#i prepared for it!!!!! i was so ready to overcome my panic!!!!

[nohkalikai]

i'm bummed out. it was a volunteer position but it would have been such a good opportunity to gain both clinical and outreach experience in the NHS....IN MENTAL HEALTH

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, slight smut, touching, body-issues, reader has insecurities over big chest, ass slapping, oral sex (f receiving), self-esteem, mentions slight panic and anxiety, mirror play, and NSFW.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Plus size Reader

Wordcount: 1,945

A/N: I’ve had a lot of negative comments from people/my family about my weight lately, so… This is self-indulgent. I need Eddie to make me and my body type feel appreciated.

Buying lingerie to show Eddie and he’s honored that someone dresssd up for him.

You had fumbled with the bags all day, caught between regretting your decision and ready to take it on. Eddie wasn’t like other guys… other people, really. It wasn’t that you feared what he would do, no. It was the humiliating dread of him being nice to spare your feelings, the worst possible outcome equaling out to disgust at your surprise. But you had pushed it aside, freshened in your shower, applied a different makeup look to frame your features, then slipped an old parka on over the black lace.

You’d forgone heels and kept your boots on, those easy to take off once you had arrived at the trailer, your giddy boyfriend greeting you like he’s never seen you a day in his life. With the air conditioner properly placed in the trailer, Eddie’s hair was down, curled around his shoulders, a simple white tank top and black cut off sweat shorts over his trim form. He’s always beautiful to you. The amused smirk on his face did not go unnoticed, however, upon taking in your parka in this sweltering Indiana heat (even at night). It was an automatic “it’s cooler in my room, if you wanna?” offer, with him grabbing two bottles of coke from his fridge on the way.

Time to do this thing…

~*~

When he pushes his door open, the coolness that carries his Old Spice, nicotine soaked scent, it hits you square in the face. You relax a little, already sliding your fingers into your jacket buttons, popping them open and working the zipper. His back is to you as clears some space on his dresser, going on about why you’re wearing a coat, if you’re okay, what is it about. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, an anxious reaction, and you’re shoving the coat off your shoulders, exposed skin immediately stimulated with the prickles of electrifying goosebumps. And Eddie, god love him, he isn’t at all prepared for what he sees when your voice hooks into his attention span and gets him to turn around.

“Eddie?”

Initially, you take his shocked look as something bad. His widened eyes and slack jaw, the way he runs his fingers and tugs at his own roots. You feel an immature burn of familiar tears, reaching to pick up the coat and apologize. His voice leaves zero room for that energy in here.

“No, baby. No, sweetheart.” Layering on pet names to help soothe you, he calms the panicked nerves he can see escalating.

Though his own heart rate is out of control, his tongue’s tip on fire, touching his cheek, sweats suddenly tighter. You are his personal goddess on the daily — something he never expected, nor looked for. And you did this for him? The devil freak gets something special from an Angel like you? Temporarily halting your actions, you do notice the way his eyes expand into the depths of midnight black, how he reaches to adjust himself in his sweats - it keeps you here.

He reaches for you with that outstretched, tattooed arm. “Baby? Let me in. Let me see? I’m just not used to this…” He rushes to correct his phrasing, already knowing what it could do to you. “I mean, I’m not used to a hot fuckin’ woman getting dressed up for a guy like me, y’know? Takes a minute to sink in. And honestly? I’m waiting for Wayne to wake me up right now.”

It all clicks for you. It isn’t just about your insecurities, but this also giving something special to someone who also struggles to see confidence and self-worth. You’ve never been more proud of yourself than in this moment, overcoming your fears to get Eddie Munson this excited? You take his hand with a soft smile, albeit, still shy as he brings you around to pinch your chin between his fingertips, leaning in to press a kiss to your nose’s tip. His voice is gravelly, soaked in heat. Eddie’s mouth ghosts across your own, barely touching as he asks, “Permission to touch?”

You give into him, hand still in his, the other raising to hold onto the warmth of his shoulder, twirling his curls into your grasp to ease some nerves. His eyes immediately widen as he truly gets to look you over. Overflowing thighs in a beautiful thong, your thick curls peeking out of the sides, your beautiful legs — clad in silk sheer stockings, lace trimmed to meet, your stretch marks, your scars, the way, in which, you carry your plush stomach, to your full breasts that spill over the cups, and even your makeup — different, darker, more smoldering. He tips the digits of his spare hand, rings clinking together as he tickles his way up your forearm, tracing the vein back down, until he’s tapping on your pulse point inside of your wrist. Hands join, his grip shifting you into a twist, with your back pressed against his chest, and how badly he wants you nudging at your bare ass cheek.

You bow your head from immediate reflection in the mirror — something your boyfriend has yet to see. He’s too busy watching the way your ass swallows that thin black strap, this set showcasing all the indents that cascade down your thighs. And even your boots, he loves that you kept it you, that you didn’t force yourself into heels. You don’t like them, he knows this. He lets his fingers path their way along your spine, rubbing across the clasp on your bra, pausing to ask once more, now quite aware that you’re looking awkwardly at his messy floor.

“Sweetheart? You okay up there?” It’s silent for a beats, but then you’re mentioning his mirror.

He fights back a sigh, because how can you not see how perfect you look — without or without all of this. He wants to keep your comfort in mind, but it’s also important that he helps you see how fucking gorgeous you are. So he shakes his head, his curls tickling your shoulder blades.

“I don’t think so.”

You object, stopping yourself when his voice pleads into a softness that you’ve never heard from him before.

“I want to try somethin’. And if you don’t like it, we move away from the mirror, kay? Zero pressure, all your call.”

You have to admit that you’re intrigued, and excitement bubbling beneath your breastbone, dumping molten lava over your flesh. Eddie can see you inhale sharply through the mirror. He does that downward nod, brow raised, and you’re nodding. He’s so giddy that his tongue pokes out in concentration, joined hands freed, one of his dipping backward in a journey to slide the back of his knuckles across your thong strap. You arch into his torso, watching him watch you.

There’s a primal confidence that stirs in your belly, twists inside of your gut, ultimately soaking you between your legs. And as he finds the clasp on your bra, getting it unhooked in one go, only for his hands to dance along your sides, hook underneath your armpits, and immediately begin to tease your areola in languid strokes — you lose it. He allows his chin to rest on your shoulder, his voice the cure for everything you’ve ever needed, or will desire. “Look at yourself. Don’t look at me, just watch yourself.”

Your gaze finds your own body, not even caring at the exposure of your breasts or how they hang (something you are trying to be okay with, you know), heart accelerating full speed ahead, sure that Eddie can feel it. It’s almost like his mimicking the way he runs his fingers across the body of his guitar — easy, languidly, making sure to dip and curve when necessary. He goes with your head tilt, his voice finding your earlobe, hot breath causing your nipples to harden. “This body, it’s like the shield of your secret world. One that only I’m allowed into…” He breaks apart his sentence to drop his hands over your navel, curling into that ticklish spot that has you shivering.

“Eddie…” You watch your lips part, tongue licking to smear your lipstick.

It seems as if you’re watching a private show, beautiful woman and her beautiful lover. You’re out of body, yet you have never been more present. Eddie, he can hardly think, his breaths falling over uneven pants, his cock so hard that his eyes could cross. He can’t stop touching you, won’t dare miss how your eyes have glossed over at the performance your body is giving you. He can cry within this moment, so grateful, so fuckin’ proud of you.

So he keeps going, saying what he feels in several organs. “Your body is a map and I get to explore it with these.” He wiggles his fingers against your tummy, letting them fall above your elastic waistband, before they dip inside. Holy Christ, you’re warm, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.

“With my lips.” His lips find the flesh of your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth — tasting your perspiration, your body wash… you.

He watches your legs spread on their own accord, beckoning him to take what he wants. His fingers brush through your soaking wet curls, a moan leaving his throat so deep that it echoes inside of his diaphragm. Fuck. You’re a mess. Both of you hold your breaths as his fingers glide along your seam, combing through your hair, making it even sloppier, cruder.

And the way you sound…

It is you who looks up first this time to catch the reflection, enchanted by the way his knuckles and the rings adorning take shape beneath your lace panties. He lets his remaining hand smack your ass, one cheek at a time, before it cups your breast to give a pinch. You’re shocked when he releases you to come around and briefly block your view. But he presses his sticky fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without question, enjoying your own taste (something you would barely try beforehand), and Eddie literally gasps, tugging you by a love handle in for a crushing kiss. By the time you part, you’ve left your lipstick stain on his fingers and his own mouth — your claim.

That’s when he licks his lips, dropping to his knees, giving you an entirely different view. He’s at your feet, tugging your panties down, a thick creamy web threaded from you to the crotch, making you swallow harshly. You balance on his shoulder to step out, left in just your boots and thigh high stockings. He rubs his hands along the material, squeezing, appreciating the flesh beneath. His brown irises are left to a simple ring, a murky abyss shadowing his sclera.

His does that thing with his mouth, the one that causes you to fold like a lawn chair. And then he’s speaking to you, using two fingers to noisily part your cunt. “You can even take my tongue captive inside of you, empress.”

Your hands drop, fisting into his curls immediately, as he wastes to time to give you one solid lick, gathering what he has to circle your opening, his tongue’s tip then pushing into you. He’s whining in little grunts, vibrating between your legs, in absolutely heaven on earth. You begin to ride over his face, hand in his curls, unrelenting, one finding your nipple to play with. You’re doing exactly as he’d hoped — watching yourself receive his worship. And this is something he will never let you forget.

[pulisicsgirl]

breathe, you're okay - mason mount

summary: when the mounting pressure of a Women's UCL run is falling on Y/N's shoulders, she isn't handling it by herself as well as she would like everyone to believe she is

pairing: Mason Mount x footballer!reader

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, no established relationship, !!descriptions of a panic attack!!, discussions about mental heath, supportive Mase

requested: no

notes: surprise!! I'm sorry I haven't posted in months-- my life kind of went up in flames over the summer and I haven't had the time to write that I was hoping to. I have a few WIPs in my drafts, and I am still working on all of your requests! Please let me know what you think of this!

The hot afternoon sun beat down on you, and you felt the drops of sweat sliding down the side of your head and tickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you ran up and down the field, weaving between cones, carrying the ball at your feet, running through a series of consecutive drills that were designed to refine your skills and test your endurance.

You did your best to recall the instructions that your coach had carefully laid out before the team began the drill, but with the heat and the fatigue that was seeping all the way into your bones, it seemed impossible to remember. You wound up relying on the teammate in front of you to recall what you needed to do next.

You let out a heavy sigh of relief when you heard the sound of the whistle—two short chirps, signaling for you to halt your movements. You draped your arms over your head, drawing in deep, heaving breaths as you attempted to get your heart rate under control.

You joined the rest of your teammates as they gathered around the coach, preparing for his parting words before everyone was dismissed.

“Good session today, ladies,” he clapped his hands in front of him, looking around the circle. “I’m seeing a lot of good things. A lot of improvement in our touches and finishing. You all are looking really good.”

A couple of the girls clapped at his words, the rest too exhausted to do anything but listen.

“We have the day off tomorrow, so use it well. Rest, recover, and come back Monday ready to go. We’ve got some heavy prep next week before the second leg on Friday,” he continued, and a couple others whooped, getting excited for the upcoming big game.

“They’re gonna be a really tough opponent, I’ll be honest. We know that their back line is really strong, tough to break through.” Your coach’s eyes fell on you, and you knew what was coming next before he even began to speak, your stomach sinking slightly. “But that’s what we have Miss Y/N, for, right?”

Several of the girls cheered for you. The girls near you slapped you on the back, trying to get you hyped up. And the weight that had settled in the pit of your stomach grew heavier.

The Manchester United women were on an impressive UEFA Women’s Champions League run, overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds to make it to the semifinal. And according to the media (and now your own teammates and coaches), it was all thanks to you.

In the group stage, a decisive game in which your team had gone down 2-0 in the first half had seemed hopeless until you had scored two goals in the second, assisting on the third to put your team through to the knockout games. Another three goal contributions in the quarter-final matches had put you in the spotlight of all of the team’s media coverage, thrusting a wave of attention upon you that you had never asked for.

You had gone down 1-0 in the first leg of the semi-final, and now you were playing from behind. And it seemed that everyone expected you to be the one to pull them out of it.

So now, you were left feeling the pressure as the second leg was fast approaching.

“Alright, ladies. Have a good rest of the day and a great day off tomorrow.” He clapped his hands, dismissing you all. The circle of girls dispersed, chatting among themselves.

“Am I still leaving the cones out for you?” the coach raising his eyebrows at you. You only nodded in return. “Okay, don’t work yourself to death.”

You laughed humorlessly as you fiddled with the ball at your feet, not meeting his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder to try to draw your attention to him. “Get some rest tomorrow, okay? We all see how hard you’re working. Give yourself a break.”

Another nod is all that you can muster, and you don’t miss the short sigh that he lets out as he drops his hand from your shoulder and walks to join the rest of the group moving indoors.

You repositioned a few of the cones to set up your own drill and got right into it.

Across the field, on another training pitch near yours, Mason watched as you carried the ball with you up and down the field, weaving between cones, practicing a few skills that he had seen you implement in games, and taking a shot on the goal at each pass.

