#molly from the folly

[philcoulsonismyhero]

❄️ ?🌈?

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

From 'Don't Carry It All, Don't Carry It All', the current main WIP, and the context is that the previous night Nightingale, who's barely been sleeping because it's only a few days until the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Ettersberg and he's struggling with nightmares, fell asleep in the car and Peter and Molly conspired to get him upstairs without waking him.

We drank our coffee and ate breakfast in tired silence, and it wasn’t until Molly appeared to take the plates away that Nightingale said anything more. He stopped Molly with her name, and then looked from one of us to the other.

“Thank you,” he said, “for last night.” He looked a little bit awkward, but managed a small smile. “And I’m sorry for putting you to the trouble.” Molly dipped a little in something that might have been a curtsy, and then shook her head as if to say it hadn’t been any trouble at all. Nightingale smiled at her again, and she picked up his plate and disappeared, forgetting to grab mine as well.

“Don’t worry about it, boss,” I said. “Molly literally did all the heavy lifting.” He nodded.

“I did wonder how I made it upstairs. That was my first theory, followed by a few slightly more outlandish ones involving you and another of your Impello experiments.” I snorted at the mental image that conjured up. “But the fact that my shoes were left by the bed freshly polished did rather suggest Molly’s involvement.”

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

This is a slightly emotionally intense sort of soft but I still love it, from later in the same WIP. I'm being deliberately cryptic with Peter's plans at this point, but all will eventually be revealed.

We made it back to the Folly at a decent time that evening, and I told Nightingale the edited highlights of what Seawoll had said about taking a day off over a late dinner. He grimaced when I pointed out that Monday was the anniversary proper, and seemed a little apprehensive at the idea that I had something planned.

“Do I get to know what it is that you’ve come up with?” he asked. I took a deep breath. Moment of truth. Either it was a good idea, or a terrible one, and now was when I’d find out. So I told him.

It took me a little while to lay out my plans, and Nightingale listened to it all without interrupting, and then was silent for a long minute after I finished. His face was pale and pinched and exhausted but otherwise blankly unreadable.

“Well?” I eventually prompted, unable to take the wait any longer. “What do you think?”

“I think…” he said, but his voice caught so he started again. “I think it all sounds like a very good idea.” There was a slight wobble in his voice, and his eyes were shiny. “Thank you, Peter.” He actually reached across the table and awkwardly patted my hand.

“Don’t mention it, boss,” I said, managing a smile. There was a lump in my own throat. 

Then Nightingale pulled his hand back, cleared his throat, and swiped a hand across his eyes. I looked away, giving him a moment to compose himself, and if I’m being honest taking one myself. 

“But that’s Monday,” said Nightingale, his voice steady again, or near enough. I turned back to face him. “We still have another day’s work tomorrow, and I believe I should make some attempt to be functional for it.” He stood up, and had to steady himself for a moment using the back of his chair. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire, and see if the sleeping pills that Abdul provided have any effect.”

“Good plan,” I said. “‘Night, boss.”

“Goodnight, Peter.” He disappeared out of the room and I heard his slightly rapid footsteps across the hall and up the stairs. I stared after him, and I didn’t hear Molly come up behind me. I jumped.

“You need to stop doing that!” I said, as has become the traditional response, but she just smiled with her too many teeth. Then she bustled off with Nightingale’s plates, but not before leaving me an extra one with a slice of the really excellent chocolate cake from earlier in the week on it. I looked down at it and smiled. Coppers aren’t the only ones with a bad habit of listening at doorways, and it looked like Molly approved of my idea. 

So, even though I’d just caused my boss to leave the room so that I wouldn’t see him cry and that was causing a little bit of guilt, I ate my cake while feeling pleased with myself, and started making plans in earnest.

[dent-de-leon]

Thinking about how Lucien wasn't able to sleep for months and months. How night after night, he kept trying to find respite, but the Somnovem never once let him rest. "Oh! You thought you were free! That's pretty cute. That's hilarious, actually...No, you're the Nonagon. That's forever. That lasts well beyond death, my friend."

Molly/Lucien being a dreamer in every life. A romantic. Lucien clinging to the fantasy that, "Once upon a time, there was a happy family." Molly watching all his dreams turn to nightmares of a screaming city, watching him slowly slip away from everything he knew and loved. "You don't dream of her anymore." "No, I only dream of them now."

And then when Molly is finally reborn, when finally he has the chance to sleep, he dreams so deep and vividly. He doesn't even wake until Jester casts Greater Restoration on him, and when she does, he bolts awake still reeling from what he'd seen. Like he's still lost in a dream--a lovely, happy dream.

"Oh...I was having the nicest dream...There was. Oh. There was a circus. And--ah, and this beautiful woman, in a--a red coat. And she was telling me secrets, showing me how to keep secrets. I...And oh, there was a--that sad angel, and--and there were adventures, and I was...we went everywhere, and saw..."

When Caleb asks, "What's your name?" he can't even answer at first, because he's still lingering on the warm memory of a distant dream. "I felt--I felt kingly. I felt very regal. Kingly...Sorry, what?" He sounds like he's still drifting in the memory of it. Like he regrets it when everything starts to slip through his fingertips in the light of day. "These faces aren't meaning anything...They're already fading...Is that me...?"

His first sleep since Lucien took the body, his first dream since Molly closed his eyes for the last time. And at the very least, it's a lovely dream. (It also breaks my heart that Kingsley dreams of Lestera that first night, just like how Lucien used to dream of Brevyn before the Somnovem.) But it seems Kingsley doesn't often have that luxury:

"Every now and then, your mind occasionally begins to recall memories through an occasional nightmare. Flashes of blurred memory, and time spent locked with another--familiar, yet revolving, revolting--place. The shell of loathing inescapable interior, looking out from your prison, pushing against your invisible binds. When your heart found the strength, giving all that you are to help those who gave you purpose in return. It was worth it. It was worth it."

"Yet on a rare occasion, that odd memory continues to return. That moment you gave yourself and broke your prison. The warm catharsis of letting go. And the strange black chains that wove through the city, now broken. The sound of them shattering between worlds, shaking you in that liminal space. The angry, unknowable, primal, ancient cry that you can never forget."

The fact that Kingsley is still tormented by nightmares of the city's end--and that it seems he always will be. The way Taliesin says, "And perhaps those chains will find some quiet in piracy." Like the pirate life is just something he threw himself into as an escape.

How King dreams so peacefully and happily of his life as Molly. How Lucien's folly still haunts him in nightmares over and over.

I really hope we get to see Kingsley in the Apogee Solstice with the rest of the Nein. And I hope he's been having better dreams--

[thesporkidentity]

an incomplete list of texts i sent as i slowly lost my mind over the second book of rivers of london, because i fully intend to drag at least one more person into this pit with me. come read with me i promise you're gonna feel so good and normal over this book, come closer

wow okay peter remains the absolute horniest bastard ever. is he a tits or an ass man? yes

oh we are just getting the surface levels hints of nightingales MOUNTAIN of unresolved PTSD and i am very 🥺

you ever feel like a character was written specifically to appeal to you? i'm getting so many tantalizing hints and i KNOW he's going to destroy because he's catnip. he is bait specifically designed to hurt my feelings

also his description makes me think of lee pace or like, 90s/00s paul mcgann and that's just Very Good and i'm being deeply not normal about it

also nightingale reads as SO queer to me, and the potential in fic to explore what that means insofar as how he has navigated the changing landscape of queerness from 1900 to present day is so tantalizing. i don't care that the author says he's not, in this case the author is wrong lol

i must say, i do not care for simone. if we absolutely MUST have hetersexual nonsense in this book i would like beverly back please. she was cool and not a cheating homewrecking jazz groupie lol

still not impressed with simone. i mean, far be it from me to judge a woman's grieving process and all, but she doesn't seem very broken up over her within-the-week dead lover. i mean, i LOVE peter and all and he's hot shit, but immediately falling into bed with him? sus

in conclusion bring 👏 bev 👏 back 👏

also peter, buddy, WHAT ARE YOU DOING

he's a disaster so even though i'm screaming DON'T DO THAT i am unsurprised he is being led around by his dick by a beautiful woman throwing herself at him

but i just. i Don't Trust Her. she doesn't make sense, and i can't tell if this is a case of male author writing wish fulfillment and thus not giving the hot girl adequate motivation of her own

or whether i AM supposed to find it suspicious the way she basically doesn't mourn the man she homewrecked who died very suddenly and then IMMEDIATELY jumps into bed with the magic cop investigating his very probable murder

and i REALIZE the only way to find out is to keep reading, it's just frustrating that women are written poorly so often that, even if he's written good women before, i still have to debate with this is a subtle clue or just Male Author Syndrome

oh my god he finally twigs that this may be weird behavior. peter. bud.

at least he got it before trying to sneak her past folly wards?

side note: god lesley really got the short end of the stick. like, her face fell off, her teeth are a fucking mess, and she probably has brain damage. she got royally shafted

peter "i'm totally straight" grant, talking about how he wants to take a muscly guy by the shoulders and kiss his cheeks and making sure to mention how many phone numbers her got while canvasing the gay bar.

hmm sure, jan

look i KNOW peter is Incredibly Horny All The Time when near any attractive woman, but simone appears from NOWHERE half dressed while he's canvassing for the jazz vampire and he just skives off like that? while looking for a potential killer? that doesn't seem like him he's not that irresponsible. that smells like conspiracy and glamour and i don't trust herrrrrrr

like, peter was already horny wanting to motorboat mama thames (lol don't think i didn't catch that pun) last book. but this book has been a whole new level of horny, and peter may be distractible but not THAT distractible surely

another side note. i love molly and nightingale's weird friendship they've developed living basically with just each other for decades.

oh jesus that's fucked up

oh the severed head is talking

oh. oh no. it got worse

peter, darling, beloved, is now REALLY the time to be talking about how hot your boss is? like i appreciate your dedication to the thirst but time and place, bud

oh never mind i forgive you nightingale is so fucking cool, i get it, i love him

he's so good. the most tragic backstory and perfect stiff upper lip old fashioned english gentleman on the outside, and then just below the surface he's a daredevil and a bit of a bitch and he fucking CARES just SO MUCH and have i mentioned how much the casterbrook wall HURTS ME?? this was revealed in the last book but i just remembered it and it stabbed me again

okay i'm done

i feel like peter has miscalculated making a deal with his cousin to teach her if she aces latin. that's gonna come back to bite lol hope you like teaching too smart for their own good teenagers cuz that's gonna be your life now

"but sir, what do we do if you die??!" "well, that doesn't seem like it will be my problem at that point :)" he's such a bitch sometimes and i LOVE him, mother

ohhhhh. oh no. the pale lady looked like molly and now molly is obviously not okay after she died, that resemblance wasn't just coincidence she definitely knew her 😢

and this is the first person peter has killed, no matter how accidentally. and nightingale is back in the hospital with his chest infection. wow everyone is just having a terrible time right now

okay. i realize that as a memory for him this probably isn't a GOOD one, it's from the war and probably much scarier and MUCH more traumatizing than he makes it sound with his dry narration of it. but god. nightingale knocked out two TANKS. by himself. with his mind. fucking sexy lol

oh damn it why can't they just let me be horny about how powerful he is instead of immediately following it with the fact that he was rear guard and making emotional that it means he was the one trusted to watch over and protect the rest of his men while they retreated as that one final shield between them and enemy fire

hhhhhhhholy shit what did simone DO to mama grant???!!!!

she just bitch slapped her!

