#but it’s been a while since I’ve spent an entire day drawing. it feels good 🥺💛✨

[mostly-natm]

Fun in the sun! ☀️🐝🌸

[nova-is-a-writer-now]

Hidden embers

Chapter 3

Chapter summary: Joel needs help with his yard, you need help with figuring your feelings out

A/N: Im so excited you guys have been liking this!! last chapter was a good one, but this is my favorite so far. I also started a tag list so if y’all want to be part of that comment down here <3 Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: No outbreak AU, Age gap, DBF!Joel, Mean!Joel if you squint, some accidental physical contact lol, sexual tension but no smut

Series masterlist

“You can’t spend your whole summer doing nothing. You should really find something productive to do while you’re back home.”

Four years of college, every summer break, and most holidays spent working to cover tuition and other expenses—a lifetime of never catching a break until now—and that’s what your mother tells you after just two weeks of "doing nothing"?

You knew this was coming. It was only a matter of time before she decided to insert herself into your life and dictate your every move. It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. “I’ve been helping out around the house,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “that’s not what I meant. You can’t be locked up in here all day. People will think you’re wasting your life away. I’ve been asking around at the town’s pageant commission, and they would be absolutely delighted to have you around to help us organize this year’s Teen Country Queen Pageant.”

There it was. Nothing your mother did was ever for anyone’s interests other than herself. If she had no interest in parading you around her pageant organizer friends, you were absolutely sure she couldn’t care less what you did with your days.

Right on cue, just before you’re about to give her a piece of your mind, your dad walks in. “What’s the long face for?”

“Oh, Hank, great! You can back me up here. I was telling her she needs to find something to do with her days. All this lazing around can’t be good for her. My friends at the—”

“Actually, I was thinking the exact same thing,” your dad says, surprising both of you.

“Really?” you ask incredulously. For all his flaws, your dad has never been one to meddle in your affairs.

“Yeah, Joel has been complaining about his front and back yard looking like shit since Cindy left.”

“Hank! Language!” your mom’s voice rises to that ear-shattering pitch she uses when she’s trying to be stern.

“Sorry, looking terrible since Cindy left,” your dad corrects himself, laughing it off. Sometimes he forgets he can only be that relaxed when he’s alone with you; your mom is a whole different ballgame.

“Um… Cindy?” you ask, drawing a blank on the name.

“The ex-wife. That’s not the point, kiddo. The point is he’s been whining about it for the longest time but is always too lazy to figure out gardening by himself. Then I remembered you were in the gardening club back in high school. It’d be nice of you to offer him some help. Poor man doesn't know how to keep a cactus alive.”

“Dad, that was ages ago. I don’t know if I remember much of it anyway. I only joined for my college applications,” you retort.

“It’s just a few plants and flowers here and there. How hard can it be? He even said he bought everything he should need for it but never got ‘round to actually doing it, so it’s all laid out for ya.”

Your choices were clear: spend however long it took to finish Joel’s yard while pretending you don’t have a massive crush on your dad’s best friend, or run around town with your mom organizing a beauty pageant. The decision wasn’t hard at all.

“I’ll go over and check it out.”

The walk to Joel’s house should’ve been short—barely a five-minute stroll up the road—but a nasty crack in the pavement had other plans. You were so lost in your thoughts today that you missed it entirely, stepping right into the trap.

Alright, maybe it wasn’t just today. You’ve been in your head ever since you first saw Joel standing at the bottom of your stairs. The way his hands had gripped your arms, steadying you, had left an imprint that you couldn’t seem to shake. And now, here you were, back in that same position, your mind consumed by this man who seemed to be as bad for your sanity as he was for your attention span.

So what should’ve been a walk up the road turned into a drawn-out pause as you sat on the sidewalk, waiting for the sharp pain in your twisted ankle to dull.

About ten minutes later, you finally make it to Joel’s lawn. You brace yourself to climb his porch stairs, pretending your ankle wasn’t bothering you, when you notice his garage door open. You hadn’t seen him from your previous angle, but as you got closer, the view of Joel's back muscles came into frame. And what a view that was. He was leaning over his truck, completely absorbed on whatever needed fixing under that hood.

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the way his shirt clings to the sweat glistening on his skin. It takes a few seconds to remember that it isn’t socially acceptable to ogle someone from their front lawn, so you clear your throat and take a few more steps toward him.

“Hey” he greeted you, looking up from his work.

“Hey, yourself” you say back, playing it as cool as you could. It wasn’t a particularly hot day, but Joel's face glisten with sweat, as do his arms and you don’t not even want to think about what’s going on under that t-shirt.

“Come to pay me a visit?” he asked with a smirk

“My dad didn’t tell you? I’m your gardener for the day… or however long it takes to make your front lawn and back yard pretty.”

Joel’s response is a breathy laugh, followed by him dropping his head between his forearms resting on the truck.“My gardener, huh?” he finally brings his eyes back up to meet yours. “Your daddy don’t know how to mind his own business, do he, sweetheart?”

Let’s unpack that. This motherfucker didn’t just throw in a new pet name you’d be replaying in your mind at any random moment of the day, but he also said it in that tone he seems to reserve only for you—or so you hoped, at least.

And that other word coming from his lips… you were aware people in the south used it more casually, without the connotation it had in your mind, but the way it sounded coming from him…

Oh, it made you think of a million ways Joel Miller could say the word Daddy in plenty of different contexts.

You quickly drop your gaze, hoping to hide the intense blush creeping up your cheeks. “I uh… I’m afraid not.”

The sound of his boots on the garage floor pulls you back to reality as he steps closer. “You don’t gotta do this, y’know?” His tone shifts, becoming more serious. “It’s no big deal, I’ll get to this mess eventually.”

You look up at him once again, more desperate than you’d like to admit. “Joel, I’ve been cooped up in my house with my mother and her pageant friends for weeks now. Please, give me an excuse to be anywhere else.”

A chuckle. You could live for those, make it your entire profession to earn them. You really need to calm the fuck down and get a grip if you were to spend the entire day around this man.

“Alright, then. If it’ll make you happy, I’m not gonna say no” says before turning back into the garage. He returns with a small crate filled with gardening tools and a few potted plants, setting them down on the grass. “Got most of what you’ll need here. Not much, but it’s a start.” His gaze drops to your ankle. “You doin’ alright? You’re limping.”

You wave off his concern, not wanting to admit just how much your ankle is actually bothering you. “It’s nothing, just a little misstep on my way here . I’m fine, really.” You flash him a smile you hope is convincing enough.

Joel studies you for a moment longer, then nods. “Alright, but if it gets to be too much, you let me know, okay? Last thing I need is you hurtin’ yourself on my account.”

“Deal,” you lie. There’s no way in hell you’re backing out of this now.

He gestures toward the mess of overgrown grass, weeds, and flower beds that haven’t seen attention in who knows how long. “I guess that’s the worst of it. Clearing out the weeds should leave enough space for these plants. Don’t overthink it, I trust your instincts.”

You take your first good look at the pots he brought from the back of the garage. “Oh, daisies! They’re my favorite.” You glance up at him, sweetness lacing your tone.

He pauses, something unreadable passing over his face. “ ‘Course they are.” He says, the corners of his mouth tugging up a bit. “Well, let me know if you need anything else. I'll be working over there.”

With Joel back under the hood, you set to work on the lawn. Despite the dull throb in your ankle, you find a steady rhythm in the repetitive motions—pulling out stubborn roots, digging small holes for the flowers, and patting down the soil around them. It’s oddly satisfying, watching the neglected garden start to come to life under your hands. You’ve always had a knack for taking rugged things and making them pretty.

Every so often, you glance over at Joel, who’s completely engrossed in whatever he’s tinkering with under the hood. The way his muscles flex as he works, the concentration etched on his face and how it makes him look a lot more serious than he ever is when talking to you—it’s hard to not get distracted.

There’s something about him, something that pulls you in despite your better judgment, despite every self-preservation instinct in you. Maybe it’s the way he makes you feel grounded, even when your mind is spinning out of control. It’s such a foreign concept for you, you’ve always been the one who has to defuse tensions, be the bigger person, manage the chaos. It’s never like that with Joel.

You’re careful to keep your ankle steady, not wanting to give Joel any more reason to worry. But as the hours pass and the sun climbs higher, you can feel the strain starting to build. Ever the overachiever, you push through it, there isn’t much left to get done in the front lawn anyway.

By the time you’ve planted the last of the daisies, you’re more than a little proud of yourself. There are still a few bare spots here and there and a handful of marigold pots waiting to be planted, but the lawn is starting to look less like a jungle and more like somewhere you’d actually want to spend time in. You wipe your brow, satisfied.

Joel must’ve noticed you slowing down because he calls out from where he’s working, “How’re you holding up? You thirsty?”

You hadn’t realized how parched you were until he mentioned it. “Yeah, a drink sounds good.”

Joel gives you a quick once-over, his eyes lingering on your ankle for a moment longer than you’d like. But he doesn’t say anything as he leads the way into the house, holding the door open for you.

The cool air inside is a welcome relief from the midday sun, and you sigh as you step into the kitchen. Joel pulls a couple of glasses from the cupboard and fills them with ice water, handing one to you. You take a sip, feeling the cold liquid soothe your dry throat.

You lean against the counter, trying to take some weight off your bad ankle. But as soon as you shift your weight, a sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you can’t hold back the small whine that escapes your lips.

Joel’s eyes snap to yours, his brow furrowing with concern. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, Joel. I’m fine,” you insist, even though you know you’re not fooling him. “It’s just—”

“ ‘S that why you’re whining every time you put weight on it?”

“It’s just a bit sore. Don’t—”

Before you can finish, Joel’s on you in a flash, closing the distance between you. He’s careful but firm as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “Let me see.”

“Joel, really, it’s not a big deal,” you start to protest, but the look he gives you silences any argument you might have had.

“Humor me,” he says, his voice low and steady. There’s a note of authority there that makes your heart race. There’s no disobeying him when he uses that tone.

You sigh dramatically, letting him gently take your injured ankle in his hands. His touch is warm, and the way his fingers graze your skin sends shivers down your spine. He inspects your ankle with a seriousness that makes your heart flutter, his brows knitted in concentration.

“This is more than a ‘little misstep,’” he looks back up, his eyes stern and serious. He slowly drops your leg, turning back to reach into the freezer and pull out a pack of frozen peas. He presses it against your ankle, holding it there with one hand while his other hand lingers on your calf.

It doesn’t take long for his thumb to start brushing up and down in a way that feels more comforting than it should. He starts adding a little pressure to his touch, the lingering touch from before turning into a massage up and down your calf.

Your breath catches as you look down at him, the way he’s so focused on taking care of you. The tenderness in his touch is at odds with the roughness of his hands, and the combination is making it hard to think straight. It’s even harder to keep the little sounds his touch arises in you contained, some of them escaping out of your parted lips despite your best efforts.

“Joel,” you start, your voice softer now, almost hesitant.

He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. His hand is still on your leg, his face overtaken by a dark expression you hadn’t seen on him until now.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. The air between you feels charged, like something unspoken is hovering just out of reach. You can feel it in the way his grip on your leg tightens ever so slightly, in the way his breathing seems to sync with yours.

And then, as if realizing where his hand is, Joel slowly pulls back. “I should get you back home, let you rest that ankle.”

You frown slightly, the way he spoke such a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch still lingering on your leg. “I’m alright. I’m gonna have to be kneeling down for most of what’s left anyways, so I won’t be putting any weight on it.”

“No, it’s best if you just go. I’ll sort the lawn out later.”

The words hit you like a bucket of cold water. You’re left staring at him, confused by the sudden shift in his demeanor. Normally, your pride would keep you from asking, but something about Joel makes it impossible to let this go. “Did I… do something wrong?”

Joel pauses, his eyes softening for a split second before his expression hardens again. “No, you're fine. Thank you for your help, but I’m taking you home.”

He doesn’t leave room for discussion as he brushes past you, heading into the living room to grab his truck keys. Your chest tightens, the shame of the moment crashing down on you all at once.

Except… you didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who was running her hands up and down his body, or pulling him close and throwing him on the counter like it was nothing. He did all that. He made you feel like something more was happening, and now he’s treating you like some desperate girl who threw herself at him, needing to be ushered out of his house as quickly as possible.

The ache in your heart is quickly overshadowed by a fiery rage, building more and more with each passing second. You turn sharply in the kitchen, your mind made up as you march toward the open door leading to the garage.

“Don’t bother,” you snap, your voice cutting through the silence as you head for the exit.

“What?” Joel turns around just in time to see you storming out.

You don’t even answer him, your steps quickening even as pain shoots up your leg with every movement.

“The hell are you doin’? You can’t walk home with that busted ankle,” he calls after you, his tone much harsher than it was just moments ago.

You laugh bitterly, not bothering to look back. This man clearly doesn’t know you and your stubborn ass well enough yet. “Oh, I’ll fucking live.”

Without another word, you push through the pain, taking it one torturous step at a time. Each step feels like defiance, a middle finger to your own pride and to Joel’s sudden coldness. But it’s better this way—better to feel the sharp sting in your ankle than the dull ache in your heart. The whole way home, you curse yourself for being so goddamn stubborn, even as the fiery rage keeps you moving forward.

Tag list:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @untamedheart81 , @mellymbee

[project-reaper]

Moving forward into 2024!

I haven’t really had a proper chance to say Happy New Years, so this will have to suffice, with a little breakdown of what’s been going on and what’s to come!

WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO

I’ve been spending the better part of the last year working on new projects and endeavors. Both with Time Gate and outside of it. From vendoring at markets and working expo’s for the first time to working on art pieces completely outside of Time Gate, 2023 was a hell of a year and it makes me all the more hyped for 2024. That said, I’ve been carrying a weight with me through 2023 that’s made it difficult to enjoy it to the fullest - the weight of knowing that [AFTERBIRTH] is still on hiatus.

This isn’t the longest hiatus that I’ve been on, but it’s certainly starting to approach the record and I wanna get it back on track. Like getting back in shape after spending an entire winter hibernating and eating nothing but junk food, getting back into drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on a schedule is gonna be a process of rebuilding good habits and learning what I can do better to keep those habits alive and well.

The fortunate side to taking hiatuses is that it always does give me a new sense of perspective. In this case, I learned that I put myself through a lot at the start of [AFTERBIRTH]’s production. Like, way more than I realized. At the time I thought I was super capable - and I am! - but now in hindsight I can recognize it wasn’t healthy or sustainable for me to manage that sort of output all on my own. I’m still grinding away at comics like I always do with those other projects I’ve mentioned, but it’s still nothing near the amount of work I put myself through just to meet my own deadlines with [AFTERBIRTH]. I also have this thing called help now in the form of a background artist who’s been working with me on those other projects, which has been an amazing and enriching experience.

Having that time away from [AFTERBIRTH] not only gave me the breathing room I needed to recuperate from the burnout I got myself into, but also got me out of the routines I had stuck myself into, which has given me some new tricks and skills that I’m really hyped to bring back into Time Gate with me.

This does, in a way, mean that I’ve had to really reflect on Time Gate, a lot. It’s a project I’ve been writing since I was a kid, and drawing as a webcomic since I was around 18-19. It’s changed a lot in that time, but I’m finding while a lot of those changes have been reflected in the comic as it is, there are still so many more I want to make - because like the comic, I’ve changed a lot, too, both as an artist and as a person, and considering Time Gate’s always been a sort of personal extension of myself, I no longer resonate with a lot of parts of it that I’ve since outgrown. It’s not so much that I want to hide or take for granted those parts of it that are ‘uglier’, but I want the writing and art to be expressed in the best way it can be because at the end of the day, I’m trying to tell a coherent story that’s enjoyable to read and experience. I’m also the sort of person who learns best by just getting their hands dirty and learning what not to do, and boy, have I spent a lot of years doing just that through Time Gate.

GOING FORWARD

So, going forward, I’ve adjusted my schedule with my other projects to accommodate the time I need to both get back into Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] as well as prepare for the upcoming convention season. I’ve got a bunch of plans for this year’s markets with new ideas for prints and stickers and other goodies that I’m really excited to make! And I just, overall, want to pull myself out of the burnout funk. You can’t force recovery to happen on your own time but there does come a point where you gotta start taking steps otherwise you get stagnant, and I feel like that’s where I’ve been the last few months.

AFTERBIRTH FORMAT CHANGE

[AFTERBIRTH]’s format will be changing back to page format in its second season. Vertical format works for some projects and stories, but not for Time Gate. It’s been fun, but part of learning what I’m best at is learning what I’m not best at and the vertical format is too limiting for what I want to do with Time Gate in the future. Color will still be remaining!

REAPER RECOMPILED

I will also be working on the Recompiled editions of Reaper. These will predominantly be the first few volumes redrawn and rewritten to accommodate a tighter story down the road. I know, I know, “don’t get trapped redrawing/rewriting stuff”, but I feel the changes that I wanna make are so necessary that they’re part of what’s holding me back from continuing with [AFTERBIRTH] into Thread of Fate and beyond. There are a lot of really silly and otherwise unnecessary writing decisions I made back during Reaper that I currently feel aren’t working for what I’m trying to accomplish in its sequels, and let’s face it, I wrote it almost ten years ago when I was still very much learning, so it’s due for an upgrade. It'll be the last time too, because it'll be putting us on Loop 9999 and remember what Matty said about surpassing 9999-

This will be something I’ll be picking at slowly but surely. When it’s ready I’ll basically be replacing the old pages and updating any new mirror sites with only the new version (I’m currently planning on trying out NamiComi and Lemoon and of course I'll be continuing to post on ComicFury and GlobalComix).