He was supposed to be doing a bit of extra work with a few of the boys. The men’s team had finished their training session about an hour before, but a few of them still felt like they wanted to get a bit more done before calling it a day. So here they were, running a few small three-a-side games to utilize the last of their energy that day.

But he couldn’t help but notice how you never stopped.

During the team training, you were always one of the hardest-working ones out there. When he had returned to the pitch from lunch, you were taking shots on the goal with the rest of your team nowhere in sight. He wasn’t even sure he had seen you eating lunch inside when he thought about it.

And now here you were, sprinting across the length of the field, over and over, after the rest of your team had hit the showers.

He felt a twinge of worry for you but brushed it off as one of his teammates called his name to pull his attention back to the game they were playing.

Your head was spinning as you pushed yourself to keep moving. Your entire body was drenched in sweat. Every muscle ached from overexertion as you gritted your teeth, forcing them to keep moving. The sun was dizzyingly bright as the evening set in. You could feel the heat practically radiating off of your skin. Your lungs were burning with your heaving breaths and your mouth quickly grew dry.

“That’s what we have Miss Y/N for, right?” Your coach’s words echoed through your head as you carried the ball down the field.

“Y/L/N carries the Man U Women through to the semifinal!” You recalled the title of the article as you weaved between the cones.

“I really believe Y/N Y/L/N could be the one to lead Manchester United to their first Women’s Champion’s League trophy!” You heard the words of the pundit clear as day as you planted your foot, striking the ball cleanly. It soared through the air, curving toward the goal, and struck the crossbar. The ball flew away from the goal, bouncing pathetically on the ground in the penalty area.

You took a pause, the words and expectations crashing around your mind leaving an unsettling feeling in your chest. As you stood there, you couldn’t seem to get your panting breaths to grow steadier.

Your shirt suddenly felt too tight on your neck. You grasped the fabric, pulling it away from your body in an attempt to allow yourself to breathe easier, but nothing seemed to be helping.

Your head was spinning. You felt your stomach sink, a feeling like when you plummeted down the tall hill of a rollercoaster, a sick feeling settling in your abdomen. Your skin began to crawl, and you just couldn’t stop hyperventilating.

You began to panic. Eyes searching frantically for relief. You weren’t sure what you were looking for—something, anything.

You suddenly felt like you were too out in the open, needing to seclude yourself away from the sight of prying eyes. You set into a sprint, off of the field and around the corner of the nearest part of the building to you, trying to find some shade from the hot sun and hide yourself from anyone who might see your pathetic state.

But it was too late. Mason had seen the whole thing.

They had just paused their game for a short water break. He had seen you take the shot, instead hitting the crossbar. It only took him a few seconds once you paused to realize that something wasn’t right.

He watched the way your chest rose and fell rapidly in quick, short breaths. When you began attempting to pull your shirt away from your body, he instantly knew what was taking place. He’d recognize that feeling anywhere.

You were having a panic attack, whether you realized it or not.

As soon as he saw you take off for the side of the building, he was running after you without so much as a word of explanation to his teammates.

Once in the shade of the wall you hid behind, you began pacing, unable to keep still. Every inch of your body felt jittery, and you felt unsteady on your legs. You couldn’t manage more than rapid, shallow breaths. Your throat felt tight, your breaths sounding more like wheezes, and it was starting to make your head spin. Your hands flew to your head, scratching at your scalp in an attempt to somehow rid yourself of the feeling.

You were startled by Mason swiftly rounding the corner, concern written all over his face as he stopped in front of you.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay,” he spoke calmly and evenly. He quickly reached up, taking your wrists in his hands so he could gently but firmly pull your hands out of your hair to keep you from hurting yourself.

“I can’t, Mason. I can’t,” you panted, shaking your head ‘no’ frantically and still trying to weakly pull your hand from his grip.

“You’re okay, Y/N. Try to slow down your breathing,” Mason’s calm voice directly contrasted your frantic behavior, speaking in short sentences so as to not overwhelm you more. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

A short sob fell from your lips, and you felt the tears spilling over and down your cheeks.

“We’re gonna lose,” you sobbed, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. “The semifinal, we’re gonna lose it, and it’s gonna be all my fault.”

In that moment, everything clicked into place for Mason-- the UWCL run, your success in the games leading up to the semi-final leg, the pressure from the fans and the team, the countless extra hours you had been putting in.

A loud noise in the distance, coming from the direction of the parking lot, startled you, snatching your attention and you whipped your head to the side, eyes searching frantically for the source. He released your wrists from his hand, testing the waters as he turned your head back to look at him with a hand on your cheek.

He cradled your face with a hand on either side, keeping your focus on him. His thumbs wiped the tears away that had slipped down your cheeks.

“Hey, look at me. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you,” he repeated the affirmations he had already been telling you.

As he stroked his thumbs softly over the skin of your cheek, he felt that your breathing was already growing a bit slower. You had reached up, holding onto his wrists with both of your hands to steady yourself, feeling too unsteady on your feet. His hands were gentle and soft on your skin.

Mason watched your expression, taking long deep breaths for you to emulate. Your eyes were still wide, darting frantically around his face, but you were trying your best to follow his breathing. He continued whispering short reassurances.

“You’re safe.”

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’ve got you.”

You were beginning to calm down, but your eyes darted to something behind Mason, pulled away from the calm atmosphere he had tried to create for you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he spoke gently, pressing his forehead to yours so you would only focus on him. You were shocked at how little the intrusion on your personal space bothered you. In fact, to your surprise, the closeness seemed to settle you a little more.

You continued focusing on your breathing, gripping tightly to his wrists as if you thought he’d disappear if you let go. Your eyes were clamped closed, listening to Mason’s soft and slow breathing. You felt your pounding heart being to slow its pace.

The panic you had been feeling subsided, leaving behind a wave of extreme fatigue. You felt completely and utterly drained.

Mason must have noticed the way that your body slumped over, and he guided you to sit down on the grass, leaning back against the brick wall of the building. He sat down next to you, leaving space so he didn’t make you more nervous. But in the haze you felt in your mind, you felt a need to still be close to him, leaning over so you could place your head on his shoulder. A short pang of guilt washed over you as you noticed the crescent-shaped indents you had left on his wrists, your nails digging into the skin as you had held onto him.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, your eyes slipping closed as you continued focusing on breathing slowly. A gentle breeze blew through, cooling your clammy skin and brushing through the blades of grass.

“I used to get them sometimes, too, you know?” Mason broke the silence, speaking softly.

You responded with a quiet, “hmm?” unsure of what he meant.

“Panic attacks,” he explained. “At the end of last season, before I left Chelsea. There was a lot of pressure. Any time I played, everyone had something to say about it. Even when I didn’t play, some would find a reason to be upset. It all just got to be too much.”

A deep sadness filled you while you listened to his words. “How did you get through it?”

“Ben found me having one in my car after training one day.” He was quiet for a moment. “I tried to power through it—like you. Skipping lunch and staying late to train a bit extra on the field or put in an extra session in the gym. But once Ben realized what was going on, he made sure that I was taking care of myself properly and wasn’t dealing with it on my own anymore.”

You sat up so you could look at Mason’s face, and you saw a hint of sadness there. “So I’ll tell you what he told me. There are 10 other people with you on that field at all times. If you fall down, there are 10 pairs of hands ready to help you back to your feet. If you succeed, there are 10 others to celebrate with you. But it’s not all on you.”

Your eyes were misty, welling up with tears at his words. He slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a secure hug as the tears began to stream down your cheeks.

“No matter the outcome of the game next week, you’re an incredible player, Y/N.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You’ve already done so much so early in your career. The media and the fans will say what they want—don’t let them get to you. And your coaches may get carried away with their expectations for you, but it’s just because they’re so excited to see you succeed. Just be the player you know how to be, and your achievements will speak for themselves.”

“Thank you, Mason,” you whispered after pondering his words for a moment. No words could express the gratitude you felt for the relief he had brought you just by letting you know that he was there and he understood. But as he squeezed your shoulders lightly in response, you hoped he knew just how thankful you were.

Eventually, Mason helped you to your feet, guiding you back toward the fields. You were still feeling a bit weak and unsteady, so he made sure you remained upright with a gentle hold on your arm as you walked. Deciding it was time for you to call it a day, he insisted on collecting the cones that you had been training with, not allowing you to help him by picking up even one of them.

It took some convincing but you told him you would be fine to drive yourself home—his only condition was that you texted to let him know you made it there safely.

“Alright, then. Rest on your day off tomorrow. Give yourself a break, okay?” he spoke as he put the last of the cones away. “I’ll check in with you on Monday, if that’s okay.” He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. The two of you had been friendly before today, but you wouldn’t have considered yourselves close friends. He just wanted to be sure that you knew you had people in your corner.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot,” you nodded, smiling at him. With a final hug, he sent you on your way as he turned to rejoin his (undoubtedly confused) teammates where he had left them.

“Remember: rest!” he shouted back at you as you parted ways, and you couldn’t stop the blushing smile that worked its way onto your face.

tag list: @landoslover @chelseagirl98 @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti

[fe-fictions]

Good day/night! :]

Might you have some spare Henry crumbs laying around? I've been on a crowman high lately and you write him so well! <3

(Here's some Henry taking care of a sick wife and baby!!!)

The family had taken a brief, albeit very fun and relaxing, trip in Plegia. Morgan being only eight months old certainly made things interesting. Having the whole family there to enjoy the beauty of Plegia outside war time was fun.

Plus, you were both Plegians, so it was nice to learn about your roots.

It was a magical time. Or at least, it would have been. You woke up the morning after you came home and found yourself unable to get out of bed.

You had a fever, your head was pounding, and you were a snotty mess of misery. Henry was amused until he heard baby Morgan bawling down the hall. You both caught, according to your husband, the Plegian swine flu.

No one was immune from it, not even sweet, innocent little blood bags like Morgan (Henry’s words, not yours).

So Henry quickly went from teasing you and being fascinated by how miserable you were to going into full-blown panic.

Like any disease, a baby catching it had a higher risk of complications. Most recover, Henry explained while frantically scribbling an urgent letter for Maribelle to tie to one of his crows, but itty bitty babies could suffer serious health problems.

Henry got to work on preparing you a bucket of cold water, a second bucket for the kerchiefs you would be blowing your nose into all day, and a third bucket in case you couldn’t keep your food down.

You didn’t.

“Gods, Henry- did you have to send that filthy animal to me? I’m literally down the block! It would take you fifteen minutes to-”

“Fifteen minutes is a waste of time! Morgan and Robin could be dead by then! And if it’s either of them, it’s no joke, nya ha!”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“It’s nervous laughter!” He chuckled again, though judging by how pale his face was, it seemed to be true. 

Maribelle simply scoffed and hurried to the bedroom, ready to treat her friend.

“Robin, darling! Oh, you look positively ghastly!” She gasped, drawing the mask over her mouth and nose. She pulled on her medical gloves, a stave at her side and a big pouch of herbs on her belt. “The Plegian swine flu is no joke...it’s very rarely found in Ylisse, but when it travels with you…”

“I-it’s a disaster.” You wheezed, not before you were overcome by coughing. “Anything y-you can do will be a welcome remedy.”

“Luckily for you, there’s nothing here that herbs and plenty of rest won’t fix. Now Morgan might be a little trickier, given his age...but we can at least get started with you.”

Maribelle was quick to send  Henry off to grind up the herbs, preparing some disgusting concoction guaranteed to get your body back to normal.

Presuming Henry could put it together.

“Now, when did you start to feel ill?”

“W-well, if I’m honest… It started around-”

Crash

“Ah, gods- I broke the cup!!”

“-The time we got home, last night. It was late-”

Smash

“The pestle’s shattered!!”

“-And I just thought I was tired, but...my head feels about the same as-”

Bang

“The herbs are everywhere!!”

“HENRY!!” Maribelle shouted out the door, “What in the gods’ names are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess!” Henry apologized, his voice shaky and unsure. “I-I just meant to help a bit, but it looks like I’m making things worse, nya ha!”

“Why don’t you come and sit,” Maribelle pinched  her brow, “Just settle down until you stop breaking things.” 

You watched as Henry wandered back into the bedroom, looking surprisingly pale and nervous. You had never quite seen him in such a way, before.

After all, it was always good times and weird vibes with your husband. Since when did he become the anxious type?

“I’ll be right back, Robin. I’ll get your medicine.”

“Give some to Morgan, first.” You asked, “I can wait.”

Maribelle nodded to you before taking off, leaving you alone with your husband who was bouncing his leg and fidgeting with his hands with a nervousness that you’d never seen before.

For a few moments, it was quiet, listening to the rhythmic, rapid tapping of his heel against the stone. Eventually, though, you would have to snap him out of it.

“Henry, a-are you all right?” You questioned as gently as you could. Henry started to nod, giving you a cracked, faux grin. Then he paused, his smile fell, and he shook his head.

“Well, if I’m honest? No. Not at all. I feel like I’m dying inside.” He admitted. “I mean, you’re sick, and so is Morgan! My two favorite living people! And there’s not a thing I can do about it- I mean, he’s just a baby, and we’ve only been back together for a year- I dunno. It scares me, y’know? Which is impressive! When’s the last time I’ve been genuinely scared, right! Nya ha ha!”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Henry.” You tried to assure him. But he shook his head, folding his arms tightly.