OH MY GOD SHE TRIED TO HOMEWRECK HIS PARENTS TOO???

she's PLAUSIBLY IMMORTAL???

fuck i was right she was sketchy as hell!!

she's a fucking jazz vampire and she's been glamouring and sucking him dry! buddy, get to dr walid STAT for a brain scan and make sure she's not turning you into cauliflower!

peter don't you make excuses for her you KNOW it's possible, stop lying about your mum and trying to make her feel better you need to take her in she's a m u r d e r e r

i mean, glamour yes i realize but god, frustrating

good lad peter, i see you fighting it 💪🏾

ohhhhhhhh. oh fuck. she didn't KNOW. she didn't know she was from the 40s and killing people. oh this is bad

nightingale, attempting to show concern: "that was not the most intelligent thing you've done" xD 10/10 nailed it buddy

umm, nightingale? this may not be the black and white moral situation you think it is to go in guns blazing...

it's both funny and little sad how militant both molly and dr walid are when nightingale is injured like. i do LOVE when the person who is SUPPOSEDLY in charge gets lovingly bullied, but it hurts because that's also probably the ONLY way to make him take care of himself is if they FORCE him. and peter's not any better, he's gonna need bullying too

i do love when they team up though. molly and nightingale ganging up against peter like. nightingale gets the special treatment and a hot cocoa from molly, but peter gets the dog's leash and smug little "i'm on bedrest :)" or nightingale foisting the rest of his kidney pie on peter while molly is out of the room then grabbing his empty plate back to pretend he ate it all himself when she returns xD

the cases are interesting and all, but i think it's the core characters that are really the standout of the novel and the reason i keep reading even while i'm asking myself things like, but WHY is she killing via vagina dentata instead of literally any other assassination method? i think it's also why simone stood out so much. she HAD no background that we were told (until now) aside from being sexy. which of course i now know was intentional

"this is your brain, which is not only clean and unsullied by thought..." i love dr walid. it probably says something about me that my favorite characters all have to be at least a little bit of a bitch

oh no i'm having feeeeeelings about both nightingale and peter trying to keep the other out of the vampire raid to shield them from the emotional effects of it, just from opposite ends. nightingale doesn't want peter to have the pain of ANOTHER death on his hands, this one purposeful as opposed to the accidental death of the pale lady, so he's trying to just cut him out of it. and then peter ALSO doesn't want NIGHTINGALE to have the weight of more deaths on his soul and wants to protect him from what he sees as the unfortunate necessity of having to off someone who isn't intentionally hurting someone but still may be too dangerous to live. nightingale trying to save peter from his bleeding heart and peter saving nightingale from his practicality overriding his morality 😭 i just love when characters try to take care of each other in mirrored ways

uh...uh oh peter...no i don't think those are the police OR nightingale's paratrooper buddies

okay the audiobook is fucking excellent though, his infomercial voice while extolling the virtues of doc martins is KILLING me

oh this posh wanker. "oh what is feeding on people but another form of exploitation, and we all know there's nothing wrong with exploiting workers, equality is morally bankrupt anyway" god i hate you already you're insufferable

like of COURSE a dining club oxford nose wipe would think that way. he thinks he's sooooo slick and original with his chimeras they're such exciting new COL crimes but it all just boils down the the exact same rich white bullshit mentality

he would hate it if he realized how dull and banal his villainy is once you strip back the shock value of the trappings. just another entitled prick who views people as things, fuck this dude

i'd be tempted to say the faceless man's signare smelling like pork was a dig at david cameron and piggate if i didn't know it was written a few years too early for that lol

peter: oh no nightingale is going to give me SUCH a bollocking nightingale, obviously so relieved he's alive: very much does NOT give him a bollocking and instead tells him how impressive it is that he didn't just immediately die against the faceless man

"for a terrifying moment i thought he was going to huge me, but fortunately we both remembered we were english just in time. still, it was a close call" 🤣🤣🤣

oh ouch peter. just use all his dead friends against him. effective but also, low blow

god he wants so badly for peter to be right, too, that they and HE doesn't have to kill anyone anymore, that how that it's not Just Him ALl Alone they might have the support structure for other options. oh no i want this to work so badly so that hope is validated, but i just know something is gonna go wrong

welp

i didn't like her but i didn't want her fuckin DEAD you know?

and now the ones left standing have to deal with the trauma and the fallout

oh lesley :( they're both trying so hard to be normal about it and they're such good friends 🥺

LESLEY DO MAGIC?

LESLEY JOIN TEAM FOLLY???!!

also don't think you've been sneaky there and that i haven't noticed SOME sort of thematic symmetry of lesley struggling with having lost her face involuntarily from magic, and the faceless man having voluntarily masked himself. involuntary vs voluntary loss of identity. i'm sure there will be more parallels in the next book but like. i see you. i see you setting up face themes with these two

hopefully with lesley regaining her face somehow and thus reclaiming identity while the faceless man is unmasked thus losing the identity he built for himself and revealing the true one he hid. maybe hopefully? i want good things for lesley and bad things for the faceless one.

[corainne]

RoL Novellas I would love to read, an incomplete list:

Something about Mama Thames and her daughters, from one of their PoVs (preferably Bev), to get a more intimate look at their family dynamics and powers

Abigail at uni (in the not so far off future)

Slice of life Peter/Bev after the twins are born, no case, no high stakes, no nothing

Similarly Peter/Bev between FS and HT

Nightingale at Casterbrook

Nightingale at the Folly during the 20s/30s, from his PoV

Molly (before the folly, at the folly, idc)

Guleed solving a magicky case on her own

The Folly falling apart after the war, told from Hugh Oswald's PoV

Vignette sort of thing about Lesley from first trying to do magic to killing Chorley

[hazy2k]

!! WELCOME !!

hello, my name is hazy/hazy2k! i am a transfem bigender artist who loves Y2K cartoon aesthetics. i have more autism than your mother ......

my current hyperfixations are wow! wow! wubbzy! and sparklecare hospital

MY ART TAG #art

website - hazy2k.neocities.org

dm for mutual/friend discord server!

im creating a webcomic called "molly the folly!" as well

!! BYF !!

i talk about my interests super heavily

i reblog stuff from artists i like a lot

i get extremely worried when people break a mutual with me without telling why

im prone to say stupid things from time to time. its greatly appreciated if you talk about problems like that in my dms instead of calling me out first

!! DNI !!

proship/loli/shota

pro-harassment or anti-recovery

discourse heavy

if you think ace people are not queer

if you think white people can experience racism

autism speaks supporters

pro-ed or sh

if you dislike any of my interests that i mention on here

allistics/neurotypicals (unless i follow first, this is solely for my own comfort)

dreamsmp

anti xenogender/neos

[foundtherightwords]

Sunlight Through the Mist - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hellcheer (Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham)

Summary: Having witnessed the broken marriage of his parents, Edward Munson, Baron Hurstfield, always regards love with a cynical eye. When circumstances compel him to marry and produce an heir, he quickly proposes to Christine Conyngham, a debutante whose reputation is hanging by a threat after an ill-fated affair. All Edward wants is to save his family estate, but as beautiful, fragile Christine finds her way into his wary heart, their marriage of convenience may become something neither of them ever expects - a union of love.

Warnings: angst, past domestic violence, suicide attempt, smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 3.3k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The moment he stepped out of Lady Harrington's stifling ballroom and felt the freezing air on his face and in his lungs, Edward's mood lifted. That had been folly. He did not belong in that world. Miss Conyngham had been a nice reprieve, but clearly, he had thought there was a connection where there was none.

He hailed a cab and headed to Covent Garden. An hour or two wandering its streets in quiet anonymity, perhaps a pint at the Hideout, was what he needed to get rid of the false politeness and the condescension of the ton that hung about him like a miasma, to feel himself again. Plus, the handbills advertising a meeting on women's rights that the Misses Hargrove had entrusted him to distribute were still in his coat pocket, so he could feel useful during his wandering.

At this time of night, Covent Garden was a hive of activities. Despite the cold, its denizens could be seen hanging around doorways and balconies, calling out to customers, and many establishments still threw their doors wide open, letting the sounds of revelry from within act as a siren's song to pleasure-seekers. Edward tended to avoid these. It was not because he didn't see a point in paying for pleasure—though he really did not—but rather because madams of such bawdyhouses tended to take it less kindly to girls trying to better their lot. They could get into serious trouble if one of his handbills was discovered on them. Instead, he focused on the back alleys and lanes. They may be more dangerous, but the women there were more independent and therefore more receptive to reform.

Still, most of them stared at him blankly when he gave them a bill and explained about the meeting. It was only when he mentioned the free refreshments that they perked up a little.

He turned a corner and almost stumbled over a form slumped in a doorway.

He bent down. It was a young woman—no, a girl, no older than sixteen or seventeen, dressed in little more than rags, her hair hanging down her face in dirty ringlets. As Edward's shadow fell across her face, she opened her eyes. "Fancy some company, sir?" she asked. Her voice was oddly flat and emotionless, like she was reciting some tired old lines.

"No, thank you," Edward said. Despite his better judgment, he reached into his pocket for a coin and pressed it into her ice-cold palm. "Here, get yourself somewhere warm."

The feel of the coin brought the girl back to life. She sat up and closed her fingers around both the coin and Edward's hand.

"For this much, you can do whatever you want with me, sir," she said eagerly.

"No, no, you mistook me, I don't want—please—" Edward tried to extract himself, but her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so frail.

"Anne, let the gentleman go," a stern voice sounded from the darkness. The speaker, an older woman with hair dyed a garish shade of red, stepped into the light. "Go on now, be a good girl and get your arse down to the King's Head," she said, nodding to the girl. After a moment's hesitation, the girl scrambled up and soon vanished into the mouth of the alley.

"Thanks, Molly," Edward said, rubbing life back into his knuckles.

"You'll have to excuse her, she's new," Molly said.

"Where was she from?" He didn't like to think about what had driven the girl to this place.

Molly only shook her head. "Eddie, Eddie, you can't save all of us, you know," she said with a sad smile, and then extended a hand. "What do you have for us this time? More talks on hygiene or safety in the bedroom?"

Abashed, Edward handed her a bill. Molly was one of the few prostitutes who could read, and he always relied on her to spread the word. She glanced at the bill and snorted. "Equal rights? What use would we have for that? Tell those ladies to advertise the free refreshment next time; more may come." She stuffed the bill into her stays and glanced at Edward slyly under eyelids heavily rimmed with kohl. "Can I tempt you tonight, Eddie?"

Edward blushed. Since he had started helping with charity and reform work around the area, he had made the acquaintance of several ladies of Covent Garden, and more than once, they had offered to repay him with the pleasure of their company. He had come closest to accepting it from Molly, drawn to her by her kindness rather than her attractiveness, but when he accompanied her into the tiny room above the Hideout, he had found himself unable to go through with it. He couldn't find the intimacy or connection in such a transactional act, and he'd also felt like he was taking advantage of her. Molly had been quite understanding, but that didn't stop her from making the offer again and again.

"I can't, Molly, I have—things to do," he mumbled.

Molly grinned at him. "Alright, go on with you," she said, giving his shoulder a playful swat. "And stay out of trouble."

After he said goodbye to Molly and found his way back to the Hideout, Edward was reminded of his conversation with his friends the last time he'd been there. Perhaps there was some truth to what Walton had said. He couldn't expect to find a wife the conventional way—after all, he was not marrying for the most conventional of reasons—so he should be more pragmatic. He couldn't keep chasing after ideals while his father's creditors were shaking down the gates of Hurstfield Hall...

Lost in his thoughts, Edward didn't realize there was someone in front of him until their back collided with his chest. The person screamed. A woman.

"A thousand apologies, ma'am," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

The woman spun around. The hood of her cloak fell down, and Edward was astonished to see the blue eyes of Miss Conyngham staring up at him.

***

What on Earth had happened to her? Edward asked himself as he went up to the counter at the Hideout to give his order, while keeping an eye on Miss Conyngham. She had seemed so dazed after their encounter on the street that he couldn't in good conscience leave her on her own, so he had taken her to the only place where he knew she could be safe. He'd left her sitting by the fire, since she kept shaking and shivering, though from cold or fear or distress, he could not tell. She was still dressed in her ball gown, with the same crescent moon in her hair, though both her gown and braids were a little mussed. More than those, it was her pale, tear-stained face that worried him. She'd insisted that she was not hurt, but what could possess a young, well-bred lady to wander these streets unaccompanied, unchaperoned? Unless it was her company that left her in such a state...

Shaking off this horrible speculation, he picked up the two cups of coffee handed to him by the publican and returned to the table. "Drink this," he said, giving a cup to Miss Conyngham. "It'll warm you up."

She looked up, as if just remembering where she was and who she was with. "Are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?" she said, letting out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

His speculation was starting to look like a distinct possibility, but he tried not to dwell on it. He realized that this debutante, who had danced and converse with him mere hours ago in that glittery ballroom, was no different from the other women out there on the streets, all the Annes and Mollies of Covent Garden, when it came to men. They were all at the mercy of men. It was a sobering, chilling thought.

"It's coffee," he said, adding, "There's tea if you prefer, but they don't make very good tea here."

"How about something stronger?"

"With respect, Miss Conyngham, I think you should stick to coffee for now." He sat down on the other side of the fireplace and took a sip, to show her it was safe. She followed suit.

For a while, they sat and drank their coffee in silence, a silence that was only broken by the crackling of the fire and the soft murmurs of the other patrons. Edward took a closer look at Miss Conyngham. Although some color had returned to her face, she still had a fragile look about her, a permanent fragility that showed in her wide-set eyes and short upper lip. But there was strength there too, he observed, in the set of her chin and her jaws.

Just as Edward was wondering if they were going to sit there all night staring into the fire, Miss Conyngham turned to him. "So how often do you distribute radical handbills in the West End?" she asked.

He cleared his throat, discomfited at having been caught staring. "Only on the rare occasion when I'm in town," he said. It had been a rather embarrassing moment on the street when he dropped his handbills after walking into her. "And I'm no radical. I'm just trying to help."