THE BIG GREEN ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM-

All of that will basically be working towards my biggest step - getting the flying fuck off Webtoons. Because let me tell you, I've basically spent the last two years like this:

Y’all know that I’m not really one to roll over and take shit from massive platforms, and Webtoons is no exception. I’ve been posting to it since 2016 and I’m very very much done with it; just like with Tapas it’s no longer the site it used to be and there’s fresh competition entering the market that I’d rather put my focus on. At the very least, I want my independence back, if I’m gonna be stuck having to market and network my own work anyways I’d much rather be doing it for my own site or platforms that aren’t constantly undercutting its creators by removing core features and not implementing necessary ones. I as well as many others have been doing our own investigating into Webtoons and we’re basically feeling like canaries in the mineshaft right now, picking up on some massive warning signs that we want to get ahead of. The worst that can happen is that I pull the same stats I pull on Webtoons somewhere else, what a tragedy that would be LMAO

LIVESTREAMING

And then of course there are my livestreams. Like learning the hard way that I shouldn’t have been drawing [AFTERBIRTH] on such a strict schedule, I’ve learned that streaming on the schedule I used to be streaming on just ain’t for me. Call it the ADHD but I’d much rather stream when I have something to legitimately talk about or showcase rather than force myself to stream even on days when I’m really not feeling up to talking. And I’d like to get back into doing actual video editing content, whether it’s speedpaints or gaming videos or commentary stuff, whatever have you. Now that I have a proper PC rig that’s actually built to do heavy duty stuff, the possibilities of what I can create are a LOT more vast and I wanna take full advantage of them!

That said, if you wanna see an example of what the streams will look like when we return, check out this lil’ time lapse demo:

Definitely couldn't do that on my old setup! It might not be regular streaming like before, but it’ll damn well be higher quality and more fun to watch haha

WELL THAT WAS A BIG WALL OF TEXT WASN'T IT

So yeah! That was a lot of words but I hope it clears up everything that's been happening on my end. Thanks for following along with my work all these years, whether it’s Time Gate or my lil’ secret projects or my streams, through all the ups and the downs. Long-term projects like these may take their toll but there’s so much joy in seeing them change and grow over time, and I want to fully embrace and reflect that growth as best as I can through what I bring you guys.

Thank you all so much, let’s make 2024 a good year <3

[starcrossedxwriter]

Built for Love Part 12 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

A/N: Our favs are back!! And trying to recover from everything. Enjoy!!

***

“You know you don’t gotta hide looking at it, right?” Michael leaned over to mutter in her ear as he rounded their island to the sink. 

Charlotte’s gaze fell to the side as she bowed her head in slight embarrassment at being caught examining the perfect rock on her finger. 

It had been days since the proposal and she was still unaccustomed to it, the weight of it on her finger and the weight of what it meant to them both. She had spent countless nights fantasizing of what a life with Michael could be and now her fantasies were coming true. She constantly found her eyes drawn to it throughout the day as she questioned whether the proposal was really real or merely a dream. 

They had not told a soul about their engagement yet, not even their families. While they wanted to share the exciting news with everyone, they felt this was not something they wanted to share over the phone. And they planned to go home to LA at the end of the month for Easter weekend as Charlotte had some time off. They also knew once they told their families, there was no guarantee they would be able to keep it secret for long. And they were not ready to tell the world just yet. Charlotte was still healing and reeling from Shaun’s attack and not used to being the center of social media debates and conversation or a hot topic on talk shows. And they knew their engagement would only draw more attention to her and them that they did not want just yet. 

Tomorrow would be her first day back at work, and really her first time leaving their house for more than a walk around their neighborhood. Throughout the entire day, Michael would have been lying if he said a significant part of him had not hoped she would wake up and realize she needed more time to recover. And while skillful makeup and the facade of a performer would earn her praise on social media and in the media for returning to normal so quickly, in private things were still far from normal. 

“Sorry,” she laughed. “I feel crazy but I can’t take my eyes off it, it’s fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

Michael’s face lit up at her praise. He had picked well. “I know, I’ve caught you staring at it nonstop for the last couple days.” 

“Well you did good.” She stood and kissed him on the cheek before walking over toward the couch to grab the remote. “Wanna watch another episode of Housewives before we head to bed? We’re so far behind on this season,” she grumbled to herself as she turned on their tv. 

“Sure but first, we need to talk.” 

Charlotte groaned, those were words no person in a relationship ever wanted to hear. And she knew exactly what he wanted to talk about. She and Michael rarely argued, she could count the number of them on one hand. However, she knew this one had been brewing slowly as her return to work drew closer. She was honestly surprised he let it go this long. Wishful thinking, she supposed, that he would not say anything at all. 

“If it’s about what I think it’s about, then we already talked about it days ago and came to an agreement, Bakari. Hence the very scary former special forces white man that’s gonna play my shadow for months,” she mumbled in annoyance. 

It was not that she did not understand the point of security, she did. But that did not stop her from resenting the fact that she needed it, this human barrier that sat her apart from the masses as if she were too important or too fragile. It felt unnecessary and ridiculous but acquiescing to this request was the only way Michael would agree to let go back to the theater so early. So her frustration seemed to double at the idea that he wanted to revisit this conversation after she already compromised.  

“Well, I’d like to reopen the discussion.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes as she settled on the couch, her movements were still stiff, her body not fully healed but she felt well enough to perform. Unfortunately, her fiancée did not share her opinions on her healing process. 

“I’m fine and I’m going back to work tomorrow. I agreed to have security at your insistence. There’s really nothing to discuss.” 

“I disagree.” Michael’s arms were folded and his face stern as he perched on the arm of their sectional. “You’re still having nightmares and you’re still in pain. I mean can you even dance?” 

Truth be told, he was shocked he was even having to fight her on this. He just knew she would get to the weekend and see how little her healing had progressed and ask for more time off. That she had taken his concerns for her well being and safety seriously and was going to change how she pushed herself to the limit. However, instead he found that she was dead set on it, rehearsing and preparing for work as if nothing was wrong. But in his opinion, everything was wrong. 

While he would admit she was handling it better than he would have expected, she was still not ok. She was still in pain despite her attempts to hide it from him. She was far more jumpy than she ever was before. And aside from the night he proposed, she woke them both up with nightmares every single night. Some were marginally better than others but they were a reminder that while her physical injuries would heal in a linear fashion, her trauma would not. They were in for months of steps forward and steps backwards. And though he knew she could not realistically take months off, he wanted her to consider, at least, taking another week to get on stronger footing. 

The engagement helped them both, provided some light and hope at the end of the tunnel and they both clung to it for dear life in their own ways. But he knew that was a fleeting feeling, the happiness and joy of the engagement would not be enough to overshadow the trauma and pain she felt forever, no matter how much she focused on that. 

She sucked her teeth. “You know before you, I danced through a hell of a lot worse than a few bruises and a concussion. I’m fine.” 

“That ain’t the sellin’ point you think it is. Your body needs rest. The doctors said you’re lucky he didn’t damage your vocal chords from choking you, you don’t need to be singing for 2 hours a night. Also you don’t even know what effect going back there will have on you.”

Charlotte scoffed. “One, my voice is fine. I practiced last night.” Though she wasn’t going to admit that it was extremely hard and painful to sing. “I’ll be fine! He what? Scared me a couple of times there? It’s not like he attacked me in the theater. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?? You almost dying isn’t a big deal??” 

“You know what I mean! Look, I think I have a bit more experience dealing with PTSD than you do. I feel well enough to perform so I’m gonna. That’s that.”

“So I don’t even get a say? Get to give you my opinion at all?” 

Charlotte crossed her arms like a petulant child, her annoyance at having this discussion again shutting down any opportunity for her to hear his side or perspective. In her opinion, the time for his opinions had passed. “Well, it’s my career, not yours. It’s my body, not yours. I am the victim of a stalking, sociopath, not you. Why would you get a say in it? I know we’re engaged but that doesn’t mean I’m not my own person anymore.” 

“I know you’re your own person. But you also don’t get to make unilateral decisions, Charlotte! You making unilateral decisions is why we’re in this situation!” 

Charlotte scoffed. “And there it is… if you want me to take your opinion seriously, then admit what’s really going on here. This isn’t about me o-or my injuries or any stupid shit like that. You know I can perform just fine. You don’t trust me to take care of myself, you’re pissed that I took away your opportunity to save me and now you don't want me out of your sight.” 

“Well in my sight, he can’t fuckin’ try to kill you again.” 

She threw her hands up in the air. “Well, between the special forces nigga you forced me to hire and the venue security, I don’t see that happening! Also despite what you clearly think, I can take care of myself!” 

Michael’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “You can take care of yourself? So that bruise on your side? On your face? Your concussion and stint in the hospital, were you just warming up during all those fights? Because I sure as fuck ain’t gonna forgot having to pull him off you while he tried to choke the life out of you any time soon! He’s out on bail and out in the world and I love you but no, you can’t defend yourself against him. You ain’t gonna act like I’m crazy for being worried.” 

“‘I can’t defend myself??’ So you think I’m weak?” For some reason, that struck a nerve so deep in her that she felt herself quickly transitioning from annoyance and frustration to full blown rage. 

“No that’s no-” 

“Well that’s exactly what you just said! I’m weak and defenseless and need you to take care of me. I mean, is that what you really think of me? Because if so, why would you even want to date, let alone marry, someone you think so little of?” 

“That’s not what I think!” He yelled, his frustration getting the better of him as he abruptly stood up from his seat and threw his hands in the air. He turned away from Charlotte to take a deep breath and collect his thoughts. 

However, when he turned around, he felt his heart break slightly as he took in her form. He would take a hundred versions of her yelling at him over the petrified woman who sat before him now. Her entire body trembled with fear as she avoided his eyes and moved herself to the edge of the couch as if she was ready to escape at a moment’s notice. Her ragged breathes filled their living room as she tried to calm down. 

Michael could not figure out what happened until he replayed the last 30 seconds in his own head, quickly realizing that she was fearful that he was going to strike her. 

And these were the moments that made all of this so hard for him. This was not the first time in their relationship that something triggered her, but her reactions were so visceral now that they knocked the wind out of him. He hated himself for letting his anger get the best of him to the point that he forgot to prioritize her healing and health. He never wanted her to think he would ever do something to hurt her, never wanted her to think he was like Shaun in the slightest. 

He desperately wanted to rush to her side and envelope her in a hug, assure her that he would never - no matter what - raise a hand to her. But he had enough experience with this to know that she had to choose to come to him, had to choose to trust that his touch was gentle and safe. That was not something he could force on her. So he steered himself to the cushion of the couch and sat down. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. You know I’d never hurt you. Just take a few deep breaths and when you’re ready to talk, let me know.” 

Charlotte just nodded as she buried her face in her hands for a few moments. She repeated the same mantra she did after nightmares and when she was feeling like there was no safety or security anywhere for her. Her therapist had told her to make a list of everything and everyone who made her feel safe and the very short list had Michael at the top. 

Michael is safe. Michael is home. Michael is safe. He doesn’t hurt you, he makes you feel protected and whole.

It was a small thing but it had become an anchor after nightmares or when memories flooded her mind. Michael was safe and he would never harm her. She would not claim to know everything but she certainly knew that. It took a few minutes as she repeated those words over and over under her breath, and her fingers twisted her engagement ring on her finger. Another coping mechanism she had turned to. That ring meant so much, representing the depths of his love for her. And that was another anchor to her reality, and a reminder that Shaun could invade her sleep and her mind but he could not take anything away from her if she did not let him. 

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she whispered. “I k-know you wouldn’t… I just…” she struggled to find the words to express the chaotic jumbled up mess that was her own mind. But now, she did not even care about the show anymore, part of her just wanted him to not be upset with her. “I d-don’t want you to be mad. I-If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. Ok? I’ll call Chris and I’ll stay.”

Michael immediately shook his head and moved to sit by her, unable to keep his distance. He tentatively touched her bare knee, rubbing it gently as she relaxed into his touch. “I’m sorry, Els. I’m not mad at you. And I don’t want you not to go just to appease me. I’m just… fuckin’ terrified. If you go back and something else happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself. And security or not, the only person I trust with your safety right now is me and I know I can’t be there every day to protect you. But here? I can protect you, I can…” he sighed. “I’m just having a hard time l-letting go.” 

She wiped away a few falling tears. “I know… I get it. Going isn’t easy for me either,” she clarified. “I just… know I have to. I would happily stay in this house with you forever. But I know I can’t… I h-have to go and prove to the world and myself that he didn’t destroy me… that I’m not weak. I’m terrified he’ll be there o-or pop up somehow. But I might feel that way for a long time and I can’t stay here with you forever. That’s what he wants, power over us and our lives and I can’t give him that. But I can’t do that if the one person who knows me better than everyone else thinks I’m too weak to do it.”

“You’re right. You’re right. You’re strong and if you feel like you’re ready, I don’t get to argue with that. I’m sorry… this is just… harder than I thought it’d be.” 

Charlotte shook her head and turned to him. “No, don’t apologize for being overprotective. You’re dealing with trauma just as much as I am. We got a bit caught up in the engagement and… planning for the future doesn’t mean we don’t have to deal with what’s going on right now. I know it’s hard for you too.” 

“Sorry… I don’t wanna be overbearing. I just want to keep you safe.”  

She chuckled. “You’ve barely let me out of this apartment in a week… the overbearing ship has sailed. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. But I have to do this tomorrow, and I hope you can respect that.”

Michael leaned in and kissed her softly, cupping her face with his hand. He felt her slightly flinch beneath him as he accidentally grazed a healing bruise. However, she did not pull away and returned his kiss earnestly. 

“They’ll go away,” she whispered against his lips, kissing his cheek as his eyes darkened. “I’ve gotten used to them.” It was as if her body was so used to it, the bruises and pain barely phased her. 

“I’ll never get used to seeing bruises on you, baby.” He pushed her wild curls behind her ear. “You’re the strongest person I know, by the way. I don’t think you’re weak and you shouldn’t either. It takes so much strength to survive all you have.” 

Charlotte felt her eyes go a bit teary. She did not know why the words mattered so much coming from him but they did. Perhaps, it was just the way she wanted him to see her and everything they were going through threatened that image of perfection and strength she always strived for, that image of deservedness she felt she had to maintain to keep him. She needed him to see her as the woman he would want to spend the rest of his life with, not a traumatized broken thing he had to put back together. 

“Thank you for saying that.” 

He opened his arms and she quickly settled into them, immediately feeling more at ease than she had before. He leaned back on the couch and turned the tv on to their mindless favorite show, the Real Housewives of Atlanta. It was mainly Charlotte’s guilty pleasure but Michael could not deny that it had sucked him in too. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as they watched the show. 

“For what?” 

She smiled. “For caring enough about me and my health to be overbearing. I w-wouldn’t have survived all this without you.” 

She shifted into his lap to kiss him deeply. However, before she could take it too far, he stopped her and broke their kiss. 

“You have an early day tomorrow. Not tonight.” 

Charlotte opened her mouth to retort but Michael’s attention had already shifted away from her and back to the antics of the housewives. She hoped the night of their engagement had not been some odd anomaly and that they were truly back on track. Sex was not the end all be all of their relationship but she knew how important it was to both of them. And it did not bode well to her that they had only been intimate once in a week, injuries or no injuries. But she also knew she was not up for another difficult conversation tonight and she knew that that was one she would most certainly lose so she merely settled against his chest to watch their show, tucking the information away for discussion later.  

***

“I-I guess I should leave this here?” She mused, a sad expression on her face as she examined her ring. “I can’t wear it on stage.”  

Michael raised an eyebrow as he studied her and the expression on her face. “You don’t gotta take it off if you don’t wanna.” 

She shook her head. “Chris texted, the paparazzi and reporters are already at the theater so it’ll be all over the gossip sites before lunch if I wear it. It just feels weird to take it off.”

“You sure you gotta go this early?” 

She nodded. “Yea I haven’t done the choreo or anything in almost a week. Gotta practice, make sure I can actually move fully and everything.” She glanced over to him and offered him a suggestive wink. “I could be persuaded to go a little later if you help me warm up.” She grabbed his sweater and pulled him in for a kiss. 

He chuckled and kissed her. “You’re still injured.” 

She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “That wasn’t a problem the other night?”

“Well… we both had an emotional day and were caught up in the moment and shit. I’d feel better if we waited till you heal fully. Just like I’d feel better if you take it easy today.” 

Saying no to her was easily the hardest thing Michael ever had to do. But after seeing her last night, seeing her genuinely afraid that he was going to hurt her, he could not risk doing anything that could trigger her again, at least not until he was sure she was healed emotionally and physically. It sucked and it would mean many cold showers in his future but it was for the best. 

However, Charlotte was not a mind reader. All she felt was the cold slap of rejection from the man she loved. Charlotte found his response odd but she decided not to press it. She supposed the night of their engagement was just a heat of the moment sort of thing. This was, after all, not her most attractive state. 

“I’ll be fine, Bakari.” 

“I could come with you?” 

Charlotte bit her lip as she stifled the immediate yes that bubbled to the surface. As she watched him yawn, she suddenly felt the weight of how much of a burden she was to him. All he had done was adjust his life to hers so she could heal. She just wanted to feel like his equal again and that meant she could not rely on him for everything. 

“Thanks for the offer but I’m good. I’ll be fine.” She tried to make her voice sound sure and decisive, despite the doubt on his face. “Besides, let me worry about you for once. You need sleep without me screaming you awake, babe. You’re exhausted.” 

Michael could not disagree more but something in her tone made him want to acquiesce to her words, despite his reservations. She was not wrong that he could use some true uninterrupted rest. 

“You sure? I really don’t mind coming, nothing wrong with needing some extra support.” 

Charlotte stopped herself from taking him up on the offer. “I know… But I got Adam and we’ll be just fine.”

“You sure?” He walked over and tilted her chin up to examine the bruising on her face. 

She had not finished putting on her make up yet. They were looking better and better each day, though they were not healing fast enough for Michael’s liking. His eyes darkened slightly, Charlotte rubbing his bare arm. 

“I’ll be back to my perfect flawless self soon, promise.” She pecked him on the nose. “And yes, I promise. I know you got shit to do.” 

She walked back to their master bathroom to finish her routine. She took extra care to ensure every bruise and cut was adequately covered before she finished getting dressed. It was like riding a bike, remembering all the techniques to hide the damage he caused. By the time she was done, her skin looked unblemished enough to pass the test with any photographer. 

As she walked around their bedroom, gathering all of her things for the show, she forced herself to think positively as images of Shaun flashed in her mind. She refused to give in to them though. He had taken so much, she refused to let him take this too. 

“Got everything? Baby?” Michael called, pulling Charlotte out of her thoughts, putting his hand on the small of her back when she did not register him. . 

She jumped slightly at his touch. She tried to play it off but she could tell he noticed in how his eyes softened slightly.  