“You don’t know that! All it takes is one thing to go wrong and it could be bye-bye wifey, or even bye-bye baby, and I...oh, I couldn’t handle that. Nope, not one bit.” 

It was certainly a reasonable concern. 

“Henry, sweetheart...come here.” You held your hand out to him, insisting he sit with you. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the pain that numbed your sense of worry, but you were far calmer than he was.

He took your hand, revealing trembling fingers. You squeezed it tightly, trying your best to comfort him despite your situation.

“Maribelle will take care of us. We’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“But you can’t be sure!” He sighed shakily, “Anything can happen when it comes to Plegian flu. It can either be nothing at all, or really bad! And you never know until it happens. If something bad did happen to you or Morgan, I just...I don’t know what to do! You already told me I’m not allowed to re-animate either of you if you croak, so...I’m out of options!”

“I’m standing firm on that, just so you know.” You informed him with a soft smile, “But, Henry...there’s no value in worrying for worrying’s sake. W-we really shouldn’t be concerned with the unknown until it comes.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one having to take care of both of you! What if I mess up?! What if I make it worse!! I already broke Maribelle’s mortar and pestle, there are herbs everywhere, a-and I just-”

“Henry,” You pressed a finger to his lips, “You’re overthinking.”

“B-but I just...I worry about you guys…”

“I know.” You beamed at him, stroking his cheek. “But please, try not to worry. We need to wait for Maribelle’s diagnosis, and we can go from there, okay? It’ll be easier if we take it a step at a time.”

“Gosh, Robin...how’re you able to stay so calm all the time?” He looked at you incredulously, “I’m about ready to pop out of my skin and just run around like a headless Risen!”

“Experience.” You laughed. 

Maribelle came in not long after, informing you both that the flu didn’t appear to be as bad as it could be. 

“Morgan should recover within the week, though we’ll need to make sure he receives two doses of medicine each day; one in the morning and one at night. Henry, you’ll have to make it for him each day- is that something you can handle? Or will I be making more visits this week?”

Henry shared a look with you, seeing your encouraging smile. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“I can handle it, I promise!”

“Good. Morgan’s going to be counting on you. Robin, you should need more rest than anything else, but I’m recommending you take one dose each evening; it will help you sleep better, and it’s strong enough that it should hold you the next day.”

“That’s fine by me.” You agreed; the less disgusting, bitter herbs you had to ingest, the better.

“Your recovery time will be a bit longer than Morgan’s, though, judging by how you’re doing… I’d say two weeks at minimum; a month-and-a-half at most. Now if you want, I can have Lissa or Libra come and help take care of you, so that Henry can focus on caring for Morgan. Or, we can simply send Morgan off with a wet nurse while you’re here.”

“N-no, I-!” Henry interrupted before you could reply, putting a hand to his chest. “I can handle it, Maribelle! After all, if I can’t take care of my family, what kind of man would I be? Just a sad bag of bones and sinew! Not good for anything but crow food.”

Maribelle glanced over at you, looking for some sort of response. You knew she was still wary of Henry, especially now that she was out a very lovely mortar and pestle. But you were confident in his abilities.

“He can take care of us.” You told her, “I trust him.”

“Well...if you insist.” She conceded, earning a whoop from your husband- and an apology for it shortly after when he realized you weren’t to be around loud noises with your headache. “I’ll be coming to check up on you twice a week until you’re all better- until then, Henry, we’re counting on you!”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, Maribelle! We just take it a day at a time, and it’ll be great, nya ha!”

“Robin, if anything changes, or you need help...please don’t hesitate to call me or the other healers immediately.”

“I will.”

“I do mean anything, dear.”

“...I will.”

“If Henry does one thing wrong-”

“Hey!”

“I got it, Maribelle.” You chuckled, waving her away. “Thanks for your concern. We’ll be sure to call for you if we need anything. But I’m positive Henry will take care of us just fine.”

“You can bet your organs on it!” He grinned, giggling happily with his wife’s support. Maribelle gave him a long, hard look, but eventually took her leave. 

Henry was quick to move Morgan’s crib into the bedroom, guaranteeing that he could keep track of both of you and ensure you were both recovering nicely at the same time.

While it was heartbreaking listening to Morgan’s discomfort and those tiny baby coughs, it helped to see him improve day after day.

You did end up recovering about a week after Morgan, all thanks to Henry. He made sure to give you only the best. Most of all you were just thankful that none of you could get the Plegian swine flu ever again.

Especially since he bought Maribelle a replacement mortar and pestle that came from a questionable source, covered in animal bones and bird skulls and...you really didn’t know what corner of Hell he summoned them from.

At least there wouldn’t be another opportunity for him to break anything else of Maribelle’s, seeing as you wouldn’t be getting sick again.

You would take extra steps to ensure that just so he wouldn’t frighten Maribelle with another horrifying “gift”.

[pure-garbage]

Another Swordsman Appears! Noxious Greetings From Punk Hazard

Chapter Warnings: Violence

"Aw. I wanted to come along too," Lana moped as Usopp, Robin, Luffy and Zoro prepared to leave the ship to explore the fiery inferno that was Punk Hazard.

"You can have my spot," Usopp offered tearfully. "Please, it would be for the best! I won't be any help on this excursion anyway! I'm all but incapacitated from the symptoms of my can't-go-to-the-islanditis!"

Luffy just cackled while Zoro grinned with savage excitement.

'So excited to be heading for trouble,' Lana thought fondly as she waved him off.

Lana spent her time focusing on a technique that had been frustrating her. The attack would be incredible powerful, if only she could nail the execution.

'Something's missing... it's not just the execution,' she realized as she sweated, exerting herself in a vain attempt to force the attack to play out the way she envisioned it in her head. 'There's an element of power that's lacking, and it goes beyond my resolve. What am I missing? Why won't this work?'

Try as she might, Lana couldn't overcome the obstacle she didn't understand.

"Lana! Your tea is ready!" Nami called from her grove, interrupting the warrior's practice.

"Huh?" Lana turned, scratching her head. "What tea?"

"That nasty, foul-smelling stuff you're always drinking," Nami said as thought it should have been obvious. "It's done, I can smell it from here!"

"I'm not brewing any tea right now," Lana said, baffled. 'Now that she mentions it, I do smell something... and it is familiar, but...'

The smoke appeared a second later, rolling over the Sunny in a cloud thick enough to obscure Lana's surroundings. She coughed, nausea washing over her the minute she inhaled a lungful.

"Grey clover?" she questioned breathlessly. The world spun and around her, the rest of the crew began to fall to the deck. Lana knew they weren't dead. Grey Clover was deadly if you ate enough of it, but using an aerosolized delivery method wouldn't enable you to deliver a dose high enough to kill. Only to render anyone who breathed it unconscious for a while.

"We're being attacked!" she snarled, planting her feet and drawing two daggers. She felt sluggish, dizzy, sick to her stomach, but she stood her ground. 'I guess my tolerance after drinking it so regularly is high enough that I can stay awake... whoever's doing this, they're going to be damn sorry after I get my hands on them!'

Figures in baggy yellow suits emerged from the artificial fog, boarding the ship seemingly from all sides. Lana's field of vision was distorted, haze and the effects of the drugs altering her perception of reality from within and without at the same time.

"What the-"

"One's still awake?!"

"It's just one! She can't be holding up well."

The yellow suits reasoned among themselves like Lana wasn't there. She swayed in place and decided to use the unintended movement to her advantage. She lurched forward, slashing and driving one of the intruders from the ship. The others swarmed her, but she thrashed furiously and refused to give them a hold. Something jolted through her body, a sharp, intense pain that was gone as quickly as it came.

'Electricity?!'

The shock actually helped clear Lana's head. She shouted her fury and the intruders went into a frenzied panic as they began to realize they weren't going to be able to take her down.

"The warlord! How far is the warlord?! We need help out here!"

Someone's voice carried through the gas that was slowly beginning to dissipate, giving Lana the much-needed opportunity to steal a breath of fresh air. Some of the fatigue started to leave her body, though she still felt awful from the effects of the poison. The ship was moving, but it felt strange. They weren't on the same course as before.

"Are you towing us?!" Lana demanded, smashing the hilt of her dagger against a man's head and sending him to the deck in crumpled, rubbery yellow heap. "Who the hell are you people?! What do you want?! This! Is! BULLSHIT!"

The more the clean air cleared her head, the more Lana became determined to solve the problem at its source. These intruders were coming from somewhere...

She caught sight of a barge ahead of the Sunny. The two ships had been connected by a chain sometime during her struggle with the unknown enemy.

"Got you!" she growled. She charged through the remaining throng of yellow intruders, knocking them aside with slashes and punches. She jumped onto the Sunny's figurehead, eyeing the thick chain calculatingly.

"Shrike Reign! Feather Dance!"

She sent a barrage of air slashes hurtling toward the chain, satisfaction filling her as they flew. The technique had been perfect, the attack flawlessly executed, the force of the blows leaving nothing to be desired. The strikes would land successively, the first few scoring the iron and the final sets severing its the connection between the ships completely.

At least, that's what would have happened if her attacks landed.

'Someone's going to block them?!'

A figure dashed along the chain itself from the barge, barreling toward Lana.

'More than a block,' she realized, shifting to a defensive stance. 'They'll send them back!'

The figure acted exactly as she'd known they would, forcing her to block seven of her own slashes as they flew at her in a savage boomerang. She sent them careening up harmlessly into the smoggy sky above the burning island.

'Attacks! He won't let up!'

Lana fell back before the new opponent could even engage her, hoping to put herself in a better position to regain the offensive. Before the attacks she foresaw could play out, however, something changed.

'What the hell?! Did he change his mind?!'

The man appeared behind her with startling speed.

'Shave?! No! This is something else!'

Lana still had time to react, whipping around and locking both her daggers against the blade of a sword almost as tall as the man wielding it.

'Another haki user,' she surmised. 'He hid his intent on purpose, changed his mind at the very last second... this is going to be tricky!'

Lana locked eyes with her opponent past their interlocked blades. He struck her as familiar, but she couldn't place him.

"Don't I know you?" she asked as he pushed forward, trying to force her down with strength alone. He was strong enough that he might have been able to do it, but she shaved away before he could drive her into a position she wouldn't be able to recover from. The man met her where she reappeared, blade flashing as he deflected her strikes with ease.

'His observation is good too... at least two seconds out from present!'

"You don't," the man assured her.

Lana clenched her teeth. She could feel that he was using a devil fruit power, but apart from sensing its presence, she could only intuit one other fact. It set her on edge.

"What's Room?" she demanded. She held her ground, watching to see what he would do next. 'He's waiting for something... what?'

"Your observation is good," he noted. "You won't use your devil fruit power?"

"Huh?"

"The calm-calm fruit."

"So we do know each other."

"We don't, but we crossed paths once. Well? I'm waiting."

The tenor of his intentions puzzled her. He seemed... nostalgic?

"I don't need my powers to contend with a swordsman," Lana said confidently. "I don't know who you people are or what the hell you want with my friends, but I'm not letting you take them."

Disappointment. This man kept his expression empty, cold, but his emotions were bleeding through the tight control he should have had over his intentions. Lana wasn't going to let herself be caught off guard. She knew it would be a mistake to take the hints at his inner thoughts for weakness.

'His haki is formidable. Something about this exchange is throwing him off center... I don't understand what, but I doubt he'll let me use it to my advantage.'

"Leave our ship now and I won't have to hurt you," she declared.

The man smirked a little, terribly amused by the idea that she might be able to hurt him.

"If you're not willing to put on a show for me, for old time's sake, then this is nothing more than a waste of my time," he told her.

'Old time's sake? What the hell is he talking about? He's about to sheathe his sword... will he leave?'

Lana's eyes widened. She could see what would happen, but she had no idea how to avoid it.

"Shave!"

"Shambles!"

____________________________________________

<== Previous Chapter

Next Chapter ==>

== First Chapter ==

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

We’re supposed to leave by half-past eight

★ Chapter 7 of 15, 5190 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: !!! mature content, minors please do not interact !!!, smut, oral (fem receiving), protected sex, alcohol consumption

<< 6

9 February, 2019

“I’m leaving now, to help set up. And I’m going to bring all my stuff in a bag to get ready there but please keep your phone on you because I have a feeling I’ll forget something. So I may text you in a panic to bring, like, a hairpin with you when you come. Even though I have loads of hair pins so I wouldn’t be asking for that. Anyway, please be there by quarter-past at the latest. There may be some stuff we could use help with before everyone else shows. We’ve probably got it all under control but who knows. I’ll text you.” rambled Este as she prepared to leave the hotel.

Cate and Georgia lounged on one of the two queen beds in the room they’d booked for the three of them, and listened in amusement. Este was overcome with the pressure of wanting the event she and her family had been planning for months to go perfectly. The fear of something going wrong brought out a severely frazzled version of herself, forcing Cate and Georgia to deal with the frequent babbling.

“Yes, yes, yes. You’ll be okay, darling. Off you go.” Cate insisted, ushering her out of the door.