"You should print the notice about the refreshments larger. That will attract a bigger audience."

Molly had said something similar, but this time, Edward bristled at the jab. "I suppose you think me an idealistic fool?"

Miss Conyngham moved a hand toward him in a consolatory gesture, but stopped short before she reached him. "No, I'm sorry. I think it's very brave and kind of you," she said. "If anyone was an idealistic fool here, it would be me."

This last sentence was uttered under her breath, almost to herself, but she clearly meant for him to hear it. He tilted his head at her. Now it was her turn to observe him from under her long lashes. Apparently whatever she saw was adequate, for she then looked straight at him and asked, "Are you a gambling man, Lord Hurstfield?"

"I despise gambling." It came out harsher than he'd intended.

Miss Conyngham flinched almost imperceptibly, but she rallied and continued, "Then you won't understand my predicament."

"Try me."

"I've gambled my future happiness, and lost."

Where was this going? But while they were dancing together, hadn't he wished for this, for her to trust him and to share with him? He plunged on. "What did you gamble on?" he asked.

"A man, what else?"

And to his horror, she burst into tears.

The sight of those tears sent a jolt through Edward, bringing back all the painful memories of his own mother crying. All at once, he was nine again, his hands balled into fists as he seethed with useless anger and remorse at her distress. And here he was, standing in front of another lady who had been reduced to tears by a man...

But he was no longer a helpless child. He was grown now, and he would not stand by, doing nothing. Noticing the other patrons staring at them, he angled his chair so its back was against the room, giving Miss Conyngham some privacy, and fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief, praying that it was freshly laundered.

"Did... did he... hurt you?" he asked.

"Not physically, no. But I'm ruined just the same."

He wondered what she meant, and then it dawned on him. Of course. Even a whiff of rumor that she had been with a man, that her honor and reputation were compromised, could put an end to her matrimonial prospects. He would not pretend to know what it would be like for her—the unmarried women he knew, like the Hargrove sisters, seemed content with their lots, but then they were financially secure and independent. Not everyone was so fortunate. He remembered Mrs. Conyngham's haughty, disapproving looks, the gossiping matrons at Lady Harrington's, and those timid, desperate debs, and her heart went out to Miss Conyngham.

You can't save all of us, Molly's words reverberated in his mind, and she was right. He couldn't try to save all women who had suffered misfortunes, in some futile attempt to escape his childhood guilt of having failed his mother. What he could do, though, was to help this lost, troubled young lady in front of him.

An idea occurred to him and swiftly took root.

He was in need of a wife; she was in need of a husband. He certainly preferred her to all the prim and proper ladies he'd met. At least she knew how to speak her mind. She didn't seem totally repulsed by him. Her mother may be a termagant, but they would not be living with her anyway.

It was this thought about the possibility of living with a mother-in-law that made Edward realize he was seriously considering asking Miss Conyngham to be his wife.

Well, why not? He couldn't afford to wait much longer before the creditors seized his home. Better take the plunge now, or else he would lose heart. The worst she could do was to reject him.

"Miss Conyngham, I believe I may have a solution to your problem," he said.

"My problem?" she repeated, not understanding.

"You've put your trust in a man, and he has disappointed you," he said slowly, trying to find the best way to frame the matter without making it sound too cold, too businesslike. "Now your future is uncertain. I can help you with that. I cannot promise you happiness, because that's for each person to decide, but I can promise you security." He didn't mention that she would be bringing him security as well, should she accept.

Miss Conyngham stared at him for a long time, her too-short lip lifting up in surprise, leaving her mouth half-opened. Out of nowhere, Edward wondered what it would feel like to kiss that mouth. He blushed crimson, furious with himself. His mind could be so intrusive at the most inconvenient moment.

Miss Conyngham, however, didn't seem to notice his blush. "Are you proposing to... marry me, Lord Hurstfield?" she asked.

"Yes." Well, the die was cast now.

"But... why?"

He took a deep breath. "I must admit, my motivations aren't entirely altruistic." He drained the last of his coffee and ran his fingers over the rim of the empty cup, avoiding her quizzical eyes. "You see, my late father left me nothing but debts..." He gave her a brief explanation of his situation and Great Aunt Munson's will. Miss Conyngham listened, her face expressionless. If she found his honesty strange or off-putting, then she certainly showed no sign of it.

"I must tell you, I'm not a rich man," he continued, when she said nothing. "This inheritance is just enough to pay off my father's debts, no more. I have a small estate, in a small village, with only farmers around. You'll probably find life very dull there—"

"No, no," she interrupted. "It is of no importance to me."

That was a relief. He had expected that, as a debutante, she was used to the glamor and excitement of London life, but he remembered her admittance that she'd preferred to stay home than attend a ball. Perhaps this was not so harebrained after all...

"I do not ask you to love me. You knew my thoughts on that already. All I ask is that you are honest with me, and I shall be honest with you in return." This, more than anything he'd revealed to her, was the biggest risk he'd taken. Regardless of their strange circumstances, he could see how such a speech would sound less-than-appealing to a lady he hoped to marry, but he could not lie to her. He would not. If she rejected him for that, then so be it.

She was still gazing at him with that wondering, expectant look he'd come to recognize in her eyes. The Hideout had started to empty, and somewhere outside, a night watchman called out the hours, reminding Edward how exhausted Miss Conyngham must be. "There's no need to give me your answer now," he said, getting to his feet. "It's late, and you've had a trying night. Please, take more time to think about it. I'm in town until the end of the week. Once you've made your decision, you can send words to me in Portland Square."

The spark was back in her eyes, but this time, it was one of steely resolve. "I don't need more time," she said. "I'll marry you, Lord Hurstfield."

***

Edward handed Miss Conyngham into a cab and promised to call at her house in Hanover Square in two days' time. He then went back to the small suite he'd rented in Portland Square. However, despite his physical fatigue, his mind was still racing, preventing him from getting any rest. His blood pounded in his veins, he felt lightheaded, and his stomach churned, as though he were drunk, but he knew he wasn't—all he had was a glass of port at Lady Harrington's. No, this was agitation of the mind and the soul, not the body.

Throwing open the window of his bedroom, he breathed in the bitter air, hoping it would cool his head and give him some clarity.

He'd gotten engaged! How had that happened?!

He went over the events of the evening, wondering if they had really occurred at all or had been the result of some fevered dream. A sliver of moon came out from behind the clouds, reminding him of the ornament in Miss Conyngham's hair. That had definitely been real. It was too specific not to be.

All right, so they weren't officially engaged just yet, but he had given his words to her, and for his honor, he could not go back on them. Nor did he want to. But what about Miss Conyngham? She had been distraught when he posed the question to her; perhaps she was not thinking rationally. Perhaps at this very moment, she was regretting saying yes. They were practically strangers, for God's sake! They had spent, at most, an hour in each other's company. It was why he had given both of them two days to think the matter through. He told himself that he must not be too disappointed if, at the end of that period, she withdrew her acceptance.

Why should he be disappointed though? It was true that this was the best chance he'd ever had to save Hurstfield Hall, and it would be crushing if he let it slip through his fingers. But in his heart of hearts, he knew this wasn't just about saving his family estate. There was something else... something he couldn't quite grasp... something he didn't want to admit, even to himself. He remembered how he'd thought about kissing her, and blushed again. In his mind's eye, he could still see her, as though she were right in front of him, the silver of her gown and the silver crescent in her hair catching the light from the fire, making her look like the goddess Selene. Too bad he was no Endymion.

Selene and Endymion, indeed! Since when had he turned into a bloody poet?

Shrugging, he closed the window, undressed, and went to bed.

It wasn't until he got under the covers that Edward realized he didn't even know Miss Conyngham's first name. Lady Harrington hadn't mentioned it, and he hadn't bothered to ask.

He couldn't tell whether this oversight was laughable, alarming, or simply absurd.

Chapter 3

[vivithefolle]

The thing about Rowling is that she bases a lot of characters on people she knows or knew irl. So you have these perfectly decent characters and she just doesn't have a clue how they work internally.

Exactly! I've answered a Quora question on that, previously.

Below, the text of said answer:

Did J.K. Rowling base any of her characters on herself or people she knows personally?

Pretty much all of them?

She said there was “a bit of her in every of her characters". Which tends to happen naturally when you write.

(For example, being autistic, I tend to write characters as very introspective and remembering small details about a lot of stuff and being able to perform literary analysis in the middle of conversation. I've been informed that this is not how the “average" human works. So when I write a character, I often end up making them autistic because that's literally how my brain works. It's unfathomable to me that you wouldn't be paralyzed with fear by the idea of making a decision. Taking an opportunity on the fly, throwing your whole world off-balance with just one gratuitous action? What folly is this??)

According to Rowling, “I married Harry Potter. I married a very brave and gutsy person. And that's who Harry is”. Okay, so before Sauron and Acidic Virtuesignaller come crawling out the woodwork, I would like for us all to consider the implications: so Harry is “a very brave and gutsy person", and that's all. That's the only qualifier for Harry. To be Harry you need to be brave and gutsy. It's not like there's a construct in this series that's literally called The House Of The Brave. With a magic sword that only comes to those that are brave and gutsy enough to wield it. Which three people in the books have used that sword? Harry, Ron, and Neville. If only Harry was “very brave and gutsy" then what are we calling Ron and Neville? Hermione? Ginny? Luna? Snape? Dumbledore? Ok so there we go, if the requirement to be Harry is “be very brave and gutsy" then I can point to half a dozen characters that have the same characteristic ON TOP OF having an actual personality.

Ron was based on Rowling's childhood friend who owned a blue Ford Anglia. Based on Rowling's later comments about having “dated Ron" in her youth, we can infer that Rowling wrote into Ron some of the bad behaviours of guys she'd dated, probably with the idea of having him outgrow them (but considering how much she seems to enjoy writing Ron getting punished for these behaviours…). Some of the things she'd felt about poverty are spoken from Ron's mouth in GOF, and the Locket's tirade is a dead ringer (albeit with the genders reversed) for what she reported her father told her about how he'd rather have had a son.

Hermione is according to JKR a caricature of how she was when she was younger. “I wasn't that clever, but I was that annoying on occasion". I doubt JKR got invited to a ball by a super famous athlete though.

Snape was allegedly based on her chemistry teacher, John Nettleship, who was autistic and I can believe would have made jokes that wouldn't necessarily land as such (solidarity 😔✊). However I believe Snape was very much a caricature and an exaggeration instead of a “100% authentic" portrait of John Nettleship, even if he later came to call the character “me". Rowling needed her Mean Teacher archetype after all.

Cuthbert Binns, the ghost teacher of History that is excruciatingly droll and boring, seems to be a summation of Rowling's thoughts about his subject. Also a convenient way of forgoing worldbuilding.

Mothers are a very important part of Rowling's world. Lily's sacrifice defines the entire series, Molly Weasley is a strong presence through the books and sends Bellatrix's fanatic arse to Hell, Merope Gaunt's refusal to live shapes Voldemort into who he is, Narcissa Malfoy lies to Voldemort in exchange for her son's safety, even Barty Crouch Jr's mother made the ultimate sacrifice by switching places with her son in Azkaban. The only mother figure that isn't positive is Walburga Black, and even she gets to have a humanizing moment when Hermione theorizes that she was kind to Kreacher in DH. All this takes on a whole new meaning when you learn that JKR wrote the first Harry Potter in the wake of her mother's death.

By contrast, father figures are much less revered, and again it is directly a result of JKR herself: she had a notoriously bad relationship with her father, Peter James Rowling. One can postulate that Peter Pettigrew's name wasn't all a matter of alliteration, and that James Potter's redemption was the sort of thing Rowling might have wished of her own father.

Pansy Parkinson was a conglomerate of all the girls who bullied Rowling at school.

Umbridge was based on a work colleague - though she's apparently another conglomerate character - who hid nastiness behind a syrupy sweet exterior. Umbridge is often said to be the worst villain in Harry Potter - because while few people ever experience a genocidal terrorist stalking them, many have met someone like Umbridge who abuse their power just because they enjoy feeling in control of others.

The Death Eaters in general were based on the IRA, but took more cues from Nazi Germany in Deathly Hallows.

[philcoulsonismyhero]

There's a lot of lines in Amongst Our Weapons that make me want to wave my arms around and yell incoherently about Peter and Nightingale and how far they've come and how much they mean to each other, but right now the one I want to yell about the most is this one from right at the end:

Image text: 'The wider the base, the greater the stability of the building,' said Nightingale. 'You taught me that.'

Because, like. Peter wanted to be an architect. The thing he always wanted to do was to build things. And look what he's built! He hasn't just rebuilt the Folly as it was, he's built something modern and completely new out of its constituent parts and he's done it by caring about people and being interested in how things work and by what Beverly jokingly calls 'compulsive networking'.