“Yea, yea sorry. Was in my own head. I’m ready. Adam’s been waiting for me downstairs, I should go.” 

She kissed him on the cheek and threw him a soft smile before heading toward the door. She grabbed her keys and her bag as she moved through the living room. However, the ding of the elevator as it opened left her paralyzed, unable to force herself to cross the threshold out of her cocoon and into the real world again. A wave of panic washed over her at leaving for the first time alone and going back there, where he was. She tried to remind herself that he was not there but then all the nightmares of the last week came rushing back. She did not talk about them, particularly not to Michael, because she knew he would never have let her leave if she did. But she could not stop herself from thinking of the worst case scenario now. 

Was she a complete fool for leaving her one and only safe space to give him another opportunity to hurt her? She got lucky twice but she had a sickening feeling Shaun would not error a third time if given the chance to finish the job. All week, had she been completely deluded for believing he would not be so foolish as to try to hurt her again? But when had he ever cared about restraining orders or police? The law had not once stopped him for exercising his control, power, and revenge over her when he really wanted to. Why would it now? 

A voice rang out loudly in her head, encouraging her to turn right around and retreat into her bed with Michael where it was safe. But another voice demanded she put one foot in front of the other and face him head on again. She did not cower before, she could not now. It was all just too much, too scary, too much to consider for one person. 

“Els, baby… Focus on me.” 

She glanced up from the floor to find Michael standing in front of her, his face twisted up in concern. She did not understand what was wrong until she heard them, the shallow quick breaths that filled their quiet foyer that belonged to her.

“That’s it, breathe. You’re ok. Just got a little overwhelmed,” he whispered to her as he took slow deep breaths with her. He knew it was too much too fast. But when it came to her career, Charlotte was the first person he had ever met that was more stubborn than him. 

He cradled her head into the space between his neck and shoulder, Charlotte taking deep breaths of his cologne and natural scent. His arms were tightly wrapped around her. She would have thought it would be suffocating during a panic attack but it was grounding to her, his touch, his soft whispers in her ear.

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I-I can do it… I can do it.” 

“Hey, look at me, honeybee.” He waited until her glossy eyes were on him before he said, “I know nothing I can say will stop you from going today. But it’s ok if you’re not ok yet, Charlotte. Being scared and honest about that doesn’t make you weak and it doesn’t mean he wins. It doesn’t tell the world you're powerless. It tells them you’re human. And it’s ok to need and want extra support. All you gotta do is ask, baby.” He kissed her ring finger, which was now bare as she had taken it off in their room. “You never gotta do anything alone again. Understand?”

Charlotte glanced up at the ceiling to stop the floodgates from opening. “I j-just feel like such a burden to you these last few days. You’ve done nothing b-but take care of me,” she whispered. “I need to go… I know I do. I have to go, Bakari. B-but I don’t think I c-can go without you. With you is the only place I f-feel safe right now.” 

He kissed her temple. “You’ve never been and will never be a burden to me, love. Give me five minutes.” And with that, he disappeared back into their bedroom.

Charlotte sat down in one of their living room chairs and placed her head in her hands. She hated how quickly she caved. She could not even make it out of their house, let alone to work. She choked back a small sob, this was not how she saw her triumphant return going down. She felt ashamed of herself for not being stronger, for not holding it together better. She just wanted to be strong again, herself again, but that felt farther away than she would have liked. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, Els, stop it. You’re going, that’s what matters… not what support you need to do it. This isn’t a bad thing.” 

She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath before nodding. She was doing the best she could. And that would have to be enough. 

“You’re right, you’re right. Let’s go.” 

Michael interlocked his fingers with hers as he led her back to the elevator. With his presence by her side, stepping into the elevator and the ride down seemed for less jarring, though she could feel her heart racing slightly. She was thankful to find their street void of paparazzi and cameras when they exited. 

Michael, a saint, used the car ride to distract her, sharing updates on Black Panther prep he was about to start. She listened intently as he explained the new diet and workout regime he would have to follow to get the build required for the character. He had no insight to the plot but he shared some directions he thought they might go in based on the comic lore. Listening to him talk about work for 20 minutes was the exact distraction she needed and she was thankful to him for it. 

His musings carried them the entire 20 minute ride to the theater, Charlotte not surprised but annoyed to find a crowd of cameras and people right outside the entrance staff used. 

“Shit. Is almost dying really that interesting to anyone??” She remarked to Michael as Adam asked them to pause while he studied the terrain. He had explained to them yesterday that he had already gone to the theater and done his usual recon. Charlotte could not help but roll her eyes at that. She was not the damn pope or Queen Charlotte herself… she was just Charlie. 

“Well, being attacked on the opening night of your show is shocking so it’s newsworthy to someone.”  

“It’s weird,” she decided. Charlotte liked that her star was a small one. She did not want or care for fame, never wanted to be one of those celebrities that called the paparazzi to follow their every move. She wanted to do what she loved but she also wanted a quiet life, one with some modicum of privacy. 

“Ready when you are, Ms. Bennett.” 

She took a deep breath, sliding her shades onto her face. Michael pressed his lips to her hand, which was still interlaced into his. He had only let her go once to get in the car. 

“I’m right beside you.” 

“I know you are,” she responded sweetly. “Ready.” 

Adam jumped out of the car first and opened their door, Michael sliding out before Charlotte. She focused on Michael’s hand in hers as she ignored the loud calls and flashes of the cameras. The only thing that made her pause was a pack of fans that gathered on the opposite side, most of them young women and holding signs of support for her that made her heart swell. She originally had no intention of stopping or talking to anyone when she thought it was just reporters and express. But those girls added a detour to her journey, much to Adam and Michael’s annoyance. 

All of them held bright smiles as she pushed her shades onto the top of her head. Many of them had Playbills from the show, clearly having gone in the last week and others just had pieces of paper and signs that they asked her to sign. She tried her best to sign every Playbill and paper shoved in her face and smile in the direction of every camera for every selfie. 

Charlotte still found the idea that she had fans to be jarring. It was one aspect of her job that she was not used to at all, that people would camp out anywhere on a cold NYC morning for the chance to get a glimpse of her. 

One of the girls standing there asked for a selfie and as she took it, she said, “Could you sign this? We,” she gestured at the girl next to her that carried such a striking resemblance that she had to have been her twin. “Wanted to get tickets for tonight too but…”

“The ones that were left were so expensive.” The other girl jumped in. “Guess we aren’t the only ones desperate to see you on stage.” 

“We’re here visiting our parents and heading back to Yale tomorrow but figured we could try to get a glimpse of you,” the first girl admitted. “I… just want to say thank you.” 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For showing that leaving is hard but it's never the wrong choice. And that if you’re lucky, maybe you’ll find better,” she glanced at Michael who was quietly standing beside her. 

Charlotte clenched her eyes shut to stop a tear from falling. This girl could not have been a day over 18 or 19. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Chantal and this is my sister, Courtney.” 

She nodded. “Adam,” she called over to the stoic man who had been standing between her and the crowd on the other side of the walkway. “Can you bring Chantal and Courtney around the barrier and inside?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Both girls were the picture of shock as they made their way around the steel barriers and followed Charlotte and Michael inside. The young woman marched them around to the General Manager’s office upstairs, both girls utterly perplexed and confused. 

“Charlie! It’s so good to have you back! Chris has been a pain in the ass without you,” Simon remarked as he stood up and wrapped her in a tight hug. 

Charlotte laughed. “Thank you, and I can only imagine.” She flashed him her award-winning bright smile. “Your favorite actress needs a favor?” 

“You name it.” 

“Four front row seats for tonight for my friends here,” she gestured to the two girls, whose mouths had fallen open behind her. 

“You got it. What are your names?” 

Both girls stammered out their full government names while Simon tapped away at his computer. 

“Done. Tickets’ll be waiting for you at will call tonight.” 

“Thank you! You’re the best.” She retreated from his office before walking the girls back to the front to head outside. 

 “W-wait, that w-wasn’t a joke right?” 

Charlotte laughed. “No, not a joke at all. I hope your parents enjoy musicals too. Either way, I hope you both enjoy the show tonight at least.” 

Both girls squealed and threw themselves into her arms, causing Charlotte to laugh. She hugged them both before stepping back. 

“Well, I gotta go rehearse. Make sure I can give y’all the best show possible.” 

“Thank you SO much! You’re amazing and we love you.” 

“No thanks necessary at all. See you tonight.” As the girls scurried off, Charlotte turned to stop them. “Chantal!” 

The young girl turned around as Charlotte closed the space between them.

“You will… find better. The road might be long as fuck,” she admitted, causing the two girls to laugh. “And you’ll take a lot of steps back to take them forward. But it’s not about luck. It’s about knowing you deserve it and being… willing to accept it when it comes. I,” she glanced behind her at Michael who was waiting. “I struggled with that. But I deserved better and you do too, no matter what someone else made you believe.” 

She reached into her purse and grabbed a pen and a spare piece of paper from her notebook. She jotted down her name and phone number and held it out to the young girl who seemed like her jaw might completely detach itself from her face. 

“I know how hard it is… and lonely it is at first. If you need anything, don’t hesitate. And I mean that, truly.” 

“Thank you.” She squeezed her hand before rushing back to her sister, both girls leaving with a bit more pep in their steps. 

She walked back over to Michael who was sporting a look of pure shock. 

“What?” 

“I am just constantly in awe of you.” He pulled her into his arms and wrapped one arm around her waist. “How’d I get so lucky?” 

She smiled. “Pretty sure I’m the lucky one, baby.” 

They shared a chaste but sweet kiss when they heard a couple wolf whistles. Charlotte laughed as she took in Chris and Marcus both staring at them. 

“The queen is back! Thank the good lord,” Chris remarked as he closed the space between them. “Between this damn ulcer and the nightmares, Jason and my doctor will be sending you a fruit basket and flowers.” 

“My understudy wasn’t that bad,” she remarked. The young woman was green to be sure but she was good. 

“Yes but she is no you, my dear. You are one of one.”

“How are you feeling?” Marcus asked as he pulled her into a hug, he examined her with the same quizzical eye Michael often did which made her laugh. 

“She’s fine. Been here five minutes and already giving away four of my most expensive seats in the house. Typical altruistic Charlie.” At Charlotte’s shocked face, Chris shrugged. “I know everything that happens round here.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for them.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t stress about it. We have a block of tickets we budget to give away for one reason or another.” He glanced at Michael beside her. “I see you brought our favorite eye candy back with you.” 

Charlotte laughed and rolled her eyes. “Well, leaving the house was harder than I thought it’d be so Michael offered to come hang out for a bit. Hope that’s ok?” 

“Girl, whatever you need to get your ass back on that stage, I’m fine with. Rehearsal starts in 10.” 

He waved at all of them before leaving Charlotte, Michael, Malcolm and her shadow alone. 

“How are you? Really?” 

While she adored Chris, Malcolm was who she was closest to in the show and was the only one who truly knew her. 

“We’re taking it hour by hour,” she admitted. “And today started off rough but it’s turning around. I’m gonna be ok, I know that much.” 

“That’s what we like to hear.” 

They walked into the theater, the entire company giving Charlotte applause as she walked in. Michael took his seat as she got on stage and did a quick round of hugs to everyone. And then they jumped right into rehearsal. 

Michael spent part of the time doing his own work, answering emails that he had neglected over the last week. He did not regret that but his inbox was abysmal. He knew Charlotte’s was exactly the same. She had talked to her manager once or twice but no work had been accomplished in a week. 

Then he started reviewing the script for his upcoming project. He had been excited originally to play the role but now, he was merely annoyed because it meant he had to return to LA in late June. He did not want a renewal of their argument from the previous night but he knew there was absolutely no way he could convince Charlotte to cut her run short and return with him. And June was Tony’s season and nominated or not, Charlotte would never miss that. However, all of those reasons did not change the simple fact that Michael was fucking terrified. 

This was the love of his life, his future wife, the future mother of his children. Would work ever be more important to him than her safety? And it was not that he did not trust Adam, after all he picked him. But Adam did not love her like he did, did not understand her like he did. Even though it was months away, leaving felt utterly and completely wrong now. And he could not shake the feeling that it was not only a bad idea, it was the worst mistake he could ever make. He knew he could not drop out but he toyed with the probability of getting them to push the filming back, even just a month or two. He decided he’d reach out to his manager and see if it was a possibility. 

He found himself often distracted by Charlotte as she rehearsed. She was a bit stiff at first but she loosened up and fell back into the choreo with ease. This was truly her element, everyone on that stage looked to her for guidance, advice, and support. He could see why Chris was so determined to have her back as soon as possible. She was the glue. 

In between rehearsal and the show, she did interviews that she had not had the chance to do after the premiere. Michael sat next to the young girls they met earlier and their parents and they were utterly in awe of her as she performed. Despite everything, she was better than she was opening night, perhaps because she felt she had more to prove. She left her heart and soul on that stage. 

So much so that she quite literally fell asleep as soon as they got into the SUV to head home. She was utterly beat. She had held it together pretty well most of the day from Michael’s perspective, only having one panic attack when she went back to her dressing room for the first time.

She felt like the ghost of him loomed in the space in a weird way. So much so that she avoided the space until the last possible second and could not enter it alone. She questioned how she would do it every day when Malcolm offered to switch spaces with her. She objected at first, naturally, not wanting to feel like she needed accommodations from anyone. But Michael insisted and she could not deny that it eased some of her panic. 

However, when they got home, she was fairly silent and seemed upset. Michael did not understand why, she had done exactly what she had wanted to today: she had proved he could not take this away from her. 

“You were great today,” Michael offered as they settled into bed. “On all counts.” 

She chuckled humorlessly. “I couldn’t even walk into my own dressing room, Bakari. Couldn’t leave this fuckin’ house without…” She shook her head as she looked up at the ceiling. “I saw him everywhere… like a fuckin’ ghost haunting me every second. And the only thing that stopped me from literally falling apart was being able to look over and see you. If I can’t keep it together on my own, then I can’t…” she clenched her eyes shut. “And then I come here and I try to sleep and he’s there too. J-Just… don’t get a fucking break.”  

She frustratedly wiped a tear from her cheek and flipped onto her side to look away from him. 

Michael sighed and shifted closer to her, spooning her. She tensed up at the unexpected touch before softening into him.

“I know today was hard. But Els, baby… you did it. You left the house, you got on stage, you got a new dressing room, you gave interviews and did everything you needed to do without skipping a beat. That’s not nothing. It’s ok to not be able to hold it together all by yourself. Lean on me, lean on Malcolm and Chris and your castmates to get through the day.” 

“I don’t want special treatment… I don’t want people to see me as their traumatized coworker. I don’t wanna be the weak person he made me forever. It took me years to get over what he did the first time a-and I don’t have years. You aren’t gonna wait years, the world isn’t gonna wait years. I just… want to be ok again now.” 

“Didn’t you tell that girl earlier that it would be a lot of steps back to go forward?” 

She groaned, annoyed that he was throwing her own words back at her. 

“Yes but-“ 

“No buts. You gotta give yourself some grace, baby. You’re gonna have good days when you feel invincible and you’re gonna have days when it feels like you can’t hold it together on your own. And you don’t have to. You’re not broken,” he pressed his lips to her shoulder. “You never were and you certainly aren’t now. It’s gonna be a long road but you aren’t walkin’ it alone.”

“I just…” her words failed her but something in her told her to put on a brave face. She knew she was not walking it alone but she also knew she could not keep bearing all her weight on MIchael. She had to start carrying some of it on her own. Even if he currently felt like she was not a burden, there was no telling how long that feeling would last. 

So she nodded and turned over to face him. “You’re right. It was a good first step and tomorrow’ll be even better. Thanks for today.” 

“Of course. I can come with you tomorrow too?” he offered. 

Charlotte chucked. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I know spending all day in that theater is not fun.” 

Michael shrugged. “Being there for you is fun. I insist.” 

“Bu-” she started to say when Michael pulled her into his chest and kissed her on the forehead, cutting her off. 

“Get some rest. Night, baby.” 

***

“So how are you, Charlie? Really?” Michael’s mom called down the long dining room table as they all enjoyed Easter Sunday dinner.

She was thankful to have a couple days off so she and Michael returned to LA to visit family and escape New York for a bit. Their trip, which had been intended to be an adventure for the pair, had turned into anything but. And there was a safety to returning home, to Michael’s house and to his bed, even if it was only for a long weekend. 

Given that her nieces and nephews were all on Spring Break, it was the perfect time to get the families together. So it was the first time her dad, sister and CJ were meeting Michael’s family. The evening had been perfect so far, she decided, both groups blending as if they were destined to be family. 

“I’m ok… really,” she emphasized at the skeptical glances from everyone at the table, including her fiance. “He’s been out on bail, hasn’t tried anything. He’ll go to prison and that’ll be the end of it,” she assured them. She would never admit it out loud, particularly not within earshot of Michael, but those words were merely for their benefit. Not even 50% of her mind actually believed it. Shaun proved that he was not above biding his time for as long as it took. She would be a fool to believe his obsession with her was over simply because he got caught. But that was not a truth or fear she was in a place to admit to anyone. 

“You’re still havin’ nightmares though…” Michael offered quietly. 

Charlotte cut her eyes toward him with a quick glare that most of the table, thankfully, did not see. It silently said “what the fuck?” to which he merely shrugged as if he did not see the problem with detailing her weaknesses to her entire family. 

It’s the truth, his eyes seemed to shoot back at her.

“Are you ok?” 

“Do you need to increase your therapy sessions?” 

Charlotte immediately groaned internally, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions and concerns. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid. 

“Guys, guys… calm down. Michael is exaggerating,” she answered with a reassuring and calming smile. “I still have nightmares but they are far less than they were at first. It’s progress, but it’s slow. And it’s just been a few weeks. It’s not like last time,” she promised, her eyes trained on Jackson who was most invested in her recovery, aside from Michael. He called her damn near every day twice a day.

“Well, as long as you feel like you’re getting better.” 

“I am, really.” 

“You gonna be ok when Michael comes back this way for his movie this summer?” 

Charlotte nodded immediately, though she was dreading it inside. However, that was not something she could admit either. “Yea it’s gon-“ 

“I actually asked them if we could push filming back,” Michael interrupted. “To the fall when Els’ run is over. Just waiting to hear what they say.” 