Lugging over her backpack full of things she may need for the night, with her dress in a garment bag, Este walked the short distance to Dartmouth House from their hotel. She weaved through the building to find the room hosting the party, and her parents—Percy and Alfonso—greeted her upon entering.

“Hi, love!” Percy exclaimed, giving her daughter a hug and taking the dress she’d been holding to help find a place to put it. Este fist-bumped her dad, him quickly being called over by Florencia to help move some chairs from one table to another. Even with over four hours before the party was set to begin, the energy in the room was already chaotic.

After the hall was finally up to their high standards, Este scurried away to the private bathroom a few doors down to get dressed. Her makeup was already done, with the top half of her layered hair slicked up and the bottom half blown out into soft curls. She slipped on her long black dress, and after struggling to clasp the small buckles on her heels, she returned to the party room.

Her tense muscles began to relax as 6:30 neared and guests started to arrive. What seemed scary ended up being fine, but a bit draining, seeing plenty of friends and family Este hadn’t seen in a while (and having to catch up with the few she’d rather not see).

At 6:30 on the dot, she caught Matty walking in. The same grey trench coat she first saw him in last year was draped over top of his all black outfit, while his eyes searched the room to find Este. She made her way over.

“Hey, you.” Este said, catching him before he realised she was there. His eyebrows raised in shock and relief, a grin taking over his face.

“I’m on time, right?” He pulled her into an embrace. In heels, she was almost his height.

“You are.” she agreed, backing away and looking Matty up and down. “And dressed for the occasion.”

“With your help, of course.” Putting his hands on his hips and doing a quick spin, he showed off what clothed him for the evening. Coming back around to face her, his eyes scanned downwards at the black dress gripping Este’s body. She radiated an effortless beauty and stood with poise. The hair that usually sat messily around her temples was sleek and neatly pulled away; allowing Matty to have a full view of her face.

“You look incredible.” He said, smiling at her fondly.

Shyness spread over Este’s body language and their eyes locked for a couple of seconds, in gratitude. “So do you.”

Matty was shocked to learn that he’d be seated right next to her. He assumed he might be plonked at a random table due to his late-notice attendance, while Este sat with her family; but sitting shoulder to shoulder with her was a much better alternative and pleasant surprise. He arrived at their table, sending a quick ‘Hello’ to an already seated Cate, and introducing himself to Georgia.

When hanging his coat on the back of his chair and sitting down, he noticed a woman walk by with a familiar, yet also unfamiliar face. Looking back at Este to take note of their similarities, he put the pieces together. “Was that your mum?” Matty asked. Este nodded. He glanced over to Percy again with a small smile. “Introduce me.”

It was said more as an instruction rather than a suggestion, so Este called her over. “Ma!”

Percy’s chin turned to them in attention and smiled as she hurried over. Out of respect, Matty stood up from his chair to greet her.

“This is my friend Matty,” started Este.

He stuck his hand out for her to shake it, but she turned it down and pulled him in for a hug instead. Matty chuckled and rubbed her back graciously, then pulled away. “Her date, actually, for the night.” he corrected. Este blushed. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” Percy said, grinning. She kept her hands on his upper arms even after their embrace. “I’ve heard a ton about you. And your busy schedule—so the fact that you’re here with Este is very sweet of you.”

“Oh, of course. When she told me that Florencia wanted to invite me I was just flattered to even be thought of. Couldn’t miss it,” responded Matty.

“She’ll be happy to see you, for sure.” Her gaze met his, before walking away to greet more guests. The smile on her face was just as bright as Este’s. That’s where she must get it from, thought Matty.

“Already kissing mum’s arse. Typical.” joked Georgia, the four of them laughing and continuing to tease him as the flow of events began.

The beginning of the night was rather simple. Este was forced to leave her seat often for her handful of party responsibilities; but once dinner was served, she was able to sit and spend time with her friends. Matty was disappointed to find out that the fancy venue catered the party, after looking forward to and expecting to be trying Filipino food.

Following dessert, Florencia and José cut the cake and had their first dance. As Este observed Matty, turned around in his chair to face the dance floor, she could tell how entranced he was by the way the elderly couple held each other. There was a tenderness to their movement; and though the whole room watched in awe, the slight smile on his face and his glossy eyes led Este to assume he was a hopeless romantic. She wasn’t far off.

Luckily, when Matty was introduced to Este’s father and granddad—what he was most nervous for—he was met by two of the coolest men ever. They both shook his hand firmly, happy to hear about his unconventional career and close friendship with Este, despite their initially stern faces that eventually softened. “Are you the photographer for the night?” asked Matty, pointing out the camera hanging around Alfonso’s neck, after a couple minutes of conversation.

“Oh, yes! We’re cheap, you know, so we had to keep it in the family.” Este’s dad joked, patting and squeezing Matty’s shoulder. “Here, stand up. Anak, come on. Picture!” He backed away from them, raising the camera up to his right eye and shutting the other.

Este rolled her eyes and didn’t budge. “Dad, please.”

“Humour your father, please Este.” pried Alfonso, gesturing ‘stand up’ with his hand repeatedly.

Matty began standing up, reaching to grab Este’s hands and force her up as well. “A photo won’t hurt, love.”

“Fine,” she muttered under her breath with a sheepish grin, shuffling closer to Matty and placing her hand on his near shoulder, her arm bent behind it. Feeling him reach around to rest his on her waist, Este sunk into his side as their bodies met in the middle, both of their heads tilting towards each others’ sweetly. They both smiled wide with their teeth. Click. Alfonso gave a thumbs up.

-

The party took off once the bar opened and the DJ began her set. Georgia awkwardly gripped four vodka cranberries, trying not to spill them as she walked back to their table, before they cheersed and gulped them down. It was the first of their many drinks of the night.

A sea of white-haired aunties filled the dance floor for now, one of which being Florencia, since it was a bit early and people were busy mingling. She was yet to spot Matty, him getting lost among the other 200 guests there to see and celebrate her and her husband’s milestone. But, as she and her friends danced in a line to Achy Breaky Heart, she caught sight of him. Hurrying over, without even saying hello, she came up behind and gripped his shoulders excitedly, encouraging him to stand.

Matty, confused, stretched his neck around to see who was touching him. Flattered to learn it was the woman of the hour, he followed Florencia’s lead as she dragged him out to the group of ladies and convinced him to join them in dancing. He embarrassingly tapped his toes—flustered and in compliance—trying to replicate the simple line-dance moves that everyone else seemed to know by heart. Florencia kept him glued to her side as she called out what step would come next, the two of them laughing together.

When the song ended, Este watched her nan throw her arms around Matty, the two of them hugging briefly and then trying to converse over the loud beginning of the next song. With his hand on his chest, he thanked her for thinking to invite him, while Florencia simultaneously thanked him for coming out to celebrate. Este giggled at how obnoxious her family was. She loved it.

Matty took his seat again, the three girls’ faces plastered with amusement from the sight of him dancing. “I need another drink.”

As an hour passed, messily stacked glasses scattered their table, all of them now slightly tipsy. It brought on a chattiness between them all, so the nonstop conversation allowed the girlfriends to get to know Matty better, and vice versa. In the middle of him telling a story about his first time in Texas, Cate and Georgia exchanged a secretive set of glances and whispers; followed by the redhead suddenly scurrying away to the DJ. Matty barely realised she left, blabbering on about a guy chasing him and the band out of his house with a gun, and by the time Cate returned to her seat, his curiosity disappeared.

So, a few minutes later, when Matty heard his own song booming through the speakers, he was utterly confused. Georgia, Este, and Cate all giggled along as they got up in unison and headed for the dance floor, him finally realising it was Cate who convinced the DJ to play TOOTIME.

“Come dance!” she yelled over the lyrics, offering her hand out to him.

Matty shook his head in embarrassment, but gave in and let his feet grace the stained wooden floor again. “You guys are the worst.”

The girls danced carelessly in a circle as most of the middle-aged party guests headed back to their seats from the unfamiliar song. Matty approached, grabbing Cate’s still outstretched hand and joining in. Her hand was lightly held in his when he noticed Este’s lips mouthing the words. Not that they were particularly complicated or hard to remember, but still. It was cute, thought Matty.

For the following couple of songs, the four of them stuck around, keeping the dance floor occupied. It filled up once the DJ started playing the classics that everyone could enjoy. Majority of what she was playing had been energetic and lively; but it suddenly went quiet, and the lyrics “I want a Sunday kind of love,” were heard belting through the air.

The opening line to the Etta James song encouraged more guests to drag their significant others to the centre of the hall and slow dance. Georgia jokingly got down on one knee, asking Cate if she would ‘have this dance’, to which she agreed—before quickly forcing her to stand up before anyone got the wrong impression.

Meanwhile, Este considered taking a seat back at their table, but first, she looked over to Matty to see he was already looking at her. He offered his hand, no words needed between the two of them, and so she accepted it with a smile. He pulled her close, her right hand grasped in his, with the other around Matty’s back as his went to her hip. The space between them closed—chests pressed against each others’ and legs tangled together—as they swayed back and forth to the beat.

Matty closed his eyes to the passionate music, listening to its strings swell over top of its understated drums, with his head next to hers. Este rested her chin on his shoulder when her ears perked; suddenly hearing his quiet voice sing along.

“I want a, a love that’s on the square,” escaped his lips and into her ear. It was barely a whisper, but his close proximity allowed Este to hear it clearly.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, like his, to revel in the sound of his voice. “Can't seem to find somebody, someone to care,” she continued for him.

A smile lit up his face. “And I'm on a lonely road that leads to nowhere.” he responded, the two of them going back for a few more lines.

When they settled into silence, Este let go of his hand to hold her own around his neck. She pulled her chin away from his shoulder, repositioning her head to come face to face with him. Matty opened his eyes after feeling her move. Their noses were a mere few inches away from each other’s.

Her fingertips found the curls sitting at the nape of his neck, combing through them gently. Matty’s hair had grown quite a bit into the new year, now parted down the centre and pooling behind his ears when it wasn’t dangling in his face. He leaned back into her touch, clearly enjoying the sensation.

“Hi.” said Matty shortly, smiling with his teeth. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hello.” Este rolled her eyes at his cliché attempt at a joke. “It’s weird being this close to your mug. I can see up your nose.”

“Please don’t. I’ve got no idea what’s up there.” He scrunched it up a couple of times to squeeze a giggle out of Este. “I don’t mind being this close to your face. You have a nice one.” She could see his eyes trailing at each of her features, studying her intently. Her heartbeat elevated as she felt him fidgeting with the seam running down the side of her dress, near her hip.

“Thanks. You’ve got a good face too.” responded Este, breaking her gaze with his face and glancing down to the gold chain that dangled over the ink on his chest. He knew what he was doing, keeping the first few buttons of his top undone, she thought.

They continued to softly speak over the music. “Are you enjoying your night?” Matty asked.

“Yeah,” she answered, “I was yanking my hair out with stress leading up to it, honestly. But it’s better now, especially since you’re here. Even though I’m shocked at the fact that you are.”

“Shocked? Is it not clear that I like spending time with you?”

“Well, not that it’s not clear, but you’re so busy and I feel bad—”

“Este.” He cut her off. “I’m here. I want to be here. It’s been great. I like you and your company. Now stop worrying.” Matty assured her, meeting her eyes with his. “I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t even like me,” he joked.

She smiled at his words, embarrassed. “No need to worry about that.” Este denied. “Thank you for being here. Seriously. Since I have no idea when you’ll ever have another moment of free time this year.”

Matty chuckled, removing a hand from her waist to swipe the hair that sat down next to her neck away and behind her shoulder. His touch was slow, gentle, and slightly nervous.

“I’ll make free time for you.”

“Good.”

They heard the final lines of the song, most couples dancing around them coming to a halt slowly. Este almost pulled away, but his arms prevented her from doing so. Instead, Matty brought her in closer, now stationary, and gave her a squeeze. Her chin found its way over his shoulder again to lean her head against his and squeeze back. She felt his lips briefly press against her temple, making her stomach do flips, before he let go and backed away. The shared smiles on their faces were delicate and light.

Este hooked a couple of her fingers loosely around a few of Matty’s, dragging him back to their table behind Cate and Georgia.

“What should I request next? Chocolate?”

-

The room filled with loud popping noises as Este took down the last balloon display. Matty used his hands to collect the small clumps of rubber that accumulated beneath them. With the big lights now on, strobes off, all of the guests had left. Despite Este’s many protests, he insisted on staying back to help clean up, as the Dartmouth House events manager was very adamant on the Manansalas only booking the room until 11:30pm. The clock’s hands pointed at 11:39; so it was go time.

Once everything looked the way they found it before setting up, the few people remaining finally started to see themselves out. Este and her group of three, now practically sober from the hours passing and the frantic cleaning, went around to bid their farewells to her parents and the celebrating couple.

“You never got back to me about needing a place to stay,”

Este slung the backpack she brought to the venue over her shoulder as they prepared to take off. “Oh, don’t worry. I got a hotel just down the road with Cate and Georgia.” she clarified.

Matty slipped his coat on, looking down at his feet and shrugging. “But hotels are boring.” he mumbled.

“If you’re trying to invite me back to your place you can just ask, Matty.” Laughing at his moody demeanour, she searched his face for a smile to break. As if on cue, one crept through, first revealing itself in the crinkles next to his eyes.