And everything he's done for the Folly, he's done for Nightingale on a personal level too.

Nightingale was So isolated when Peter first met him. His police colleagues didn't want much to do with him, his social circle seemed to consist of Molly and Dr Walid and not much more, he was completely out of touch with the modern world. And to his credit, he was the one who decided to take on an apprentice, but that was pretty much all he was planning to do. Train up a replacement for himself in case he got killed, pass on the Forms and Wisdoms properly, keep the status quo going.

But he chose Peter, and suddenly he's got an apprentice who wants to study the science behind magic and modernise the Folly's record keeping and work out better ways to liaise with other police and fundamentally Make Changes. Nightingale ends up with all these connections through Peter, to Beverley and the other Thames girls, to Lesley, to Abigail, eventually to the rest of Peter's family, to other police like Guleed and Stephanopoulos and unfortunately for him Seawoll... He has people he can rely on, and who choose to rely on him, and not just for magic -I especially love how Peter's mum eventually starts using him to babysit Peter's dad, and the fact that he helps Abigail's family with her brother. He's not alone anymore, and he goes from just living to genuinely thriving.

And it's all down to Peter, and what the two of them have built together. In fact, they've built something so significant that in a few years Nightingale isn't going to be necessary anymore. He's been Britain's Last Official Wizard for seventy years, all the weight of that tradition resting on his shoulders alone, and in a handful of years Peter has helped him to build something that'll be able to take the weight instead if he wants it to. There are people who can help do everything he's been doing alone and more, so finally he can think about what he actually wants for himself. (And don't even get me started on his arc re: teaching and discovering that it's what he wants to do for the rest of his life, I Will start yelling even more.)

And it's Peter who's taught him to let other people take the weight. That you can build something stable and lasting if you're willing to share the load. The wider the base, the greater the stability of the building.

Not bad for a wannabe architect who can't draw, huh?

[crazyrandomfucker]

Before I keep working on my fanfics

Things I loved about catching up to miraculous and I wanna talk about them because oh my gods, so much happened:

The fact that we actually got massive lovesquare developments in not only on the adrienette side (which is the cutest side for me) but also on the marichat side! (which was pretty much almost as abandoned as ladrien tbh, also this is the side I find the dorkiest of them all) [Sidenote: I'm sad we didn't get more Ladrien tbh and the ladynoir was absolutely adorable for me, with those two dorks being supportive to each other and seeing sides of each other that hadn't seen before]

Lie-la got exposed as the liar she is (AND we discovered that she is actually a psychopathic liar to the point of having multiple identities and being good at disguising herself)

The interactions between the different characters we've seen until date and not only in the group class, we got to see a lot of interesting groupings, like Gabriel and Mayor André being friends from before their fame (and the shenanigans) or Marc and Zoe being included in the gang despite them being on another class.

Some characters got a lot deeper, like Mayor André who wished to be a movie director but circumstances got the better of him, Sabrina facing against Chloe after she armed herself with courage

We also got a ton of lgbtq+ representation, of the top of my head I can say Zoe being a sapphic queen and too good for her own good (I wish we get to see her get a cute date in the future, the girl deserves some love), I think that Ms.Bustier and her partner too (we didn't get much info on this one to confirm it sadly, but I so wanna know much more) and I forgot the specifics but I'm pretty sure I've seen on the background lots of characters that either had a deep bromance or something more, as well as other lgbtq+ representations.

There was character development, starting from Alec who went from jerk to genuine dork, our lovely sword woman Kagami who got through SO much in the span of two seasons (happy she got a guy tho I'm a bit uneasy of Felix and how quickly their love seemed to flourish, it needs some work which I totally plan to do in my fanfics). Even Chloe and Gabriel had some character development (granted, it was to worse but negative development is still development)

ROSE'S TAKE ON ADRIENETTE!!!!!! Gods! We've all have seen throughout the series that Rose is clearly a romance lover besides being our cute and strong pink ball of possitivity, we knew she loved cute things and also love stories. And then we got that wonderful scene where she demanded Adrienette kiss (which, ok, that wasn't the best move on her end) and then proceeded to call out Adrien and Marinette for being "So cute.... And so infuriating!" I was laughing for hours.

THE FUCKEN KWAMI OF REALITY?! KWAMIS HAVING COOL BADASS TRUE FORMS?! Needless to say, the last episode of season 5 broke me so hard with so many things, but those two in particular blew my mind because, holy molly guacamole with sticks of folly! I now am demanding to see the true forms of all the kwamis because me needs ittttttt!!!!!!

Chloe actually left Paris, this time apparently for good, and there was no redeem arc. Because although redeeming evil characters sometimes is good, Chloe's character hits way too close to home and I'm glad she ended up falling from her throne without a chance to redeem herself, because she got way too many chances during the series and yet she ignored each and every single one of them. (IF they want to redeem her now after she suffers the consequences of her actions, that would be more acceptable)

We got to see some bits of Marinette's past before the events of the series, which was a good way to give her character some more depth, explain how she could have survived so much bullying from Chloe and also give us an actual reason for her behavior around the ones she falls in love with

Also shoutout to Ondine for getting angry at Kim for pranking Marinette and playing with her feelings, that girl is no fool and from what we've seen, she will lead Kim to a better path (because let's face it, he needs someone closer than a friend to lead him to the right path, I'm sure Max is a good influence on him but my girl is going to go some steps further)

Loved the whole Bunnyx situation, because it made perfect sense and although some parts could be improved, it was overall written quite well and it added some rules to the use of each miraculous' powers

Ladybug and Chat Noir growing amid a difficult situation and managing not only to slow their detransformations, but also reversing them?! We got direct confirmation that only adults can stay transformed after using the power of their miraculous and, what's more, in the last special we also got to know that if it's used for evil, one can use multiple times the power of miraculous at the cost of their own lifespan.

Headcannons I got from season 4 and 5:

Felix is not a sentimonster: Although in "Representation" it was implied that he was one during the scene in which Kagami and Felix explain a story to Marinette through a sentimonster (they literally said that Felix's father was jealous of Gabriel for having impregnated Emilie while he couldn't impregnate Amelie, then he used the Peacock miraculous and Amelie suddenly got impregnated and had a child the same day Emilie did). I personally think that what happened is that Felix's father created a sentimonster that made Amelie to be pregnant like her twin out of his jealousy, which is why then Felix was born the same day as Adrien and they look so similar, since what I think that the sentimonster did was literally replicate what was happening on Emilie's womb in Amelie's womb (ngl it sounds disgusting and unethical in so many ways, but let's face it, from what we know of the guy it wouldn't be so unrealistic). At the same time, this is also reinforced by the fact that no one identified Felix as a sentimonster during the series, being able to pass as Adrien in multiple occasion even when Gabriel or Nathalie were using the miraculous of the Peacock, else the boy would have ceased to exist a long time ago after he made Gabriel angry (because we have seen just how cruel could Gabriel become, I wouldn't put it past him to erase the existence of his nephew if he was a sentimonster)

Emilie stans Adrienette like a proud mother and will get along with Tom and Sabine like a house on fire: Because I just need the trio of proud parents™ being totally supportive (and extremely nosy) towards their children. Also, Emilie's track record of parenting is practically empty as we basically haven't gotten introduced to her yet, but if she is anything like her twin Amelie... Adrien is in for a shower of love as he's never seen one before, both from his girlfriend's side and from his mother.

Amelie and Felix move permanently to Paris: If we know one thing about Amelie is that she loves her baby boy and she misses her sister, so now that her baby boy Felix is in love with a certain Japanese sword lady that resides in Paris and that her sister is back to life while Gabriel is no more... I may be wrong but I think this one is totally possible to happen in season 6 (which I'll be patiently waiting for, I only know it's supposed to be released on the final quarter of 2024)

Adrien will discover Gabriel was Hawk Moth: Let's be honest, there is way too many people that knew about Gabriel having a miraculous, including Felix (who cares about Adrien), maybe Kagami, Kagami's mother (we don't know what happened to her and she may be salty af if the wish didn't help her too, so she'd have a reason to reveal it to the world), his girlfriend Marinette, his mother most likely knows too, Lila (if that is even her real name, because who knows at this point) and Nathalie (whom I hope that is still alive after Gabriel's wish). I honestly wouldn't be surprised if there's more people that know, but what's clear is that with so many people knowing, Adrien is bound to be told by someone and it may as well be

Gabriel's wish was to undo the damage caused by the broken miraculous of the peacock: We all know that Gabriel made a wish and paid the price himself, but he never says out loud what his wish was, we only saw that one of the consequences was his death and the revival of Emilie Agreste. While it's true that his wish was probably to just bring Emilie back, his actions after betraying Marinette's trust did show that he was a bit remorseful of how he had acted, so there's a tiny bit of hope.

And finally, about the movie, I have to say that, while I did like some of the concepts like Hawk Moth employing literal criminal prisoners in order to do his bidding (which makes a lot of sense given how easy they would accept his power even without needing to wait for them to be angry), I got tired really quick from all the songs and the personalities of everyone were a bit random, tho this last part was enjoyable from time to time.

I might end up making a post ranting about the things I didn't like in the last two seasons, but for now this is it and I'll get to writing my fics as soon as I post this (Tho maybe I'll work on updating some stuff from my fics to ensure they are not complete nonsense now). Stay tuned!

[jujurose222]

"Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet. Age: five thousand three hundred days. Profession: none, or "starlet."

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze? Why are you hiding, darling? (I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze, I cannot get out, said the starling).

Where are you riding, Dolores Haze? What make is the magic carpet? Is a Cream Cougar the present craze? And where are you parked, my car pet?

Who is your hero, Dolores Haze? Still one of those blue-caped star-men? Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays, And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts! Are you still dancin', darlin'? (Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts, And I, in my corner, snarlin').

Happy, happy is gnarled McFate Touring the States with a child wife, Plowing his Molly in every State Among the protected wild life.

My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair, And never closed when I kissed her. Know an old perfume called Soleil Vert? Are you from Paris, mister?

L'autre soir un air froid d'opéra m'alita; Son félé -- bien fol est qui s'y fie! Il neige, le décor s'écroule, Lolita! Lolita, qu'ai-je fait de ta vie?

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze, Of hate and remorse, I'm dying. And again my hairy fist I raise, And again I hear you crying.

Officer, officer, there they go— In the rain, where that lighted store is! And her socks are white, and I love her so, And her name is Haze, Dolores.

Officer, officer, there they are— Dolores Haze and her lover! Whip out your gun and follow that car. Now tumble out, and take cover.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Her dream-gray gaze never flinches. Ninety pounds is all she weighs With a height of sixty inches.

My car is limping, Dolores Haze, And the last long lap is the hardest, And I shall be dumped where the weed decays, And the rest is rust and stardust."

Humbert Humbert

Vladimir Nabokov

(I love this book no matter what anyone says to me, I am sorry if it upsets people, but I truly admire this poem deeply.)

[talesofpassingtime]

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Hair: brown. Lips: scarlet. Age: five thousand three hundred days. Profession: none, or “starlet.”

Where are you hiding, Dolores Haze? Why are you hiding, darling? (I talk in a daze, I walk in a maze, I cannot get out, said the starling).

Where are you riding, Dolores Haze? What make is the magic carpet? Is a Cream Cougar the present craze? And where are you parked, my car pet?

Who is your hero, Dolores Haze? Still one of those blue-caped star-men? Oh the balmy days and the palmy bays, And the cars, and the bars, my Carmen!

Oh Dolores, that juke-box hurts! Are you still dancin’, darlin’? (Both in worn levis, both in torn T-shirts, And I, in my corner, snarlin’).

Happy, happy is gnarled McFate Touring the States with a child wife, Plowing his Molly in every State Among the protected wild life.

My Dolly, my folly! Her eyes were vair, And never closed when I kissed her. Know an old perfume called Soleil Vert? Are you from Paris, mister?

L’autre soir un air froid d’opéra m’alita: Son félé— bien fol est qui s’y fie! Il neige, le décor s’écroule, Lolita! Lolita, qu’ai-je fait de ta vie?

Dying, dying, Lolita Haze, Of hate and remorse, I’m dying. And again my hairy fist I raise, And again I hear you crying.

Officer, officer, there they go— In the rain, where that lighted store is! And her socks are white, and I love her so, And her name is Haze, Dolores.

Officer, officer, there they are— Dolores Haze and her lover! Whip out your gun and follow that car. Now tumble out, and take cover.

Wanted, wanted: Dolores Haze. Her dream-gray gaze never flinches. Ninety pounds is all she weighs With a height of sixty inches.

My car is limping, Dolores Haze, And the last long lap is the hardest, And I shall be dumped where the weed decays, And the rest is rust and stardust.

— Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita

[doctors-star]

before the beginning

“Are you quite sure?” he says, trying not to look around at the house in case his glances should look doubtful. Unfortunately, he simply is somewhat doubtful of the wisdom of this idea; happy as he is for Peter to be surrounded by other people for the uncertain length of time he will be out in Herefordshire, the May household is already a large one and the May house is not. Peter is already looking slightly daunted by the noise and debris left by various young women between the ages of fifteen and twenty-two, and he’s barely made it past the front door. For good reason does Lesley usually visit them at the Folly, rather than the other way around. And then, of course, there is Molly at home with the dog, probably too well-trained to be cursing their names, but entirely possibly slightly distraught at being left alone. In truth, he is a little distressed at leaving her. It has, after all, been some time since he last did.

“Oh, yes,” Lesley’s mother says cheerfully, weaving in amongst the chaos with expert familiarity to deposit Peter’s bags on the stairs, ready to take the next person to come downstairs out at the ankles. “I’d hate to think of him rattling around in that big place on his own, and he’s a good lad. It’ll be lovely to have him over.”

“We’ll look after him,” Lesley’s dad says - a little wryly, like he too can see the madness that has been made of his home - and claps Peter on the shoulder in a display of manly solidarity. Peter manages a smile, but little enthusiasm; Lesley just rolls her eyes.

“Well, I do appreciate it,” Nightingale says, tucking his amusement into the corner of his mouth where only Peter and Lesley can see it. Peter narrows his eyes, aware he is being laughed at, but his mouth compresses against a grin all the same. “It shouldn’t be for very long, anyway.”

“I should hope not!” Lesley’s mother says, catching Lesley’s head in passing and crushing her close to press a kiss to her head. Lesley squirms uselessly but ultimately must submit to this display of parental affection; Peter looks at him suspiciously, as though to ward off any similar instincts in him. They are neither of them very tactile, even less so now as Peter gets older, but sometimes he does envy Mrs May for her easy affection. “You fetch those girls home, and you’ll be back before we know you’re gone. Peter, I’m putting you in Tanya’s room; Lesley, Tanya’s in with you. I’ll go and make up the beds.”

“Mum!” Lesley objects sharply, unfolding from her slouch against the wall to stare after her retreating mother at this abject betrayal; her father, wisely, beats a hasty retreat towards the living room, leaving them all in the hallway to say goodbye. Lesley huffs enormously. “I don’t know why everyone’s worried about you,” she says to Peter mutinously. “You get your own room.”

Peter holds up his hands defensively. “It’s not my fault. You’re not pinning Tanya’s inevitable demise on me.”

Lesley folds her arms and looks up at Nightingale. “I refuse to be held responsible either,” he says quickly.

“Then don’t be long,” she replies darkly, which is probably the closest he’s going to get to affection from Lesley these days - she’s going through a rather grumpy phase at present.

“As you like,” he says mildly. “Right - the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll get back. Be good,” he tells Peter, more from some kind of parental instinct than any expectation otherwise; Peter rolls his eyes. “Call me if you need anything; I really shouldn’t be long. Don’t let Lesley kill her sisters.”

“You never let me do anything,” Lesley says, trying to hide a grin.

“I know. Look after yourselves.” And then there’s really nothing more to say, except goodbye.

“Good luck,” Peter offers. “You - look after yourself too. See you in a bit, then.”

And then Nightingale reaches out to squeeze his shoulder bracingly, but doesn’t quite make it. Peter ducks in underneath his arm, snakes one arm around his waist, and leans into his side in a sort of half-hug, half-tackle. Nightingale manages to coordinate his arm into wrapping around Peter’s shoulders quickly enough for a brief squeeze before the boy pulls away, resolutely refusing to make eye contact.

“Right. Bye then,” Peter says, still looking anywhere but at Nightingale.

Lesley tips her chin at him in a sort of salute, grinning at Peter’s behaviour.

“Bye, then,” he says, and smiles all the way to the M40.

[leupagus]

Rivers of London, Peter/Nightingale, 10 of clubs, please and thank you.

There was no sign of him in the Folly — only his phone, sat innocuously on one of the breakfast tables, at 15% battery.

Nobody at Scotland Yard had heard from him, he hadn't taken the Jag anywhere. Walid hadn't a clue. His tailor, hairdresser, boxing partner down the gym — none of them had an appointment with him.

"He'll turn up," Bev said that afternoon when I came in for a bit to give her a break. The girls were sleeping, which made me look like a real hero. "He's Thomas Nightingale. If he'd died, the world would sit up and take notice."

It wasn't reassuring, somehow.

By sundown I was about ready to file a Mispers; if I didn't, Molly would. I circled back to the Folly, the panic starting to — not bubble over, exactly, more like a simmer of panic, the kind that can go on and on until you go stark raving mad.

Only I never got as far as the front door, because as I crossed through Russell Square, there he was, sat on a park bench looking perfectly fine.

"Oh, hello Peter. I thought—" Nightingale got just about that far before I yanked him to his feet and pulled him into a hug, my brain not really processing any of it. He was alive, he was fine and wherever he'd got to today didn't matter because he was here, alive.

"I thought I'd lost you," I said, squeezing my eyes shut. I didn't say I thought I'd lost you yesterday, too, when that bastard had his knife ready and I'm not ready for the world to sit up and take notice of you dying and I'm not ready for a world that doesn't have you in it.

"Well," said Nightingale, holding onto me just as tight as I was holding him, "You found me again."

[radical-rapscallion]

okok poem time! putting it under the cut

by guts and bones and purposeless gore

soon will be fed, the wolves of war

from sticks and stones to bayonets

reversed when our whole world resets

the streets, those innocent corpses flood

when slaughtered in the ice cold blood

from sand to snow and in between

enticed by what is sold on-screen

dear Johnny left by those above

nobody to send a mourning dove

warns these sons against his folly

in loving hate and leaving Molly

and yet for all the blood that's shed

too many a young man is wed

to promises of golden rings

while lied to by the clueless kings

to death and fear and glory vowed

you noble boys, with your heads bowed

march to the end for those uncaring

cracked and rended hearts are tearing

our daughters losing son and husband

to lead or pain and terror extended

those same girls had risked it all

ensuring mighty troops not fall

disposable masses thrown to beasts

all so that their masters could feast

___________________________________

so i actually only had "and yet for all the blood that's shed too many a young man is wed/to promises of golden rings while lied to by the clueless kings" originally, idk it just sort of popped into my head while i was watching 2012. i think it took me just over an hour to write? anyways yeah johnny is just the typical soldier boy name yknow. and Molly is his wife, either he died or she left because woohoo post-war ptsd fucked everyone over :/

it's about both modern and ancient wars (that post about there being records of knights showing signs of what we would now call ptsd Fucked Me Up) and how the folks higher up just could not give a shit about the people dying for them.

[hazy2k]

genuine question 🙋‍♂️

Will upload your webcomics on WebToon or on any other website besides WebToon

molly the folly is gonna be uploaded to comicfury as its main site

ill probably stick away from webtoon because of all the scandals that have been going on with the company. however, crew members have suggested the possibility of hosting mirror archives for the comic, so expect to see that not too long after episode 1 is complete!!

[shakespeareanwannabe]

One Hell of a Year: March

Summary:  When Molly Henderson makes the move from Chicago to Lockhart, Texas, she doesn’t expect much. A new teaching job, a new community, and maybe a few new friends, but what she didn’t expect was to meet Michael Perry, a man with a heart of gold, October eyes, and a smile that made her tummy do a strange little flip-flop. With Michael by her side, Molly finds that she may just be able to not only find a life in Lockhart, but thrive there as well.

Warnings: language, references to an abusive relationship, use of alcohol, references to failed relationships, references to marriage, references to lovemaking

Disclaimers: Nothing recognizable belongs to me. 

Molly watched her hand float through the wind as the old truck sped down the I-79 towards Pittsburgh, a small smile on her face as smooth jazz poured out of the truck’s CD player.

“You really like that jazz album I picked up for you at the hotel in New Orleans, huh?” she hummed, closing her eyes briefly to focus on the breeze cooling her face.

Michael’s thumb gently traced the back of her hand as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What can I say? You’ve got good taste in music. Jazz and otherwise. I still can’t believe one of your favourite songs is I’m Yours.”

“Like you said, I have great taste in music. And in men…” she grinned, turning her head to squint at him against the bright light of the setting sun.

“And men, if I do say so myself,” he grinned, pulling her hand up and kissing the same path his thumb had been tracing for the past hour.

“I mean, it’s incontrovertible, baby,” she smiled, gently freeing her hand to dig in her backpack that was stowed in the footwell of the truck. With a small huff, she pulled free her digital camera, turning it on to scroll through the gallery of photos that had been taken on their road trip so far. The cab driver of their horse and carriage tour in New Orleans had been nice enough to take a photo of the two of them with his horse, the black mare nuzzling in between them as they tried to kiss, the laughter clear on both their faces. Dozens of candid shots that Molly had snapped of Michael as they took their Ghosts, Vampires, and Voodoo walking tour, and one of Molly with powdered sugar all over her face, her plate of beignets tilting precariously as she laughed. Their single day in New Orleans hadn’t been enough, and both members of the couple had agreed to visit again as soon as they could. The old-world magic charm of New Orleans faded into photos of Michael’s profile as they had sped along the coast of the Gulf of Mexico, where they stopped in Folly Beach for a relaxing day of sun and surf.

“Just look at you, baby,” she cooed, tilting the camera towards him so he could glance down at the photo of him, sticking his tongue out at her from the driver’s seat. “You’re adorable, and the only explanation for that is my incredible taste in men.”

“I’m sure my old man will be happy to hear that genetics has nothing to do with it,” he joked, returning his attention to the empty stretch of freeway ahead of him. They were only about an hour or so outside of Pittsburgh, the sun setting quickly, and Michael wanted to make it there before the hotel restaurant closed.

Molly hummed, lost in her thoughts as she continued to scroll through the photos. They had spent an entire day at Folly Beach, something that Molly would be eternally grateful for. Michael’s skin had taken on a sun-kissed glow that made him even more drool worthy, and Molly knew she would treasure the photos of her shirtless boyfriend relaxing in the sun and sand for many years to come.

Her gaze softened at a few pictures of the two of them cuddled up on the same beach blanket, Molly dozing with her head in Michael’s lap as he read aloud from the trashy romance novel that she had brought with her. Michael had snagged the camera out of her bag and taken a few photos of her, followed by the photo of them together. It wasn’t perfect. The background was blurry and neither of them were perfectly in frame, but to Molly it was the epitome of perfection. She hadn’t felt safe enough to fall asleep in someone’s lap since…since she had been a toddler and had gone to a baseball game with her grandfather. She had gotten bored and crawled into his lap, falling asleep before the fifth inning. That was the last time…until Michael had swept into her life and enveloped her in his strength and his honesty.

“Hey…” she murmured, briefly drawing his attention away from the road.

“Hmm?”

She smiled softly. “I love you.”

Michael lifted her hand with a soft squeeze and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I love you too.”

When Molly eventually got around to scrapbooking their Pittsburgh trip, she’d be hard pressed to pick and choose between the photos she had gathered over their three-day stay.

The photo of the two of them cuddled up in front of Mr. Roger’s living room was definitely a keeper. Both Michael and Molly had gotten emotional at the Heinz History Museum as they strolled through the memories of their childhoods, weaving in between the set pieces that had kept them both entertained for years. When the kindly museum worker had walked by and offered to take their photo in front of the iconic set, they had both jumped at the chance and, as the flash went off, Molly couldn’t help but think of showing the photo, as well as the old Mr. Roger’s Neighbourhood episodes, to their own children one day.

The photo of the two of them on the PNC Carousel would also be going in the scrap book. Molly had managed to snap a quick pic while she and Michael rode side by side on the musical ride. She felt that the photo really captured the essence of their relationship, what with Michael leaning over to kiss her and Molly giggling like mad when he couldn’t reach.

There was a snapshot of Michael leaning over the railing of the Hofbräuhaus, the river glittering in the background as he turned his head to smile at her. It was a memory she was sure to treasure, as much as she treasured the memory of returning to their hotel room that night and making love into the wee hours of the morning. She had been sore during their walking tour of Market Square for sure, but it had been worth it.

The most artistic photo in the collection had to be the photo Molly had taken of their reflections in the fountain at Point State Park. The Sun had come out to play with them and they had spent the afternoon sipping coffee and talking in the park. When they got up to throw out their cardboard coffee cups, they had passed by the fountain and Molly had been quick to stop for the photo op. Michael’s arms wrapped around her waist so tightly she almost felt like she couldn’t breathe, but also felt oh so safe, like the outside world was unable to reach her so long as she stayed in his grasp.