Charlotte glanced up from her plate in surprise, that was the first she had heard of this. “What? When did you do that? Why did you do that?” 

“I called my agent and asked her to look into it Thursday before we left New York. Just figured a family emergency and needin’ to be there for you was hard to argue with.” 

Charlotte could not stop the confusion and anger that bubbled under the surface at him. She understood the intention behind his gesture but she did not ask him to do that and to be frank, she did not want it. It was not that she wanted to be alone in New York but she also had worked so hard in the last few weeks to stop burdening him, to heal and move forward. But this was the literal opposite of that. 

“But the summer is several months away. It’ll hardly be an emergency by then. I’m fine.”

He shrugged. “I disagree.” 

“You dis-” she started to say when Jackson interrupted, her sweet but slightly oblivious brother not picking up on the mounting tension between the couple. 

“I think it’s a good thing. Not like you don’t need the extra protection, it’s better this way, Charlie.” 

“Better for who?” She mumbled under her breath before stabbing her piece of ham with her fork. 

“The real question is when are you gonna be free for the bachelorette party?” Jazzmine asked from across the table with a smile. “Lo and I are already starting to plan.” 

Charlotte rolled her eyes as everyone smirked. “Nothing crazy, Jazz… please. I don’t know what time I’m gonna have off so we could legit just get the girls together for a fun weekend in New York. Have the wild NYC nights we didn’t get to have back in the old days,” she teased. 

Lo’s face lit up as she turned to Jazz. “Oh that would be so much fun. I’ll do some research on restaurants and Jazz, can you find us some lounges that we can go out to? Maybe in like July?” 

“You sure you wanna do New York?” Michael asked quietly, pulling Charlotte’s attention away from her girlfriends as they chatted away about her party. 

“Yea, it’s lowkey and easy. Inexpensive for everyone to get to and everything. Don’t need a big fuss. Why?” 

Michael shifted in his seat uncomfortably, Charlotte could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he thought of the right words to say whatever was on his mind. 

“Just don’t think it’s safe for you to be going out to clubs and lounges late like that. You know… least not until after his trial.” His voice was low as to not draw attention to the couple. However, before she could respond, he glanced up at Lauren and Jazz and said, “Plan somethin’ outside the US. My treat, of course. Go wild.”

“God, I love him,” Jazz not-so-quietly muttered under her breath causing the entire table to laugh, except Charlotte. “You sure you wanna marry him, girl? Cause I’ll fight you for him.” 

Charlotte forced a light chuckle from her lips before returning to her food, frustration coursing through her body like a roaring river. She was virtually silent as their families interacted for the rest of the night. She barely spoke, only offering one or two words to Michael’s nonstop chatter when they returned to their bedroom to get ready for bed. 

She wanted to say something to him but she did not know how, nor was she sure which issue to tackle first because for the first time in their relationship, there were several. 

They were still them in the ways that mattered most, still loving and caring and invested in their relationship. But something, or rather several somethings, were simply off track and causing fissures to grow between them. And tonight, she realized that they had gotten too big to ignore any longer.  

Originally, she had thought the lack of physical intimacy was their most pressing issue. Gone were the casual touches and sexual playfulness that they developed in their relationship. They had sex one time since their engagement and it was their worst time together by far. Michael spent the entire time checking in and asking her if she was ok or needed him to stop so much so that Charlotte could not even get into the moment or enjoy the experience. As the incident got further in their rearview, she tried to initiate a couple more times but he always found an excuse so finally, she stopped asking altogether. 

And that was concerning in and of itself, the crumpling of the one area of their relationship that had always been strong. But dinner proved that they were also having serious communication issues that she had been actively ignoring. It was so unlike Michael to make such a giant career decision without consulting her first, without taking into account her own feelings and opinions about her recovery.

Was she completely healed? Were things perfect? Definitely not. But was she moving in the right direction? Was she doing the best she could? Yes and still, she felt like it was not enough to get her fiance to stop treating her like the broken woman he found in that bathroom, battered, bruised and half dead. Even telling her she could not go out in New York with her friends was so on brand for him at the present moment but so unlike anything she was used to from him. And that had not been the first time. They got invited to parties and events and the like in New York and Michael found excuse after excuse for them not to go. She blamed herself for not being more vocal about wanting to go out and be who they used to be so she put all of her efforts into getting better to prove she could handle it, prove she was still the woman he wanted. However, nothing seemed to work. She wanted to move on with their lives and his mind was firmly stuck on who she was on March 1. 

And that made her doubt whether they would. All the things Michael once valued in her, he clearly did not see anymore… why else would he treat her so differently?

“You ok? Want me to make you some tea? Anything hurt?” Michael asked as they got ready for bed. 

Their nighttime routine was typically filled with laughter and conversation but tonight, Charlotte was stuck in her own head, wrestling with why her relationship seemed to be falling apart when they were both so clearly trying their hardest to keep it together. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine.” He sighed, misreading her sour attitude for something else. “I don’t know why you feel the need to pretend like you’re ok with me when you aren’t. It’s just been a few weeks, Els. No one but you expects you to be ok.” 

Charlotte’s knuckles could’ve turned white at the way she gripped the edge of their counter in anger. “You know not every negative emotion I feel is about Shaun, right? Like I’m allowed to just be mad and annoyed at you every once in a while?” 

Michael’s eyes grew wide. “Mad at me?? What did I do?” 

“How about the fact that you made this major decision and didn’t tell me?” 

“What major decision??” 

Charlotte threw her hands up in the air. “Moving your movie schedule, Michael!” 

Michael could tell she was legitimately upset given that she used his first name and not Bakari or another pet name. However, for the life of him, he could not understand the issue. 

“That’s not a big deal tho. I just asked them to push back a couple months.”

“That is a big deal! Asking for an entire movie to be rearranged so you can play the fucking overseer.” 

“That’s not fair. I was tryin’ to help you.” 

Charlotte scoffed. “Help me? Oh and is flashing your wallet around to convince my friends to plan a different party than the one I want helping me too??” 

Michael walked out of their bathroom, the two facing off at the foot of the bed. 

“You aren’t gonna get fuckin’ mad at me for telling you shit is unsafe. No, you don’t need to be fuckin’ around in the middle of the night drunk in New York while he’s still out there. You can be mad all you want.” 

Michael felt no shame or guilt for drawing the line in the sand somewhere. He saw no issue in keeping Charlotte at home. She went to work, they occasionally went to dinner - though he preferred just ordering them take out these days - and that was virtually it. He went to the theater with her almost every day, only leaving around show time and returning with the car to pick her up. It was a sacrifice to be sure. But what did it matter if she was safe and had extra layers of protection? 

“If you had your way, I’d never leave our fucking apartment!” She hurled at him. “You wanna help me? Stop treating me like a fragile doll that’ll break if you aren’t around. Stop… stop denying me affection and love and just admit the truth!” 

“What truth??” 

“You don’t want me anymore!” Charlotte exploded, her own insecurities compounded by her perceptions of her fiancé’s behavior. “You proposed and you regret it and you don’t want me.” 

“That’s the farthest thing from the truth in this world, Charlotte.” 

She closed the space between them as she shouted. “Then why don’t you touch me like you used to? Why don’t you make love to me or fuck me or literally anything anymore? Our relationship is void of physical intimacy that I know both of us need. So tell me. What other reason could it be other than you can’t get the image of what he did out of your head and I’m not the woman you thought I was o-or want anymore? Tell me!” 

Michael’s mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of what exactly to say. He had never seen her so upset, particularly directed at him, over something that was simply not true. However, despite the anger she displayed, something stopped him from telling her the truth. It was foolish to not trust her with his own fears and vulnerabilities but it was unfair to make her healing about him. 

“I promise you it’s not because I don’t want you.” 

Charlotte stared at him, waiting for something… anything to signal to her what the true reason was. But he gave her nothing. 

Charlotte let out a breath that sounded like a cold laugh before nodding and  stalking over to her side of the bed to grab her pillow and favorite blanket, one that Michael used often and carried his scent. 

“I don’t want promises, Michael. I want you to be honest. And until you are ready to admit whatever has you treating me like a patient instead of your future wire, I’ll be in the guest room.” She paused. “Here and in New York.” 

“You shouldn’t sleep alone, Charlotte.” 

“I dealt with nightmares before you, Michael and I can deal with them now. If you really want to help me,” she clenched her eyes shut to stop the tears that welled in them, tears that she knew would not help her case. She was just so tired, tired of everyone in her life and in the media and everywhere she turned fawning over her. She just wanted someone to treat her like nothing had changed and she had hoped that would be Michael. But he could not do it either. “Then start treating me like someone you believe is actually capable of healing. Cause right now, all you treat me like is a woman who's too broken to be put back together again. And if that’s all you see when you look at me, we aren’t gonna make it.” 

And with that, she raced out of their bedroom and down the hallway toward one of the guest rooms, leaving Michael alone. He felt as if he had whiplash, the argument happening so fast over something he felt was so insignificant, he could not fully understand what to do. 

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts. He swung it open to find his father standing in the hallway, two glasses of scotch in his hands. 

“Heard some raised voices. You good, son?” 

“Not really,” he muttered as he took the drink out of his dad’s hand and ushered him inside.

“Feel like I’m tryin’ to do right by Els, give her what she needs and she’s actin’ like it’s too much… or not enough of the right thing… or I dunno. We’ve never,” he flopped down on the edge of their bed, his hand rubbing his head. “We’ve never been like this before.” 

Michael Sr sat down in the arm chair across from his son. “Well, you ain’t been together long enough to be like much. I think you two were made for each other, don’t get me wrong. But marriage ain’t easy ‘n you two are gonna hit more than a couple rough patches where it seems like it just ain’t workin’. And that’s to be expected given what you both went through. You need to talk.” 

“I try to talk to her, pops. Get her to tell me what she's feelin’, how she’s doin’. She just wants to act like everything’s fine when I know it isn’t. I mean, you take care of ma… her health. She doesn’t fault you for being protective. What am I doing wrong right now?” 

His father let out a low chuckle before taking a long sip of his drink. “Bold to assume your momma didn’t cuss me out more than once too. I raised you ‘n your brother the way I was raised. To be a provider, protector, fixer. And I did the same thing you’re doin’ when your momma first started havin’ health issues. Constantly checkin’ in, assuming I knew what she needed or how she was feelin’ better than she did. And just doin’ it cause I thought I knew best. And all I was really doin’ is creating resentment.”

“What you mean?” 

“I mean… your mom didn’t and still doesn’t want a doctor, she has a doctor. She didn’t need a therapist. She wanted her husband, a safe spot to land ‘n know I was gonna treat her like her when the days were good ‘n jump in ‘n pull the extra weight on the bad days. But that I was still gonna let her be her, not treat her like a sick person who can’t take care of herself. But I felt so outta control as a protector and fixer that I went overboard tryin’ to fix somethin’ that couldn’t be. Took a lot of counseling to get outta that.”  

Michael raised his eyebrow in shock. His parents were not of a generation that typically had a positive outlook on therapists and counseling. He also would have never thought their marriage ever required it. His parents’ marriage, in his mind, was the blueprint. 

“Really?” 

“Yea… I mean it was different than what you kids do now with licensed therapists. But yea, we went to counseling with our pastor ‘n it helped. Helped both of us admit what we needed, helped us find common ground. N now, I protect your mother while respecting her boundaries. I know you. You’re tryin’ to fix something that only Charlotte and time can fix. And if you hold on too tight, try to fix too much cause you’re afraid of losing her, you’re just gonna lose her in a different way. This is your first taste of marriage, son. Shit ain’t easy but it’s worth it.” 

His dad stood up and patted him on the shoulder before walking toward the door. However, as he opened it, he stopped and turned. 

“Another piece of hard-earned advice?” Michael nodded for him to continue. “You just learned how short life is, how precious every minute is. You don’t go to bed alone or angry ever. You ain’t gotta fix it tonight, you ain’t even gotta talk about it tonight. But don’t let her fall asleep down that hall thinkin’ you don’t wanna fix whatever this is. Understand?” 

“Yea I gotchu. Thanks pops.” 

“Anytime, son.” 

Michael downed the rest of his drink before grabbing his own pillow and walking down the hallway to the guest room he knew Charlotte would be in. The door was not closed all the way so he peeked through the crack for a moment, studying her form which was curled into a tight ball in the middle of the bed. Her light sniffles reached his ears and immediately propelled him forward. 

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called, her voice broken and small. She forced herself into a seated position, wiping her tear-stained cheeks as she sat up. 

They stared at each other expectantly for a few moments before Michael stepped forward. 

“I know I’ve been… distant in a lot of ways the last few weeks. And probably overbearing and controlling, which isn’t what I want you to feel. And I’m sorry for that. And if I had the right words to explain why, I would. But I don’t. I don’t know what this feeling is o-or how to describe it to you. And I can assure you it’s not because I don’t want you. I’ll always want you. But I know this isn’t what you need and this isn’t the relationship I want for us. I know you’re already working with your therapist but maybe we can try couple’s counseling? For a couple weeks? Maybe we can get back on track sooner rather than later.” 

“Really?” she asked. Michael had never expressed anti-therapist sentiments and supported her journey wholeheartedly but he always said he never considered going himself, never thought he would need one. “I thought about suggesting it for us… after everything. I just figured you wouldn’t be into it.” 

Michael meandered over to her side of the bed and sat down, his hand rubbing her leg. 

“I’m into whatever you and I need to do to get back on the same page. I love you and I want you and I know I haven’t been myself lately,” he admitted. “But I hear you and I’m willing to figure it out so I can support you how you need me to.” 

“Thank you… for that. And I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I just… I just want to be me again. I want us again,” she mumbled, bringing her knees to her chest. 

“I know. And we’ll get there. I promise. I’m in it for the long haul, even if we gotta go to so many sessions we fund a beach house for your therapist.” 

Charlotte let out a cackling laugh. “I mean I’ve definitely already funded her beach house… maybe a like cabin in the woods next… she loves that type of stuff.” Charlotte rolled her eyes with a chuckle before her face returned to it’s more solemn expression. She stared at him for a few minutes before grabbing her pillow. “Will it completely ruin my street cred next argument if I come back to our room? This bed sucks,” she muttered. It was harder than their bed and more uncomfortable but the reality was, she had no interest in sleeping alone even if she was still upset. 

Michael kissed her on the forehead and gestured toward the door. “A very small ding in street cred,” he joked. “But,” he lifted up his own pillow. “I lose some too for coming in here like a lost damn puppy.” He joked, both of them laughing. 

“God, we can’t even do one night mad at each other right.” 

“I think that’s a good sign,” Michael remarked. “Think that means we’re gonna be just fine.” 

“Yea… we will be.”

Tag List: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @hi888888sworld @msniaimani @destinio1 @lynaye1993 @chaoticevilbakugo @blackerthings @pipsqueak-98 @miyuhpapayuh @passionxwrites @gopaperless @injerafiend @ari17

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Drop a comment and let me know what you think and how therapy's gonna go for our favs. This'll be the last update till December!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ghoulette Appreciation Week 5

still behind but catching up!

Week 5: Comfort and Hobbies

Cumulus crochets to relax. When newly summoned Phantom struggles with fitting in, she extends this comfort to them with a soft little friend.

Hi yes I am unashamedly joining the Cumulus-crochet-ghoul train.

I’ve had Cumulus and Phantom being really good friends stuck in my head ever since @foxybouquet's adorable photobooth drawing of them, Lus seems like just the ghoulette to bring out the fun side of her shyer packmates, I totally see her as the goofy pack big sister!

Rating: General Content: slight hurt, much comfort Words: 1141

Cumulus's little comfort gift (context in the fic!), pattern here:

Oh and the blankets mentioned are real, they're just mostly back at my mum's house! I should ask her to send me reference pictures...

Read below or on AO3!

All the ghouls had hobbies. Some were more conventional, human sports and arts, while others were less so – Dewdrop and Ifrit claimed burning shit counted as a hobby. Cumulus was firmly in the more conventional camp: she spent her free time between rehearsals and Abbey duties crocheting. She'd made all manner of jumpers, winter hats for all her pack and, on the road between Rituals, a veritable mountain of blankets. It was a comforting activity for her, partly because it was a creative outlet that remained within her control, unlike her music, and partly because she was always cold. She had first learned from Mist and some Siblings of Sin who made plushies for the children in the Abbey nursery. She’d found the process of making little fluffy animals, monsters, and ghoul kits so relaxing, the methodical process occupying her frequently anxious hands, the repetitive counting soothing her racing mind.

Too many thoughts was something many of the ghouls suffered from, especially the newer summons. Their human forms seemed capable of both intense fixation and infinite distraction. Many new ghouls had developed anxieties over things they had never previously paid heed to. The mental pain of stuffing a strongly instinctual creature into a 21st century human body couldn't be overstated. How did humans cope with this every day of their lives? Many older ghouls chose to retire back to the pit just for some peace and quiet in their heads, the simpler life ghouls below could lead. Conversely, the often younger and more inquisitive ghouls found the topside world to be a land of endless fascination. Many a ghoul had had to be located, then dragged back long after dark from the farthest reaches of the Abbey grounds, after spending a day following every new sight and smell that caught their attention.

Phantom liked to watch bugs. That, along with their stick insect-esque mannerisms, had quickly contributed to their pack nickname. It was quite clear that the relative quiet of the Abbey grounds was their solace in the busy new world. Aurora, on the other hand, seemed quite content to roll with the new speed and intensity of everything around her, being incredibly outgoing and becoming fast friends with everyone. Despite their summonings happening so close together, the two ghouls couldn’t have had more different initial experiences topside. As Aurora continued to flourish, Phantom had become more withdrawn. This concerned Cumulus greatly, she remembered the feeling of drowning and being overwhelmed in her own thoughts, and felt protective over the lost little quint ghoul. They almost reminded her of the infants in the nursery, crying out for some comfort in a new and unfamiliar world. She could tell there was a sweet and loving ghoul buried beneath their many layers of anxieties. They were more than competent in rehearsals, but with less than a month until tour, Cumulus was worried they might get lost on stage amongst the strong performance personalities of the rest of the pack.