“Fine. Este Manansala, would you like to come back to my house for a drink?” he asked in a sarcastically annoyed tone.

She raised her eyebrows. “Wow, the last name pronunciation was spot on,” Este said, to stall from actually answering his question; suddenly quite intimidated and apprehensive to the idea of being in his house. But, she didn’t want to turn him down; or say goodbye. So, she agreed. “I would love to.”

-

It was about a 15 minute drive to Matty’s house. And, since he had taken his car to the party, it was also the first time Este saw him drive. After he parked and walked her to the front door to enter, she pointed it out.

“I don’t know why, but for some reason it was odd to see you drive, just now. Like, you kind of give me ‘I can’t drive’ energy,” she admitted with a laugh.

Matty turned the key in the lock and pushed on the handle. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Este continued to insist that it wasn’t an insult but only dug herself deeper into the hole. He liked the high pitch her voice reached when defending herself and how she always laughed in the middle of her sentences instead of waiting until they were finished.

Grabbing her jacket and throwing it onto a chair in his lounge, Matty went to the kitchen to uncork a bottle of wine. Este traced his footsteps and followed him there, hers much slower than his as she took in the sight of his space. He wasn’t exaggerating when he’d mentioned that he was the opposite of a hoarder a few months back. Few decorations filled his minimally furnished space, complimenting its brutalist design and cold concrete base. Slivers of personality still shone through in the books piled on his coffee table and art hung on his walls.

Once she was done staring, he handed one glass of red to her and kept the other in his hand. They both took a sip, turning to lean their backs on the edge of his white counter, side by side.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s very Matty.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled, silently understanding exactly what she meant. “I like seeing you here.”

Este turned her head to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno. I’m just always your guest, like at Greenhouse or your flat, or whatever. It feels good to welcome you into my space, you know? Let you in. Offer you a drink.” he tried to explain.

“You should have me over more often then, so we can stop cramming into me and Cate’s tiny flat or into the shop,” Este pointed out, swallowing some more wine.

Matty stepped forward to pace around the kitchen in front of Este, who now sat atop the chill white stone with dangling feet as they conversed.

“I mean I would, if you didn’t live a two and half hour train-ride away.” he argued. “But, to be fair, Manchester is cooler than London—so I’m not even bothered by going back up there.”

“London is way cooler than Manchester, dude. You guys have everything here,”

Matty came close and rested his free hand on the counter next to Este’s. “I guess. There’s something Manchester has that London doesn’t, though. And it’s pretty tough to beat.” he said, inching his fingers so close to hers that she could feel their warmth.

She quietly hoped he couldn’t see her cheeks burning. They were so hot that Este almost reached up to feel them, but remembering her hand was millimetres from Matty’s made her shut down the instinct and freeze in place. “And what’s that?” she asked.

The glasses of wine, now the least of their concern, were set down. With both hands now free, Matty planted one on the either side of Este, confining her between his rapidly beating chest and the flat surface she sat on. She spread her legs apart so he could stand between her thighs and watched as his eyes went back and forth between her eyes and her lips.

“You.”

Este didn’t leave much time to think before closing the space in front of her, pulling Matty in by the back of his neck and pressing their lips together. His hands grabbed her waist, squeezing needily. She pulled away before anything progressed, to mumble into his mouth, “At least London has me tonight.”

Dragging her in to continue, Matty’s hands wandered up and down her back as their lips moved in sync. It was gentle—but desperate—as what they had both been wanting finally unravelled before them. Este gripped the hair she’d previously toyed with on the dance floor, having gotten the impression that he liked it.

With a couple of tugs, as she let his tongue graze hers, she heard a low groan escape Matty’s throat. They were so close that she could almost feel its vibration against her. His hands migrated downwards, coming past her arse and teasing her upper thighs. Este’s skin tingled as his thumb caressed over it through her dress.

“I didn’t bring you here just to do this, by the way,” Matty clarified, exhaling and breaking contact to catch his breath. “It wasn’t some sick plan of mine to go to your nan’s party to be able to snog you in my kitchen afterwards.” He rested his forehead on hers in the meantime.

“I know.” Their laboured breathing filled the room. “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

“God, no.”

Este knew exactly what he wanted. With hands frantically running through his hair, she kissed him again—deeply—with an open and hungry mouth, eliciting a whine. Her touch lit his skin on fire, and it felt right to Matty. Like her lips were destined to be within his. He thought about the silliness of why they hadn’t been doing it all along.

“Why have we only come round to this now?” considered Este aloud, reading his mind and finding a break to speak as Matty trailed kisses down her jaw.

“No idea.” His lips focused on the skin right below her ear, as she moaned with shyness and his hot breath tickled her peach fuzz. “We’re a couple of pussies,”

She giggled and brought him back to eye-level. Matty’s hand now cupped her face, thumb rubbing back and forth on her cheek, moving their swollen mouths against one another again. The absence of his hands on her leg made Este eager for more of him.

“Can I unzip your dress?”

After she nodded enthusiastically, he did what she granted, yanking the gold hardware down to feel her smooth skin with his palms. In a similar fashion, Matty encouraged her to unbutton his shirt. What had been unhurried and delicate soon turned ravenous, Este and Matty's craving for each other becoming clear. They didn’t even bother bringing their clothes with them before she followed him up to his room, leaving the articles scattered on the kitchen floor.

When her back landed on his wrinkled sheets, he held himself above her and studied her with admiration. He playfully made fun of her choice of knickers, sporting a pair of red boy shorts covered in pink hearts, making Este cover her face in embarrassment. Removing them to reveal her blushing complexion, Matty met his lips with hers, both of them smiling into the kiss. His hand crept down near her hip, tracing a line over her skin to the spot where he then applied pressure to her clit through the red-patterned cloth.

“Matty, please,” Este moaned into his mouth and squirmed her hips upward for extra friction. He melted at the sound of his name escaping her lips, eventually making his way down between her legs.

He kept a hand pressing on the space right below her belly button as he pulled her underwear down her legs with the other. The pressure in her lower stomach was finally satisfied when Matty used his tongue on her wetness, focusing on the bundle of nerves that made her writhe in pleasure. As she tugged on his hair, he hummed into her, and Este whined in response.

Her chest heaved up and down, increasing in speed as Matty brought her closer and closer to the edge. He could tell Este would finish if he kept at it, so he pulled away, licking a stripe up her sternum to bring himself to be eye-to-eye with her again. She rolled her eyes at the smug look on his face before crashing her lips onto his. “I was close, you fucking prick.”

“I know.” he panted with a smile, before gasping at the feeling of Este gripping him over his boxers. “Fuck,” Matty moaned and collapsed beside her onto his back.

Pulling back his waistband, she rolled onto her side to reach in, wrapping her hand around him and pumping up and down. The drop of precum right at his tip swiped under Este’s thumb while Matty whimpered into her neck. She watched the muscles beneath the tattoo on his lower stomach convulse. Deciding he deserved a taste of his own medicine, she deprived him of contact once she saw his mouth drop open and eyes flutter shut in pleasure.

They opened violently as Matty was snapped out of the trance Este sank him into. He turned his head towards her, breathing heavily. “I see how it is.”

She tugged off her bra as he slipped protection on and climbed back between her legs, finally pushing into her—his hip bones flush against her body. Este latched at the curls on the back of his head, with his face buried into her neck, moaning in unison with the sounds of skin against skin. Matty wasn’t afraid to make noise, and that turned her on.

A light-headed feeling took over Este’s mind as the sensation of him inside of her overwhelmed her. It hadn’t been this good for her in a while. She clenched around him to draw a growl out of his lips and watched his face twist with indulgence as he returned to hovering above her.

Matty bit down on his bottom lip with his teeth, eyebrows furrowed, thrusts growing messy. The previous teasing, done by Este’s hand and Matty’s mouth, made their movements quick and left them already close to finishing. “Come on, Matty.” encouraged Este, wanting to push him to his climax.

Her almost pornographic tone of voice muttering his name made Matty drive into her with harder force for his last thrusts before one final push brought him there. He came and gasped—twitching within her—and dropped to his elbows, hiding his face in her hair. “Oh my god—fucking hell, Este.”

A couple seconds of open-mouth breathing passed before he pulled out and dove downwards to bring Este to her orgasm. Matty’s talented tongue lapped firmly as he held her buckling hips down to the mattress. He felt her hands lightly pushing on the back of his head, aching for as much pressure as possible. She moaned, crying out a ‘Don’t stop,’ when Matty moaned back. The vibration and feverish mouth against her cunt brought her over the edge, clenching the sheets in her fists and letting Matty’s name fall from her lips as she came.

After the come down of her climax, he laid his head on Este’s stomach. They panted, giddy and satisfied. She reached up and wiped a bead of sweat from above her eyebrow, before feeling Matty’s flushed face with the back of her hand.

“You’re burning hot.”

“Can you blame me, darling?”

8 >>

[eva-cybele]

wolmeric week day 1: first meeting

Aymeric cast an eye over the war table that had been hastily assembled at Porta Praetoria, taking count of their forces and those arrayed against them. The Garleans had suffered heavy losses, but they were still formidable, not to mention entrenched. Routing them would not be easy.

Even so, a strange certainty of their victory filled him. Doma had been liberated with a far smaller army, proving once again that the mere presence of the Warriors of Light was enough to turn the tide of battle, no matter what field they fought on.

The other leaders of the Eorzean Alliance – still strange to think of himself as one of them, even after all these months – gathered and arrayed themselves around the table as well, discussing strategy and the strengths and weaknesses of their own forces. Merlwyb, after recounting her contributions of the Maelstrom, Yellow Jackets, and elite squadrons from various pirate crews and guilds within Limsa Lominsa, waved forward an older highlander man, whose severe face was unfamiliar among the Ala Mhigan Resistance members that Aymeric had met thus far.

“Roric Blackthorne leads a Free Company that fought under the Maelstrom’s banner at Carteneau, and his men have been working with the Resistance for months now. He knows the lay of the land well, and has requested a place with the Immortal Flames at the van.”

Raubahn gave the man a quick look over, and then shrugged. “I hope you’re prepared to give the imperials hell, if you’re asking to be put under my command.”

Roric crossed his arms over his broad chest and lifted his chin. “More than. And if ye doubt the strength of my sword arm, perhaps this’ll convince ye: I’ve bested the Warrior of Light in single combat.”

Aymeric felt his eyebrows crawl towards his hairline, and saw similar skepticism bloom across the faces of everyone present. Lyse, especially, looked nearly ready to jump across the table and defend the honor of her fellow Scions, when a softly-accented feminine voice cut across the group: “Don’t let him spin you tales. Roric hasn’t been able to do more than hold his own against Kaede since she was nineteen. And I doubt he’d be able to do even that, now.”

All the eyes at the table were drawn to the slight figure of a raen woman, her jet-black hair pulled back in a loose braid, with eerily familiar cobalt blue eyes staring out of her faintly-lined face.

Ice abruptly ran down Aymeric’s spine as he realized exactly who he was looking at.

Roric deflated a little, and his bluster turned to a sheepish grin as he turned to look at the woman. “Oh, aye, but ye couldn’t have let me have my glory for a moment longer? ‘Tis a sad day when a man’s wife cuts him down to size in front of his betters.”

The woman shook her head. “My husband may have his glory, but not when it comes at the cost of my daughter’s.”

“Oh, fair enough. M’lords and ladies, may I present my chief tactician, who also does me the great honor of being my wife: Yuriko Kazarishi.”

A deep chuckle boomed against the rocks, and Raubahn reached his arm across the table to grasp Roric’s forearm. “A fine thing to be able to claim, even so. Perhaps if I still had both my arms, I might be able to join you in making it. Or Ser Aymeric, had he not been fighting the other lass with a barely-healed gut wound, eh?”

The Flame General’s use of his name startled Aymeric out of the quiet panic that had settled into the back of his mind at the realization that he was meeting the parents of the woman he loved, and he quickly shook his head. “I do not dare claim that I could have overcome Marzanna on even my best day, though I concede that the Grand Melee was far from it. ‘Tis an honor, however, to meet you both – Ishgard owes your daughter a great debt.”

The diplomatic platitudes rolled off of his tongue without much need for thought, and he watched carefully as both sets of eyes turned to him, Yuriko unreadable, but Roric with barely concealed dislike. “Well. Too bad she wasn’t around to end yer war for ye before we took the field at Carteneau, but ‘tis better late than never.”

Aymeric suppressed a wince at that. Kaede had mentioned that her parents bore no love for Ishgard, due to their absence from the Eorzean Alliance, but that didn’t make the obvious dismissal any easier to swallow.

Merlwyb’s voice was sharp with reprimand as she addressed her subordinate, “We have agreed to let bygones be bygones. Ishgard has returned to the Alliance, and since doing so, has not failed to answer the call of duty.”

“There is no need to defend our honor, Admiral. ‘Tis the truth that in your hour of need, we shut our gates. I only hope that by our presence now, Ishgard can begin to redress the balance.”

Roric looked unimpressed, but Aymeric thought he saw a flicker of respect cross Yuriko’s face at his words, and she gave him a small nod.