Another kindly stranger had taken their photo at Mount Washington. Michael had surprised Molly early on their second day, dragging her out of their bed before the sun had even arisen, stating that he wouldn’t be a good tour guide if he didn’t take her to see the best sunrise the city had to offer. With coffee in their travel mugs and pastries from the hotel’s continental breakfast, they had made their way across the river to Mount Washington. When she would look at the sweet photo later on, it wouldn’t bother Molly that neither of them had ended up in the shot, their volunteer photographer having aimed far above their heads. She would look at the bright pinks and oranges of the sunrise and remember the sweet good morning kiss Michael had bestowed upon her as his former city came awake.

The final photo that she would treasure was the photo provided to them by the media staff at the PPG Paints Arena. Molly’s surprise for Michael had been tickets to see the Pittsburgh Penguins face off against the Washington Capitals on home ice, an experience he had lamented not being able to do before he left for Texas. Though Molly knew they might come to regret the late night, what with them having to rise early the next morning and begin the near-day long trip home, she was ecstatic that she had been able to give him a gift that he would cherish. With neither of them being novices when it came to hockey, they had screamed and cheered for the boys in black and gold as they battled against Ovechkin and his cohort. When the infamous Kiss Cam had landed upon them during the intermission for the second period, both had been embarrassed but game to participate, leaning in and sharing a saccharine smooch for the camera. As the buzzer rang for the final intermission of the game, an arena attendant had approached them and provided them with the framed photo of their broadcasted kiss, which Molly already knew would be proudly displayed in her bedroom.

All the photos were testaments to the love they had for one another, as well as the success of their first trip taken as a couple.

“I love you…” Molly whispered against his lips, bestowing upon him another kiss before stowing the photo in her purse.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Michael murmured, nuzzling her neck until the cheers of the crowd poured over them as the Penguins retook the ice.

As he watched the sea of red and gold players battle for the puck, he felt his shoulders sink down and his heart slow. After the game, they’d go back to the hotel, and they’d be out of Pittsburgh by 6 am the next morning. Everything would be fine.

“Baby, the picture’s not going to disappear!” Michael laughed loudly as they strolled the short distance from the arena to the hotel.

“I’m sorry!” Molly whined playfully, tucking the picture back where it belonged. “We’re just so damn cute, Michael!”

Michael opened his mouth to retaliate but found his mouth dry when a young voice shouted, “Michael!”

Both their heads whipped around, staring through the mob of people exiting the arena.

“I-it was probably a different Michael,” he chuckled weakly, hand on Molly’s elbow to gently guide her back the way they had been going. “One of the perils of having an extremely popular name. All of a sudden, you’re hearing your name everywhere.”

Molly chewed her lip. “Yeah, I guess.” She glanced up at him and noticed how his warm brown eyes were suddenly shifting all over the place, as though he was assessing a threat. “Baby, what’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

Michael reluctantly relinquished his gentle grip on her as his hand came up to tug on his coat collar. “M-maybe I had too much beer at the game.”

“You had one,” Molly pointed out gently, tugging them both out of the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic. “Maybe those fried oysters for lunch aren’t agreeing with you?”

“I—”

“Michael!”

Michael turned his head to look down the street and saw a young blonde girl waving at him from an open door.

“Malia?”

The girl paused to pull on her coat before racing down the sidewalk and barrelling into him, wrapping him in a huge hug. “Michael!” she squealed as he wrapped his arms around her. “I got your email that you were coming, but I never heard back when I asked whether you’d be able to swing by!”

Michael chuckled awkwardly, risking a glance over at a bewildered Molly before focusing on the teenager in front of him. It had been five years since he had seen her, and it was insane to see how much she had grown.

“Wow, Malia, you’re so big now!”

The teenager rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that tends to happen after five years. How was your trip? Oohhh, this must be Molly! Hi, I’m Malia!” The young blond launched herself at Molly and gave her a big hug, not noticing how taken aback the older woman was.

“Uh, hi, Malia. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too!” she squealed, smiling at them both. “I saw you two kiss on the kiss cam. So adorbs, by the way, and I thought, “OMG, what if they walk this way after the game?” And I poked by head out of the bar when I saw the crowd going by, and I was right! I just had to come and say hello!”

“Bar? Malia, you’re sixteen, what’re you doing in a bar?” Michael asked sternly, crossing his arms.

The young girl rolled her eyes. “Chill, Mr. Perry. It’s fine. It’s my mom’s bar and we live in the apartment upstairs. It’s super nice. A step up from that crappy place we used to live in. Remember how the elevator was always broken? Oh! Do you want to come in and say hi to mom? She saw you on the kiss cam too! C’mon, she’d be so excited!”

Malia grabbed Michael’s arm and started dragging him towards the dim sports bar with bright neon signs decorating the windows. Without thinking, Michael reached out and snagged Molly’s hand as he got towed along in the wild wake of the teenage girl he had once known.

Molly stood in the doorway, a bit put off by what she had just witnessed.

First, a random teenager runs out of a bar and wraps her boyfriend in a hug. Not completely out of the ordinary, given that Michael was a teacher in Pittsburgh and his early students would be teenagers now. But talking about mom? The place they lived? Insinuating that Michael knew about her home? That all just added up to nothing good.

Then, she gets tugged along by her boyfriend, who is suspiciously avoiding her gaze, into this sports bar, which she wouldn’t normally be opposed to, only to watch him gently hug another woman. A pretty, similarly aged woman who approached Michael with an air of familiarity.

“Hey Michael.”

He smiled softly. “Hey Jaime. How are you?”

Jaime. Not a name she recognized. She’d heard about a Stacy, his high school girlfriend who had cashed in his V-card. She’d heard of a Dominique, an exchange student from Paris that he had a friends with benefits relationship with during college. She’d even heard of Nicolette, the teacher’s aid he had met while he was working with Teach for America.

There had been Sandy, Trisha, Rachel, and, right before her, Jessica, the neighbour three doors down that shot daggers at her every time she saw her. A casual thing that had run its course long before Molly had even set foot in Texas, not that that made a difference to Jessica.

Michael had been extremely forthcoming about all of his relationships. Flings, one night stands, friends with benefits…but no Jaime. Why was there no mention of a Jaime?

“Molly?”

The woman in question raised her eyes and nodded with a small hum.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Molly,” Jaime smiled at her.

Molly forced herself to take a deep breath and hauled a smile onto her face. “It’s really nice to meet you too, Jaime. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Michael’s head swing in her direction, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” Jaime smiled. “Malia’s told me quite a bit about you too. Well, at least what she got from Michael’s emails. It was really nice of him to keep in touch after he went back home to Texas. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Molly’s cheeks ached from holding the smile on her face. “Yeah, Michael sure is one of a kind.”

Jaime nodded. “He really is something special.” She leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “Don’t you let him go, now. I made that mistake.”

Molly leaned back and tried not to let the hurricane of emotion swirling within her come out. Jaime seemed genuinely nice. Not threatening. Her statement came across more as a word of caution than a threat. And yet, all Molly could feel was this threatening black cloud looming over the bar, its wispy tendrils reaching out to snatch Michael away from her.  

“D-don’t worry,” Molly murmured, finally finding her tongue. “I won’t.”

Jaime smiled encouragingly at her. “That’s good. I can tell you make him really happy. I saw you on the Kiss Cam at the Pens game. You two seem really in love.”

Molly straightened. She knew it was true on her end. She’d been open and honest with him for months about who she was and the baggage she was carrying. Now, perhaps this situation didn’t warrant this level of suspicion. Perhaps this was just a super awkward encounter with an ex that they would laugh about later. But something inside of her told her that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was the years of experience having to know instinctively when her students were up to something, or maybe she was just born with a radar for knowing when things weren’t adding up.

For the first time since they stepped into the bar, Molly took a look over at Michael, who was staring directly into her soul with a look on his face that she couldn’t quite read. She blinked at him before turning back to Jaime, that fake smile still straining her facial muscles.

“We are. I’m so lucky.”

Jaime smiled over Molly’s shoulder as Michael strolled over to join them, hesitantly resting a hand on Molly’s shoulder.

“It was really nice catching up, Jaime, but I think we should head out. We’ve got a long drive back to Texas in the morning.”

It was Jaime’s turn to blink at him. “Oh. Okay. I understand. I just…I was hoping to get a chance to speak with you. Just…get some closure?”

Michael turned and looked beseechingly at Molly, who sighed and nodded hesitantly. “As long as we’re back at the hotel by midnight, we should be okay. We’ve got that hotel booked in Shreveport anyway, just in case the traffic is bad.”

Michael squeezed her shoulder as he leaned in and kissed her temple. “Thank you. We should just be a minute or two.” Molly nodded, casting her eyes down at the sticky linoleum floor. “Jaime, do you mind if we talk outside? You know, for some privacy?”

Jaime nodded for a second before turning to Malia. “I really shouldn’t leave her in the bar by herself.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Molly heard herself say, watching Jaime’s eyes soften with appreciation.

“Thank you. We won’t be long.”

Molly watched the door swing shut and felt her heart clench as her boyfriend disappeared down the street with his ex.

“Umm…Molly? Do you want to sit? Have a drink?” Malia piped up softly, coming to stand next to her.

Molly chuckled under her breath. “I don’t think you’re allowed to serve the kind of drink I need right now.”

Malia giggled. “Well, that’s true. But I know how to whip up a mean virgin Shirley Temple?”

Molly chuckled. No matter how she felt about this situation, the people at least seemed really nice. “That sounds amazing, Malia. Thank you.”

Malia guided her to one of the bar stools before ducking behind the bar and pouring copious amounts of grenadine into two plastic glasses.

“So, uh…forgive me if this is out of line, but…you don’t know anything about us, do you?

Molly chuckled morosely. “I honestly don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No, hey, that’s cool. I wouldn’t want to drag my new girlfriend into my old crap either, so I kinda get why Michael didn’t want to tell you. But…” the young girl stretched the word as she garnished the drinks with an orange slice and maraschino cherries. “I am super stoked to get to meet you. Michael told me all about you in his emails. I can tell he really loves you.”

Molly felt her face flush. “I really love him too. And I can tell you really care about him.”

Malia nodded as she made her way back around the bar, two glasses of pink liquid in her hand. “Yeah. He really helped me and my mom,” she replied, hopping up on the neighbouring barstool and handing over a glass. “He helped my mom and Miss Nona save my school and get me the help I needed.” At the sight of Molly’s furrowed brow, Malia laughed and continued. “My school was trash and my teacher sucked ass. Nobody gave a damn until my mom decided to take over the school and make it better. She and Michael and Miss Nona did some legal stuff and got petitions and signs made, and they had to go to the school board, but in the end, they won. They got more funding and they were able to fire the teachers who didn’t give a crap.”

Molly blinked. All the time that they had spent together, and Michael had never thought to mention that he had participated in a takeover like that? She knew that he was passionate about school reform and holding teachers accountable, but to that level? She felt like she was talking about a stranger and not the man who had slept beside her pretty much consistently since October.

“Wow…I had no idea.”

Malia nodded, toying with the straw in her glass. “And since I’m dyslexic, it really helped to have a teacher who actually wanted to help me, y’know? Michael really helped me feel confident in my reading and writing. It helped that he was over every night too, to spend time with my mom.”

Molly smiled softly despite the pang in her chest. “I can imagine. Michael definitely has a way about him. You can just tell that he wants to help and he’ll move Heaven and Earth to do so.”

Malia nodded, sipping from her glass. “At first, I thought he was just trying to be nice to me to get closer to my mom. But I realized after a while that it was actually the opposite. Just by being nice to me, my mom fell for him.”

“H—” Molly’s throat was so tight she choked, sipping on her sweet drink to hide her struggle. “How long were they together for?”

Malia shrugged. “Two years or something like that.”

Molly nodded thoughtfully, her blood racing in her ears. Two years was a long time. Long enough for some people to want more, like marriage and children. She always thought that Michael was one of those people, who would want that typical life sooner rather than later. It’s something she wanted sooner rather than later, and she had always felt like they were on the same page about that.

“…Molly?”

“Hmm?” she startled, glancing up to find Malia staring at her. “Yes, sorry. It’s been a long day,” she chuckled nervously. “Wh-what were you saying?”

Malia bit her lip. “It’s okay. It wasn’t important.”

Molly frowned. “Malia, listen…I know you don’t know me and that you might have some negative feelings about me and Michael because of his break up with your mom, but—”

“Oh my god, no!” Malia blurted, reaching out to grab Molly’s wrist. “No way, I don’t hate you or anything! I was just saying that I was really happy to see Michael looking so happy. He looked so happy on that Kiss Cam, smiling at you. I’m so glad he was able to find someone to make him happy after his mom got sick and he had to leave.”

Molly blushed, flipping her hand to squeeze the teenager’s hand in her own. “Thank you. Michael’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

Malia shrugged, a light blush painting her cheeks in the dim lighting of the bar. “I mean, we were going to be family before his mom got sick and he had to move back home.”

Molly stilled, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was surprised that Malia couldn’t feel it thrumming in her wrist. “I…I’m sorry?”

Malia didn’t look up from where she was stirring the dregs of her Shirley Temple. “He wanted us to move with him. He had a ring and everything, had me help him pick it out so that it was my mom’s style. But then she didn’t want to leave the school and Miss Nona and uproot me from school and all my friends. So they fought. He couldn’t stay. She wouldn’t leave. And that was the end of it.” Malia frowned down at her glass.

The blood was roaring in her ears again. Malia might have been fleshing out her story, but Molly had no idea. She couldn’t hear anything. Not Malia, not the music playing in the bar, not her own heartbeat drumming in her ears, not even the tiny bell over the door as Michael and Jaime returned from their walk.

She flinched violently as a soft hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly, but to Molly, it felt like a vice.

“Hey, hey, easy, sweetheart,” Michael soothed in that voice that usually calmed her heart and made her melt. “It’s just me. We should be getting back to the hotel.”

“It was great catching up with you, Michael,” Jaime smiled, wrapping her arms around Malia’s neck. “And it was really nice meeting you, Molly.”

“Y-you too,” she murmured, her body feeling like it was slogging through a thick soup, every bone and muscle in her body reacting slower, as though the air had just gotten too thick to breathe.

“Bye, Michael!” Malia leapt up and hugged him before turning to Molly and repeating her actions. “Bye, Molly!”

“B-bye…”

Michael used a gentle hand on her shoulder to guide her back outside the bar, where the once bustling street by PGA Paints arena was now quiet.

One step, two steps, and Molly shrugged Michael’s hand off her shoulder. The heat and weight of it was unbearable, even in the chilly Pittsburgh air. The smell of his cologne was clogging her nostrils and she swore that, if he spoke, the sound of his voice would shatter her eardrums.

He seemed to understand that something was off, as he didn’t question her actions, just kept pace with her as they trekked back to the hotel in darkness.

That thick, heavy silence followed them through the lobby of the hotel, up the elevator, and into their room. It followed Molly as she entered the bathroom and completed her nighttime routine. It chased after her when she bypassed Michael as she left the bathroom and all but collapsed onto the bed, listening to the bathroom door click closed and the shower start up as she allowed her eyes to drift closed despite the tears that were pooling in them.

By the time Michael emerged from the shower, his short hair glistening in the dim lamplight of the hotel room, Molly had fallen into a deep but restless sleep atop the covers. Michael sighed sadly as he gently, tenderly, lovingly tucked his sleeping girlfriend into bed, stooping to kiss her forehead and brush a stray tear off her cheek.

Leaning over to shut off the lamp, Michael sighed. This was everything he had been afraid of, and he could only blame himself. He knew he had been keeping his old life in Pittsburgh a secret from Molly. He knew it wasn’t sustainable. He knew he should’ve come clean a long time ago, but he didn’t know that it would lead to this giant gaping wound between them, this Grand Canyon that left him reaching out for her while not knowing if he’d ever get to hold her again. Michael sighed again, gently falling back onto the firm hotel mattress and fighting the temptation to roll over and hug Molly close to his body.

As tendrils of sleep began to gently wind their way around his mind and body, Michael resolved to fix things in the morning. He wouldn’t lose her. Not like this, not ever, if he had anything to say about it.

When Molly woke early the next morning, it was like waking from a dream to find yourself in a nightmare.

She had finally fallen into a deep sleep in the wee hours of the morning, dreaming of dancing down the street in New Orleans as the jazz music poured out of a nearby bar. Their whole trip had been like a dream, all sparkles and sweetness, all soft and warm around the edges, like a favourite blanket.

That morning, at five a.m., she woke up cold. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, and her skull and the base of her neck ached with the pressure of her thoughts. She couldn’t tell if she was overreacting, underreacting, or completely taking the situation out of context.

She only knew three things for sure.

One, Michael was keeping a cordial relationship with his ex’s daughter. Not something to be mad about. Malia seemed sweet. They had also shared a tutor/student relationship, something that Molly herself was no stranger to. Overall, not a problem.

Two, Michael had fought for educational reform at his school in Pittsburgh. Slight problem. Not because of the reform, because that was something they both agreed needed to happen. No, it was a slight problem because they’d spoken about their highs and lows in teaching before, but never once had he mentioned the takeover that he had taken part in. Perhaps Renata didn’t know. Perhaps he had become disillusioned with teaching when there had been no support from the union. She was peeved that he had never shared it with her but could understand that perhaps his teaching experience in Pittsburgh hadn’t been something he wanted to share. Overall, a slight problem but not a big deal.

Three, Michael had an ex-girlfriend in Pittsburgh that he had been planning on proposing to. Giant, waving red flag. Not the ex part. That was understandable. Everyone had a past, Molly included. She couldn’t and would never get mad at someone she loved for living their life before she became a part of it. That wouldn’t be fair. What sent her heart plummeting down towards her toes was that he hadn’t trusted her to talk about that part of his life. Of course, the end of a relationship that you saw lasting the rest of your life would be traumatic. And Molly would be able to understand Michael’s hesitance to speak on the subject if he had only mentioned her. Just once. If he had mentioned Malia at all, even in passing.

“Hi, I’m Michael Perry and I sometimes keep in touch with my ex-girlfriend’s daughter because we formed an educational bond. Why’d we break up? I was going to propose but my mom got sick, and I had to move back home. She wouldn’t move with me, so we split…” Molly mumbled under her breath, pressing her knuckles into her eyelids. “It’s not that hard…especially after your girlfriend shares the story of her fucking abusive relationship.”

Molly sniffed and stood on creaky knees, her joints aching from being wrapped up in a ball all night.

She didn’t want to be judging Michael too harshly. She loved him and she knew from experience that he loved hard. That his breakup with Jaime must have been devastating since he had wanted to marry her. And she didn’t want to compare relationship trauma because that wasn’t fair to either of them, but hadn’t she shown that he could trust her with the big stuff? She had opened up about her past relationships months ago. She had spilled her guts all over the floor like leftover Christmas gift wrapping, and he had helped her sort through it and clean it up, sewing the wound shut with so much love and devotion that she could barely feel its ache anymore. And yet, now it felt like it was pushing against the long-healed stitches, infected with some sort of parasite that she hadn’t known to watch for.

Secrets.

She had none. She had told him all about her grandfather and her ex-boyfriend, how she had ended up in Texas and how she had gotten her house. She thought he didn’t have any either. He had, albeit reluctantly, opened up about his mother’s death. He talked about how much he struggled with being a mandatory reporter because it meant knowing how badly his students were hurting. She knew about his flings, his relationships, his loves, his losses. Everything except this relationship, this love, this loss. And that threw a giant red flag in the air that covered all the green flags, shrouded them in this bloody blanket that disguised every good thing about their relationship as a possible detonator, a potential trigger, a threat to her happiness.

“H-hey…you’re awake.”

She lifted her head and saw Michael standing in the doorway, two cups of take-out coffee in his hands and a sheepish look on his face.

Despite her body feeling like a million pounds, she stood up slowly and shuffled towards the bathroom.

“Yeah.”

Michael carefully placed one cup of coffee on the dresser. “I’ve already got all my stuff packed. I can head down and check us out while you’re in the shower, if you want. Then we can get going. And hopefully…talk on the way home?”

Molly’s eyes sunk closed.

“Look, Michael…I know we need to talk but I had a shitty night’s sleep and I don’t know if I have the emotional strength to have this conversation right now, okay?”

He flinched back slightly, unused to the biting edge of her words. “Y-yeah, okay. That’s…that’s fine. You should nap in the car. Maybe that would make you feel better. And it’ll keep you from getting car sick too. I don’t mind if you sleep, if that’s what you need.”

Molly felt tears well up in her eyes and she quickly turned away from him, heading into the bathroom. “That would be great. Thanks.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Michael’s head hung. It truly was the worst feeling in the world to be so close to the person you love, and yet so far away.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Shreveport was markedly different from the drive they took on the way there. There was no singing along to the songs on the radio. There was no pulling over and taking pictures of random, awesome things they saw along the way. There was no handholding, no casual conversation that evolved into deep, meaningful discussions about their future together, no ‘just because’ kisses over the centre consol.

Michael focused on driving while Molly slept. While they had traded off on the way to Pittsburgh, each of them taking turns driving so the other could rest, there was no such trade off this time. The only sound in the car was Michael tapping on the steering wheel with his thumb, wondering how they had gotten to this point.

Things had been good in New Orleans, in Folly Beach, even those first few days of Pittsburgh. Hell, while they had been wandering the French Quarter, Michael had even found his eyes being drawn towards jewelry stores, his eyes scanning the glittering rings in the front window, wondering how each one would look on Molly’s finger. He knew they were only a few months into this thing between them, but he could feel it in his bones that this was it for him. And now they were barely speaking.

Sighing tiredly, Michael flipped on his turn signal and pulled into the parking lot of the hotel in Shreveport they had booked for their return drive. He took a moment to bury his face in his hands, rubbing the sadness out of his eyes like sand before reaching over and gently shaking Molly.

Despite her soft, smooth breathing, she woke immediately, no signs of sleep in her eyes.

“We’re here…” he murmured softly, staring out at the dark stretch of pavement and the warm, welcoming lights of the hotel.

She nodded back at him, crawling out of the truck and stretching once her feet hit solid ground.

Michael followed her lead, stopping at the bed of the truck to pull their suitcases out. Without a word spoken, Molly held out her hand and took hers, dropping it down to the ground with a thud as she began to roll it across the rocky pavement.

Michael watched her go, an unknown feeling building in his chest.

“Molly?” The word burst from his lips like a volcano, shattering the stillness of the night.

Her head hung as she hesitated. “Michael…”

“Is this how it’s gonna be now?” he asked with a lump in his throat. “I get that I fucked up, but the silent treatment isn’t exactly going to fix things.”

She sighed, the sound carrying through the cold night air. “I know that…but I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Something,” he replied, desperation dripping from his voice. “Anything. Honey, you’ve gotta know that I never meant for this to hurt you. I…I didn’t even think that it would be that big of a deal. You know that I’ve dated before, that there are ex-girlfriends out there.”

She laughed humourlessly. “That’s the problem, Michael. You didn’t think. I know that there are exes. We’ve both got them. But an ex that you were going to marry? That you bought a ring for? How the hell could you not think to mention something so important?”

He flinched at the cutting edge of her words. “I told you, I didn’t think! Jaime is so far in my past that—”

“That you still keep in touch with her daughter?” Molly challenged, stepping closer to him in the dark. “You can’t tell me that you forgot all about her but managed to not forget about her child!”

“Of course, I didn’t forget about her, but I don’t see her in a romantic light! I haven’t for a long time! My mother was dying, for Christ’s sake! I shoved all thoughts of romance out of my head for a long time!”

“I know that!” she cried, her hand raising to massage her temple. “I know that you did because I did the same thing! The problem is, I shared that with you almost three months ago! You didn’t think it was a good idea to share the shitty end of your relationship then?”

“What did you want me to say, Molly?” he griped. “‘Sorry your ex was an abusive asshole that you managed to escape from when your grandfather died. I was gonna marry my ex, but she refused to uproot her life in Pittsburgh when my mom got fucking cancer. What a coincidence?’? I wanted to give you time!”

“Three months, Michael! I told you all that at Christmas! It’s March Break now! You’ve had God knows how many chances to tell me about it since! You could’ve told me instead of skulking around Pittsburgh for three days, trying to avoid your ex and her daughter!”

“Hey!” he shouted sharply. “We had a great trip, and I wasn’t trying to avoid them!”

“No? Then why didn’t you want to show me the school you worked at?” she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Is it because you were afraid of me running into someone who would tell me all about how the great Michael Perry helped save the school and fell in love in the process?”

“It’s because I wanted to focus on you! On us! I wanted us to have a break from being Mr. Perry and Ms. Henderson! No teacher talk, no Professional Development, just me and my beautiful girlfriend, enjoying a relaxing vacation! And it was great until now!”

“You mean it was great until all your secrets started crumbling down,” Molly muttered, grabbing her suitcase, and dragging it towards the hotel, her shoulders hunched.

“Molly! Molly, c’mon!” Michael grabbed his bag from the truck and chased after her, only catching up once she was standing at the front desk.

“Hi there, we have a reservation. Name is Michael Perry,” Michael panted at the tired looking clerk behind the desk.

He tapped at the computer for a moment before nodding. “Single bed, one night?”

“Yeah, that’s—”

“That’s us, but would it be possible to get an additional room for the night?” Molly piped up, pointedly ignoring Michael’s searching eyes.

The man huffed and tapped at the keyboard again. “For an additional $450, I can put you in adjoining rooms.”

Molly huffed. “Never mind then.”

The man looked at her, then glanced over at Michael’s set jaw and tense eyes. “Or…” he sighed, typing something into the computer. “I can put you in a room with two twin beds. It’s only fifty dollars extra.”

“Perfect,” Molly chirped, glaring at Michael as if daring him to say something.

“Yeah, great…thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the room key out of the clerk’s hand.

“Have a good night,” the clerk called at their backs as they headed towards the elevator.

“I thought we agreed that, if anything went wrong between us, we’d be able to act like professionals,” he hissed as the doors to the elevator opened, a tired family of six exiting with their bags.

“That’s at school. We never said anything about vacations,” Molly replied simply, punching in the floor number. “But we are fighting, and I’m not about to sleep next to a man who doesn’t respect me enough to tell me about his almost-engagement.”

“This has nothing to do with me not respecting you,” he groaned as the elevator let them off on their floor. “I respect the hell out of you, Molly. You know that. You know me!”

“Yeah, I thought I did,” she muttered, punching her keycard into the electronic lock and watching the lights turn green.

“You do!” he pleaded as they walked into the room, the two twin beds standing like firm sentinels against the wall. He hated the very sight of them.

“How can I know you when you hid years of your life from me?” Molly asked desperately, her hand coming to her forehead. “I didn’t know about your work at the school, standing up against the school board, your work with Malia, your near engagement to Jaime, any of it! It’s like Pittsburgh Michael is a total mystery to me!”

“I will tell you anything you want to know, Molly. All you have to do is ask!” he pleaded, leaning against the bed closest to the door.

She shook her head, and, when she spoke, her voice was choked up with tears. “I-I can’t do this right now. I’m too tired and you’re exhausted from driving all day. We need to sleep.”

“Yeah, fat chance of that,” Michael muttered, pulling the comforter off the bed.

“I’m sure you’ll survive one night,” she mumbled, copying his actions before disappearing into the bathroom with a click of the door.

Michael groaned as he sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. His body was sore from being in the car all day. His mind ached from the focus of driving for almost 17 hours. And his heart felt shredded in his chest, flattened by the weight of everything he was carrying with him. Yet, despite it all, he knew he wouldn’t get a good sleep that night. He never slept well without Molly in his arms.

Michael stared out the windshield as the familiar sights of Lockhart started to surround the truck.

The only words spoken between himself and Molly that day were thank yous. She thanked him for the coffee he had gotten her, and he thanked her when she held out her hand for the keys. Again, they hadn’t traded off driving, the six hours of driving passing as tension-filled and quiet as the day before. A little voice inside of him begged Michael to say something, anything, to salvage not only the trip, but their relationship as well. The voice grew louder and louder, nearly screaming in his ears as Molly pulled to a stop in front of her house and shut off the truck.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, turning partially towards him but not meeting his eyes. “I’ll, uh…see you tomorrow, I guess.”

She frowned as she stepped out of the truck and grabbed her suitcase, leaving the driver’s side door open for Michael. He would have to drive the truck back to his dad’s house for Mark and swap it for his own beat-up Nissan, but he felt himself stuck in the passenger’s seat. If he allowed himself to get into the driver’s seat and leave, he knew it would be over. And it couldn’t be over. Not yet.

Molly flinched as she heard the truck’s creaky door shut with a slam, tears pooling in her eyes. Things had been so wonderful, so perfectly imperfect with Michael. They got each other on a level that Molly had never experienced before. When he looked at her, it was like being stripped bare for the whole world to see, and she had never felt safer. She didn’t want to lose that, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and stop him from driving away. Not when there was still so much hurt and anger boiling inside her veins.  

Unable to bring herself to watch him drive away, Molly kept her head bowed towards the handle to her front door, fumbling with her keys as her hand shook from the sheer pressure of holding back the tears that threatened to burst forth.

With a small sob, her trembling hand finally slid the key into place and with a click, the door swung open. Steeling herself, Molly hauled her suitcase inside and allowed the first few tears to slip through the cracks in the safety of her own home.

As she turned to close the door, a booted foot stuck in the door jam, startling her. Through the veil of her tears, she saw Michael’s face, tears pooling in his sweet brown eyes, his hand gently holding the door open.

“W-we…” his voice cracked as he sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “We have to talk about this. I…I can’t just let this go.”

Molly sniffled as more tears fell, her heart aching twofold now that she could see the pain written so clearly across his face. “Y-yeah…okay.”

She opened the door wider and allowed him to slip in before she closed it and locked it, not sure if she was trying to make herself feel safer or if she was trying to keep him there with her, where he belonged.

-----

Michael didn’t necessarily like how far away Molly was sitting from him on the couch, but he respected it. The ghost of her tears were still swimming before him, and he hated that he was the source of her pain.

“D-do you want anything to drink?” she asked him quietly, breaking the silence that had stretched between them for what felt like hours.

He shook his head quickly. “I’m okay,” he replied in a croaky whisper. “I mean, I’m really not okay. But I don’t need a drink.”

She nodded quietly. “Me too.”

With those two simple words, and a deep, heavy sigh, she tucked her feet up underneath her and rested her head on her knees.

Michael sighed in response. “I hate this,” he admitted quietly. “I hate how far away you’re sitting. I hate that I haven’t spoken to you in almost two days. Two days, Molly. It’s the longest I’ve gone without speaking to you since we met. I hate that you’re making yourself smaller because of me, and I know that that’s mostly because of him but it’s also because I broke your trust. And I really hate how you’re literally right next to me, and I miss you. I miss you, Molly. I miss my best friend and my girlfriend. But the thing I hate most of all is how badly I screwed this up.” He sighed heavily and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his head bow over. “I wish I had told you everything.”

“Why didn’t you?” she whispered.

He shrugged, “I honestly don’t know. And I know that sounds like a cop out answer, but it’s the truth. I meant to tell you. I wanted to tell you. But then you told me about your grandfather and all I wanted to do was comfort you. Then came the worst social worker in the world, and I didn’t want to…I don’t know, detract from your pain I guess? And I’m not making excuses or blaming you. This could never and will never be your fault, Molly. But that’s how my brain rationalized it.” He held his hands open in front of him desperately.

“You know that’s not fair to me, right? I’ve worked really hard to be open and honest with you, even when I was terrified that it would drive you away. But I told you the truth. I’ve always told you the truth.”

“I know,” Michael whispered tearfully. “Maybe I didn’t tell you because the death of my relationship with Jaime is so closely tied to the death of my Mom? Maybe it’s because it’s hard to admit that I was really close to spending my life with her? I uprooted my entire life and potentially damaged my career because she wanted Adams to be better for her daughter, but she refused to even consider moving here to let me take care of my sick mother, even temporarily. Maybe I didn’t want you to think that I’m a failure? Maybe I didn’t want to weigh you down with my baggage? Molly, I honestly have no idea why I didn’t tell you. I wish I did. If I knew, I would tell you right now, I swear.”

Molly nodded her head shakily. “I-I know. It still hurts though. That you didn’t trust me.”

“No, no, baby, please don’t think that.” Michael reached out and hesitantly took her hand between his, cradling it while he marveled at the difference in size and texture in comparison to his own. “I trust you more than anyone, including my brothers and sisters.”

“You say that, but this doesn’t exactly prove it,” she mumbled. “You didn’t even tell me about your mom until Gabriella brought it up on Thanksgiving. Do you know how much that hurts?”

“I didn’t tell you because of how much it hurts! Every time I think about that time in my life – Jaime, Malia, my mom – it hurts so bad that I can barely breathe!” he cried. “I didn’t want that pain, that darkness, to affect the best thing in my life. I wanted – no, needed – a fresh start. I needed clean, fresh air to fill my lungs with, but I didn’t know where to find it, and then Renata introduced me to you, and I swear to God, Molly, I tried so hard to just be your friend. You’re so sweet and kind and caring and funny and passionate, and so, so beautiful. You made it easier to breathe. Just being around you helped me come to terms with all if it in a way that made so much sense, five years later. And I meant to tell you all of it, but I just…couldn’t.”

Michael took a deep breath, playing with her fingers, still caged between his. “Then…you found out about my mom. And it didn’t hurt as much as I anticipated. It felt so freeing to share that with you, to be able to talk about her with someone outside of my family, someone who got it, someone who…someone who loved me. So, I started trying to build up the nerve to tell you about Jaime and Malia, but then you told me about him and I lost my nerve. I don’t know why, and I’m definitely not trying to pin this on you. Maybe I didn’t want to upset you, maybe I didn’t want to mar a good thing with a bad memory, maybe—”

“Maybe you’re still not completely over her?” Molly added in a soft, sad voice.

“Oh god, baby, no…” Michael pressed her hand to his lips. “I lost feelings for Jaime a long time ago.”

“But you were going to marry her.”

“I…I was going to ask. I was toying with the notion of asking her. I don’t know. We’d been going out for so long, and we’d fought the school board, I thought we were invincible. But in hindsight, those events covered up a lot of red flags. I asked her about marriage, and she was very noncommittal about it. I asked her about potentially adopting Malia, and she said no. That’s her right as her mother, but she kept introducing me as Malia’s former teacher, and that rubbed me the wrong way. She also didn’t want more kids, which I did. Again, her right, but I really wanted to be a dad and she would barely let me be a stepdad. But I thought I loved her enough to look past all those things. But moving here to take care of my mom, even temporarily…she wouldn’t even consider it. And that was the end. And seeing her again the other day only confirmed it. I haven’t loved Jaime in a very long time. I am so in love with you, Molly, that I can barely stand it. And knowing that I’ve hurt you…I don’t think I can ever forgive myself. But that won’t stop me from begging for your forgiveness because you are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Molly sniffled. “I wish you had told me all this earlier. I wish you hadn’t kept it from me.”

“I know. I know, I know, I know…” he whispered, gripping her hand tightly in his dual grip and pressing the skin of her hand to his lips.

Molly took that moment to look at him. To really look at him.

And frankly, he looked terrible. As terrible as she felt, which was saying a lot. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all in at least two days and, come to think of it, Molly wasn’t sure he had. He had been out getting coffee when she woke up on their departure day from Pittsburgh, and he had already been dressed and showered in Shreveport.

“Michael, when was the last time you slept?” she asked gently.

“Before the hockey game,” he whimpered, pressing her hand to his forehead. “I can’t sleep without you anymore. At least, not when we’re fighting. I hate fighting with you, and I know it’s my own fault, which made the sleep situation even worse. I kept thinking back to every opportunity I had to tell you and regret not being honest with you. If I could go back and kick my own ass, I would. I swear. Molly, I…I’m so sorry that my actions hurt you. I’m sorry that I made a deliberate choice that has you rethinking us. I am so sorry that I hurt you. I’m supposed to be the person you can trust…and I broke that trust. I am so sorry that I hurt you, baby. So, so sorry.”

“I…I can’t say that it’s okay. Part of me wants to, but I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Michael interjected quickly. “I wouldn’t ever expect you to just rug sweep this. I know I hurt you too much for that.”

“But I…I do forgive you. It’s going to take me a while to forget and look at you the same way…” Molly watched as Michael visibly wilted in front of her. “I’m sorry, Michael. I just need time, okay? Time to heal from this. Time to see you as the man I know you are.” The downcast look in his eyes made it hard for her to get the words out. “I’m just asking for a…a pause. Nothing permanent. Because as much as it hurts, I do love you.” She smiled softly as he perked up. “It hurts because I love you and because I know you never meant to hurt me.”

“Never,” he whispered. “I would rather walk on shattered glass than hurt you, Molly.”

“I know,” she squeezed his hand with a whisper. “I just need some time and space, okay?”

He nodded slowly and stood, their joined hands stuck like glue as the space between them grew until, finally, her hand fell back into her lap with a dull thud.

“I’ll give you as much time as you need,” he whispered in a choked voice that sent a pang to Molly’s chest. “But I’m not going to stop proving to you how much I love you, okay? Can you give me that, please? I’ll give you as much time as you need of us just being friends, but I can’t go back to being strangers. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Molly nodded tearfully, the thought of not having him in her life at all making it difficult to breathe. “Okay. But…only at school, okay? We’re friends at school, and then we get space apart at the end of the day and on the weekends.”

Michael nodded eagerly, willing to accept any deal she was willing to make with him. “Okay. Yeah, that’s good.” He stepped closer and ducked his head, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he breathed her in, his eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Molly.”

His strong, steady footsteps belied the quivering feeling he had inside of him as he stepped away and left her house. He knew it wasn’t the end. She had only asked for space and time. After what he had put her through, she deserved that much. And so much more. So he would give it to her. Everything she needed in a friend. He’d go back to being the strong, steady companion she had met back in August. The difference was, back then he had worked hard to only be her friend. Now, all pretenses were off. He knew he loved her and that she loved him. So, now, he would prove to her just how worthy he was of her affections.

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