She knew Swiss had been trying to help, he was similarly infatuated by the new quintessence ghoul, although they appeared entirely oblivious to his affections. She continued to observe Phantom, trying to think of a way to comfort them. They seemed so childlike in some of their mannerisms, and likewise their taste in foods, that Cumulus started to wonder if they wouldn’t also benefit from a soft and cuddly friend like she and the sisters made for the children in the Abbey’s care.

But what to make for them? She couldn’t very well make a bug, despite their nickname: too many legs to be squishable. But what about a bat? They had clearly been interested in the nature documentary about them playing in the background of the den the other day. Cumulus thought back to what the older children liked best; velvety wings and a squeezable stress-ball belly? Sounds perfect. She picked out a few shades of purples, matching Phantom’s eyes, and set to work.

Cumulus had croched many things for her packmates in the past, especially blankets for her ghoulettes’ nests. From a brightly coloured affair for Sunshine, a garden of flowers for Cirrus (“I might not be an earth ghoulette but I can still grow you a bouquet”, she had said) to a pond of lilies for Mist and several more, the den was full of her brightly coloured creations. She’d tried to teach the others, with varying success. Aurora had almost immediately gotten herself in a giant tangle, somehow crocheting herself to the table leg. Cumulus quickly pivoted to instead teach her fingerknitting and how to use knitting dollies to make cords and hair ties. Sunshine had been a quick learner but ultimately preferred knitting, while Mist had been the one to teach Cumulus in the first place. As for Cirrus… Cumulus was still trying there. Each time she tried to teach her, Cirrus would end up in a tangle and feign dismay, begging Cumulus to help her out. She would guide Cirrus’s hands through the motions once more with strangely little resistance, almost as if her fingers did know what they were supposed to be doing, Cirrus exclaiming what a good teacher she was, and if she could show her just one more time. If Cumulus was a more skeptical ghoul she would almost think Cirrus was looking for an excuse to have Cumulus’s warm hands on hers for an extended period of time…

A short while later, the toy was complete. Cumulus sewed its small ears and features onto it, cooing at it's sweet little face. She caught up with Phantom as they were leaving rehearsals, waylaying them before they could slink off back to their room. If she had thought the ghoul was withdrawn before, this image was fully shattered when they threw themselves onto her in a hug that almost knocked her off her feet.

"Thank you Lussy, I love it!” they squealed into her hair.

"You're welcome, little bat!”

After this, Cumulus sensed she had gained a new shadow. Phantom had taken to following Cumulus around during rehearsal breaks, and she had tried to subtly include Phantom whenever possible so they would begin to open up more to their other packmates. It wasn't long before she caught them playing video games with Aurora, and giggling and blushing with Swiss in the den. Notably with the little plush bat by their side.

By the time they all headed out on tour, the world around Phantom had begun to slowly make more sense, and they had learned to ignore the competing voices in their head. The friendly young ghoul had come out of their shell more than Cumulus had dared dream, and she felt a small swell of pride at having even a tiny part in it, through the small stuffed bat that lived on Phantom's bunk shelf.

[densi-mber]

He Plays the Violin

If someone had told 20 year old Marty Deeks that one day he would be sitting on the couch with his girlfriend, watching a rebroadcast of a symphony, he would have scoffed. Yet here he sat, happily doing just that. It had taken a little coaxing to convince Kensi, but now she seemed enthralled by the performance.

During a particularly lively version of Rhapsody in Blue, Kensi nudged his shoulder with her elbow. “You know, something you’ve never shown me—?”

“Can’t be much at this point,” Deeks interrupted, speaking over the music. “I’m pretty sure I’ve shown you everything I’ve got.” He winked at Kensi, just in case she didn’t get the innuendo.

“Yes, it’s very impressive,” Kensi said, pausing to give him a once over. “That’s not what I’m talking about though. It’s something more skill-based.”

“Oh, I’ve got all kinds of skills.” Deeks grinned at Kensi’s groan.

“Deeks, stop it.”

Shifting to face her, he adopted a serious expression. “Sorry, go on.”

Inhaling shallowing, Kensi pressed her palms together. He couldn’t imagine what was about to say.

“Remember when you mentioned taking violin lessons?” she asked.

“Yeeees. Why?”

“Well, this concert reminded me that you’ve never played for me.”

“Kensi—”

“Baby, please?”

“I’m not that good,” Deeks protested, even as Kensi looked at him pleadingly. “I haven’t had a lesson in years.”

“But you’ve played since then, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. Smoothing her hand up through his hair, Kensi cupped one of his cheeks.

“Hey, I won’t push it anymore if you really don’t want to, but I would really love to hear you play,” she said, which was remarkably convincing.

“Fine.” Sighing, Deeks pushed himself off the couch, heading for his bedroom. He felt Kensi’s eyes on him the entire way.

Even though he didn’t play regularly, he still kept his violin in good condition and stored it along with some other fragile items in his closet. When he came out a few minutes later with the violin tucked under his arm and the bow in his other hand, Kensi sat up, clapping her hands together in delight.

Deeks gave her a wry look, tucking a leg under him as he sat down. He plucked a couple strings, lowering his head in concentration. He spent a several minutes tuning the strings, adjusting the little knobs on either side. When he was reasonably satisfied with the sound, he turned to face Kensi again, and found her watching him.

“To reiterate, it’s been a few years since I even touched this, so listen at your own risk,” he warned Kensi one final time, tucking the violin under his chin, and bringing the bow up.

He chose a piece he’d taught himself in high school. The first few drags of the bow across the strings were a little rough, but he quickly fell into the rhythm, relaxing as motor memory took over. He closed his eyes, leaning into the emotion of the music, letting certain notes swell while other were softer and more subtle.

He played the final note, drawing the bow back slowly to end, and opened his eyes again. Kensi stared back at him, her lips slightly parted, her expression stunned.

“Sorry, guess I got a little caught up in the music,” he said, feeling oddly embarrassed. “My teacher always complained about that. Didn’t remember the audience.”

“No, Deeks, that was—that was beautiful,” Kensi quickly assured him. “I’ve never heard that song before.”

“It’s called “Ashokan Farewell”.

“It’s beautiful.” She leaned forward suddenly, cupping his face as she kissed him fervently. Deeks moved the violin out of crushing range. When Kensi pulled back, there was a fiery gleam in her eyes. “That was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen,” she told him, fingers slowly, but sure,y moving down his chest.

“Yeah, Mrs. Kayler definitely never said that,” he joked, a little breathless with Kensi’s unexpected response.

Sliding off the couch, Kensi took his hand, tugging him with her. Deeks started to set the violin to the side, but she shook her head.

“No, bring it with,” she said, guiding him back towards his bedroom.

***

A/N: “Ashokan Farewell” is a piece written by Jay Ungar and featured in several of Ken Burns’ documentaries.

Title taken from the song of the same name from the musical “1776”.

[moroser]

[incoming long and personal and dark post]

it dawned on me that it’s april and that means it’s been 6 years since i stopped doing drugs. big achievement. i did weed the whole time, thinking i needed it to keep away from the worse stuff, but i stopped that too, almost 2 months ago now. everything i’m about to talk about i did without anyone in my life (offline) noticing and all by myself.

my entire life has been unstable and so difficult. and i mean difficult and sad. i used to drink pretty heavily, but i stopped when i found pills. i was taking pretty much any opioid i could find, i even stole them. i was text book addict with pills. i had every excuse to keep going with it, it made sense to me at the time. i was in so much pain mentally, emotionally, and eventually, physically. taking them was reprieve. 

eventually, i was taking so many a day, quite honestly i should have died. my brain was blank, i lost my creativity and i stopped drawing, which is the one thing i love the most to do. create. even though i did not stop, the fact i felt nothing in that realm anymore was heartbreaking. i’d spent several nights staring at the ceiling practically waiting to die. i had one dream that i can remember while on drugs and it was of me staring at myself opened-eyed and dead on my bed. it shook me.

the drugs affected my ability to think, cry and feel, then one day on my way to work, after taking so many, i got so sick on the side of the road on the freeway several times. eventually i pulled off into a town i didn’t know and passed out in the parking lot of a gas station for who knows how long. i woke up dazed with the taste of puke in my mouth, and totally dehydrated. i missed work, i was embarrassed with myself. i have no idea how long i sat there for before getting out of the car to walk around. eventually i made it home but i felt like i wasn’t the same after that. 

decided to detox (after trying before, and failing), which was the worst events i’ve been through in my life. took days, nearly a week to get over the worst of the symptoms. i don’t think i slept at all. i was so sick, shakes and chills, vomiting, etc. i let spongebob play for the entire time, that sponge grounded me lol. i’d made it through that time. and i stuck too it, using my desire to feel my creativity again and wanting to be better to my body to stay away from relapse. 

2017 i cleared my system of alcohol, pills, energy drinks, pop, and the only thing i’d let myself use was weed because i felt it would stop me from everything else. and technically, it did. it aided me for a long time. but the passed ~3 years i’ve been so ill with stomach issues and nausea and throwing up that i decided to stop that too. 

so now i’ve been completely sober for 1 month and 21 days. for the first time since high school i have nothing in my system that is altering me the way substance abuse has. it’s been a major adjustment. my focus is shit, my sleeping is difficult and my dreams are insanity. it literally feels like i’m sleeping just to wake up somewhere else because my dreams are so vivid and clear. i wake up every four hours having to adjust and remember i actually live here, not in dreamland. i didn’t dream at all while on drugs or weed, so in a way, i welcome the vibrancy of them. 

looking back, none of those things helped me. they only broke and shrouded my spirit with a darkness i don’t want to feel ever again. i want to be healthy and i want to give my body the chances that it deserves. i want to heal properly. i want to live so much. i want to find someone to be with that will understand me and accept me even with my flaws and history. i feel better already, but i know there’s still a long journey ahead and i can only hope it gets better. i deserve better. i know i’m a good person. i know i have so much creative potential in me and it’s what i want to give my energy and soul to.  

thanks for listening, if you read this. i am proud of myself for getting as far as i have but the support from my friends and strangers online has been a colossal sense of communal help i’ve never had offline. sharing my art has been a big help and just people enjoying it means so much to me. thank you.  

[randomthefox]

I’ve spent a long time thinking about the dynamic between the intelligence of Dr. Eggman and Tails in how they’ve both been characterized throughout the years.

I think how it works is while Tails is smarter than Eggman in terms of problem solving and technology, Eggman is smarter than Tails in his ability to understand and manipulate people.

Tails’ creations have lasted far longer than anything the Doctor has ever built (unless you count Metal-Sonic who’s been destroyed and rebuilt multiple times and might not even be the same Metal-Sonic throughout all the games), and he’s been able to hack into Eggman’s tech on multiple occasions. Eggman has tricked Knuckles multiple times into thinking he’s the good guy, tricked Tails into revealing that Sonic was going to hand him a fake chaos emerald in one of his most iconic scenes, acquires money for his evil schemes through various shell companies, and a few more that I’m probably forgetting to mention.

Tails is able to destroy basically every Eggman makes, but Eggman tends to get the upper hand through tricking everyone. Including Tails. It also helps that Eggman just has far more life experience considering he’s 50+ years old while Tails is only around 8. But, Eggman still loses in the end because while he’s great at understanding other people, he’s terrible at understanding himself (undergoing self improvement). This means that his arrogance leaves him with huge blind spots that Tails - for example - can exploit using his expert problem solving to win the day.

Any thoughts on this take? I know it’s a long read.

It's funny because the longer the series goes on the more Eggman becomes a foil to basically every other character in the cast in some manner or regard lol. Like you could draw parallels between him and Knuckles because they're both red and stubborn, between him and Amy because they're both obsessive over Sonic, between him and Rouge because they're both greedy and selfish, between him and Shadow because they both had a pupil relationship with Gerald ect. Eggman being a foil to Sonic is the only one that's really been there since the beginning as an intention thing, and the way he contrasts the others has just kinda developed that way over time.

Like Tails and Eggman weren't meant to be foils at the inception, but by the time of Sonic Adventure 2 that definitely became a front and center textual basis for comparison between the two. They're pitted against each other as the "rival" duo of that game for that very reason.

I honestly think the defining contrast between Tails and Eggman is their self esteem. Tails has too little of it, and Eggman has too much. Tails NEEDS the support and validation from others to feel a sense of worth that he isn't capable of mustering for himself. And even then it can go to an extreme and start giving him a fat head like in Lost World where he was bragging about how effective and capable he was, and it wasn't just blowing hot air either because he was absolutely correct about everything he said in that game - he was at his most Eggman like. But all that was built on a fragile foundation, because once Forces happened and Sonic died in front of his eyes while pleading desperately for Tails to save him with his smarts, it caused him to have a total breakdown. For as high on his own supply as he was, he was dragged down into equally cavernous depths. It's sort of like Prodigy Syndrome, where kids who are propped up as being super special gifted geniuses and given special treatment all throughout their youth because of it inevitably end up failing at something at some point and their entire identity crumbles as a result.

Eggman by contrast is SO self assured and self dependent that it goes completely overboard into delusional mania. He is an EXTREME level narcissist who thinks himself infallible. He doesn't seem capable of having functional relationships with other sapient life forms, and even if he was he wouldn't be interested in maintaining them to any degree beyond how they would personally serve him. This actually makes him WAY more effective of preparing for and dealing with failure than Tails. If something goes wrong, it doesn't impact Eggmans feelings about himself whatsoever because he can just rewrite the story in his head to have it have been someone elses fault. He's able to anticipate things going awry and make contingency plans just in case, and pivots into those contingency's without so much as a complaint about plan A not working out. His megalomania provides him with a shocking degree of emotional flexibility that Tails is completely incapable of without external support. Eggman can roll with the punches that Tails would need someone else to lift him back up from.

I think that shows the root of the biggest difference between Tails and Eggmans intelligence levels and what they use that intelligence for. Tails uses his smarts to service others, Eggman uses his smarts to service himself. Tails will create weapons to defend, Eggman creates weapons to attack. Tails (is capable of) creating robots that function as companions, Eggman creates robots that function as slaves. And the way they interact with others also demonstrates this. Tails will try and explain things to others in a way that helps them understand, Eggman will talk down to others because he assumes they're too stupid to understand. And Tails MIGHT be capable of manipulating someone but if he were to do so it'd only be for the sake of getting them to do something "for their own good" but practically he usually wouldn't be compelled to even want to do so, whereas of course Eggman is only too happy to manipulate anyone and everyone via whatever means would be most effective so he can get exactly what he wants out of them before they're discarded as soon as they're no longer useful.

I think the contrasting idea that Tails is capable of destroying anything Eggman creates is interesting, because usually the idea of a good/evil inventor foil would be that the "good" inventor creates new things and the "bad" inventor only destroys old things. But it's a lot more nuanced with Tails and Eggman. Tails does almost work like an antibody agent to the virus that is Eggman. He can indeed destroy anything that Eggman creates with his intelligence with an equal but opposite amount of intelligence.

But what's funny is in terms of on screen depictions, the things Eggman creates actually benefit the world more than anything Tails creates (barring him creating things to help end Eggmans schemes of world conquest), since we see robots Eggman created being purchased and used by civilians to act as automated security in Sonic Battle. Sure you COULD surmise that those robots might have some kind of latent Manchurian kill switch that will convert them back into being tools of the Eggman Empire, and you COULD headcanon the thought that Tails invents things for greater societal benefit, but in terms of textual evidence Eggman creates things that benefit the world and Tails doesn't. It benefits as an unintended byproduct of Eggman throwing away excess and refuse that is no longer deemed useful to him, but we sure as hell never see or hear anything about Tails making security systems for anybody (to my knowledge).

Even MeteorTech as a company presumably employs people(?) whereas Tails entrepreneurial venture of "Prowers Projects" is just a one fox operation to create planes for his own uses. But of course ultimately Eggman builds to conquer the world and Tails builds to help himself and his friends stop that from coming about which is far more beneficial to everyone else in the long run. Anything Eggman creates that makes life better for another person is unintentional and fleeting, whereas Tails creates things for his own use but whose purpose is making life better for others. But it's still an interesting to look at it from another direction.

It's a tangled tree that branches off in many different directions lol. But insofar as it is possibly to summarize and simplify, I think the root of it comes down to Tails being insecure and Eggman being overly secure. Tails NEEDS others to prop him up and inspire him, Eggman doesn't want or care about anyone besides himself. And that core difference frames and filters everything about how they interact with the world around them and use their smarts to contribute to it. In my view of it.

[letters-from-dekarios]

[Roux is a human thief who worked for the Guild. He is cold and impersonal on the outside but very affectionate when he likes someone. He romanced Gale but didn't accept the proposal because he had his own stuff to figure out. The letter is written in a scratchy hand, with ink smears and crossed-out letters indicating that it was written rather hastily]

Dearest Gale,

I hope you're doing well. Professorship suits you, I think. I never got to go to school but in my entirely unbiased opinion you make an amazing teacher. I hope you can actually read this, since I know my writing isn't exactly up to snuff, but if you can't then I'm sure you'll spare my feelings somehow.

Baldur's Gate is as busy as ever, although being a hero certainly has its perks. It's weird- people buy me drinks and stuff, now. People know my name and they respect it. Important people want to talk to me, and want my help making decisions.

I don't know if I like it all the time.

Not to be bitter, but must of these nobles would've spit on me a year ago, and the only reason they'll listen to a street rat is because I saved their sorry arses. Oh well, at least I can help some people while I'm at it. Wyll says hello, by the way, but he already writes to you enough, so I'm sure you know that.

I do wonder about your tower, sometimes. Everything you told me made it seem apart from the world, in some pocket of peace that all the chaos couldn't touch. I'd welcome some peace, I think.

I spent my whole life being a sticky-fingered kid, stealing to get by, but you made me feel like more than that. You treated me like a person- a person that mattered.

I'm not good at letters. I know I've been dancing around it for a while, and it only took me so long to write because I was putting it off. I'm sorry about that. But... I still love you. That never went away. I miss having you tell me about anything and everything and nothing at all. I miss having someone hold my hand.

I won't say that I regret my decision- because that would be a lie and I'm trying not to lie so much these days. I needed a little while to figure out who I am what I want.

