely felt myself reflectively in over the past couple of years of figuring out what it feels like to really set that mask down,” Townes tells Apple Music.

#MAGS DUVAL EYE FOR AN EYE SONG OFFLINE#

You can even download MP3 songs for offline listening.Canadian country singer-songwriter Tenille Townes follows her critically acclaimed 2020 album The Lemonade Stand with an EP charting the difficult but liberating act of being one’s true self. Songs are the best way to live the moments or reminisce the memories and thus we at Wynk strive to enhance your listening experience by providing you with high-quality MP3 songs & lyrics to express your passion or to sing it out loud. Along with it if you are looking for a podcast online to keep you motivated throughout the week, then check out the latest podcast of Podcast. With Wynk Music, you will not only enjoy your favourite MP3 songs online, but you will also have access to our hottest playlists such as English Songs, Hindi Songs, Malayalam Songs, Punjabi Songs, Tamil Songs, Telugu Songs.

#MAGS DUVAL EYE FOR AN EYE SONG MP3 SONG#

Wynk Music brings to you Devil Eyes MP3 song from the movie/album Devil Eyes.