Situation defused, chatter across the table soon resumed, and Aymeric was content to listen as talk turned back to battle tactics. Roric had updated intelligence on patrol routes and troop numbers, and Yuriko a few ideas that made it clear where Kaede had gotten her sharp eye for tactics, but no final plans were yet ready to be made.

The meeting swiftly came to a close, and the other leaders departed back to their respective camps, but Aymeric found himself hesitating.

He wasn’t the only one, and a quiet “Ser Aymeric, was it?” pulled his attention back to Yuriko Kazarishi, who was staring at him with a considering eye. When he nodded, she raised an eyebrow. “Your name has appeared quite often in my daughter’s letters. She seems to think quite highly of you.”

Aymeric bowed slightly in her direction. “I assure you, my lady, the feeling is mutual. I am honored to consider Kaede a dear friend, as well as an ally.”

A tiny smile curved the corner of her mouth, and Aymeric was struck again by how strange it was to see Kaede’s eyes in another woman’s face. “A dear friend? Is that truly all?”

For the second time that day, Aymeric froze, startled. They had only had a few short months of stolen moments before Kaede had left for Othard – she hadn’t mentioned telling her parents about him, but it was entirely possible she had, and simply not had the time or the opportunity to mention it. “Ah. No. She is in truth much more, though our relationship is not yet common knowledge.” He paused, and then was unable to hold the question back, “When did she tell you?”

He was frankly dying to know when she had deemed their relationship serious enough to divulge it to her parents, even knowing they would likely not approve.

The laugh lines around Yuriko’s eyes deepened as she covered her mouth with her hand, before composing herself back to calm, but the merriment sparkled in her eyes, undimmed, as she spoke. “She hasn’t, actually. But I know my daughter. And why else would she write incessantly of a man for months, and then suddenly stop mentioning him by name at all, at the same time that she grew too busy to come visit? And then that same man looks as if he’s seen a ghost the moment he meets us? It paints a very clear picture, Lord Commander.”

Aymeric felt his face grow warm from embarrassment at falling so easily into the trap she’d laid for him. Before he could muster a response, a loud snort of amusement from Roric caught his attention, and the man slapped him ungently on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, lad. She does that t’everyone. Keen eye for more than just tactics, my lily flower has. Now, Kaede’s a woman grown, and so I won’t involve m’self in her business, but you just remember who taught her to hold a blade, eh?” The man’s sharp grey eyes were not unfriendly, but Aymeric understood immediately the gravity of the threat, even though it was patently absurd to think of anyone fighting Kaede’s battles for her – as well as the ridiculous notion that he would ever intentionally do something to warrant that response.

Instead of laughing, however, he placed his hand over his heart and answered with utter sincerity. “I won’t give you a reason to ever need remind me of that fact, ser. That, I can promise you.”

Sighing, Yuriko planted her hands on her hips and leveled a look of disapproval at her husband. “That’s quite enough, Roric. Especially after that little comment at the table. You’re lucky the Admiral didn’t throw you out then and there for your impertinence.” She shook her head, and then tucked her hand into the crook of Roric’s arm, drawing him away. “Forgive us for taking up your time, Ser Aymeric. I’m sure you have preparations to see to, just as we do. I only ask that if you do see my daughter, perhaps you might send her our way before she’s sent out on some mission to slay a god or liberate a country or whatever else it is the Alliance has her doing these days.”

Sheepishly, Aymeric nodded. “I will see that she knows you are expecting her, my lady. And I shall do my utmost to refrain from monopolizing all of her time.”

Apparently satisfied, Yuriko led her husband away towards the Maelstrom’s camp, and Aymeric felt his shoulders relax in exhaustion. Fury have mercy, that was not how he’d imagined that meeting going, and yet… it could have been worse. Disapproval of his city’s politics aside, they seemed decidedly neutral on him as a person, which was certainly an improvement over the reactions he’d received from most of the parents of women he’d courted in the past.

Settling on cautious optimism, Aymeric forcibly turned his thoughts away from his personal life and back towards the matter at hand. A free Ala Mhigo might go a long way toward improving their opinions of him, after all.

[drewzeitlin]

Cross Stitch Stories: Tides of Redemption: The Journey of Ollie the Mimic Octopus Part 2

Part 2: The Coral Maze

The ocean shimmered in kaleidoscopic hues as Ollie ventured further from the Coral Kingdom, his thoughts a whirlwind of determination and trepidation. The promise of redemption fueled his every movement, yet the unknown path ahead weighed heavily on his mind.

Before long, Ollie found himself at the entrance of the Coral Maze, a labyrinthine stretch of vibrant reefs and hidden currents that whispered tales of danger and adventure. The maze was as beautiful as it was treacherous, and those who dared enter were seldom seen again. Ollie steeled himself, his skin shifting to blend seamlessly with the coral as he slid into the maze’s winding passages.

The currents tugged at him, pulling him toward unfamiliar paths, but Ollie’s resolve was steadfast. He navigated with care, keenly aware of the maze’s reputation. Soon, he encountered the first test of his journey—a trapped seahorse, caught in a tangle of seaweed.

The seahorse struggled desperately, its delicate fins fluttering in panic. Without hesitation, Ollie mimicked a sea turtle’s strong beak and gently freed the seahorse from its confines.

“Thank you,” the seahorse gasped, catching its breath. “I owe you my life. The maze is no place for kindness, yet you’ve shown it.”

Ollie smiled, his heart warming at the seahorse’s gratitude. “Kindness is what I hope to bring back to my home,” he replied, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

As he continued through the maze, Ollie encountered a wise old turtle resting in the shade of a large coral fan. The turtle’s eyes twinkled with ancient wisdom as he regarded Ollie with curiosity.

“You have the look of one on a quest,” the turtle remarked, his voice deep and resonant. “What brings you to these perilous waters?”

Ollie hesitated, then shared his story, explaining his mission to retrieve the Pearl of Unity. The turtle listened intently, nodding thoughtfully.

“The maze tests not just your skills, but your heart,” the turtle mused. “Remember, young one, trust in yourself and those you meet along the way. The ocean is vast, and allies can be found in the most unexpected places.”

Thanking the turtle for his wisdom, Ollie pressed on, each twist and turn of the maze revealing new challenges. He faced cunning predators, shifting currents, and his own self-doubt. Yet with each encounter, he learned to trust his instincts and the lessons he had absorbed from those he met.

As the heart of the maze drew near, Ollie felt a renewed sense of purpose guiding him. The coral formations grew more intricate and mesmerizing, but so did the dangers lurking within their shadows. Ollie had to call upon all his courage and cunning to overcome each obstacle, always remembering the turtle’s advice.

At last, Ollie reached the center of the maze, where a grand coral archway led to the next phase of his journey. Just as he was about to pass through, a formidable creature loomed before him—a massive moray eel, its eyes gleaming with malevolence.

The eel blocked Ollie’s path, its serpentine body undulating in the water. “You think you can pass through my domain without consequence?” the eel hissed, its voice echoing menacingly.

Ollie’s heart pounded in his chest as he prepared to face this new threat. He knew the journey was far from over, and the challenges ahead would test him more than ever.

Cliffhanger: As the eel lunges toward Ollie, a mysterious ally emerges from the shadows, ready to aid him in the fight—a hint of the deeper connections and trials that lie ahead on his path to redemption.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens.

This story was brought to you by the Cross Stitch Pattern Animal Cephalopod Mimic Octopus With Story and Audio. Not only does this design look great, but it also tells a powerful story of redemption, with an audio recap included. The hero of our tale, Ollie highly recommends it. For more information, visit drewzeitlin.gumroad.com/l/octopus. You can see all our cross-stitch patterns at DrewZeitlin.gumroad.com This is not your great-grandmother’s cross-stitch—it’s a multi-sensory experience! And one more thing: you get to choose the price. What do you have to lose? But how much do you have to gain?

[nsfwhiphop]

Text #1 for @zoesaldana and @rosariodawson and @deepikapadukone: You are the three students in this dialogue. The three students ask: "Can you be more specific? What do you mean when you use the term 'Brain sports'?" Angelo says: "It means training your brain to see and hear what you can't see and hear. Movies play a crucial role in your mental strength training. Without these Alien movies, you'll never be able to mentally prepare for your future encounter with me, Angelo. You can't understand who you're dealing with if you never get the proper training. That's why we use movies to help you prepare mentally to meet me." The three students respond: "Oh, we get it. It's like a gym for the mind, right?" Angelo agrees: "Yes, exactly! Watching these alien movies is like a gym for your mind. You can get acquainted with my unique world. When you watch these alien movies, you get daily practice, just like when you go to the gym to practice physically. But my movies are a gym that helps you practice mentally. Get it now?" The three students ask: "So, all we have to do is watch these movies, and this helps us see and hear what is happening in AREA 51? We get to see the visuals, right?" Angelo confirms: "Yes, the visuals, exactly. You can see and hear what others can't. Get it now?" The three students say: "Got it! It's a brilliant way to train our brains to be prepared for anything. We learn how to fight the bullies. It helps us become war-ready." Angelo responds: "Yes, that's the general idea behind this movie marathon. You get to train your brain in the comfort of your own homes. You don't have to go anywhere. Just put the movie on, and your brain will get the training it needs to prepare mentally for the future alien challenge and the many adventures in AREA 51. That's why I'm sharing all these alien movies. They serve a purpose—to help you train your brain. That way, you'll never be afraid. You'll always be prepared for anything after you watch these alien movies."

Here is a very popular movie, "36th Chamber of Shaolin." This movie focuses on physical training, right? Well, now you'll engage in a similar type of training, but for your brain. It's called Mental Strength Training. This training helps sharpen your mind, enabling you to focus on the challenges ahead. You will train your mind to overcome fear and to never give up. After watching these movies, you will feel much stronger mentally. It's just like the Shaolin training, but for your brain.

I have a very long list of thousands of AREA 51 screenplays, and I give them to my friends to help them get the proper mental training they need to prepare for anything. These movies are very useful in helping them avoid panic attacks and fear. Once they view these movies, it takes away the fear and anxiety, making them more confident, like real warriors. They become brave.

Below is the video training from "36th Chamber of Shaolin."

[chips-dub-o]

Today was the first time in a while that I felt that fear of taking a test and not being prepared for it. It's a special type of fear. I can also describe it as absolute brain nothing, panic, fear, not understanding, just this weird anxiety feeling. It's crippling, you're grabbing at whatever you can just to get an answer but you're mind id racing trying to find any answers that fit. It takes me back when I was a kid. I used to get this feeling a lot and it sucks. I want to be able to help other people that have that same feeling so they can never feel that feeling again. I'm going to try harder but I also want to quit and try again when I'm stronger. When I have even less going on then I do now. I don't think that's possible sadly. My time is running out and I need to do my best to do what I can, when I can . I hate asking for help but I need other things to help me do what I need to do. Taking away things isn't going to help, I need to practice. I need to be ready for anything. Fuck discipline, practice will overcome all of that "be strong(er)" bullshit. I need to remember this feeling when I wake up tomorrow. I need to remember this horrible feeling and use it to make myself better. Not only for me but for the people who didn't have the opportunity to get to college and get an education like me.

[udo0stories]

  Never be afraid of shadows. They just indicate that there is a light shining in the area." Renkel, Ruth E. I believed I had a serious problem before I began to heal from my anxiety. Every panic attack, every dreadful morning, and every social gathering I would psychologically brace myself for made me feel as though I lacked something that no one else possessed. When I worked as a grocery store cashier, I avoided socializing with customers twenty-four hours prior to my shift. Yes. That implies that I would not spend Friday afternoon and evening with anyone if I worked on Saturday morning. Why? I had to get myself "ready" for my grocery store entry-level job. I felt like everyone was watching to see if I could go an hour without smiling, and I had to "make sure I felt okay." I was harshly critical of myself and believed that I was worthless to the world if I was not filled with optimism. Additionally, if I did not radiate confidence at all times, people would assume I was not good enough. Upon embarking on my quest to overcome my anxiety, I discovered several life experiences that had significantly impacted my inner world. One of them happened at a dance competition in which I participated when I was younger. I joined a Bhangra group when I was around ten years old. Bhangra is a kind of folk dance that has its roots in Punjab, India. When you see a performance of bhangra, you can tell that the dancers are exuberant and smiling broadly. Bhangra is a very energetic dance form. This is a crucial portion of the show since you want the audience to enjoy themselves, so you need to bring this much energy to the stage. My group had just finished a performance at one of my dance competitions, and the judges were prepared to give their piece. All of the judges were very complimentary, with the exception of one who chose to draw attention to a weakness in my own portion of the performance. "You," he said, pointing to me, younger Raman, "did not seem to be smiling so wide. Everyone did such an amazing job and were smiling so big and having fun," he said. Why did that occur?" My heart stopped as a ten-year-old because every single eye in that auditorium was staring at me. To be honest, I do not think I said much in response, but I cannot quite recall what I said. It was "chill," as best I could. It was probably just a shrug and an "I do not know" as my soul slowly poured out of me in embarrassment before my dance group and I eventually left the stage. We were enjoying ourselves during this dance competition because we were young. We were not even attempting to impress the judges, much less win a national championship. The criticism from that one judge ended up lowering my spirits, even though we did wind up winning a prize. It really affected me to be the one singled out among the group. Our minds may not know why we might grow older with certain fears and anxieties, but the child who went through that suffering is still a part of us. Additionally, the judge from a dance competition takes on the role of an inner judge who assesses us prior to a cashier shift. "Grow your smile!" he exclaims. Both the little and the large painful moments are what stay with us. Even though, as adults, we might think, "Oh, it was just one thing someone said; that is not a big deal," to that little child, it certainly was. It is very significant! This brings me to the first misconception about anxiety that we have: that there is a problem with us. There is nothing wrong with you if anxiety of any kind has ever occurred to you. Your internal system is, in fact, operating precisely as intended! We develop an inner judge to "fix" what went wrong (in this case, not smiling big enough at the dance performance) in order to hopefully prevent having someone criticize us from the outside (at work) and avert a potential future "threat" (in this case, the embarrassment from the judge in my story). Our inner world functions strangely, but it does its duty. It is true that

if you mentally prepare yourself for a big smile at work for twenty-four hours prior to a work shift, you will probably smile big at work, and no one will criticize you for being a downer. You no longer have the energy to give it your all when things start to get really tough. When your inner critic makes you feel inadequate, it gets particularly difficult. It’s usually around this time that people start looking for some help, because even though their inner world is doing its job, it becomes exhausting to keep up with it. This brings me to the second misconception about anxiety, which is that it is a lifelong condition. Many people think that a label you receive from someone has to stick with you for the rest of your life. Not me, though. For example, I made the decision to change my anxiety for the better and to take the necessary steps to treat it when my doctor diagnosed me with moderate generalized anxiety disorder. There is no need to "cope" with anxiety. A young woman who was one of my clients recently exclaimed, "Oh, yay, another coping mechanism!" when I suggested a tool. Even though she was eager to try something new, I had to be honest with her and tell her that she could change her anxiety rather than just learn to live with it. Recognizing the dominant thoughts in your mind is the first step towards changing your fears. Frequently, the anxiety is brought on by overly critical thoughts. We can then inquire as to the source of these thoughts once we become conscious of them. You have a backstory for your anxiety, just as I do! Although there are frequently multiple origin stories—a collection of origin stories—it is helpful to begin with one. You will shift more the more willing you are to change and the more open you are to healing through your story. You do not have to live your life in constant control of your anxiety. It can even function as a passenger. This brings us to the third and last myth concerning anxiety: the idea that healing requires constant tranquility and the total absence of anxiety. The truth is that anxiety has occasionally surfaced during my six years of recovery. I spent weeks being a nervous wreck when I first started offering workshops. When I am trying something new, I still get nervous, but my reaction is different. The process of healing gives us strength that enables us to act and behave differently in the world. Despite my intense nervousness about taking risks in my career, I found the inner strength to pursue it! That is because my life is no longer driven by anxiety. It turned into a welcomed traveler. The fact is, I do not want to throw her out of the car if her experiences and that inner child are the source of her anxiety. I should make a safe place in my life for that little girl. I greet anxiety when it manifests itself. I talk to her, I journal in her voice, and I reassure her that everything will be alright. I tell her that I will be the one to empower and encourage her, that I am not that judge from that day on. She is free to join me at any time on this journey. And it would be a pleasure if she could travel with me. I am here to reveal to her the full extent of the magic within. I am here to help her recognize the qualities and abilities she possesses that no one else can take away. She is a welcome passenger, and I will steer the vehicle in the direction of our mutual benefit. I have learned to be kinder to myself, to see the person behind their mask, and to be a living example of inner peace as a result of my experience with anxiety and the healing that followed. It is possible that the more trying times in our lives also mold us into the people we were destined to be.

[dailyaudiobiblechronological]

11/7/2023 DAB Chronological Transcription part 3

Matthew. For millennia, we've tried to observe the signs of the times and make predictions on where we find ourselves cosmically. But living this way, Can lead to uncertainty, fear and hysteria, Jesus called to a different perspective. No one knows the day or hour when these things will happen, not even the angels in heaven or the Son himself. Only the Father knows. So you too must keep watch, for you don't know what day your Lord is coming. These words have the power to change how we live every moment of our lives, starting right now. Jesus told us that yes, things are going to get bumpy. But our heart's posture is not to be one of fear or panic. Rather we should live with awareness and hope. We're not going to figure out something that even Jesus claims not to know, but we can and must be prepared and aware the correct stance toward the future Is to live as if it's already underway. If we heed this council, we will be ready, ready for the end times, and ready to participate in and collaborate with God in the redemption of the world right now. That feels like very sound. My entire life, It could be any day. My entire life, And the thing I find interesting is I think the things that Jesus mentioned has been apart of culture, time, society, the world, however you want to describe it since he walked the earth. And I think that's the point, it will always be.These things will always be present among us and occurring. How will we respond? Do we engage in the hysteria? Do we panic? Do we live in complete and utter fear? And the answer to all of these things is no. If we have the hope of Christ, We have the free bingo chip on the bingo card of our faith We get. We get that automatically. It comes automatically. And our hope is not a contingency plan to our situation. Hope Is a prerequisite To our faith. Our hope, our future, what is to come and what will be, Is secure. It does not mean it's perfect. It does not mean it's easy. It does not mean It is showers and endless rain fall of blessings. It means there will be trials. There will be tribulations. Jesus warned us of this. There will be pain. It will be part of our story. And what we do is pray it away and get out of it as fast as we possibly can. But we have things we. We have truths, we have promises that we know. This is from Jesus himself. This is what he said. Fear not, for I have overcome the world. I will never leave you nor forsake you. I came to heal the broken hearted and set the captives free. These are the words of Jesus we have to remember These promises and hold on to them. When it gets uncertain, When it gets hard, When it gets rocky, When the world comes at us, Will our response be Truth. Will our response be love? And will our response be the truth in love?

[harperhealthaz]

Excel, Stress, and Self-Care: Finding a Balance That Works for You

Hi everyone! I hope you are having a great day and enjoying your work. I know I am, most of the time. But I also know that work can be stressful and exhausting sometimes, especially when dealing with complex tasks and deadlines. That's why I want to share with you my experience of how I learned to balance my work and rest.

I love working with data and Excel. Analyzing data, creating formulas, and solving problems are engaging and rewarding. I can spend hours on a spreadsheet without getting bored or distracted. But sometimes, that can also be a problem. When you focus on your work and are constantly trying to problem-solve, sometimes you wear yourself out, and the only other thing that matters in your off time is sleep and giving your mind a chance to relax. That is what happened to me.

I have been working on several projects at the same time. I prepare reports, charts, and dashboards. I'm always thinking about how to improve or problem-solve. I feel stressed and frustrated, but I keep pushing myself because I know that hard work will eventually pay off.

My biggest issue is letting myself walk away for a few minutes and clear my head. One day, I realized I had made a mistake in one of my formulas. It was a simple error but affected the whole calculation and results. I was shocked and embarrassed. How could I make such a mistake? I checked my other formulas and found more errors. I started to panic. How could this happen? How could I fix it? How did I not notice this?

That's when I decided to stop and take a break. I realized that even just taking a 15-minute walk or stretching helped clear my mind. It's incredible how something so short and simple can make me feel refreshed and energized. I felt ready to face the challenges again.

I opened my laptop and rechecked my formulas. This time, with a clear mind and a calm attitude, I was able to spot the errors quickly and fix them easily. I was relieved and happy. I felt proud of myself for overcoming the obstacle and delivering the best possible outcome.

This experience taught me a valuable lesson: work is important, but so is taking breaks. You can only do your best work if you take care of yourself. Finding a balance between your work and life. You should listen to your body and mind when they tell you to take a break.

So, next time you feel stressed or exhausted by your work, don't be afraid to take a break. Trust me. It will make a difference.

Thank you for reading this blog post! If you liked it, please share it with your friends and colleagues who might benefit from it too.

And remember: work hard, work smart, and take breaks!

[freelanceu]

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[fe-fictions]

Where? ~oh~ where? Have those Henry fics gone?~ I needs my crowman

(I've got some Henry taking care of Robin and Morgan when they get sick! Huge thanks to @zankavogue , who compiled a huge archive of fics from the deactivated blog! I'll be reuploading as many as possible!!! U V U)

The family had taken a brief, albeit very fun and relaxing, trip in Plegia. Morgan being only eight months old certainly made things interesting. Having the whole family there to enjoy the beauty of Plegia outside war time was fun.

Plus, you were both Plegians, so it was nice to learn about your roots.

It was a magical time. Or at least, it would have been. You woke up the morning after you came home and found yourself unable to get out of bed.

You had a fever, your head was pounding, and you were a snotty mess of misery. Henry was amused until he heard baby Morgan bawling down the hall. You both caught, according to your husband, the Plegian swine flu.

No one was immune from it, not even sweet, innocent little blood bags like Morgan (Henry’s words, not yours).

So Henry quickly went from teasing you and being fascinated by how miserable you were to going into full-blown panic.

Like any disease, a baby catching it had a higher risk of complications. Most recover, Henry explained while frantically scribbling an urgent letter for Maribelle to tie to one of his crows, but itty bitty babies could suffer serious health problems.

Henry got to work on preparing you a bucket of cold water, a second bucket for the kerchiefs you would be blowing your nose into all day, and a third bucket in case you couldn’t keep your food down.

You didn’t.

“Gods, Henry- did you have to send that filthy animal to me? I’m literally down the block! It would take you fifteen minutes to-”

“Fifteen minutes is a waste of time! Morgan and Robin could be dead by then! And if it’s either of them, it’s no joke, nya ha!”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“It’s nervous laughter!” He chuckled again, though judging by how pale his face was, it seemed to be true. 

Maribelle simply scoffed and hurried to the bedroom, ready to treat her friend.

“Robin, darling! Oh, you look positively ghastly!” She gasped, drawing the mask over her mouth and nose. She pulled on her medical gloves, a stave at her side and a big pouch of herbs on her belt. “The Plegian swine flu is no joke...it’s very rarely found in Ylisse, but when it travels with you…”

“I-it’s a disaster.” You wheezed, not before you were overcome by coughing. “Anything y-you can do will be a welcome remedy.”

“Luckily for you, there’s nothing here that herbs and plenty of rest won’t fix. Now Morgan might be a little trickier, given his age...but we can at least get started with you.”

Maribelle was quick to send  Henry off to grind up the herbs, preparing some disgusting concoction guaranteed to get your body back to normal.

Presuming Henry could put it together.

“Now, when did you start to feel ill?”

“W-well, if I’m honest… It started around-”

Crash

“Ah, gods- I broke the cup!!”

“-The time we got home, last night. It was late-”

Smash

“The pestle’s shattered!!”

“-And I just thought I was tired, but...my head feels about the same as-”

Bang

“The herbs are everywhere!!”

“HENRY!!” Maribelle shouted out the door, “What in the gods’ names are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make a mess!” Henry apologized, his voice shaky and unsure. “I-I just meant to help a bit, but it looks like I’m making things worse, nya ha!”

“Why don’t you come and sit,” Maribelle pinched  her brow, “Just settle down until you stop breaking things.” 

You watched as Henry wandered back into the bedroom, looking surprisingly pale and nervous. You had never quite seen him in such a way, before.

After all, it was always good times and weird vibes with your husband. Since when did he become the anxious type?

“I’ll be right back, Robin. I’ll get your medicine.”

“Give some to Morgan, first.” You asked, “I can wait.”

Maribelle nodded to you before taking off, leaving you alone with your husband who was bouncing his leg and fidgeting with his hands with a nervousness that you’d never seen before.

For a few moments, it was quiet, listening to the rhythmic, rapid tapping of his heel against the stone. Eventually, though, you would have to snap him out of it.

“Henry, a-are you all right?” You questioned as gently as you could. Henry started to nod, giving you a cracked, faux grin. Then he paused, his smile fell, and he shook his head.

“Well, if I’m honest? No. Not at all. I feel like I’m dying inside.” He admitted. “I mean, you’re sick, and so is Morgan! My two favorite living people! And there’s not a thing I can do about it- I mean, he’s just a baby, and we’ve only been back together for a year- I dunno. It scares me, y’know? Which is impressive! When’s the last time I’ve been genuinely scared, right! Nya ha ha!”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, Henry.” You tried to assure him. But he shook his head, folding his arms tightly.

“You don’t know that! All it takes is one thing to go wrong and it could be bye-bye wifey, or even bye-bye baby, and I...oh, I couldn’t handle that. Nope, not one bit.” 

It was certainly a reasonable concern. 

“Henry, sweetheart...come here.” You held your hand out to him, insisting he sit with you. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the pain that numbed your sense of worry, but you were far calmer than he was.

He took your hand, revealing trembling fingers. You squeezed it tightly, trying your best to comfort him despite your situation.

“Maribelle will take care of us. We’ll be okay, I’m sure.”

“But you can’t be sure!” He sighed shakily, “Anything can happen when it comes to Plegian flu. It can either be nothing at all, or really bad! And you never know until it happens. If something bad did happen to you or Morgan, I just...I don’t know what to do! You already told me I’m not allowed to re-animate either of you if you croak, so...I’m out of options!”

“I’m standing firm on that, just so you know.” You informed him with a soft smile, “But, Henry...there’s no value in worrying for worrying’s sake. W-we really shouldn’t be concerned with the unknown until it comes.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one having to take care of both of you! What if I mess up?! What if I make it worse!! I already broke Maribelle’s mortar and pestle, there are herbs everywhere, a-and I just-”

“Henry,” You pressed a finger to his lips, “You’re overthinking.”

“B-but I just...I worry about you guys…”

“I know.” You beamed at him, stroking his cheek. “But please, try not to worry. We need to wait for Maribelle’s diagnosis, and we can go from there, okay? It’ll be easier if we take it a step at a time.”

“Gosh, Robin...how’re you able to stay so calm all the time?” He looked at you incredulously, “I’m about ready to pop out of my skin and just run around like a headless Risen!”

“Experience.” You laughed. 

Maribelle came in not long after, informing you both that the flu didn’t appear to be as bad as it could be. 

“Morgan should recover within the week, though we’ll need to make sure he receives two doses of medicine each day; one in the morning and one at night. Henry, you’ll have to make it for him each day- is that something you can handle? Or will I be making more visits this week?”

Henry shared a look with you, seeing your encouraging smile. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“I can handle it, I promise!”

“Good. Morgan’s going to be counting on you. Robin, you should need more rest than anything else, but I’m recommending you take one dose each evening; it will help you sleep better, and it’s strong enough that it should hold you the next day.”

“That’s fine by me.” You agreed; the less disgusting, bitter herbs you had to ingest, the better.

“Your recovery time will be a bit longer than Morgan’s, though, judging by how you’re doing… I’d say two weeks at minimum; a month-and-a-half at most. Now if you want, I can have Lissa or Libra come and help take care of you, so that Henry can focus on caring for Morgan. Or, we can simply send Morgan off with a wet nurse while you’re here.”

“N-no, I-!” Henry interrupted before you could reply, putting a hand to his chest. “I can handle it, Maribelle! After all, if I can’t take care of my family, what kind of man would I be? Just a sad bag of bones and sinew! Not good for anything but crow food.”

Maribelle glanced over at you, looking for some sort of response. You knew she was still wary of Henry, especially now that she was out a very lovely mortar and pestle. But you were confident in his abilities.

“He can take care of us.” You told her, “I trust him.”

“Well...if you insist.” She conceded, earning a whoop from your husband- and an apology for it shortly after when he realized you weren’t to be around loud noises with your headache. “I’ll be coming to check up on you twice a week until you’re all better- until then, Henry, we’re counting on you!”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, Maribelle! We just take it a day at a time, and it’ll be great, nya ha!”

“Robin, if anything changes, or you need help...please don’t hesitate to call me or the other healers immediately.”

“I will.”

“I do mean anything, dear.”

“...I will.”

“If Henry does one thing wrong-”

“Hey!”

“I got it, Maribelle.” You chuckled, waving her away. “Thanks for your concern. We’ll be sure to call for you if we need anything. But I’m positive Henry will take care of us just fine.”

“You can bet your organs on it!” He grinned, giggling happily with his wife’s support. Maribelle gave him a long, hard look, but eventually took her leave. 

Henry was quick to move Morgan’s crib into the bedroom, guaranteeing that he could keep track of both of you and ensure you were both recovering nicely at the same time.

While it was heartbreaking listening to Morgan’s discomfort and those tiny baby coughs, it helped to see him improve day after day.

You did end up recovering about a week after Morgan, all thanks to Henry. He made sure to give you only the best. Most of all you were just thankful that none of you could get the Plegian swine flu ever again.

Especially since he bought Maribelle a replacement mortar and pestle that came from a questionable source, covered in animal bones and bird skulls and...you really didn’t know what corner of Hell he summoned them from.

At least there wouldn’t be another opportunity for him to break anything else of Maribelle’s, seeing as you wouldn’t be getting sick again.

You would take extra steps to ensure that just so he wouldn’t frighten Maribelle with another horrifying “gift”.

[denim-devil]

Reflections // A.B

Anthony Bridgerton x Male reader

Request — Maybe a lil fic where he and reader are like best friends and they're at a ball after it's been announced Anthony's looking for a wife and reader can clearly see he's dying from how busy he is having to be dancing with everyone so he convinces him to sneak outside anywayyy whilst outside they have like a lil chat and readers like 'are you sure you even want this' and Anthony starts waffling about duty so reader asks again, because he didn't really answer, yada yada uhh they secretly have crushes on each other, can go either way in terms of fluff or angst tho like they want to be together but know that they can't ect shdjfbgn

Genre — Fluff/Slight Angst

Seasons…one after the other went by as quickly as the years had themselves, a new diamond, ready to face her maturity, at a chance of the life everyone dreamed of.

But you, you were always worried for these things. Anthony Bridgerton was your friend, Best friend, you couldn’t help but want the best of for him, the up-most respect to such a man of power and riches, of handsomeness and quick wit.

Knowledge reeked from the man, as much as the after-shave he so profoundly dusted himself with every morning before his outing’s. You couldn’t handle being near him for long period’s of time without catching yourself staring to long, listening to the rather…interesting statements he has to offer.

You were captivated by the eldest Bridgerton, but you’ve been smart about it, kept it to yourself, a secret of some-sorts, but you always questioned the thoughts, the feelings, was it really worth it? To sit and admire, to nor touch or act.

The clack of heels approached your room. Immediately you gathered yourself, wiping away the tears that had began welling at the base of your eyes, scurrying from the seat you had taken at the window, you breathe, composing yourself, preparing for the light knock at your door.

“Come in”

You hush, low and quiet, still overcome by such thoughts and emotions…you could never love in such a way as you did with the Viscount, even if it was just unrequited.

Your eyes fall upon your mother, her beautiful brown bejewelled hair resting perfectly atop of her hair, yellow ribbons to match the breath-taking gown she wore with pride, she looked well.

“Morning mother, may I ask, what is the meaning of such eagerness?” You could see it in the way she walked towards you, her smile beaming and her skin replenished. She swiftly handed you the leaflet, the light, brownish paper soft yet firm in your hands.

“The Bridgertons my dear, our sweet friends have invited us to their very own annual ball!” She explained, although it wasn’t much of a surprise, Anthony must of put a word in for you both.

You smiled weakly at the paper, fingers trailing over the fancy-styled writing neatly scattered across the page, big and bold, like the Viscount himself. You could be happy…but with the new season, the new diamond quickly approached, you couldn’t face Anthony ever with such jealousy.

“A very nice gesture, don’t you think Mama?” You question, turning to the clock seated above the door, the time struck mid-day, a few hours before you had to succumb to your doom, panic sat in the pit of your stomach, but you smiled, big and bright, enough to appease your mother.

She nodded before twisting on her heal.

“We don’t have much time now, gather what you can and I’m sure we can find something…beautiful, maybe it’s your lucky night, hmm?”

You nod, watching her leave, the door following her suit, closing behind her.

You sigh, could Anthony be up to such foolery…or were you destined to see your best-friend’s heart be won over by the diamond…

——————

Your eyes glued to the beautiful flowers that secured most of the entrance to the ballroom itself. Many windows scattered across the building allowing the golden hue of the fascinating lighting to practically glow from the outside.

The long path leading towards the door was daunting but you clutched at your jacket, pulling at it to distract you from the growing butterflies in your stomach.

The night was young, much like most of the guests who you followed inside, eager girls gathering with friends, gossiping about who they had set their very eyes on for the night.

You found events like this to be tedious in ways once couldn’t explain. In someways it did make your blood boil but you couldn’t pass up in the opportunity to see the Viscount, who you claimed as a close friend.

Even so that had you questioning why you held Anthony to such…standards when he had a reputation to keep up with, connections he squawked with in the early hours of the afternoon.

You really had no interest to find yourself someone when your desire belonged else where. Almost immediately you escaped your mother’s side, sneaking off into one of the more discreet corners of the lively room.

You watched the ballroom scene unfold before you, the light chattering, the playful teasing and touches, the drinks still mostly full, the swaying of fabric and the clattering of heels, it had you yearning for the end already.

You watch the doors to the beautiful build open, following with four members of the honourable Bridgerton family, including Lady Violet, and of course The Viscount himself, Anthony.

Your eyes settle upon the single Bridgerton. You feel lost for a second, watching as they make themselves be known. The light chattering could be heard from where you were stood.

“It truly is a sparse crop”

Anthony’s uncertainty faded once his eyes settled upon your own, his lips folded into a more serious look then he would usually have plastered upon his face.

“Oh, I’m sure there is someone here who will charm you!” His mother claims but she failed to realise the looks you both shared, the dismay both of you felt at this present moment.

You flashed him a weak smile, something you would usually do when you were feeling uncomfortable. Anthony had the sense to walk over and cradle you in his arms, to check on you and see if you were feeling just fine…but he couldn’t.

“After all this is the season, the Viscount tends to find a wife!”

Silence fell over the room, much like calm before the storm. You watched Anthony’s expression change almost immediately, his eyebrows crumpling and eyes widening as the women veered there heads.

“You honestly just did that?” He claimed, she only chuckled before allowing her son to be swallowed up by the crowd of eager women. Each lady pushed her hand forward asking for a dance, each chanting his name as a man would to his dog.

You chuckled lightly to cover up the feeling of sadness that clung to your chest, so you left, Anthony watching the back of you as you swiftly exited the busy room.

You always found Anthony would come running after you this way, he usually did, why would today be any different? The Viscount buried his love for you, swallowing each time his feelings came to the tip of his tongue.

Somehow, the charming elder Bridgerton managed to escape the ensemble of women, and slip outside for a breather. Adrenaline ran through his veins, after knowing of your presence the Viscount was a noticeable mess, sweat beading at his brow.

The yearning he felt for you was indescribable, it hurt with every inch of his being not to hold you close and call you his, but to use you and spill every desire he has had about you.

Your eyes settle upon the deranged Bridgerton, his worried look disappearing almost completely once he looked your way.

“Are you quite alright my Lord?”

He nods, but makes his way over to your side, sitting down next to you on the bench placed outside. The silence fell over the both of you until you decided to break the air.

“A-Are you sure you want this?”

The question at first threw Anthony off guard, so much so he glared at you with his hazel orbs, looking for the answer he so desired to all of his questions.

Deep down Anthony understood that he could never have you nor could he ever lay a hand on you, it wasn’t right, loving another man. But he couldn’t help it.

His lips quivered, his chest tight with every single emotion he could feel. His eyes travelled across your body, from your own downwards towards your pretty set of lips.

“I am v-very sure I want this, It’s a Viscount’s job- no it’s the way of a Viscount’s life- I possibly couldn’t live my life the way I-“

You cut him off with an unwanted sigh. He didn’t understand. The risk of you both falling even deeper into these…feelings had no pressure over your own head, but it was clear as day Anthony was struggling to accept all of how he felt.

“Don’t you understand? I thought to myself, of all people my “best friend” would understand my struggles as Lord and Viscount to the Bridgerton family-“

You scoffed, shaking your head once again at slightly older male. He questioned his words every time they emptied from his mouth, but your reaction’s were like a thin but sharp dagger, cutting him deep.

“No…I don’t think I do…please elaborate! You can’t keep doing this-“

He huffed, his tongue rolling back to confine his confession of love which he held over his head each day, but you were right, he couldn’t live his life a lie…but he also couldn’t…he just couldn’t.

“Please…”

His much larger hands wrapped themselves around your own, holding them softly but within a tight grip, enough to secure them in place for awhile.

“I-I…I do love you…you must understand that I-“

Anthony’s words physically trapped themselves, practically drowning him. Doubt travelled through his body like adrenaline. You were like a drug that he couldn’t quite stop himself from wanting…from taking.

You slightly squeeze his hands showing a sign of comfort. You could understand the burden of these feelings and how it affected your every day life…but you couldn’t live your life a lie.

“A-Anthony…”

You words were a mere whisper to the Lord, which happen to pass over his head as he drew a near, hot breathe fanning against your now heated cheeks.

His lips were parted, brown hazel’s searching for the “yes”. It felt like an eternity before his soft lips clashed with your own softly, his hands moving from you own to around your waist.

Time slowed, as if it was a sacred item nobody could afford, Anthony’s tongue slipping into your mouth, battling with your own.

You inhale sharply when a hands of his travels down your side, grasping at your hip, you return the favour by sliding your own hand down until it’s resting on the small of his back, pulling a tiny moan out of him.

Anthony’s had you yearning and craving more like a shot right into your veins, but neither of you were ready for what would happen if you didn’t put the brakes on right this second.

You pulled back, eyes lingering over how distressed face. His cheeks a light dusting of red, his collar slightly crinkled and messy from the close contact. You were truly stunned, enough so to not have the ability to form words.

His breathing turned to pants, the clear stirring inside of his under-garments was obvious, the small mount sat perfectly between his legs, shifting the focus slightly. You watch the Viscount slowly but surely turn to you once again.

“I’m not sure what came over me-“

You pecked him on the lips before standing up, ushering yourself to scurry away from the scene leaving a distraught and giddy Viscount.

Anthony understood the level of risk he was not only placing on himself, and his family but his reputation to, but if anything it pushed him more towards you, the only person he desired to spend the rest of his life with…

The Viscount, Lord Bridgerton was in love…hopelessly in love.