And... Well, what I want is you. I need you. I need peace. I need to stay in one place, for a while. I understand if our leaving left a sour taste in your mouth. If you want nothing to do with me I won't push you. But if you do want me... Well, I don't own much in the way of material possessions. It wouldn't be that hard to move to Waterdeep.

-Yours, Roux

Dearest Roux,

I am glad to hear from you! It has been awfully too long since we last spoke. At times, I find myself missing the presence you held when we’d camp together. Though I do prefer not having a tadpole to worry of.

Blackstaff is treating me rather well! Though that is no surprise to even the most knowledgeable man. I have taken a quick liking to my work and as most would say, “fit right in”. I walk the halls with the reminder of my history here, and it brings me comfort to remember that I was once much like the very students I teach today. This is about the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever experienced, second only to saving Faerûn.

Baldur’s Gate hasn’t known an ounce of calm peace in decades. But, regardless, they try and feign normalcy after an event as huge as we had conquered. Being a “hero” of sorts is never easy to get used to. I feel as though one can only continue chasing that feeling of “more” as though you must continue with your acts of service to consider yourself worthy of the praise being received.

Nobles spit on anyone they consider lower than they. They’ll even spit on other nobles if given the chance. The opinions they hold in the grand scheme of things should, in all reality, mean nothing. But I do understand the point you draw. It’s an odd experience to have people who’d kill you now kill for you. One does not simply “adjust” to that.

Your words bring a sadness to my heart. The backgrounds of us all were much to be contested with. Look at the likes of Astarion, or Karlach, for example. You, out of all of us, certainly mattered. Without you, I’m sure the rest of us would have either died or been sent back to the hells we came from. I’m sure I would’ve exploded in the midst of the Weave and my memory would’ve long faded without you. I couldn’t be more grateful for your existence and your kindness.

Roux… I have not the words I need to reply to you. What I can say, however, is this; I never stopped loving you. Through it all, I still find myself aching for your presence beside me. I am not mad at you for leaving, I would be a selfish bastard to be angry with you for that. And, quite frankly, I’ve tried to swear off being a selfish bastard after my last consequences.

I cannot blame you for needing time. For needing space. After saving all of Faerûn, it’s only reasonable to need time to understand where you’re at and who you’ve become. It is not within my rights to hold any kind of a grudge after all you’ve done for me. I would wait decades for you, Roux. I would curse the gods for immortality if it meant I’d have you at the end of it all. I would devote my dying breath to your highest altar just to have a glimpse of what could have been.

Perhaps that is idiotic of me. Perhaps you will be thinking I shouldn’t hold onto such a thing for that long. I cannot deny the inclinations of my heart, I never have been able to do that. I cannot tie my heart to yours and cut it off so easily. I am not capable of such an act.

Whatever you have to give, whatever you want to give, all of it will be more than enough. Your association at my side is more than I could ever need in this lifetime and the next. If I am to be reincarnated after death, I shall find you then too. You are all I have ever wanted and all I will ever desire. With you, my breath catches and my heart swells with joy. I have never met a person so comfortable to be around.

You, Roux, will always have a space within my home, my mind, and most especially my heart. Whatever you need, whatever your desire, I shall fulfill it to the best of my ability. However you are, however you come, I will take you in. You are most here in Waterdeep.

And, if it happens to sweeten the deal, Tara misses you, too. My mother has even offered to bake some sweets for your arrival if you do so choose to return here.

I would be more than happy to have you here, Roux. I am not a man who tends to lie on matters of such grave importance, you know that. Write me when you have started your journey to Waterdeep, if you are still interested in coming here, that way I have some time to prepare for your arrival.

Yours in every lifetime,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

text reads: gale dekarios

[eudaimonia83]

Chapter 6 is posted! For anyone who felt adrift last week bc of the new character, the Elucien goodness will hopefully make up for it this week. 🥰

Content warning: Solstice, but make it just a bit sinister. Muhahaha. No triggers that I can think of in this chapter.

Trivia moment: this chapter was the original basis for the entire fic. (It has obviously spiraled significantly into larger themes since then, lol.) I’ve long been annoyed that Lucien keeps being forced to hang out w the IC and then they act like he isn’t there, or treat him like he’s an enemy. *cough az and cass cough* So i wanted Elain to make him feel included…and to finally give him a thoughtful present. I also wanted Elain to be a bit more in her element, at a party.

There will probably be a couple weeks before this is updated again bc I will be working on a different piece for a bit, but there’s more coming!

Chapter 6: ELAIN

SOLSTICE NIGHT

The party was a bright affair, lamps all ablaze, faelights swirling like tiny acrobats in the rafters, and fires crackling merrily. Elain wore her lavender silk dress, against the advice of Nuala, who had suggested a darker color to match the rest of the guests. And it was true; Mor was resplendent in red and gold, Nesta icy in silver edged with white and jewelry of sparkling black, Feyre in deep royal blue. The three Illyrian brothers were in their customary matching black, though Azriel’s leathers somehow seemed the most formal attire of the lot. Rhysand had indulged in a violet-trimmed waistcoat and Cassian’s crimson siphons seemed to set everything he touched ablaze.

But after Elain had spent two hours trying to decide between a dark blue high-necked velvet gown and a long black dress festooned with big pink roses — hating how pale she looked, how thin and wan — she had finally thrown open her wardrobe doors and pulled out the soft, swishing dress with its fluttering skirt. It was not truly fancy enough for the occasion, she knew. It was a dress for a day in the gardens in the height of summer, for running in and out of the shade of her tall hedges, for trailing her hand in the fountain and dabbing the cool water on her neck to soften the heat of the sun’s kiss, for spending hours lying in the grass trying to identify the scent of each particular flower. But her heart had eased the moment she’d held it up and looked at herself in the mirror. It felt right. And in it, she felt beautiful. She knew people called her the pretty sister. She had used that as currency herself, drawing the attention of men and boys alike. But standing next to Nesta, regal and austere; or Feyre, slender and magnetic and alluring; or Morrigan, glowing and brash and curvaceous…she just felt ordinary. In this dress she could at least compare. To keep warm, she picked out a plum-colored velvet high-cut jacket edged in brown fur. The gentle color of it warmed against the bronze of her curls, which she left down; and her cheeks, still hollow from the weight she’d lost as a new Fae, looked like they picked up some color. She stared at her reflection for a while, feeling as though it all looked unfinished, when the bell tinkled merrily to announce that dinner was ready. On her way down the stairs, she passed a dripping bouquet of winter roses and pine garlands; one of the arrangements the decorators had brought earlier. The roses were cream-white with a pink edge to their petals. In sudden inspiration, Elain twisted two buds from the bouquet and prepared to tuck one into her hair, before thinking, be daring. Be brave. With the slightest of tremors, she instead tucked both of the flowers into the sweetheart collar of the dress, right above her décolletage. They warmed against her skin. Somehow, she didn’t need a mirror to know she had chosen well; she lifted her chin and walked down the steps. She passed a massive gilt-edged mirror as she went down the hallway to the dining room, and noticed that the buds had opened slightly against her skin, blushing and pale in equal measure. She stopped to straighten them only to find their stems firmly tangled in the fabric of the lining of her dress, so they pressed lightly against her breasts. Like they were hugging her. And when she’d entered the dining room, ever so slightly late — she remembered one of her human friends insisting they be late to a party, saying “no, Lainey, you must make an entrance” — she’d been pleased to find all eyes drawn to her. Even Amren’s steely gaze had narrowed.

Dinner had been loud, especially when Nyx had made an appearance after his nap. His eyes were ringed with tiredness, but lit up merrily when he saw Cassian, the undisputed favorite, who immediately waved at him and stuck his tongue out. Feyre now relinquished her son to his uncle and sat back on the lounge chair, tucking her feet up under the blue silk of her gown. Elain hadn’t spoken to her all day; when they’d arrived back from the Hewn City, later than people had expected, she had looked unsettled, and shuttered herself in with Rhysand for a good hour, the shields around the room thick and humming. She looked happier now, her pale blue eyes alight as she watched her family.

Elain couldn’t think of how to begin the conversation, but felt obliged to ask, “Are you enjoying your birthday?”

Feyre glanced at her briefly before directing her eyes back to her son. Rhysand had pulled him up from Cassian’s shoulders and his little wings beat frantically, though they weren’t yet strong enough to bear his weight. Feyre smiled, lines fanning out from her tired eyes. “I am now,” she said. “It wasn’t an auspicious start to the day, though.”

“What happened?” Elain wondered if she just meant being at the Hewn City or if something worse had happened.

But Feyre shook her head and said, “Oh, it was a tense day at the tithe. The Lesser Fae have had a bad harvest this year so the totals were unimpressive. And they want more than ever from Rhys,” her eyes darkened, brows creasing, “as though he doesn’t protect them enough. As his mate it’s hard to sit by and hear them blame him, like he can control the weather or eliminate bandits.”

She shifted in her seat to keep Rhys and Nyx in her view, and Elain caught a glimpse of a bright gold medallion around her neck, hung on a knobbly homespun cord. The gold was yellow and white hammered together, in painstaking handmade relief, to make a shimmering, undulating surface; Elain saw as the light played on its surface that it was worked into an image. An image of a toothy maw spread wide…claws on disturbingly human hands extended…

Feyre smiled brightly at her sister, noting the direction of her gaze, and picked up the medallion to show her. “Isn’t it lovely? I know the image is grotesque, but the workmanship is stunning, especially to be handmade.” She tilted it so Elain could see better. “One of the tithe attendees gave it to me as a gift. For my birthday.”

Elain leaned forward in appreciation. “What is it?” she asked. She’d never seen such a creature before, even with all the horrors of the past two years.

“I don’t know,” Feyre said, shrugging. “A creature holy to that specific tribe, I shouldn’t wonder.” She lowered her voice as if about to divulge a secret. “I think he thought appealing to me would make Rhys grant his request, but it was all the way in the south, and we haven’t any time to go so far. And it’d be close to impossible to travel there with Nyx so young too.” She admired the gleaming surface. “It is lovely though. One of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen at the tithe. Usually their work is so simple compared to the jewels of Velaris.”

Elain leaned forward and touched the medallion with her fingertip, and as she did, she heard a low roaring in her ears that swelled to obliterate the laughs of the party: a humming growl, low and undulating. The light of the party faded, until it was nothing more than the sparkle of a candle…and before her, a darkness, near total, but for the occasional glimmer. The light wavered oddly, like the cast from a flame — a larger flame, the writhing of its light against the shadows nearly twice Elain’s height, bent violently by gusts of wind. It reached no more than a few inches beyond where Elain stood, then slipped back into blackness. But there was movement there; movement that materialized into fur, mangy and stinking, and teeth, dripping with saliva, light glinting on the points of fangs as long as her fingers, vicious, hungry for blood. And then a rushing voice, filling her ears with a thousand whispers. A pact. An agreement. An old magic, invoked by charm and wrought by hand. It must be honored.

A vision. She knew it even as it spiraled into darkness, the whispers coiling into chaos and then clarifying into something more familiar. Into words. BACK. HOWEVER YOU FIGHT, IT WILL BE OF NO USE. WE WILL HAVE IT ALL BACK. It melted into a hoarse scream, a cry of attack…

But then she was sucked backwards into light, so bright that her eyes watered a bit in protest, trails of blackness still lingering across her vision; and she was at the party, thrown into its chatter and charm, and Feyre was laughing, throwing her head back, exclaiming, “Lucien! As I live and breathe! Rhys told me you were back, and I would’ve been so upset if you hadn’t come to see me.”

Elain blinked, and the last of the darkness slid away. Before her was the erstwhile prince of Autumn, his hair braided and smoothly caught back at the nape of his neck, a bright blue coat with subtle gold threading outlining his broad shoulders. Even dressed relatively modestly, he gleamed, all color and light, all mischief and elegant trickery. So Fae. Even now it sent ripples up her spine, sliding along the knife edge between fear of him and trust in him. His golden eye glinted as he returned Feyre’s smile. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday for all the stars in Velaris,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Not that even you could give those away.”

“Don’t put it past me,” Feyre winked at him.

Lucien turned to Elain, whose voice was as firmly caught in her throat as a burr stuck in a glove. “Good evening, Lady,” he said, with a slight bow. She swallowed, and nodded.

His good eye narrowed, ever so slightly, taking her in at a quick glance. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, swinging his eyes back to Feyre, and smiling disarmingly. “The pair of you aren’t doing the party any favors sitting here without partaking.”

Feyre protested, laughing, but Lucien cocked his head and stared at her in mock accusation until she relented with a roll of her eyes. “Very well then. A half glass of the gold wine.”

He moved off toward the bar cart with a smooth stride. Feyre’s gaze shifted to Elain, whose hands were clenched tightly in her lap. What had he noticed?

Feyre leaned in and said, her eyes dancing, “That’s a magnificent color on him, don’t you agree?”

Elain blushed from her ears to her chest, hating her sister for being so open, so obvious, so damn gleeful. It was confusing enough to be around him without everyone watching and whispering. She was trying to figure out what to say when he returned, a glass in each hand. He handed the wine cup to Feyre, who thanked him and then slyly slid away; he pushed a highball glass into her hand as they found themselves alone.

“Drink it,” he murmured, almost inaudible over the chatter of the party. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

She clutched the glass hard and stared at him.

“It’s only water,” he said, a trifle defensive. “You should drink it. It’s too warm in here and you’re flushed.” He leaned forward against the chaise, body language utterly relaxed — no one watching from a distance would think he was talking about anything but pleasantries — but a strain in his voice belied all that as he asked, “Did you just have…a vision?”

She put the glass to her lips and drank, the cold of the water a welcome rush on her tongue. The shock of it loosened her voice. She tried to stay as calm as possible, to imitate his nonchalance. “How did you know?”

His smile was tight. Pained. “Even if I hadn’t felt it here…” he touched his chest lightly, over his heart — “your face would’ve given it away.”

“How?”

“You…” He flexed his fingers as if they hurt. “You looked the same as…as back then. When you were first Fae.” He threw a glance at the fireplace with its evergreen bower and gestured at it, maintaining the small talk facade with ease. “Are you well?”

Surprised, she couldn’t help but turn and look him full in the face. “I’m…”

He turned his head, quizzical, as she trailed off. “You’re…not well?”

“No, I’m all right,” she said, hurriedly. “But — you don’t want to know what I saw?”

Everyone always pounced when they heard she’d had a vision, starving for details, most of which she could never recall. But his eyebrows twitched together and back apart as he wiped the concern from his face, turning it bland and calm. “Not if you don’t want to tell me.”

Elain drew in a deep breath and let it out in a trembling sigh that turned into a laugh, tremulous and true and even a little sad, if she was honest. He cast his eyes down and smiled at his hands, folded on the back of the couch. “Don’t laugh at me, Lady.”

“But you’re ridiculous, my lord,” she said, her humor finally cresting over the prickle behind her eyes.

“Eternally,” he agreed.

She was about to give him a pert answer when she noticed Feyre, standing on the other side of the parlor and grinning like the Mad Cat in their childhood storybook. As their eyes locked, Feyre seized Mor’s arm, and the two of them turned away at the same moment, leaning their heads together. Elain fought against a stab of annoyance at their interference and slid her gaze across the room, only to briefly lock with Amren, who returned it with narrow, flinty eyes that were somehow both flat and depthless. Elain felt her hackles rise like she was staring down a predator…like the gaping hungry mouth in her vision. But she forced a smile, and raised her glass slightly. Amren inclined her head in the barest of nods and raised her own goblet, and the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a knowing, feral smirk.

Lucien followed her gaze and then looked immediately away, back down at his hands, shifting as though he too had caught the expression on Amren’s icy features. “Being watched all the time must get tedious,” he said. “No wonder you guard your secrets.”

“I have none of consequence,” she murmured.

“And now you’re even bringing in lies. How enchanting.” His foxlike grin split his face. She couldn’t control the lurch in her chest. “I like you deceitful, Blossom. It’s intriguing.”

“Well, everyone else has their secrets,” she fired at him. “Can’t I have any of my own?”

“Certainly,” he said. He seemed utterly earnest. “I only ask that you promise to share with me the ones you ask me to keep.”

She paled. Was he going to give her away? An outright lie to Cassian and Nesta, a lie of omission to Rhysand and Feyre…they’d have her under the daemati claws in no time…there would be no secrets then, no mind left, they’d have it all and she’d be a shell of herself…

He extended his hand in a calming motion, seeming to sense her unease. “Not just yet,” he murmured. “When you’re ready. Til you instruct it, I’ll keep my silence.”

She couldn’t think of what to say, but he straightened up and nodded as Rhysand approached. She froze, feeling the sly rake of her brother-in-law’s claws across her thoughts, and focused hard on the half-full drink in her hand.

“Lucien,” Rhys greeted him, smooth and effortless as always. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Lucien replied, and Elain was strongly reminded of the dukes and earls at the dances back in the human lands; that charm, the utter facility of sliding from one interaction to another. “Happiest of birthdays to the High Lady.”

Rhys nodded, immense satisfaction on his face as his violet eyes scanned the merry gathering. Cassian had Nyx on his shoulders; Nesta’s hand rested protectively on Nyx’s leg to keep him from falling backwards. Azriel sat by the window, shadows romping with the fluttering faelights, while Mor and Feyre argued playfully over a chessboard. And Amren stood slightly apart from the rest, her pale eyes surveying keenly. Rhys asked, a trifle absently, “How do the human lands fare?”

Lucien sighed. “The lands are buried under snow, as the seasons dictate. The humans themselves are…suffering.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “The fall harvest was sufficient. Once the crops come in in spring…”

“…they will still be suffering,” Lucien interrupted. “They cannot eat their seed crops if they hope to lay in the fields for next season. And yet they cannot starve. Everything there is restless. People who are hungry and sick and neglected will not tolerate it for long.”

Elain felt her insides squeeze in shock. No one interrupted the High Lord. Not even Feyre, who always gazed at him with pride. But even more critically, his words burrowed through her surprise: the humans were hungry and sick. That was her village. Her friends. Mayfer, the bustling harbor city where she’d visited to wait for her father’s ships. Her former home.

Lucien continued, “Jurian has purchased extra grain stores from the continent. And Vassa took in several hundred of the country folk who would have starved otherwise, onto Lord Nolan’s estate.”

“Generous of her,” Rhys remarked. He sounded ever so slightly bored, as his eyes followed Feyre’s every move.

“Just keeping body and soul together,” Lucien replied, and his tone dropped. His expression remained mild as Elain glanced between the two males. But without even knowing how she knew it, she thought he is angry, before remembering to keep her thoughts focused on her glass of water. Angry at Rhysand. For what?

It could be any number of things, a small voice inside her head hissed, and she felt a tiny stab of shame, then covered it with thinking of how cold the glass was in her hand, beading with condensation.

“Clearly. Come see me in the morning and give a full report,” Rhys said, calm and unconcerned. But his eyes flashed as they settled briefly upon Elain. “And get Elain another glass of water. She’s parched, aren’t you, little sister?” His smile was thin and cold, and he moved away, sleek as a shadow, to stand behind Feyre, one arm draped lazily over her shoulder, fiddling idly with the knobbly handwoven string that supported the gold medallion around her neck. She reached up to stroke his wrist; the very picture of domesticity. Elain was pleased to discover that she could in fact distract him with obvious surface thoughts, to misdirect from her deeper misgivings — since she had no expertise in mental shields, that could be a useful tactic, even if it was flimsy. But warring with her satisfaction came a deep unease. A pact. An agreement. An old magic…

“Presents!” Mor called out from close to the fireplace, dragging a sack of brightly wrapped gifts out of a pocket realm, and everyone clustered around the couch for the exchange. Elain knew this would dissolve into spoiling the baby, and she was right; everyone competed for the best present for Nyx, who was getting a bit tired and cranky, and wanted only to play with the bright ribbons on the packages. Everyone had gotten one another gifts, and everyone exclaimed over the silk scarves, the sharp knives, the antique astrolabe that Feyre had sourced from the Day Court for Rhys…but, Elain noticed again and again, no one had gotten any gifts for Lucien.

She stole another glance at him. He seemed unperturbed, smiling at the chaos of wrapping paper and mirth as Cassian opened a leather satchel from Mor with a suggestive shape. He howled with laughter as she winked and told him with supreme innocence that it was for use in the annual snowball fight. Nesta rolled her eyes, and Cassian stuffed the satchel into her hands with a hooded glance. Elain felt curiously voyeuristic, as though she’d witnessed something she wasn’t supposed to see; a tiny window into a private moment between her sister and the powerful male she was mated to. She thought of the little blue box, sitting on the table in the next room, and longed for the right moment to give it to Lucien. But it didn’t seem appropriate, not here; not with everyone watching. She didn’t dare to give everyone else a tiny window into what was — or perhaps wasn’t — between her and Lucien. Not when it would be giggled over and teased and demeaned.

She broke away a few minutes later to gather all her presents together — jasmine soap from Nesta, tulip bulbs from Feyre, a box of expensive spices from Rhys — and found him in the hallway pulling his cloak off the hook.

“You’re leaving?” she blurted out, before she could think of anything better to say.

He turned, masking his surprise with a wry grin. “Overstaying a welcome is poor etiquette, I’ve found.”

“You’re welcome here,” she insisted. Was it her imagination that his eyebrows twitched in denial?

“Thank you,” he said, “but I think this party is for family now. And I’m not that. Whatever else I may be.”

“But…” — was she really going to say it? Her stomach clenched. Brave. Be brave. “But…I haven’t given you your present yet.”

He froze, comically halfway through securing the cloak buttons. “My what?”

“Your — your present,” she stammered. Gods above, untie her tongue from these hopeless knots. “I’m sorry no one else got you anything. But I did.”

As soon as she said it, it sounded false. Petulant. Like she was seeking a compliment.

“What for?” he asked, and he sounded bemused enough that she laughed, short and quiet.

“For Solstice, silly,” she said. She beckoned him into the darkened sitting area, turning on the lamp as she did. He followed, wary, keeping his distance.

She pushed the box at him, unsure of how to proceed, but now committed to seeing it through. He stared at it as though it was a trick, or a bomb that would explode in his face if he touched it.

“But you didn’t need to get me anything,” he said.

“I — I know,” she said, and her courage flagged. The box sank an inch or two from where she’d held it out to him. “But I wanted to. You did save my life, remember, so it’s only fair that I thank you properly.” She squared her shoulders, and in an attempt at being merry, said with a faint smile, “And I have a few Solstices to catch up on with you.”

He still didn’t move.

“Take it.” She moved two steps closer, til the box was within reach of his hand.

And with a brief hesitation, he reached up and took the box from her, pulled the ribbon off it, and opened it.

Elain was consumed with the strangest twirling in her gut, a spiral of anxiety and excitement. Gods. Dear gods. It was stupid. So stupid. Unutterably stupid, in fact. How could she have thought that it would be enough, when she had never accepted his gifts with anything but awkwardness, that this tiny thing would say everything she wanted it to?

Her cheeks flamed. She wondered if this was what it was to slowly choke…to asphyxiate under the weight of her own mistakes.

And still it was quiet. Finally, desperately, she dragged her eyes up from where her fingers twisted with anxiety and —

— and he was looking at her, his face a mix of gratitude and grief. Their eyes locked so tightly she almost heard the click of a key.

“A hyraeth,” he murmured, pulling the little pin from the box. The jeweler had fashioned it from a single piece of bright yellow amber that caught the light like honey, but also gleamed like sunshine on water. Elain had selected it herself. The etchings on the edges were done in black lacquer, faceting the surface of the amber just like the patterns on butterflies’ wings. The jeweler had done a lovely job, but her stomach corkscrewed into her legs nonetheless. Did he not like it?

“Well, not a real one,” she said hurriedly. “Just their likeness in a pin for your hair, or your lapel. But I thought you might like it…they’re from the Autumn Court,” she blurted, realizing she was babbling and cursing herself roundly for it, trying to lower her voice, which - drown her in the damned cauldron - was so much louder than was necessary.

“I know,” he said. “From the Vilderavian Groves, at the borders of Summer.” His voice fractured ever so slightly at the edges.

Her eyes widened. “Have you seen it?”

“Yes,” he replied, and there was a reverence in his voice that rippled through her like wind through grass. “Long ago. Just once. They alight on the great trunks of the hemlock trees in a shimmering mass. An ocean of tiny wings, all amber and gold and black, whispering among the green foliage. It’s a special place; the only evergreen spot in Autumn. And the sight — the whole forest alive with trembling light — is magnificent. There’s nothing like it.”

She nodded. “It made me think…” She spread her hands in defeat. That home is a journey, rather than a place. That it might not obey borders or rules, but seek its own way across barriers. That to find it, to keep it, one can endure unimaginable toil and turmoil. That there is magic in the smallest things. “…that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest. Unfathomable as that may be now.”

She could have sworn there was a gleam in his eyes, just for a moment. He closed his hand over the little pin. “It’s beautiful,” he said, softly. And then, so gently that had she not been straining toward him with every cell of her treacherous body, she would not have heard him: “I think you’ve fathomed me quite well, Blossom. Thank you.”

His eyes slid down to her lips, so close…the moment brief and shimmering, a bubble on the wind…

…and it shattered, burst by the arrival of Nyx, screaming in uninhibited toddler glee as Cassian mock-chased him through the hallway and past the open doors. Lucien started and stepped back. Elain very nearly followed him, so strong was the pull of the bond’s tidal undertow in her ribs, but she knew it was too late. Misery blooming in her heart, she turned to go.

“Happy Solstice, Elain,” he murmured.

She looked back over her shoulder, and saw him standing in the pool of light from the lamp. In that moment, he seemed aglow himself somehow. A living sun.

“Happy Solstice, Lucien,” she replied; and, unbidden, unsought, a smile rose to her lips. He returned it, shyly — and low in her gut, an ember, dormant under the ash of everything that had happened, flickered into a tiny flame.

It was nothing, she told herself sternly as she climbed the stairs to her room. So small. But even a tiny light could bring a traveler safe home.

Elain could feel the heat blooming on her cheeks…a light tingling in her fingertips…but somehow, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She knew the dreams would come. But perhaps, even before the dreams arrived, there could be a decision first.

She collapsed against her door, fist pressed trembling to her mouth, as though to stuff the helpless giggle back down her throat, all unguarded from the fizzing happiness inside her. Gods, it was intoxicating. Had she truly forgotten what it was to feel joy? It was a light in her veins. Liquid, effervescent sun on the longest night of the year. She pulled the two winter roses from her bodice, tearing the lining slightly as they relinquished their hold. She tenderly set them down on her nightstand into a glass of water and busied herself undressing…not noticing, as she shucked off the little jacket and unfastened the silk of the bodice, draping the dress over the door of the wardrobe, that the flowers were uncurling, roots extending from the stems faster than any normal plant; leaves stretching out to fill the rim of the glass.

The rustle of the branches in the hedges outside grew louder. It could have been the wind; or a bird sleeping, stirring in its nest; or perhaps a thousand whispers. The moon was the only witness; and she was as silent as she had been since the birth of the planet beneath skies roiling with sulphur and fire, waiting, watching as everything beneath unfolded in miniature.

Back…

We will have it all back.

[wooahaes]

a minor cold

pairing: non-idol!hyunsuk x gn!reader

genre: fluff & comfort.

word count: 0.8k

warnings: food mentions. readers slightly sick (and being babied by hyunsuk).

daisy's notes: he is just so. <3 he is just so sweet

Hyunsuk was probably the softest boyfriend in the entire world, and the way he’d dropped everything to take care of you because you had a cold was proof of that.

Despite your insistence that you would be fine, Hyunsuk had insisted on coming over. He was only going to play video games with Yoshi later, and the two of them could do that pretty much any day. He’d come into your apartment bearing everything that he needed to take care of you: cold medicine (because you told him you were out), the ingredients for soup that he’d make after he checked on you, his hoodie for you to hold onto, a box of tea that he read was supposed to be good for you, and a bottle of honey (despite you telling him you owned one). While you sprawled out on your couch, eyes shut and listening to your boyfriend as he moved to and fro, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was doting on you for a reason. It was just a cold, after all. Sure, you felt like shit, and you’d whined about how much your head was starting to hurt, but you could take care of yourself just fine.

Still, you liked to hear him as he moved around your apartment, humming along to whatever he was playing on his phone. You’d heard it pause for a minute, though, and the sound of his phone ringing since it’d been put on speaker. Before you knew it, the person on the other end picked up.

“I was looking at the recipe you sent me…” You could hear Hyunsuk said, humming to himself for a minute. “I wanted to ask what this meant…”

A moment later, you heard his mom replying. Something about the tender way he spoke about you was enough to make you bury your face in your hands, too embarrassed at how loving he was being now. There was no shortage of love with him, of course, but the fact he’d asked his mom for this recipe? And the warm way he spoke about you, updating her on your health (yes, he made sure you took medicine, you’re just resting now because you had a headache—otherwise he’d let her say hi, he promised)... It was all too much for you to handle on top of everything else you were feeling. 

Someone once told you that Hyunsuk was a little bit intimidating in the way he dressed and carried himself. Yet he’d always been the most loving toward his friends, and doted on you whenever given the chance to. Eventually, you could hear the sound of his footsteps drawing nearer as he nudged for you to sit up. He was holding your favorite mug, passing it to you.

“I looked up the best tea to help with your sore throat,” he said. “And I put honey in it—That should help, right?”

Oh, the things you would do for him if anyone hurt him. Hyunsuk might look like he’d bite, but you were pretty damn sure people should be more scared of you. You were the fiercely protective one in your relationship, the “he asked for no pickles,” person. You accepted the mug from him with a quiet thanks, pausing for just a moment to look at your boyfriend again. “It’s just a slight cold, babe.” 

He waved it off. “I’m taking care of you today,” he said. “I’m still making the soup, but it should be done soon, and—”

“What about Yoshi?” You frowned a little. “You said you two were going to game… I hate that you had to cancel because of me.”

He took your face into his hands, lightly squishing your cheeks. “You’re my baby,” he said with a giggle, “so today I’ve gotta take care of my baby. Yoshi and I can play some other day. You’d do the same for me, right?”

You had done the same for him. He came down with the flu, and you had showed up to his apartment, masked up, and kept your distance while taking care of him. Outside of class and work, you pretty much spent every spare moment making sure he got better and that his roommate, the aforementioned Yoshi, didn’t get sick (lest you have to take care of him too). You settled to take a sip of the tea instead, only stopping Hyunsuk a moment before he could leave.

“Is something wrong?”

You shook your head, pouting a little over what you wanted. He couldn’t kiss you without potentially getting sick, but… You tapped at your cheek, closer to your ear to hopefully avoid getting him sick.

He chuckled, leaning in to press a quick peck against your skin. “Rest up,” he said. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao

[wyntereyez]

GalaxyCon

I should probably post about GalaxyCon before I forget everything, huh? 

My first day was Saturday and I. Was not prepared. Most of the cons I’ve attended are fandom-specific, and can draw large crowds, but nothing compared to this. According to a news article the next day, there were some 50,000 attendees.

I’d originally only planned to go Saturday, but then Colin’s panel was announced for Sunday, so I got another ticket for then. Saturday was spent beating my way through the crowds (or, more accurate, being beaten) - and getting my photo op with Colin.

It’s been four years since I’d last seen him at Enchanted 2, and damn, he looked amazing. The op was brief, because they do thousands of photos in one day, so I barely had time to do more than say ‘hi’ and ‘thank you.’ He thanked me for coming, and at that point I remembered just how blue his eyes were, and how lovely that Irish brogue is, since it’s currently very thick after being in Ireland for so long. Yup, I still swoon for Colin.

I didn’t get an autograph, but a friend did, and I hung around in line with her until were almost to Colin. His line was so long, it wrapped into the next aisle. I’m not sure the staff anticipated his popularity. And while I was in line, someone told Colin how long his line was, and he gave a little “Yeah!” and put up his arms.

Then we have the Sunday panel. I’m trying to remember as much as I can, but I know I’ll miss things. I’ll put it under a cut, since this is starting to run long.

First of all, kudos to the panel moderator, who helped rephrase questions and guide Colin so he could follow strike rules. That can’t have been easy, so good on GalaxyCon for being prepared and still being able to give us a great panel experience.

Colin was introduced as that actor from That Show, and That Other Show, and That One Movie, etc. At some point, OUAT became ‘The Thing,’ and now I want to embrace that as the show’s alternate title. Also, that would be an awesome crossover.

Anyway... We got a brief introduction, and Colin talked about how hot it was (it had been well over 90 degrees, with a Real Feel of over a hundred, on the day he arrived) and how he’d chosen to wear a suit jacket over his t-shirt and had Regrets.

He apologized for if he was difficult to understand, because he knew how thick his accent was, but someone yelled out they loved it, which he then said was why he brought it up, because he wanted people to say that.

He also said he was doing the panel because he liked having people tell him how great he was, to which the moderator had the entire crowd yell out, “You’re great!”

Then we got to the most bizarre mix of questions I’ve ever heard, and it was wonderful. Things we learned included:

- Colin owns 30 guitars, one of which belonged to Ringo Starr. He has another one that belonged to someone famous, but I can’t remember whom

- If he were a dog breed, he’d be a black Labrador retriever mix

- If he were a comic book superhero (the comic part is very important) he’d want to be Batman. He wanted to be Superman once, but now he wants to be Batman. He earned a blue candy for this, which he promptly put in his mouth with predictable results. Dude, don’t eat candy when you know you’re gonna have questions, LOL.

- Voice acting roles aren’t taboo, so he talked a bit about how different it was to voice Douxie, and how different it was to do dialogue in a booth because he had to be more dynamic rather than speak normally. He also at one point did a bit of Gerry the Leprechaun for us.

- Colin was asked about his feelings on ‘Rise of the Titans.’ He said he enjoyed it, then said he trusted the writers to know what’s best for the characters. I’m not sure if that’s how he really felt, or if he’s just being careful.

- If he were two scoops of ice cream, he’d be pistachio and vanilla - the real vanilla, with the bean.

- He likes pineapple on pizza. He will accept no criticism of this.

- If that one character with the thing on his hand had a dog breed, it would be a black Labrador retriever mix.

- Something he did for The Thing was play INXS’s ‘Need You Tonight’ and did a little strut while wearing the coat. Colin demonstrated. I died.

- When asked what comic villain he would want to be, he said the Joker. This earned him a green candy. He ate it, though he also said he didn’t care for the candy. Colin, why.

- If he could have one mythical creature as a pet, it would be Cerberus. But the heads would be black Labrador retriever mixes. I’m starting to think Colin really loves his dog.

- At one point, Colin said he was having a lot of trouble with this, and that he was worried he’d say the wrong thing. The panel mod assured him that he was doing well. I felt bad for him, because yeah, this can’t have been easy.

- Colin was asked what his most ridiculous phobia is. Colin answered that he fears NOTHING. Except panels.

- When asked if he still talks to people from The Thing, he said a very firm but teasing NO - then proceeded to list a number of people that he does, in fact, talk to.

- Then there’s the beard... at the end of the panel, he said he can’t talk about it, but there’s a reason he has the ‘stupid beard.’ He really doesn’t like it, and it’s kind of hilarious that thanks to the strike, he’s kinda stuck with it for an indeterminate period of time.

And that’s all I remember. If you have more, please add to this post!

[ddarker-dreams]

OKAY NOT AN ASK BUT IVE NEVER EVEN WATCHED HXH AND YOUVE SINGLEHANDEDLY MADE ME OBSESSED WITH CHROLLO. I AM BARKING AND MEOWING FOR THIS MAN. like the dialogue is so natural and i can perfectly visualize it in my head. i’ve literally spent all of the last three days reading and rereading your fics like holy balls they’re so good. u are an amazing author thank u for ur service (also as an enby i really appreciate that you write gender neutral readers :D) OKAY THAnK YOU HAVE A NICE DAY

THREE DAYS ... WHEEZES ... omggg thank you for dedicating so much time to reading my chrollo stories!!! especially since you haven't watched/read hxh?? i hope you'll consider giving it a shot at some point 👀 it is my all time favorite anime and i swear by it. chrollo is such an interesting character, if you like his vibe in my fics, you'll enjoy him even more in canon!! he's got this enigmatic thing going on that just draws in your attention. although this could be said for almost the entire cast of characters in hxh... they're all so amazing that it blows my mind.

thank you again!!! and Ah,, i always feel very worried about how i write gender-neutral readers since i’ve seen some discussion around it not always being done the best. i’d honestly really appreciate it if anyone had like. some resources they want to share about how to do it better/some common pitfalls to avoid. i’m able to remain cognizant of avoiding things that’d allude to reader’s body type/race, but when it comes to doing gender-neutral readers well, i’m sure there are some blind spots i’m not aware of... so please hmu if there’s any advice on this floating around out there. i’d greatly appreciate it. 

THANK YOU PRECIOUS ANON 💖💖 this is actually a pretty accurate assessment of chrollo. the guy is chill while simultaneously having no chill, if that makes sense. a paradox of sorts. ice cream would do him some good. 

I’LL START YELLING TOO  !!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH <3

‘slimy yet pretty’ i love this description of chrollo omg. it’s so true. i’m so happy to see you guys enjoying my chrollo you have no idea ... writing for him is such a joy, i’m glad you guys are having fun reading his stories!! i’m not sure how to describe it well, but there’s this different Vibe from dark content stories that take place in modern times. i love writing for genshin, but i use so much modern lingo that i sometimes want to scream when i remember those idioms haven’t been invented yet. it’s okay though. that’s what my hxh writing is for. 

genshin has me looking stuff up like “how do ink and quills work”. y’know. just to make sure i don’t miss any details. 

[williamvapespeare]

I had so may feelings about that stupid beautiful heartbreaking finale like, alright Daddy Dave hurt me harder...anyway here’s a little fic about Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo being sad in the immediate s2 aftermath, enjoy!

-

Hunter had never been a big talker. Sure, he’d share as much of an update as he could with his brothers over a drink or a meal. He’d chime into a conversation if he had something to contribute. He certainly never hesitated to direct his men to positions in the early stages of strategy, or to bark an order down comms in the heat of battle, but Hunter was no stranger to the whole “strong and silent” bullshit – because that’s exactly what it was, he’d realized, bullshit.

He found he couldn’t talk about Omega. Not after his initial vow to get her back, when Wrecker couldn’t quite meet his eyes, and Echo looked like he was still reeling from not only Omega and Tech’s disappearances, but a hundred others.

Hunter thought of his own squadron, then, down to three, and decided not to press the issue.

He wasn’t usually one to complain about quiet on the Marauder.

Only there was nothing quiet about the way Echo had hardly said a word since they left Ord Mantell. He would give an update when asked – “No response from Rex. He’s still out of reach.” – or answer simple questions – “No thanks, not hungry.” “It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”

Echo spent most of his time staring blankly out the Marauder’s front viewscreen, watching the stars float by with a sort of vague disinterest that suggested he was seeing something else entirely.

Hunter thought someone might have made a joke about it, once. Watch where you’re goin’, huh? from Wrecker, or I thought you were supposed to monitor your surroundings when piloting? from Omega, or even something from Tech, although from him it would have carried more judgement than humour, the rest of them might have laughed at it anyway. And that was part of the quiet too, Hunter thought; the emptiness.

Wrecker still talked to him, at least. Little nothing conversations that always seemed to draw more attention to what wasn’t being said.

“Morning, Hunter,” a note of surprise in his words.

“It’s not morning yet.” Hunter didn’t need to check the time to know.

Wrecker glanced down at him with a sheepish sort of look, ran a hand over the back of his neck brace.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “Couldn’t sleep either.”

It was an understatement and they both knew it. Clones required much less sleep than other organic species, but even still, the three of them combined had hardly come close to reaching anything like the recommended hours in the past few days.

There were dark smudges under Wrecker’s eyes, cut through by the thin white lines of scars on his left side.

Hunter shifted sideways, where he’d been leaning against the cold durasteel wall, and felt the still-healing muscles in his back complain as he straightened.

“You can join me on watch,” he offered, motioning out the viewscreen with one hand to the void of empty space outside.

“Sure thing,” Wrecker gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach his good eye.

It was an empty offer for empty companionship. And when Wrecker dropped off to sleep again, a while later, with his head leaned back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest, Hunter almost wished he hadn’t made it.

Wrecker didn’t dream quietly.

Don’t you do it, Tech. Don’t you do it.

Hunter sat next to him, fixed his gaze on the emptiness of Mid Rim space, and hoped that something about his presence might be at least appreciated, if not comforting. He squeezed his hand into a fist at his side, to stop himself from reaching into his pocket for Tech’s googles. To stop himself from reaching for something that was already so far out of reach.

[strwberri-milk]

Passing Hands: Ch. 13 - Stormy Revelations

Bridgerton!AU || Diluc x Fem!Reader || Drama, Falling in Love, Slow Burn || 3 154 words

“Is that another letter for Miss [Name] Your Grace?” Adelinde asks as Diluc signs the paper, peering down curiously. 

“I thought you were finished with that business now that you can visit her freely.” 

It had taken him a few more weeks but now the Duke was finally free of the repercussions of the Viscount’s foul words. Society had decided to lambaste him entirely, therefore no longer putting into question your integrity for which he was glad of. The Duke knew that he would not suffer the repercussions of being believed to have been with a woman for it was normal and expected but of course the double standard put you in a grave position. 

His efforts paid off and he was now free to do as he wanted, so happy he was almost willing to throw another ball to celebrate his finally being rid of such a thorn in his side. The sheer elation of his freedom being won back is also marked by the piles of finished paperwork, managing to get through all of it and give himself some much deserved time to relax by himself. 

“It is a letter for her. I don’t know yet if I want to send it to her. I just find it helps to put my thoughts down. Addressing it makes it feel a lot more proper which helps me actually stay focused for long enough,” he explains, holding the paper between his fingers. 

“Are you telling her secrets or something, Your Grace?” 

“Not at all. I’m just simply recalling the events of my day or bringing attention to something I think she might want to hear were she here. Imagine it just as a conversation between the two of us.” 

Adelinde gives him a discerning look, recognising this as something more than the redhead might know it as. 

“You sure have been thinking of her a lot, don’t you think?” she says innocently, drawing Diluc’s confusion. 

“Is that not normal when you’ve made a new friend? It seems logical to me to think of them a lot because of the intrigue that comes with a new acquaintance.” 

“It would be were it not for the fact that it has been a good couple of months now. You stated your intention to marry through Kaeya and even began interviewing a few women in private, haven’t you? You just didn’t tell him because you didn’t want him to know but of course, I know everything,” she says smugly, still confusing Diluc. 

“I still do not understand what you’re trying to get at. Can you just get on with it?” 

“You have interviewed a few girls outside of Miss [Name] but none of them you still correspond with, do you? Or even the ones you talk to at events. You do not go and seek them out afterwards, no all your attention is solely focused on Miss [Name], is it not?” Adelinde continues, crossing her arms. 

“Adelinde, we are simply friends, is that not allowed? You’re making me out to sound like some sort of person who only cares about marrying her,” he scoffs, putting the letter he wrote into his desk. 

“I think that you wish to be more than just friends with her. Is that a false assessment?” 

“I think it is,” Diluc says while rolling his eyes. 

“Just because I talk to someone it does not mean that I like them, romantically or otherwise.” 

“I beg your pardon?” the woman snorts. 

“Diluc, I’ve known you since you were a little boy. To be quite honest with you, I do not think that you would willingly subject yourself to spending so much time with someone you did not like and you know that. However, to me it seems much more likely that you are very open to the idea of courting her and in fact have been courting her, just informally.” 

“I cannot believe this,” he exhales, shaking his head. 

“You’re wrong.” 

“You’ve sent her gifts, and spent so much time with her and now you’re even writing her letters. Kaeya hasn’t been putting you up to it has he?” she points out. 

“Kaeya can’t make me do anything. I do things of my own volition. And yes, so what if I’ve been bringing her things? She is new to the area and not as well off as the rest of us are. I am simply extending a helping hand,” he rationalises.

“Well yes but you’ve never been quite this generous with other new neighbours. Why, we almost had to pull you out of the home just to say hi to a family at one point in time! But the second that you begin to talk to Miss [Name] is of course the minute you change. You become some sort of social butterfly, more willing to attend events outside of those you are obligated to should they include her, you want to go and ask the modiste to make some new dresses because you overheard there may be some balls to attend, you can’t even look at a pretty flower without asking me to identify it to bring a bouquet to the woman!” 

Diluc stares at the housekeeper, mouth opening and closing in an inability to speak at the blunt way she delivers her words. He can tell that she is totally serious, meaning everything she said and turns away from her, knowing that denial would make him look even guiltier. 

“Don’t you think it’s time you began to focus on yourself? On what makes you happy, Your Grace?” 

“Why are you implying that this is something I need in my life?” he grumbles, falling back into his chair. 

“I don’t think you need it, but I do think your life could be better for it. Don’t you want to experience the joy of a love match? Or are you just going to focus on just getting by, doing what people expect you to do? At the very least the woman is a Diamond - your union would be celebrated.”

He sighs and gets up, leaving the room with thinly veiled annoyance. 

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that. I just want you to know that this is just a friendship, nothing more nothing less.”

“Diluc, I didn’t mean anything by it I just-”

“I’m taking one of the horses. I’m going to go and clear my head.”

Diluc makes sure to properly bid the Housekeeper farewell before leaving, not wanting her to think he was angry. He wasn’t upset, just tired and hoping to see if he could clear his mind of all this nonsense.

The clopping of the horse’s hooves is no match for the thoughts circling around in Diluc’s head and he finally realises what Adelinde was saying. He hates to admit it but he thinks the woman might have a point, his mind constantly obsessed with circling back to your pretty smile and the way you feel in his arms whenever you two dance. If he really focuses, he can imagine you’re here in his grasp, not just a figment of his mind. 

He tries to divert the feelings by putting his all into leading his horse, eyes carefully watching for obstacles as he rides. His hair whips against his face, scarlet locks dancing in the wind as he braces the chill of an oncoming rain, thunder pealing loudly above him. It makes his steed stutter, jolting his body but he rides on, desperate to try and outrun the thoughts of you that refuse to abate. 

Somewhere inside of him he knew that this was happening, his being almost all consumed with your melodic voice. His jaw is set, pale hands even whiter with the strain he puts on them as he rides, not knowing what to do. There’s no remedy to the way he’s feeling and he begins to realise that this was quickly becoming a feeling he could not combat for the life of him, almost angry at the way your laugh soothes his soul. 

It is only now that he is willing to admit that he was much more selfish in saving you that night. He didn’t save you because he thought it was the right thing to do, or because he wanted to make sure the Viscount to not treat anybody like this. No, it was because he was seeing red at the idea that someone else was talking to you, that someone else could take your attention from him when he wanted it all to himself, as selfish as the thought was. 

The way that the other man tried to reach out for you, the way he wanted to make himself part of your inner world that was all stuff that he wanted for himself. Diluc knew that the wish was illogical. You deserve your space, to choose your partner but a sharp twist in his heart reminds him that if that answer was not him he would have to begin to face a lifetime’s worth of longing for the rest of his days. 

Underneath his horse’s hooves is mud and he recognises he should head back soon. The rain begins to come down even harder, water weighing down his wavy locks and making them curlier than they normally are. His visibility is beginning to be compromised but he can’t care; how could he when you’ve come into his life as some violent storm that he has no control over? 

“Diluc!” 

He begins to slow down at the sound of his name being yelled over the heavy rainfall, also hearing another set of hooves following closely after him. Diluc turns to see Kaeya, a very concerned look on his face as he finally catches up. 

“I was following you for quite some time but you never heard me calling for you,” Kaeya pants, the exertion of their horses seeming to have been given to him. 

“The rain is so heavy, it’s much too dangerous for you to be riding like this. Let us go back home.” 

The younger man tries to lead him back but Diluc refuses, holding onto the reins and keeping his distance from the other. Kaeya rolls his eyes and begins to trot over to Diluc, his face very serious. 

“We’re going to get very sick if we don’t get back into the warmth soon. Diluc, we have to go.” 

“I don’t feel cold,” Diluc says, wanting to continue riding in the rain to try and wash off the thoughts of you. 

“That’s not good. If you really aren’t feeling the cold we have to get back. You are poorly dressed and not ready for this weather. We have to go back.” 

“I don’t want to go back.” 

“Diluc, I don’t want you to get sick-” 

“I said I don’t want to go!” he yells back, both of their horses starting at the sharp sound of his voice. 

Kaeya’s eye narrows as he stares at him. 

“Something’s wrong. Why are you being so stubborn? I just asked you to go home, not sacrifice your first born. Is it because you can’t see [Name] today? There’s always tomorrow. You don’t have to behave like some child!” 

Diluc can tell that his patience is beginning to wear thin, Kaeya’s mouth set in a thin line as he rides closer to him. He tries to keep his distance from Kaeya, not wanting to return yet. 

“It’s precisely because of her that I feel this way,” he growls, hand resting on his chest as he begins to speak. 

“I don’t understand this at all!” Diluc practically screams, throat beginning to get raw. 

“Why is it that whenever I see her I feel like my world is falling apart and beginning to be put back together? That I can’t help but stare in incredulous shock before beginning to grow desperate to be able to bask in the light that is her presence, that I just want to be the only one she looks at?!” 

At this, Kaeya finally stops, staring at Diluc dumbfoundedly as he continues to yell at him. 

“I just wanted to clear my head, to go for a ride and finally rid myself of her. I thought that my head would be clear for once, that now that I’ve been able to deal with all of the issues that have been piling up and up on my desk but now all I can think about is her and I don’t know if I want to cry or scream!” 

“I think you’re doing the latter,” Kaeya teases, immediately thrown a dirty look. 

“I do not want to deal with your condescending tone right now. In fact, you know what? This is all your fault.” 

“Me?!” he yelps in response, Diluc beginning to be a little far beyond reason. 

“If it weren’t for your meddling ways, for the fact that you were looking through my letters trying to entertain yourself when there is such a multitude of other things you could be doing, other people you could be speaking to the fact that you choose to stick around me is almost vexing were it not for the fact we are brothers. 

“I just wanted a peaceful day, for you to leave me alone. And then you have to write someone, just because you thought they’d be interesting and I, being the fool I am, let you do it. I signed my name on all the letters, I read all the responses, I found myself becoming invested in the person that came to life on those pages of paper, the ink that they wrote with and now they cannot leave me alone.” 

“Diluc, please calm down, I'm terrified you’re going to pass out,” Kaeya says lowly, slowly leading Diluc back home by trying to bribe his horse with some sugar he brought out as Diluc rants. 

“You have no idea how hellish these last months have been. I have been unable to attend balls that [Name] has gone to for fear of tarnishing her reputation, I cannot visit her whenever I want to, I am stuck to only being able to think about her and that vexes my every waking moment. I cannot fathom how I am to continue without seeing her and yet if I see them it proves something that everyone around me knows. Why is that, by the way? Why does everybody think they know so much better than me?” he continues, none the wiser to Kaeya’s efforts. 

“I think it’s less that they think that they know better than you, but it's more that you aren’t properly reflecting on yourself,” Kaeya replies, making good progress on leading his horse back. 

“Whatever do you mean by that? Are you saying I do not know my own mind? That’s blasphemous!” Diluc disputes, Kaeya shaking his head. 

“I think you’re looking at things much too concretely. Not only that, but you’re taking all of these things as a negative. Who said that all of those things you said before are bad things? And when did they even begin?”

“I don’t know when it began, all I know is that this feeling in my chest won’t go away and the thought that [Name] is looking at someone the way she looks at me is…” 

For the first time since Kaeya’s arrival Diluc falls silent, chest heaving from the exertion of his very impassioned speeches. 

“Does it hurt?” Kaeya suggests, thanking the gods that he can see the beginnings of their house peeking out from between the trees. 

“It hurts so much more than I could ever imagine something could hurt,” Diluc says quietly, barely able to be heard over the sound of the rain pouring down around the brothers. 

“Why don’t you tell me more - without screaming. You look very flush and I don’t think it’s because of the rain,” Kaeya replies, now leading them towards the stables. 

“I don’t know what more there is to say,” Diluc sighs, exhausted. 

“It’s exhausting to feel all these emotions and not know what they all mean. Kaeya, do you understand what I’m trying to get at?” the redhead asks. 

“I think I do. You can’t stop thinking about her and when you think about her it’s not enough because you want her. You want her here now and you want her to stay. You don’t want her to go away, or to think about the thought that she might not want you in the same way, or that somehow she could look at someone else in the way you look at her. If you do think that, it creates this deep pit in your stomach that hurts so much you think you’re going to vomit.” 

Diluc nods in agreement, eyes focused on the mane of his horse as Kaeya dismounts. He counts the steps that Kaeya takes to come next to him, offering him his hand to get him off of his horse. The silence between them is exactly what Diluc wanted, able to find reprieve for the first time since his ride began. 

“You do seem to understand,” Diluc starts after a moment, methodically working through putting his riding things away. 

“I should think I do,” Kaeya snorts, helping him put his things away. “I’ve had my fair share of those feelings.”

“As to when I began feeling this way I think the catalyst for it was at Rin’s ball. Do you think that Viscount’s demeanour is catching? Have I somehow become the same as him?” he continues, recoiling a little. 

“If that’s the case then I think I also need you to punch me in the face Kaeya. But then how would you know how it feels?” 

Diluc, as dense as he is, still has not caught on to the true nature of his condition. 

“You said that you think the inciting incident of this dilemma is from that night? I can certainly see why. That was the first time you could see Miss [Name] in active danger. Well, even then it wasn’t really danger because the second that man’s hands would have touched her-”

“He would have been dead,” Diluc proclaims, very certain that he would destroy that man if he brought any harm to you. 

“He would have been dead,” Kaeya repeats. 

“I know how angry you must have been. I felt that way too. It’s a wonder that we both managed to hold back as well as we did. But, to answer your question as to how I understand your feeling it’s really not all that complicated.” 

“Oh really? Pray tell what infinite wisdom do you have for me today?” Diluc bites sarcastically, pushing back his soaking wet bangs from his forehead. His head begins to clear a little bit, just in time for Kaeya’s big revelation. 

“Why, it’s the same way I feel towards my intended,” he smirks.

“You’re in love.” 

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought.