#preparing to go see malcolm

[cupid-styles]

A little idea of a scene for hockeyxballerina: even before they start having a thing they end up in a heated kiss with him pressing her against a wall, car, bookshelf of whatever whi his hamd on her throat and her brain his so foggy she lets him spit on her mouth but the she comes to hers senses and runs away without a word, not even an insult because she is so shocked with what she did

🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

word count: 1.6k

content warnings: smut (hehe finally!!!) (spitting, public play, dirty talk, degradation)

hockey!h x ballerina!yn masterlist

main masterlist

. . .

There must be something clinically wrong with Y/N tonight.

Well, maybe not just tonight. Maybe... maybe, that "something wrong" has been creeping up her body and spreading from her stomach out to her chest and center over the duration of a past few weeks. Maybe she expected it go away after a day or two, because why wouldn't it?

Harry Styles is his worst nightmare. Her moral enemy. Her fiercest competitor.

So why the fuck does she think he looks good enough to swallow whole tonight?

He walked in with a crowd of his hockey buddies an hour or so after Y/N, Lea, Rena, and Mai had arrived. Per the pre-game hosted at Mai and Rena's place, she was already feeling a little buzzed when she got here. She was planning on taking it easy tonight — she was still diligently practicing for the spring showcase every day — but the second her eyes flitted over to the stupid backwards hat he wore and the flex of his jaw from the gum he chewed, she knew she needed more to get through the night.

And she's pleasantly tipsy when she makes a move to head to the bathroom. She hears her friends scold her for "breaking the seal," but she rolls her eyes and playfully flips them off in response. Her sneakers stick to the vodka-coated floors of the college bar as she pushes her way through the crowd, trying to make her way to the ladies' room without any tequila spillage on her top.

Harry Styles is an idiot, she thinks to herself as she walks, There's no way I could have a crush on him. What, just because he drove me home a few times and helped me when I hurt my ankle? That's stupid, he's stupid, and—

"Hey, you."

Her eyes dart up at the familiar deep voice and she wishes the ground would open up and take her right then and there. Did she somehow conjure Harry up with her thoughts? She's a little drunk, but there's no way she's that powerful.

Unless she is.

"I have to pee." she replies, pointing to the bathrooms behind his tall stature.

"Okay. Go pee, then."

She flashes a tight smile his way as she brushes past him. She thinks from the corner of her eye she sees him stand against the wall of the small hallway, crossing her arms over his chest. The last time they were in this area together, it was right after she slept with Malcolm (the stupid, prissy idiot from the opposing team who wouldn't even smack her ass). At this point, it's been months since Harry lowly waxed poetic in her ear about how he could make all her degrading dreams come true.

The memory makes her shudder as she washes her hands.

Y/N's suspicious are proved right when she exits the bathroom to see Harry still standing there. She's prepared to ignore him and walk straight past him until he reaches out to grasp her wrist, gently pulling her back. She yelps, a tipsy, unattractive sound, and it makes Harry's eyes crease with laughter.

"You good?" he asks. Y/N's vision darts down to the gum he's chewing between his teeth and she swallows.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry shrugs. "Just making sure you're not too drunk."

"I have a dress rehearsal this weekend," she replies with a shake of her head. "I just came out to see the girls."

"And me." He points out cheekily, making her roll her eyes.

"I didn't even know you'd be here tonight, Harry."

"It's one of three bars in town and all the athletes come here."

He's right about that, and she knows he could double down by pointing out the obvious, too — that this is the only bar their friend groups ever frequent, and the hockey team rarely misses a Friday night out.

Luckily, he spares her the embarrassment.

"We have a game tomorrow night," he continues, "Will you come?"

"Why would I do that?"

"School spirit. Duh."

Y/N scoffs at that and shakes her head. She focuses her eyesight on anything but the cocky, beautiful, stupid man in front of her.

"I'm practicing all day. I'll be in an ice bath before your game even starts."

"Hot," he smirks. Y/N's stomach flutters.

"Stop being a douche. I thought we were past this."

"We are!" Harry exclaims, lifting his hands up in surrender. She only now realizes that he'd had his fingers looped around her wrist that entire time. "I'm just saying, you're hot."

"You must be more fucked up than I thought," Y/N guffaws.

"If I was fucked up, I'd be trying to sleep with you right now."

The words fly from her lips before she can even stop them: "And that's not what you're doing?"

She doesn't know if she says it because she wants to call him out on his bluff or she's feeling the confidence — and lust — from her the drinks she consumed tonight. But she doesn't take it back. And she certainly doesn't walk away as she watches Harry's head cock slightly to the side. His expression almost seems as if he's... impressed, in some way. The smirk on his lips makes her ball her fists at her side.

"You would know if I was trying to fuck you, Y/N."

She swallows. It's warm — she's suddenly so warm right now as she realizes their chests are nearly pressed against one another. The height difference between them makes it so her breasts are below his pecs, but she still feels the expanse of muscles through the layers of their clothing.

"I doubt that," she mutters, and he clenches his jaw. It's almost hypnotizing to watch. "I really think—"

"I think you should shut up now."

In a moment, his hand is spread over her hip and they've swapped places; her back now pressed firmly up against the wall. His tall form all but blocks any onlookers from seeing who he has cornered, but he couldn't forget it even if he wanted to. Not when he's been dreaming of this for weeks.

And really, he wouldn't do it if he didn't have some sort of prior knowledge about her hookup with Malcolm — the fact that she's somehow just depraved as him.

So he wedges his gum to the back of his molars, utters out the words, "open your mouth", and gathers up the spit behind his lips. His length immediately thickens in his pants when she sticks her tongue out. And then he spits in her mouth.

She whimpers instantly at the feeling but it's drowned out by his own groan. It's filthy and demeaning, but he can see it in her eyes how much she loves it.

"Looks so good," he mumbles, thumbing at a bit at the side of her mouth before pushing it in. "Swallow."

She does.

"You're well-behaved for a brat," he notes as he gives her hip a squeeze. She hums, eyes flickering when his hand lifts her shirt up slightly, fingertips trailing over the smooth skin of her stomach. "Did you want a prize, puppy?"

With hazy eyes, she nods.

He smirks, almost immediately stuffing his hand down her jeans. She gasps when he finds the sodden fabric of her underwear, eliciting a low chuckle from his chest.

"All this just for some spit? Maybe you're nastier than I thought."

She wishes she could reply back with something snarky but she can’t, not when he begins to roll her clit beneath his fingertips. Her eyes flutter shut as he applies a bit more pressure, pausing momentarily to collect some of the wetness accumulating at her whimpering hole.

“Finally let me play with this pretty pussy, hm?” he says mockingly, “Maybe one day you’ll let me stretch it out, too. Might take awhile for it to fit, though— I know you’ve never been with someone as big as me.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles breathily. He laughs and squeezes her clit between two of his fingers. She gasps, barely offering enough recovery time before he’s back to rubbing circles.

“What, you really think you could take my cock, sweetheart? You can barely take one of my fingers. Gonna have to train you for months, but I think you’d like that.”

“Harry—“

“I know,” he coos condescendingly as he speeds up the movements of his fingers. “You’re such a stubborn brat you’d just want me to stuff you full on the first try. Feel me in your fuckin’ stomach.”

“‘m gonna cum,” she mewls, reaching out to dig her fingernails into his chest. He hisses from the small bite of pain. “Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna cum—“

Harry wouldn’t stop touching her even if he wanted to. Especially not as he watches her fall apart beneath his grasp, her knees almost buckling from the intensity of her orgasm. He feels her pussy clenching rapidly and he swallows harshly, the sight nearly being enough to make him come in his pants.

She’s quiet and shaky as her orgasm tapers off and Harry gently pulls his hand from her pants. He helps adjust her jeans back up and over her hips, her eyes flickering up to his face.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, her eyes widening as if she’s just realized what she’s done. “Oh my god, what the fuck?”

“What?” Harry asks through furrowed brows. He’s expecting some sort of nervous response about accidentally abandoning her friends, but instead she shakes her head and lightly pushes him away.

“I can’t. This was— this was bad, so fucking stupid.” She mumbles to herself, keeping her arms stretched out in front of her so he can’t get closer. “Fuck, Harry.”

He’s left confused and nervous as she watches her leave the bar.

[kamaluhkhan]

BAD REPUTATION

PRIDE — part iii of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 275 summary: luke will do just about anything to keep his title as truth or dare champion. warnings: nothing other than young adult shenanigans (drinking, suggestive dialogue, impulsive decisions etc. etc.) author's note: i had this idea floating around in my brain this past week and it ended up being MUCH shorter than i expected?? anyways, the next part is probably going to be much longer and angstier (and smuttier) so.....hope u enjoy this in the meantime x

♪ "bad reputation" by joan jett & the blackhearts

when the game starts — after curfew, of course, with some contraband alcohol — stakes are relatively low. 

stealing a bottle of vintage wine from mr. d's cellar. choosing who to fuck, marry, or kill between hercules, achilles, and theseus. revealing that malcolm pace was the best kiss ever had.

"other than you," luke specifies when you mumble something about the son of athena stealing your thunder. he pulls you into his lap and wraps an arm around your waist for good measure.

a few truths and several dares later, is when things start to get interesting. 

"no way in tartarus am i doing that." 

"i think it's kinda romantic," silena swoons, batting her eyelashes.

clarisse groans. "lena, i don't care what it is, it's stupid to get a tattoo on a dare." 

"or, you're just too much of a coward to go through with it."

"ha! well, if you're such a daredevil, castellan, then why don't you do it? biting's more your couple style, anyways."

and that's how you find yourself in some dingy tattoo parlor, about to sink your teeth into your boyfriend's flesh, covered by a thin layer of plastic wrap (no infections here). your friends are all waiting outside the room, buzzing to see the results of this latest challenge, as the tattoo artist prepares their station.

"you sure about this, tiger?" 

"of course." luke smirks. "i've got a reputation to uphold."

the next day, luke, reigning champ of truth or dare, rolls up the sleeve of his camp half-blood tshirt, just to show off the bitemark on his bicep. your bitemark, engraved on his skin forever.

some campers whisper about how badass and sexy luke's new tattoo looks.

 you can't help but agree.

[athingofvikings]

Two More Stalkers

So I'm drafting this post on October 19, 2022, hoping that I won't have to use it, but getting it set up as a contingency. Just in case.

Lots of screenshots under the cut, but TL;DR:

I have two stalkers who feel entitled to my work and writing, and have been stalking me because I didn't write their historical blorbos to their personal satisfaction and because I haven't written queer characters to their exacting specifications (specifically, they want what amount to Gold Star Lesbians with modern-style adopted children). In the course of their stalking, they have made a hate-blog specifically to target me with insults, and when that failed to get a response, escalated to making a new AO3 account specifically to write hatefic of my work and "gift" it to me.

If you see this post having gone live, I ask you to please review it and reblog it, because I am preparing this contingency in case they escalate to the point of trying to publicly defame me, and if I've hit "post", that means they're actively trying to get people to hate me.

So, without further ado...

Here are screenshots of their intro posts (still available on my Discord server if anyone wishes to see the evidence). Essentially, they came because of their interest in the historical King Macbeth and the mid-11th century, which is where and when my story, A Thing Of Vikings, is set. The basic concept of the story is that the first How To Train Your Dragon film is dropped into Real Life history in the 1040s AD in the Scottish islands, and events ripple out from there, changing history as a result.

Some red flags began to wave in regards to these two, as nessie wanted to know what the status of his historical blorbos would be in my writing, and did not take it well that they would either A) be dead, B) be reduced to insignificance by changes in the historical timeline, C) be someplace else, or D) not exist at all, due to changes in the timeline. He ended up quietly leaving after the following discussion:

He then left a few days later on Aug 28th.

Fast forward to October 2nd.

the threat of tortellini starts a discussion as follows:

At the end of this exchange, the threat of tortellini leaves the ATOV Discord server. To sum up the above, they wanted for me to jettison the core conceit of a piece of writing that I have been working on for six years because they wished to see specific developments catering to their personal desires happen in the text. In short, "Screw your writing integrity, I want you to write it for meeeee!" and then stormed off the server when they were told no.

Two hours later, I am followed by @courtlycringe. Now, I vet my followers for personal safety reasons, due to having experienced harassment and stalking in the past, and immediately saw that this new follower was... unique.

For obvious reasons, I promptly blocked the two people in the notes for these posts, as well as the courtlycringe blog itself. The next morning, October 3rd, I remembered nessie's fixation, and promptly pulled on the threads with the intro posts, putting together that @themischiefoftad is the threat of tortellini and that @malcolm--of--scotland is nessie. (Note the dates on the posts, too; Nessie had this hate blog already going before his friend stormed off of the server)

Confirmation came after a few of my friends interacted with them:

(Although it should be noted that I don't believe that courtlycringe is/was run by anyone other than my two stalkers, given the timeline).

I do a little more work, track down their AO3 accounts, and block them. I expected that to be the end of it.

It wasn't.

In short, these two made a new AO3 account, MillieMilkTea, and wrote some extremely nasty hatefic using my characters and targeting my work. The Necessary Components For The Fall Of An Empire is a giant middle finger to me personally, with my male main characters being brutally and graphically murdered by the female characters (especially their personal blorbos) and having everyone cheering for the deaths, and the female characters going off to be good pure lesbians. Nothing more and nothing less.

I declined the "gift", and have reported them to AO3 Abuse as of the writing of this post on Oct 19.

However, given that they have written thirty-three thousand words of targeted hatefic, likely just in the past few weeks (the account itself was created Oct 11), I am sure that they will continue to escalate. I will keep this post updated and ready to post in case they shift from targeted harassment to defamation and libel.

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript and Bonus below the cut:

Phoenix: It’s been ten years, almost to the day, since I lost my mom. I’ve been thinking about her a lot since we had Aspen. Something about knowing that she’ll never get to know her granddaughter. That Aspen will never get to know her. It’s a different kind of grief that I wasn’t prepared for.

Phoenix: [wipes a stray tear from his eye] After I moved in with Julian, I would come out here sometimes. I’d sit on this bench and look out at the water, and I’d talk to her. I’d tell her about my life, that I loved her and missed her, that I was sorry for being such a pain in the ass. I even told her about Malcolm. I don’t know why this spot. Maybe just because it’s pretty here, and away from everything and quiet, but I could almost convince myself that she could hear me.

Phoenix: I guess I hoped that by bringing you both here… well, it’s the closest I could get to introducing you.   Dawn: If your mom was here right now, would she prefer it if I called her Leanne? Or Miss Realta? Phoenix: [breathes a laugh through his nose] Definitely Leanne. She’d give me hell if I let you call her Miss Realta. Dawn: Okay. Well, Leanne, my name is Dawn, and I am madly in love with your son. We’re getting married in a couple of months, and I’m so excited. You’re invited, of course, if you can make it to Brindleton Bay.

Dawn: Most importantly, though, this is Aspen. She’s your granddaughter. Her middle name is Leanne, after you, of course. And, um, you should know that Phoenix is an incredible father. I wish I could’ve gotten to know you. And I wish you were here to give me some parenting advice because you clearly did something right, and I feel so lost all of the time. But I promise we’ll come back to visit, at least every Winterfest, so you can see Aspen as she gets older.

Phoenix: Thank you. Dawn: Thank you for sharing this place with us. I can see why you were drawn to it. It does kinda feel like she’s here, like she’s listening. Phoenix: [nods but doesn’t speak for fear that his voice will betray him] Aspen: [coos] Phoenix: [clears his throat] Did I ever tell you that she wanted to write children’s books? Dawn: I remember you saying she used to make up stories a lot when you were little.

Phoenix: Yeah [smiles at the memory] She was never able to pursue writing seriously because she was always working two or three jobs to take care of us, to take care of me. I always hoped she’d be able to one day, and that she’d publish her own books. I can probably tell Aspen a few of them from memory, but how cool would it have been to be able to give her an actual book?

Dawn: That would’ve been amazing. Out of all the stories she told you, did you have a favorite?

Phoenix: Oh, god, um… if I had to pick, it would probably be this one about a polar bear name JuJu that dreamed of going to Jupiter. [laughs] I remember, we were learning about the solar system in school, and we all had to do a report on a planet. I chose Jupiter. But I had a really hard time writing the report, I’d never done one before. So, she made up this story about my favorite animal, a polar bear, going to Jupiter. It was really funny and full of facts about the planet. Not only did I get an A on my report, but I made her retell the story about a hundred times.

Dawn: Aw, that’s so cute. I wanna hear it. Will you tell us the story? Phoenix: Right now? Dawn: Yeah. Phoenix: Okay, sure…

✨Bonus✨

And, of course, Aspen got to meet her Great Uncle Julian while they were in Copperdale. She was a little unsure at first, but she warmed up to him pretty quick. 🥰

[sunny44]

I’m home

Pairing: Mason Mount x mom!reader

Warnings: none, just cute stuff

Summary: Mason comes home for his girls after being away for a while.

I had been away for a month now, I had a few games in a row and a lot of training.

And now I was coming home missing my wife and my daughter.

Sophie Isabel Mount was the sweetest little girl of all, she was daddy's little girl for sure.

Y/n and I have been dating for four years, after two years of relationship we found out that she was pregnant.

At first it was terrifying, we were certainly not prepared for it.

It was something that we wanted eventually but not at the time it happened.

The first few days it was strange, Y/n did the pharmacy test and it was the only result we had at the time, so until we actually went and saw the ultrasound it was like it wasn't real.

Y/n by the time she saw the ultrasound immediately started to cry, I was still ecstatic and it didn't really hit me until that same day, but was in the middle of the night.

I was rolling around in bed unable to sleep, I spent most of the night imagining myself being a father, how my sister always told me that I would be a great father, especially if it was a girl.

The good thing about my sister having Summer was that I could practice changing diapers and get more or less a sense of what it would be like.

And that's where I burst in tears, Y/n woke up scared by the fact that I was crying at three in the morning and that's where I told her it was because we were having a baby.

As soon as I opened the door to the house, I took off my sneakers and changing to my flip-flops and putting my training things on the floor.

“I'm home” I said out loud and then I heard fast footsteps running through the house.

“Daddy” she screams and I bent down to her height taking her in my arms “I missed you”.

“ I missed you too sweetheart”.

“You took a long time to come back”.

“I know baby, sorry for that” she hugs me tight.

“I don’t want you away never again.” She says.

“I know baby and I’m sorry for that, your going everywhere with me now. I’m putting you in my suitcase.” She starts laughing.

“And what about mommy?”

“We can bring mommy with us.”

“Ok then.” She says and kiss my nose with her nose “Can we go to the park with Malcolm?”

That is the name of the golden retriever we gave her when she was a baby, they are best friends.

“Yes we can, where's mommy?”

“She is outside, we are bathing the flowers.

Sophie and Y/n had a garden in the back of the house where they took care of the flowers, there were many flowers and even some vegetables.

It was one of the activities my girlfriend does with our daughter, she made a whole schedule of activities for the week to develop her creativity, and also because it is one of the few things that keeps her mind off from thinking too much about me since when I am away she cries a lot because she misses me.

“Let's go see mommy then" I took her in my lap and we went to the back.

And there she was, barefoot on the grass, wearing a loose flowered dress and some waves in her brown hair.

“Hi love” she dropped the hose on the ground and came to me “I missed you so much”.

“I missed you too” I kissed her.

“Ew” I laughed with my lips still close to hers.

“Ew what, young lady” I said, patting her belly “Let's finish helping mommy to bath the plants and then we can go to the park and walk with Malcolm.

“And then pizzaaaaaa”. We shouted in celebration and went to bath the plant.

And I was more than happy to be home.

Bonus scene!

Masonmount instagram post

Liked by @Debbiemount, @Y/nmount, @Reecejames and others 817208

Tagged: Y/nmount

Masonmount there’s nothing better than coming back home and seeing my girls bathing their flowers 🌸

@Y/nmount you should bath the flowers with us next time

@Masonmount I need a baby boy to play football with me, what do you say?

@Y/nmount maybe yes, maybe not

@Debbiemount oh I love those cute faces

@Y/nmount we love you too granny debs

@reecejames you have to bring her to training

@masonmount I won’t because she forgets about daddy when she sees her football uncles

@lovelymase we love baby mount so much, they both look very cute

[justabooknerdposts]

hey, could you make one of estelle finding out that percy and annabeth are demigods? thank u so much i love your works <3

*Okay, I kind of struggled with this one because I don’t feel like they’d hide it from her.  I feel like it would be one of those things she’s always known.  So, after a lot of thinking, I finally came up with this.  Hope you enjoy!* Also, reminder, still closed to prompts, just catching up on a few old ones I hadn't gotten to yet.*

Demigods

It happened during spring break of his freshman year of college.  Percy had come home to New York, catching a ride with Hazel on Arion, since she was visiting Camp Half-Blood as part of the two camps’ exchange program.  Hazel was going to be spending a week at the Greek camp and Malcolm Pace was going to be at Camp Jupiter for a week.  Annabeth had stayed in New Rome to work on a project for one of her architecture classes and to hang out with her demigod brother, who she hadn’t seen in a while.  Percy had to admit he could understand the appeal, since the main reason he’d wanted to go to New York for a week was to hang out with Estelle.

His one-year-old sister was thrilled to see him.  She squealed, patted his face, grabbed his nose, tugged on his ears and hair, and slobbered all over his cheeks and chin in an attempt to give him kisses.  Basically, it was an awesome greeting.

The next day, he volunteered to take Estelle to a nearby park, to give his mom and Paul a break.  The first part was fun.  He pushed Estelle on the swing, grinning back at her when she gave him a drooly, three-toothed smile, her chubby legs kicking excitedly.  Then he sat her on his lap to go down the slide.  Estelle squealed so loudly that at first he was afraid she was scared, but then he realized she was laughing. 

So they went down the slide about seven more times.

Everything was going well.  Percy was having a great day with his baby sister.  Even the weather was cooperating; it was a sunny, warm, early spring day, the trees just starting to be touched by green.

And then, as they turned the corner a few blocks from their apartment, Percy pushing Estelle in her stroller, he froze.

Skulking in an alleyway, flexing their muscles, were two Laistrygonian ogres.  For one moment, Percy thought maybe he could slowly back away unseen.

And then their eyes fell on him.  One glared, one grinned, and both pushed away from the alley wall and started moving towards him.

Percy cursed in his head, even as he reached for Riptide and, in the same move, stepped in front of Estelle in her stroller.

“Hey, guys,” Percy said, trying to keep his voice casual even as he palmed Riptide, still in pen form.  “How’s it going?”

“Better now, Perseus Jackson,” one of the Laistrygonians rumbled.  “Babycakes and I have been hoping you would reappear.”

Percy cursed out loud this time as he realized it was one of the ogres who had attacked him years ago during gym class.  And, apparently, the monster’s girlfriend, who was still glaring at Percy.

“Do you know how annoying it was to have to wait for Joe Bob to reform?” Babycakes crossed her meaty arms, which were tattooed as thoroughly as her boyfriend’s.

“Probably really annoying,” Percy agreed.  “Sorry about that.  Anyway, great to see you all again, I’ll just be on my way—”

“I don’t think so, Perseus Jackson.”  Joe Bob grinned, showing his crooked, stained teeth.  “We were just trying to decide what to do for lunch.  And then here you are.”

“And you brought a baby,” Babycakes cooed.  “I love babies.”

Percy’s skin crawled.  His own voice came out like a growl.  “No one touches my sister.”

The Laistrygonians laughed and prepared to charge.  They never got the chance.  The moment they threatened Estelle, rage rose like a red hot wave in Percy’s chest.  With a metallic shink, Riptide appeared in his hands.  He leapt forward and, in two swift swipes, he dispatched the giants.  They barely had time to look surprised before bursting into piles of monster dust.

“Enjoy Tartarus,” Percy muttered.  It wasn’t something he’d normally say, after having been there himself, but he didn’t have any sympathy for monsters that threatened his sister.

Behind him, Estelle gurgled.  Percy turned to look at her, Riptide still in his hands.  Estelle was smiling and drooling as she chewed on her hand.  When she saw him looking at her, she squealed happily and held out her arms.  Percy scanned the street, but when he didn’t see any additional threats, he capped his sword, slipped the pen back in his pocket, and reached down to unbuckle Estelle from her stroller.  His hands were shaking when he picked her up.  She didn’t seem to notice.  Instead, she babbled and patted his face.  Percy managed a smile.  “Come on, Estelle.  Let’s get home before we run into any other problems.”

His mom and Paul were still out when Percy and Estelle got home.  His little sister started to whine as soon as they got in the door, so after Percy had shut, and locked, it, he bounced her on his hip, which she usually liked.  But Estelle wasn’t having it right now.  So Percy changed his hold until he was cradling her against his shoulder.  Estelle nuzzled her face against his shoulder and one small hand gripped his shirt as she continued to whine.  Percy patted her back, then, cuddling her against his chest, headed to the kitchen to make her a bottle.

After she fell asleep while drinking her bottle, Percy stayed on the couch, just holding her for a while.  Even though he’d dispatched the monsters easily enough, the fact remained that, just for a minute, his baby sister, his fully mortal baby sister, had been in danger.  Because of him.  And that wasn’t a good feeling.

Finally, Percy stood up, Estelle fast asleep in his arms, and carried her to her crib.  Giving her a featherlight kiss on the forehead, he laid her down and tucked her in.  Then he headed across the hall to the bathroom and closed the door.  Sitting on the edge of the tub, he turned on the shower and used his powers to arc the water, letting it catch the rays of late afternoon sunlight coming through the window, creating a rainbow.  Tossing in a drachma, he said, “Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering.  Show me Annabeth Chase at New Rome University.” 

The rainbow shimmered.  A few moments later, Annabeth appeared.  Luckily, she was alone, sitting at her desk in her dorm room, absorbed in sketching.  The sunlight coming through the window made her blonde hair glow.  Percy watched her for a moment, already feeling a little better.  But finally, when she didn’t look up, he said, “Hey.”

Annabeth jumped.  When she saw him, though, an easy smile crossed her face.  “Hey, Seaweed Brain.”  The smile faded, though, as she studied his face.  “What’s wrong?”

“Had a little bit of a run-in with some Laistrygonians.”  He told Annabeth about what had happened, how he’d been on his way back from the park with Estelle, how the monsters had surprised him, how he’d dispatched them with no problem, but how he couldn’t get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach quite as easily.

“I just—” Percy ran a shaky hand over his face and through his hair, “I just can’t get past the fact that Estelle was in danger because she was with me.”

Annabeth tilted her head, as if thinking.  Her gray eyes were intense as she’d listened to his story, but now they softened as she said, “I have a slightly different take on it.  I’d say Estelle was never really in danger because she was with you.”

Percy shook his head.  “That sounds good, but it’s not true.  If they’d gotten the jump on me or something—”

“Percy.”  Annabeth’s voice was a little more stern.  She leaned forward on her desk, closer to the I-M.  “You once blew up a volcano.  Not to mention lots of plumbing over the years.  You don’t think you could blow up a New York City water main to wipe out some monsters if Estelle was in danger?”

Percy took a leaf out of her book and rolled his eyes.  “Well, yeah, probably, but that’s not—”

“That’s exactly the point, Seaweed Brain.”  Annabeth’s expression was earnest as she locked eyes with him.  “I’m not letting you beat yourself up about this one.  Could something potentially happen to Estelle that would be absolutely out of your control?  Yes, possibly.  But would you do literally everything in your power to keep her safe?  Absolutely.  And you have a lot of power to call on, Percy.  More than you even recognize sometimes.  Your little sister is as safe with you as she’s going to be with anybody.  Trust me.  I know you.”

Percy blinked hard and cleared his throat.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”  He managed a smile at his girlfriend.  “I believe you.”

“Good.”  Annabeth returned his smile.  “I am sorry that happened, though.  It sounds like a scary moment.”

“It did scare me,” Percy admitted, running his hand through his hair again.  He exhaled.  “Just more to lose, you know?”

“I know.”  Annabeth raised her hand, just barely touching the Iris-message, so that it looked like her fingers were melting into the rainbow.  Percy raised his hand to hers and it almost seemed like their palms were touching, even three thousand miles apart.

Naturally, Estelle chose that moment to start fussing from her crib across the hall. 

“Uh-oh,” Percy said.  “That might be my cue.”

“Give her a kiss for me.  I love you.”  Annabeth blew him a kiss.  “Enjoy your visit, babe.  It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks, Wise Girl.  Love you, too.”

Percy did feel better, even as he swiped through the I-M and Annabeth’s image faded.  He turned off the shower, then headed across the hall to Estelle’s room.  She was standing up in her crib, hair nap-mussed, whining around her pacifier.  But when she saw him, her entire tiny face lit up and her pacifier nearly fell out as she smiled.  Percy felt a pang in his chest, but it wasn’t a bad feeling. 

“Hey, Estelle,” he said as he crossed the room to scoop her up.  “Good nap?”

She burbled happily to him and Percy couldn’t help grinning.

He kissed one of her chubby cheeks.  “That one’s from Annabeth.”  Then he kissed the other.  “And that’s from me.  I love you, Estelle.  And I’m always going to protect you.  Don’t worry about that.”

His baby sister tugged on his ear and squealed.  Percy figured she got the message. 

“Let’s check out the kitchen,” he told her.  “I think there’s a jar of mashed carrots with your name on it.”

He kissed the top of her head as he carried her down the hall.  Annabeth was right, he couldn’t totally control every situation.  But he would always do everything in his power to keep his little sister safe.

[brainrotgobrr]

things about seeing hadestown live that just. hits.

- the beginning, where hermes goes “aight!” and the company responds, and then he does it again and the audience responds

- hades and persephone sitting up in the little balcony chatting

- during road to hell where hermes goes “orpheus and eurydice!” and they bump into each other and just. stare.

- the fates are always just waiting. in the background. watching.

- during any way the wind blows when eurydice asks if anyone has a match, orpheus runs from his spot stage left to give one to her, but he’s not quick enough

- all the train whistle sounds come from a whistle that hermes has!

- additionally, each of the fates has a different instrument they play: one plays accordion, one plays violin/fiddle, and the other plays various percussion

- everytime hades dramatically flicks on his sunglasses the entire audience laughed

- during livin it up on top the trombonist comes down and plays with the ensemble

- also major ensemble shoutout, there’s only five of them and they killed it. so full of energy and emotion

- and the orchestra!!!! they’re great and they’re onstage the whole time and during act 2 persephone calls them put by name and everyone claps for them

- during the ensemble dance numbers keep ur eyes on orpheus and eurydice they’re being incredibly cute in the background

- WHEN STAGE EXPANDED MY MOUTH DROPPED OPEN IT WAS INSANE AND THE LIGHTS OH MY GOD

- the ensemble swings lanterns out over the audience and its amazing

- persephone does a lot of interacting with the audience and talking to them during our lady of the underground. major flirt

- watching the turntables is even better in real life

- when orpheus races up to greet eurydice in the underworld he comes up from the house right aisle

- nothing can prepare you for seeing orpheus turn around live

i saw jordan and solea, and i thought they were great! a different vibe from eva and reeve, but i think they’re going to really grow into their roles and have great chemistry together.

also lillias was out when i saw it so malcolm stepped in as hermes and he did great!!

[insanityclause]

Zawe Ashton got some firsthand Marvel insight when she signed on to play the villain in The Marvels.

Known for films like Velvet Buzzsaw and Mr. Malcolm's List, the British actress is joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe as Kree revolutionary Dar-Benn, facing off against Brie Larson, Teyonah Parris, and Iman Vellani. In EW's new cover story on The Marvels, Ashton explains that she had long hoped to work with director Nia DaCosta and jumped at the chance to suit up as a supervillain.

While preparing for the role, Ashton got some advice from another Marvel villain: her fiancé Tom Hiddleston, who's played trickster god Loki since 2011.

"It led to some incredible conversations about his experience being part of this franchise for over a decade," Ashton, 38, tells EW in an interview conducted prior to the start of the SAG-AFTRA strike. "One of the main takeaways from our conversations was: 'What you put into Marvel, you get back.' He said, 'If you go into this with an open heart and a great work ethic and just want to provide an amazing experience for the fans, you'll have an amazing experience on those sets.' He really empowered me in that way."

Ashton says she and Hiddleston often try to keep their work lives separate, but she remembers one particularly fun day when he helped her rehearse a Marvels scene. Afterward, they looked under their kitchen table to see their confused dog, wondering why two terrifying Marvel villains were loudly running lines above him.

Plus, Ashton adds, Hiddleston had some additional pointers for when she got to set.

"He also had some very good practical advice, which was: Make sure you have enough zippers to go to the bathroom in your costume," she says with a laugh. "Which is very good advice, I realize now."

Ashton stars in The Marvels as Dar-Benn, a Kree leader fighting to restore her home after a lengthy civil war. (It's a new, expanded take on the character, who has a minor role in the comics and was originally written as a man.) Ashton trained for weeks, learning to properly wield Dar-Benn's imposing war hammer, and in the film, she clashes with Larson's Captain Marvel, Parris' Monica Rambeau, and Vellani's Ms. Marvel.

"It's this all-female sci-fi extravaganza, with a woman on the other side of the camera," Ashton adds. "I felt very moved, actually, being involved in it. It's not an environment you're often in — a huge-budget movie with all these badass women and Samuel L. Jackson. That just doesn't happen."

The Marvels is in theaters Nov. 10. For more, read EW's full cover story on the film.

[ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask]

Detention

“Psst.”

Serin ducked her head and ignored the sound, focusing on the essay she was typing instead. Sure, it wasn’t due for another week but… it never hurt to be prepared.

“Pssst.”

She glanced at the clock. Twenty more minutes until she could go. That was good - she had a lot of work to do still on the homecoming parade float. After that she wanted to get a jump on planning prom… Daisy and Ralph had given her some great ideas to work with and she wanted to try to get started on them before she ran out of time.

“Psssst.”

Her shoulders tensed in frustration, but she tried to ignore it. She ran through the checklist for the rest of the week. She had scholarship applications to submit, the homecoming dance to finalize, and she needed to find time to squeeze in marching band practice. On top of that she had a slew of college applications to finalize, but she needed to get a few more things on her resume first. Just to be sure. Then there was-

“Pssssst.”

She whipped in her chair to glare at the boy next to her. “Malcolm Geffen,” she seethed, her chest heaving with breaths labored by anger, “if you don’t quit doing that I’m going to strangle you.”

The boy beside her raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at her outburst. “Come on, love,” he goaded in his infuriatingly fascinating accent, “you know you’d miss me.” His grin was all ego, but the dimples in his cheeks still somehow managed to make it look adorable.

Serin rolled her eyes and turned back to her essay before she did something stupid, like let him talk more just to hear his voice. “I don’t have time for this,” she hissed. “I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

Mal put his hand on his heart and leaned down to offer her his ridiculous puppy eyes, and Serin fought hard to tell herself that it wasn’t working this time. “I’m sorry,” he said penitently. “I didn’t ever think we’d get caught.”

Serin ground her teeth. It was a bad habit. Her sister Naomi - well, technically her stepsister, but their parents had married when they were 6 years old so they’d grown up together as siblings anyway - always got after her for it. But when you spend time with someone like Malcolm Geffen, indulging in bad habits is pretty much the name of the game.

“You didn’t think,” she repeated, whispering harshly. “That might be the truest thing you’ve ever said.”

Mal managed to look hurt, but it only lasted for a moment before his stupid, cocky, charming, infuriating grin was creeping back into place. “I was just trying to have some fun,” he defended himself. “Would it help if I told you that I didn’t realize that we aren’t technically allowed to play music over the school’s PA system?”

“No,” Serin answered immediately. “Because I know that’s a lie. And because when Principal Hood caught me trying to stop you he assumed I was in on it and put me in detention with you. You’re not getting off with some half–cooked excuse this time.” 

With one more glare she turned in her seat, refusing to acknowledge him again. When she noticed him open his mouth from the corner of her eye she tersely barked, “Don’t.”

Mal, for once, did the wise thing. He shut his mouth.

Several minutes passed between them in silence. From the corner of her eye Serin could see Mal actually working on something - maybe he’d gotten wise and decided to use this time for homework. She shook her head. Mal getting wise… like that could ever happen.

When the clock showed two minutes until the end of their hour-long detention, Serin packed her things into her bag. She caught Mal’s glance at her as she twisted in her seat… it was clear he wanted to say something. He looked shockingly repentant - even his spiky red hair looked somehow sad and deflated. She turned straight ahead. She didn’t much want to hear anything he had to say at the moment.

Just before she rose from her seat, she felt something brush against her knee. She glanced down to see Mal’s hand, holding out a piece of paper between his first two fingers. When she glanced at him she found him studying the far wall, probably hoping that if he didn’t look at her she’d be willing to take whatever it was he was offering her.

She brusquely snatched the object from his hand.

It was a piece of notebook paper, carefully folded into the shape of a heart. She rolled her eyes to try to disguise the excited thrill that ran down her spine. On one side of the paper were scrawled the words ‘Open me’ in Mal’s hasty handwriting. Serin chewed her lip for a moment, debating whether or not to actually indulge in this childishness. Finally her curiosity won out over her indignation.

She carefully unfolded the paper, keeping track of the lines in case she decided to fold it back into shape afterward. Inside the paper was just one word. It was neater than his usual handwriting, and she could see the outline of several erased previous attempts at writing it. Just one little word that somehow managed to set the stupid butterflies in her stomach all aflutter once more.

Sorry. In true corny fashion, he had drawn a tiny heart in place of the ‘o’.

Serin glanced over at him. His hands were on the desktop, twitching with nervous energy. He’d never been good at sitting still for very long - that was why he was always getting himself into trouble. On his left index finger was a ring. It was small, and silver, with a tiny heart symbol embedded in the side. It was far too narrow for his finger, resting well above his second knuckle. It was a perfect match for the ring that rested around the base of her own index finger.

She toyed with the silly bracelet on her wrist. It was black, and studded with spikes that looked like they came from a ‘90’s high school movie about a skateboarder. Mal had laughed when he gave it to her - told her that she needed something to offset her ‘goody two–shoes style.’

The girl groaned in frustration. She wanted to be mad at him still. She really did. But she wasn’t. When the vice principal Mrs. Parangosky released them, Mal bolted for the door. Serin took her time, apologizing once more as she left. Parangosky just nodded with a subtle smirk on her lips. Mal was waiting for her in the hall.

“I really am sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“You’re an idiot,” Serin answered. Then, she stood up on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

His smile was back in an instant, warm and dimpled and adorable. Serin tried to ignore the dizzy feeling she got staring at it. “I’m your idiot,” he answered.

She laughed, then pushed hard enough on his chest to knock him back a step. “I have work to do,” she said dismissively. “I need to finish the homecoming float. You don’t get to distract me anymore.” Then she turned and headed for the front entrance.

In a moment Mal was beside her, sliding his hand into hers. ���I’ll come with you,” he said with a grin. 

Serin ducked her head to hide the blush on her cheeks and entwined her fingers with his.

---

Based on this post from @makowrites and @mrtobenamedlater

[agaypanic]

could you do reese wilkersons reaction to finding out his gf also likes scsry movies like him? thanks love your work 💕

Unconventional Valentine's Day (Reese Wilkerson X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Reese finds out you like scary movies while on a Valentine’s Day date.

A/N: shitty title bc i couldn’t think of a good one. could kind of be seen as a fic version/extension of these valentines day headcanons i did with reese, but it’s written as a stand alone thing

***

When Valentine’s Day came around, generic activities and gifts came to Reese’s mind. Get you chocolates and flowers, maybe have a romantic lunch or dinner with a movie.

The day started with Reese showing up at your house with a picnic basket in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. After you put the flowers in a vase of water, you locked up the house and hopped in the car that Reese’s dad let him borrow. After a short drive, you found yourselves at the park.

“Reese, this is delicious.” You said after swallowing a large bite of the food he had made for you. You leaned over and pecked him on the lips, smiling as he tried to chase after you when you pulled away. “My compliments to the chef.”

“I think the chef wants some more compliments,” Reese said before kissing you again.

After your lunch was devoured, the two of you laid down on the blanket that was spread out on the ground, soaking up the sun.

“It’s a bit early to go back home,” Reese spoke, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. You turned your head to look at him just to find that he was already looking at you. “Wanna go see a movie or something?”

“Sure!” You grinned, sitting up with some excitement.

After cleaning everything up, you and Reese returned to the car and drove to the movie theaters. Reese didn’t know any of the showings, but he mentally prepared himself for some lovey-dovey movie and the inevitably crowded theater.

The parking lot was a bit packed when you arrived; Reese felt lucky to find a relatively close spot. You were practically dragging him in by the hand.

“So what do you wanna see?” He asked, reaching for his wallet that sat in his back pocket. Your eyes flitted over the list of movies on the wall and gasped in excitement.

“How about The Ring?!” You asked, and Reese’s reaction made you giggle. “I heard it’s good.”

For a moment, your boyfriend thought you were joking around. He had been ready for you to say the name of a new chick flick or something similar. A movie that everyone else seemed to be lining up for. Not a horror movie.

“Are you sure?” Reese asked. Maybe the title misled you, and you didn’t really know what the movie was about.

“Yeah!” You responded enthusiastically. “Don’t you like scary movies?”

So you did know what the movie was about. But that didn’t make Reese any less confused.

“Yeah… Do you?”

“Duh!” You laughed. “I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t wanna see it. So should we see that or something else?”

Without warning, Reese kissed you, hands planted firmly on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but giggle when he pulled away, wondering what had provoked him to do that.

“And I thought you couldn’t be any more perfect.” Reese mused, making you blush and laugh again. “Come on! Let’s hope it’s not sold out!” 

Reese dragged you to the counter and, when it was your turn, got two tickets and a giant tub of popcorn, despite having already eaten lunch. You were both surprised but delighted to find your theater empty, save for a few couples scattered about. You were able to snag two seats in the dead center, giving you the perfect view of the screen ahead of you.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Reese.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the previews played.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.” He responded, kissing the top of your head before focusing on the screen.

***

Malcolm in the Middle Taglist: @rattilol

Reese Wilkerson Taglist: @hollymaybank @theogirlovermattheogirl

[fangirlvibez]

The Bradshaw son and Seresin daughter - part 10

Characters: Bradley Bradshaw x female!OC Madison Ella Hanscott, Son!OC Nicolas Peter Bradshaw, Jake Seresin x female!OC Quinn Kelsell, Daughter!OC Hazel Alexandra Seresin, Son!OC Benjamin Jacob Seresin, OC!Connor Malcolm Oxland

Warnings: in this chapter: mention of running away, inaccuracy in military terms (let me know if I forgot something)

Summary of the story: The 16 year old daughter of Jake Seresin gets pregnant. The dad: the 18 year old son of Bradley Bradshaw. How will the dads react to their kids becoming teen parents.

A/N: English is not my first language, so if there is any spelling or grammar errors: please let me know. (Spelling checked by ChatGPT)

Previous part - next part - masterlist

“Well..” Hazel turned to the source, a wry smile on her lips. “That went better than expected” Nick mused, his gaze lingering on his girlfriend. Leaning in, he ended the day with a gentle kiss on her lips.

A young man paced nervously in the small living room of their rental home. He'd had the ring for years, but it hadn't graced his finger fot half an hour. He was too preoccupied with his nerves to resist fidgeting with the round piece of jewerly. A young woman stood in the doorway of the living room, observing her boyfriend walk a tear in the carpet. Today was the day. The monday he was so nervous about. The day his mom, dad, mom-in-law and dad-in-law would join him and his girlfriend for dinner after five long years of leaving their respective homes.

"Babe, you're making me dizzy with all this pacing" Hazel gently remarked as she stepped into the room. Her arms found their place around Nick's neck, while his hands settled on her hips. "I'm sorry sweetheart. It's just ..." He looked down at the carpet. "I haven't seen mom in so long and I only really talked to our dads during training. I don't want this to go like the last time we all sat together" he explained, resting his chin atop her head. "I know, I'm nervous too. And I am absolutely certain our parents are as anxious as we are" she reassured him. "I don't want this to be akward" he admitted. Hazel remained still, her cheek nestled against his chest, listening to Nicks heartbeat. She was certain his heart was going faster each minute. "Let's hope for the best" she said, lifting her head to rest her chin ons his chest. Nick looked down at his girlfriend, offering a small smile as he gently kissed her nose. He couldn't help but love how her nose would scrunch up when he kissed it.

The couple had distanced themselves from each other. Nick had settled onto the couch in front of the TV, where a baseball game played in the background. Who was winning? He had no idea, and he didn't even bother to check which teams were playing. All his attention was fixed on awaiting the sound of the doorbell. Meanwhile, Hazel was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the casserole she had prepared. She anticipated her mom's delight upon seeing her again, and she was confident her mom would also be thrilled to have Nick back. However, she couldn't help but worry about her dad. How would he react when he saw her? Would he shed tears like her mom? Would he greet her with a bone-crushing hug? Only time could provide the answers, and that time arrived sooner than the young adults had anticipated.

The chiming of the doorbell brought Nick and Hazel to an abrupt pause in their activities. Hazel slowly emerged from the kitchen and entered the living room. Nick had already positioned himself at the front door, which opened directly into the living room. He peered through the peephole and said, "It's your parents," while taking a step back. Hazel nodded before making her way to the door. She couldn't quite recall the act of opening it, but she vividly remembered the joyful expression on her mother's face as two arms immediately enveloped her in a warm hug.

"Hey, Mom," she smiled when she recognized the person hugging her. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so happy to see you again. I cried happy tears when I heard you wanted to have dinner together," she explained, planting kisses on her daughter's cheeks. Quinn's gaze rose to meet Nick's eyes. The boyfriend stood behind, allowing the small family to savor their moment. "Oh, Nick, come here. It's been so long, and you've grown so much." Quinn released her daughter from the hug and wrapped the young man in her arms. Nick briefly hesitated before embracing the older woman. "It's good to see you too, Mrs. Seresin. Hazel was overjoyed to see you again." "Mrs. Seresin? Please, call me Quinn again. I know I have grandkids now, but I don't want to feel old," she chuckled.

As Quinn enveloped Nick in a warm embrace, Hazel stood face to face with her father. "Hey, Dad," she said quietly. Nick was right – apart from a few grey hairs on his head, Jake Seresin looked just the same as he did five years ago. "Hazel," Jake said, scanning his daughter from head to toe. "You've grown so much. You've become such a beautiful woman," he said, tears forming in his eyes. Similar tears welled up in his daughter's eyes. Before Jake could fully comprehend it, a weight was thrown at him. His daughter clung to her dad, shedding tears of happiness at the sight of her father's return after five long years.

After a minute-long hug, both Seresins released each other. Quinn stood beside Nick, tears of happiness in her eyes as she watched her daughter reunite with her father.

"Nick," Jake greeted. "Rear Admiral Seresin," Nick greeted back. Jake let out a subdued chuckle, saying, "Jake is just fine, Nick. We're meeting outside of work, and you're my daughter's boyfriend." A weight lifted from Nick's shoulders, and he cleared his throat while gesturing behind him. "I'm going to get a drink; I'll leave you to catch up a bit." The small Seresin family settled on the couch, while Nick disappeared into the kitchen.

Half an hour had passed, and Bradley and Madison still hadn't arrived, having gotten stuck in traffic. Nick sat beside Hazel on the long couch, with her mother, Quinn, on her other side, and Jake in a chair opposite Nick. The Rear Admiral could see that the young man was nervous. His knee bounced up and down, his fingers fiddled with his ring, and his gaze frequently shifted towards the front door. Meanwhile, Hazel and Quinn shared stories about their sons, talking about how Benji's favorite cartoon was Bluey and how Mac loved to read and create his own stories. The twins were having a sleepover at Connor's house.

Jake was ready to reassure Nick that he had nothing to worry about. He wanted to convey how his dad had been proudly bragging about his son to other Rear Admirals, Captains, and even Admirals. He also wanted to share that his mom had been inquiring about him every day, and she had spent hours baking brownies, Nick's favorite dessert. Furthermore, Jake wanted to reveal that the delay wasn't due to traffic but because they were struggling to get Sparky, their dog, into the car, intending to surprise not only their son but also their furry companion.

For the second time that night, the doorbell rang through the room. The conversation between Hazel and Quinn hushed, and all three Seresins turned their attention to the young Bradshaw. Nick swallowed hard before rising from the couch and moving toward the front door. As he opened the door, there stood his mother. Nick quickly noticed that his father wasn't by her side. Before he could search for his dad outside, his mother had already pulled her son into a tight hug.

"My son, oh my son. How much I've missed you," she cried into Nick's chest. Nick, now a head taller than his mother, couldn't hold back his own tears, and his arms pulled her even closer to his chest. "Hey, Mom, I missed you too," he said softly.

The Seresins watched the mother-son duo embrace for a full minute. Nick gently pushed his mom out of the hug but didn't release her completely. "Where's Dad?" he inquired, and Hazel detected a hint of anxiety in his voice. Was his father reluctant to see him outside of work? Did his father regret this meeting?

Madison smiled and turned around, pointing behind Nick. "Oh, he's just retrieving your present from the car," she said with a grin.

"Present? Why would you bring me a pres—?" Nick's sentence was abruptly halted by a loud bark, and a magnificent husky leaped out of a blue Bronco, heading straight for Nick. "Oh my God, Sparky!" Nick exclaimed, crouching down to greet his dog with joyful licks. The sound of the dog's tail vigorously wagging against the hardwood floor filled the room. "Yes, yes, buddy. I've missed you too," Nick laughed, losing his balance from the dog's exuberance and landing on the floor.

Taglist: @comfusedpimp @dempy @michael-loves-chickens @massivedetectivestudent @starkleila @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @memoriesat30 @mirrorball-6 @corriegrace06 (if your username is crossed out it means I couldn’t tag you) (let me know if you want to be tagged)

[zawescource]

Zawe Ashton reveals the Marvel villain advice she received from fiancé Tom Hiddleston

The British actress stars in The Marvels as Kree revolutionary Dar-Ben, but in real life, she’s engaged to everyone’s favorite trickster god.

Zawe Ashton got some firsthand Marvel insight when she signed on to play the villain in The Marvels.

Known for films like Velvet Buzzsaw and Mr. Malcolm's List, the British actress is joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe as Kree revolutionary Dar-Benn, facing off against Brie Larson, Teyonah Parris, and Iman Vellani. In EW's new cover story on The Marvels, Ashton explains that she had long hoped to work with director Nia DaCosta and jumped at the chance to suit up as a supervillain.

While preparing for the role, Ashton got some advice from another Marvel villain: her fiancé Tom Hiddleston, who's played trickster god Loki since 2011.

"It led to some incredible conversations about his experience being part of this franchise for over a decade," Ashton, 38, tells EW in an interview conducted prior to the start of the SAG-AFTRA strike. "One of the main takeaways from our conversations was: 'What you put into Marvel, you get back.' He said, 'If you go into this with an open heart and a great work ethic and just want to provide an amazing experience for the fans, you'll have an amazing experience on those sets.' He really empowered me in that way."

Ashton says she and Hiddleston often try to keep their work lives separate, but she remembers one particularly fun day when he helped her rehearse a Marvels scene. Afterward, they looked under their kitchen table to see their confused dog, wondering why two terrifying Marvel villains were loudly running lines above him.

Plus, Ashton adds, Hiddleston had some additional pointers for when she got to set.  

"He also had some very good practical advice, which was: Make sure you have enough zippers to go to the bathroom in your costume," she says with a laugh. "Which is very good advice, I realize now."

Ashton stars in The Marvels as Dar-Benn, a Kree leader fighting to restore her home after a lengthy civil war. (It's a new, expanded take on the character, who has a minor role in the comics and was originally written as a man.) Ashton trained for weeks, learning to properly wield Dar-Benn's imposing war hammer, and in the film, she clashes with Larson's Captain Marvel, Parris' Monica Rambeau, and Vellani's Ms. Marvel.

"It's this all-female sci-fi extravaganza, with a woman on the other side of the camera," Ashton adds. "I felt very moved, actually, being involved in it. It's not an environment you're often in — a huge-budget movie with all these badass women and Samuel L. Jackson. That just doesn't happen."

The Marvels hits theaters Nov. 10.

[a-crumb-of-whump]

A New Beginning Drabble: Stress Positions

Masterlist

Content: Used as furniture, stress positions, collars, captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, [mild] dub-con kissing, pet whump, vampire whump, begging, stockholm syndrome.

Go talk to Carlos @carlosemrick :)

-

Malcolm knew Carlos was sneaking into his bedroom at night to sleep on the floor by him. Over the past couple days the vampire had been sleeping closer and closer to his master’s door, and eventually found the courage to creep inside a few hours after he’d fallen asleep. Malcolm saw it all happening through the security cameras he had set up around the place, and eventually decided to humour his pet on the subject. 

“Do you get lonely at night?” he asked curiously one evening. The vampire glanced up at him from his spot beneath the human’s feet, arms barely able to support himself after several hours of serving as Malcolm’s footrest. He looked so innocently confused, so scared of saying the wrong thing, lest he be put in time out or given some other form of punishment. 

Malcolm offered a smile and reached out to run his larger fingers through his pet’s hair. “Tell me the truth, pet.” 

“...Yes, sir,” he whispered after a short pause. Malcolm could have sworn he saw the exact moment Carlos realised his owner knew of his little secret. The way his eyes blew comically wide before forcibly relaxing again, and the tense inhale as he prepared himself for whatever his owner had planned for him next. It was adorable. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving my bed at night. Please don’t be mad.” 

“I’m not mad at you for that. I’m disappointed in you for not telling me sooner and just doing it. Since when does my pet think it can make decisions without bringing it up with me first?”

“I don’t,” Carlos rushed to assure him, tears already beginning to prick in his eyes as his chin trembled. “I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. I just- I ju-ust…” 

Before he could finish, Malcolm hushed him with a finger to his lips and tutted a few times, watching as the vampire’s face reddened slightly. “I would have been more than happy to make some arrangements for you to make you more comfortable,” he informed, removing his feet from Carlos’ back for a moment to get closer to him. As soon as he was in arms reach, Malcolm grabbed a fistful of his hair and brought him a little closer. He just about melted at the sight of his vampire’s deflated look.

“...I still am, but they might not be as comfortable as the previous arrangements. Do you still want it?” 

Carlos’ answer was immediate. “Yes, sir.” 

“Then go sit in your bed and I’ll call you when I’m ready for you to see what I’ve come up with.”

With a light slap to his behind, Malcolm let him go and watched the vampire pathetically stumble back to his bed, the silver bell on his collar jingling the entire way. He looked so sweet, the human nearly considered just moving the pet’s stuff into his room and calling off the punishment.

…but where was the fun in that? 

Really, it took very little time to set up either. Less than ten minutes later Malcolm was able to stand back to admire his set up. It was nothing but a single metal bar that hung from the ceiling by some rope - a simple but effective stress position for his obedient little pet to use for the night. It’d been installed a few years ago, and Malcolm liked it because he could detach and reattach it at any given time. 

Perfect for occasions like now.

As soon as the human called for his pet, The jingling of the bell started again and not long after, Carlos appeared at his doorway. He was clearly doing his best to sit up straight and proper, but Malcolm knew he was also extremely tired. He wasn’t going to hold that against him. 

With a warm smile, he motioned for the vampire to stand up and come inside, to which Carlos hesitated for a moment before obeying, as if he perhaps understood his master’s silent commands wrong. However, his face lit up as soon as he received a verbal praise in response. 

“What- what is happening, sir?” he asked quietly, lips parting in surprise when the human grabbed both his arms and positioned them behind his back. He could see how much Carlos wanted to cry. How much he wanted to burst into tears and blubber apologies until he was forgiven, but he didn’t and Malcolm was most impressed. 

With a small chuckle, he pulled Carlos’ arms over the bar positioned behind him and attached him to it by the elbows. “You’ve been so patient, my pet,” he cooed, running his fingers through the vampire’s hair as he double checked to make sure everything was attached correctly. “This is going to be where you stay for the night. That way you’re in my room but you still get your punishment. Sound good?” 

He nearly laughed at the relief that clouded Carlos’ eyes despite his predicament. “Yes, sir!” he chirped, shuffling uncomfortably on the tips of his feet. The bar was just high enough that he had to strain to stand comfortably. “Thank you so much for your mercy. I prom-mise I’ll behave better from now on.” 

“I know you will, pet. You always do. If you’re extra quiet and behaved, I might even let you into my bed tomorrow night. Does that sound good?” 

There was another enthusiastic nod. “Yes, sir! So you still n-need me, then?” the vampire asked hopefully. His eyes were big and pleading, his chin trembling ever so slightly as he continued to struggle to hold in his tears. He was so fucking pathetic, Malcolm nearly couldn’t bring himself to leave him there. 

But he did, of course. Instead of untying him, he leaned forward and cupped Carlos’ face in his hands; kissing the tip of his nose and then both his cheeks. When he pulled back again, all he could see was devotion in the vampire’s eyes. True, unbridled devotion to him and him alone. He really had chosen the perfect house pet.

“A little mistake isn’t enough to stop me from needing you. You’re a good boy,” he praised, planting one final kiss to the vampire’s lips. “Sleep tight, my pet. I’ll be in once my movie is done, yeah?”

“Yes, sir!” 

As he left, he heard the quiet grunts and whines of his pet struggling to find a comfortable position, but when he poked his head in one last time, Carlos gave him the biggest smile he could possibly muster. He looked adorable, and Malcolm didn’t hesitate to return it before quietly shutting the door completely. 

-

Taglist: @alexkolax @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @whump-things @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @choppedflowermuffinchild @whumpdreamz

[angusbyrne]

ANGUS BYRNE ( CALLUM TURNER ) is a THIRTY-THREE year-old SENATE STAFFER in WASHINGTON, DC. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only FIFTEEN years old. They are known as THE PROTECTOR because they are VIGILANT but also CONTROLLING.

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Angus Peter Byrne

Nickname(s): His little brothers would call him Gus, but he would not appreciate anyone else using it.

Date of Birth: September 23, 1971

Age: 33 (almost 34!)

Occupation: Legislative Director for a U.S. Senator

Current Residence: Washington, DC. (Albany part-time for work reasons)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Blue

Height: 6’2”

Notable Features: Beautiful long nose, freckles, slay cheekbones, sticky-outy ears, generally fae face

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: Detail-oriented, loyal, professional, protective, diplomatic, and cultivated.

Weaknesses: Stubborn, insensitive, strict, invasive, secretive, and manipulative.

Quirks: Always popping Advil and Tums (tummy ache survivor <3), carries an expensive fancy lighter with him, always wears an expensive watch, has glasses but wears contacts every day because God forbid anyone sees him wearing them when he’s not prepared, used to bite his nails so they’re cut short, misophonia sufferer!!!

Vices: Brandy, expensive cigars, his personal art collection (which he doesn’t display in his home)

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: Fine art & art history, expensive spirits, expensive cigars, expensive cars, architecture, politics, law, boring WWII books and docos, etc.

Hobbies: Making meticulous lists, going to the gym, boxing, cooking, reading Agatha Christie novels (not that he’d admit it…), watching old film noirs, going to his tailor lol, other individual sports like golf and tennis, being boring/invisible/not drawing unnecessary attention to himself, etc.

Special Skills/Talents: Lyinggggg <3 and he grew up taking a lot of music lessons at his dad’s behest so he’s got a pretty good singing voice (church choir experience) and plays the violin.

MISCELLANEOUS

Pinterest I / Pinterest II

Playlist (vibes version -- because Angus primarily listens to his white noise machine)

BECOMING A WARD

The Byrnes resided on a large, sprawling property in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains of northeastern New York – not too far from Woodrow House. There, they kept sporadic hobbyist farm animals – goats, miniature horses, pigs – that didn’t produce much but a means for Angus’ mother, Maren, to spend her time and keep busy (Marie Antoinette’s pastoral ideal vibes). Angus’ childhood was lush and green, filled with fresh air, fairytale books, and skinned knees from wrestling with his two younger brothers Malcolm and George; it was also marked by being the lesser-favorite son, and the only one who ever caught a glimpse in his adolescence at the extent of what his father did for work. Spoiler alert: it was, at times, not totally above board.

It was through work that his father, Peter, met Richard Woodrow. Peter Byrne was by and large an antiques and art dealer and owned a gallery outside the city. Their business dealings were totally, definitely, absolutely above board (I mean, as far as Richard knew – so that must be true, right?). Richard became close with Peter, first in a professional setting and then later personally. Their holidays mingled; they visited each other’s homes; the Byrne brothers called him Uncle Richard soon thereafter. Angus came to be one of Richard’s wards after his family was involved in a car accident – he was the sole survivor. When Angus was orphaned, Richard stepped up and brought him into his care to honor the Byrnes. 

LIFE AS A WARD

Very few fellow Wards experienced what Angus was like when he first came to live at Woodrow House. For the first few months, he was rude, agitated, paranoid, and combative. He accused the House’s staff of stealing, moving, or just touching his things; he didn’t want anyone near his room for days at a time; and he punched more than one hole in his bedroom wall (not that he advertised that fact to anyone beyond Richard and Mrs. Tristan; Angus learned to hide the products of his frustrations quite well). But then, suddenly, one day a switch flipped. Though things remained a little tense with Richard, from that day forward, Angus was outwardly neat and well-mannered – and all up in the other Wards’ business.

Going forward, he took the role of a pseudo-kinda-big-brother seriously and always did what he could to help the other Woodrow House residents and did what he thought was best for them, even if that meant frustrating some of them in the process. He wears a mask of his own face – boring, straitlaced, and stiff – and that is how most of the Wards know him. Still, that agitated, argumentative energy thrummed under his skin, like he’d gone full circle and speedran the spiraling anger and swallowed it whole so it made its home in the center of his chest – waiting for its moment to bubble back over. It's a good thing he always had a punching bag.

AESTHETIC

Angus is very well-dressed and has taken a page out of Richard’s book so that the most casual he’s ever dressed are classic Brooks Brothers and Ralph Lauren fits. 75% of the time he’s in a suit, honestly, or in a semi-deconstructed suit (not wearing a tie, first couple buttons undone, jacket on and sleeves rolled up, etc). He has carefully controlled curly-ish hair, which he keeps in check with product. His hair is basically only out of place when he’s at the boxing gym. Regarding signature accessories, Angus wears the crucifix he had received for his Confirmation from his mom a few months before she died and is always wearing a watch from his extensive collection (something also inspired by Richard, who gifted him his first). Ultimately, Angus’ goal is not to stand out. He does not wear bold colors or loud patterns; he does not try to look different from any other suit in D.C. The more inconspicuous he is, the better.

EDUCATION

Angus was due to attend a boarding high school about 4 hours away from Woodrow House when he first became a ward. The year he was taken into Richard’s care, he instead spent his freshman year in a homeschool environment on Woodrow House grounds, but when the next year rolled around he insisted that he return to what he considered a proper school. Angus finished high school at a nearby private Catholic school in upstate New York, about a 45-minute to 1-hour commute from the house. After he graduated, he attended Georgetown University in Washington, DC. where he majored in PoliSci. After completion of his Bachelor’s, he attended and graduated from Yale Law School. 

EXTRACURRICULARS 

Sports-wise, Angus primarily took up boxing and was on the wrestling team at school. He very casually dabbled in tennis. In a more creative realm, as a kid, his dad had all of his sons taking music lessons, so Angus also continued his education in violin at Woodrow House. He’s not fantastic but he was in the school orchestra all through high school. 

THEIR LIFE NOW

Since leaving Woodrow House, Angus began a career in politics. From starting as an intern for a State Representative to an advisor and manager for various politicians, a legislative assistant, and now the Legislative Director for a US Senator. And that's where his climb up the ladder is going to stop.

A couple of years after college, everything seemed easy-breezy all things considered until someone came knocking at his door. Literally. They were a former affiliate of his dad’s… and they weren’t happy. Since then, for about a decade, Angus has had to contend with various loose ends re: his now-deceased father’s business, only slugging through it all because of the the promise of an end to all the business dealings altogether somewhere on the horizon. The world of art and antique dealing wasn’t always squeaky clean, that was for sure, and Angus kept that side of his life extremely under wraps – for both his safety and his sanity.

He lives alone in a DC townhouse, which has been gutted and cleanly modernized inside. Slick, shiny surfaces and no personality: just the way he likes it. In Albany, he keeps an equally clean, modern, and personality-less one-bedroom apartment. You can sense a theme here and the theme is boring. His romantic life has always been defined by the seemingly endless line of blonde Ashleys, Ambers, and Christinas that are getting their Master's at GW or working in marketing. None of those relationships seem to last very long. That is also just the way he likes it.

IRT to the other wards, Angus tries to keep in contact with most if not all of them. He wants to see all of them on a good life track – happy, healthy, successful (not jobless or directionless), the whole shebang. Historically, he's known for keeping tabs, hovering a bit, keeping track of their friends, reaching out to them regularly, offering to be a reference for work, offering to help get them a job (preferably closer to where he lives), etc etc. He’s fought their battles for and with them, championed them, and stood up for them (and also talked down to them and judged them and fought with them…)

So Angus doesn’t appreciate radio silence and he doesn’t appreciate disrespect when he’s trying so hard and is so committed to, in his way, taking care of the Wards. So though he has plenty of experience in this role so far, that doesn’t mean he deals with those frustrations super well. If you're on the same page as him re: what's good for you, then most of the time things are pretty fine and dandy, but if you're not, well. I'm sure quite a few disagreements have cropped up... but he just really really cares. Just, you know… don’t tell him it may be all deeply rooted in anxiety because that would be sooooo annoying for him. 

[pollyna]

Dolly's face is a little rounder and softer than it was just a year ago. Mav would have missed it if her pregnant belly wasn't so visible. "Welcome back to the Gardenia, Mr. Mitchell. Your table is ready, and Malcolm is already on his way with your drink." She always used to smile so much, but he never got around to understanding if it was her service smile or if she was genuinely happy to see him, them.

The table is the same, the one near the windows that are slightly open from the moment Spring comes around, and his drink tastes like peaches and that hint of vodka that Ice used to say, "It's going to kick you in the ass, one of these days. Just wait and see." Mav used to laugh at that and at so many other things he can't remember now.

They used to be regulars around there, just after Carole died and all the anniversaries they could celebrate together, they used to come there. They were sitting in that exact spot even during their last one, when Ice's voice was long gone and they had to ask the waiter to prepare them most of the food so they could take it home at the end of the night. But they shared their dessert, two spoons, and a chocolate souffle, and Ice's hands were big and warm around Mav's, their rings shining under the light of the sunset. Mav doesn't remember if he was crying or Ice was crying, or maybe nobody was, but he remembers Ice writing "you can be my wingman anytime" with the chocolate sauce, and Mav remembers his husband's face between his hands and whispering "bullshit, you can be mine."

Now it's just him, the same table, the same drink, and the same food, every year for their anniversary. Every year, Mav orders the same food and drink, and if the light is off the right inclination, he can have the illusion of Tom being on his left side, laughing at the last prank Bradley tried, and failed, to pull on him. 

"Happy anniversary, my love." he finds himself whispering in the wind every time.

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 11

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 18.3k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Hurt/comfort, angst, EMTs/hospital, shoddy medical knowledge that proves we could write for tv, plenty of twists and turns and pulls at the heartstrings in this chapter. Summary: Arriving back in your own time is not at all what you or Pero had in mind, but your best friend is there to help pick up the pieces. Notes: Writing this chapter *shattered* us. Y’all have been warned. 

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

For the better part of two days, the ride is hard and unyielding. Little is said between the companions except to explain to Father Malcolm what happened in the village square, and the young priest simply nods as he absorbs the tale. When he returns he will tell the village that he delivered the witch and her companions to justice in the city, and send a letter on to the dead men’s home village expressing regret over their encounter with bandits. He will bless and bury the bodies, knowing the men are already in hell. He will do his duty. It is late on the second day of riding when Inverness comes into view through the rolling hills, and the group continues through the woods instead of heading toward town. You have held steady thanks to Arwena’s magic but not improved at all, and though your priest friend has prayed over you many times, Pero must believe that the choice he has made to bring you here is the right one. That sending you home will be what saves you. Even if it breaks his heart to do it, what matters is that you will live.

The steady gait of the horse helps keep you from bobbling around too much. You have not taken water for the past half day. Nothing they tried would get you to drink and he is at his wits end. He feels you starting to slip away, even if Arwena denies it. “Hurry!”

Father Malcolm has been riding ahead, making sure the trail is passable and that he does still know the way to Craigh na Dun. His memory is steel, thankfully, and when he doubles back to appear at the top of the hill to Pero’s right, he points in the direction of a small grove of trees. “Through here!”

Guiding the horse towards the priest, Pero sends up a prayer. That this works, that he can go with you, that whatever you have will be easily treated in your time. Most importantly, that you will understand why he is making this decision for you. Binx is purring, trying to use her own brand of healing on you, curled up on your chest under the blankets.

The Stones at Craigh na Dun stand tall, the dusk settling around them as the sun begins to lower in the sky and the quiet of a winter evening closes in on them with claustrophobic intent. For a world so barren and forlorn, it certainly does not feel empty or wide. “My word…” Arwena breathes, seeing the sheer size of the standing stones as they bring their horses up to the side of the seeming monument. “Help us to get her down.” Father Malcolm has already dismounted, calling to Briac to do the same so that the two men can carry you from Pero’s mount to the center stone.

Dread and fear well up in Pero, nearly choking him as he dismounts and grabs the bag with your things along with his own bag. He has no clue what to expect, even if you have told him about your time and he is woefully ill prepared, but determined to face whatever may come.

“What will happen?” Arwena is close on Briac’s heels, her own fear painted on her features as clear as day. She still does not understand how this magic can be real, despite wielding fire that answers only to her voice, and looks between you, Pero, and the Father with naked apprehension.

“From what I know, she should…go back to where she came from. The year 2022.” He sounds more confident than he really is. “But I will be with her to protect her no matter what.”

“She said she heard buzzing, touched the stone, and fell through time.” Father Malcolm has heard the tale from you then and thought it sounded like fairy magic. He is still not convinced that it was not. “Hopefully, it will be as simple as Pero holding her as she goes through, and they will travel together.”

“Take care of Gato.” Binx has climb out from her cozy spot and meows, looking up at Pero. “I don’t know if animals can come through.” He explains, as if he were talking to a human as he kneels down and scratches her head.

“She will be safe with us.” For as stoic as she had been during the confrontation of the day before, Arwena is nearly in tears as Pero turns to say goodbye. “I—I can never…thank you enough. Either of you. For what you did for us.”

“Stay safe.” He pulls the girl against him for a surprisingly gentle hug. “Make babies and live happily.” He tells her, pulling back and pinching her chin slightly as he tilts her eyes up to meet his. “I am proud of you; you are a strong woman. Just like Sassenach and you will carry her legacy well.”

“We will never forget you. Either of you.” The tears in her eyes are for so much more than mere sadness, but there is no time for those words. Even if she knew what to say, there would be no time. “Tell her…when she is well again…tell her we love her. And come back to us if you can?”

“I will.” Turning to Briac, Pero is as proud as any papa watching his son prepare to go out into the world and forge his own path. “Fight well. Kill quickly and love harshly.” He tells the boy before he pulls him in for a hug that would crack ribs and pounds him on the back as men do.

“We will stay nearby.” Briac promises, stifling thick tears with heavy sniffles as he embraces Pero tightly. “Come back to us when she is well again, and we will all go to Spain together.” He must believe it is possible. He must. Otherwise he fears the despair that will overtake both himself and Arwena.

“Do not stay here long.” Pero cautions them. He takes the pouch of coins off his waist and hands them to the boy who is really a man. There is enough for them to establish a good life if they are judicious with the coins. “Settle in the Cádis area and if we come back, we will find you.”

“Gracias por todo.” Thank you for everything. Briac nods, despite wishing he could shove the pouch back into Pero’s hands and insist that they find a solution here and now. They all know it is hopeless - even the priest who is currently cradling you in his arms at the foot of the center stone. If you remain you will surely die, and Arwena and Briac would rather struggle through life alone knowing you are well elsewhere than be the reason you did not survive. “Take care of her,” Arwena begs, no longer able to keep the flood of tears at bay. She feels as though she has failed you, and no amount of trial and error will fix that. You have to go. Go and live, rather than stay and die. “There is no more time to be wasted.”

Pero swallows down his own emotions although he knows the water in his eyes is noticeable if anyone were paying attention. Instead of commenting further, he strides over to the priest and relieves him of his burden. Bundling you close and jostling you slightly as he pulls your hand out for you to touch the stones. That was the most important part of your story. You touched the stones. “Adiós, mi familia.” His voice is thick with emotion as he lifts your hand to the wall and in the blink of an eye, you disappear and he remains in his own time, without you.

******

There had been no warning when you disappeared - not so much as a sound or a flash of light or even a breeze brushing through the late October afternoon. Nothing could have prepared Beth for the way you seemed to evaporate into mid-air, poofing out of existence like a cartoon. She had searched around the standing stones at Craigh na Dun frantically to find where you were hiding, but to no avail. You were just gone. Her best friend in the world, her steadfast companion, her ride or die. Just...gone. Like you had never existed in the first place. Nearly catatonic, Beth had slumped down against one of the large stones facing the one you had touched. What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck?! You were there and then you weren't and what the FUCK was going on? How was she supposed to explain this to people? To literally anyone? And then - out of nowhere - there you were again.

Pushing to her feet, scrambling and sliding on the fallen leaves and mossy ground, Beth screams your name and rushes over to the lump of blankets, your face half covered in hair and your eyes distressingly closed. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Pero?” You’ve been murmuring his name over and over, sometimes out loud and sometimes you only think it’s out loud, but the hard ground underneath you feels nothing like whatever it is that you have been. “Pero.” His name comes weakly from your lips again, although you could see at you hear Beth’s voice from somewhere far, far away.

Beth’s hands are practically shaking as she pulls material away from you, rough fabric that you definitely didn’t have on you when you had vanished. Your name falls from her lips again. “Open your eyes!”

“Pero.” The two syllables are all you can manage, caught in that horrible purgatory between life and death that is grave illness. There is no sun or moon here, no forest or sea. Only darkness, and the longing stuck in your heart that you might fight to see him one more time.

“Jesus Christ.” Her eyes widen and she pulls back as if she’s afraid to hurt you when your hair shifts, and she sees the grisly scar bisecting your brow and running down your cheek. What happened to you? It doesn’t help that she can feel how hot you are from where her hand is hovering. “I’m going to get you help.” She promises, shakily digging for her phone.

The emergency number in Scotland is different than in the States, but after a second of fumbling Beth manages to remember what it is and dial with unsteady fingers. "999. What service do you require?" Asks the kindly, heavily accented voice on the other end.

“I- we are at the stones of Craigh na Dun and my friend–she–she disappeared for five minutes but now she’s back and she’s unconscious and burning up.” Beth babbles into the phone frantically, sweeping her hand over your forehead. “She’s sick.”

There is a pause on the line before the kindly voice clears its attached throat and asks: "Do you require an ambulance, miss? Should your friend be seen in hospital?"

“Yes! Please yes, hurry! She’s been- attacked. She has a large scar on her eye that wasn’t there before!” Beth manages to get the blankets unraveled from your body and gasps. You are not wearing the skinny jeans and flannel shirt with hiking boots you had been wearing just twenty minutes ago.

"Attacked?" The emergency dispatcher asks, the sound of clacking keys in the background telling Beth that she is including this fact in her report of the call. "Miss, please do not attempt to move or jostle your friend. Emergency Medical Technicians are on their way to you."

“Hurry!” You moan and call out ‘Pero’ again, making Beth frown as she hovers over you. Where is your bag? Your phone? There is a bag made of some kind of leather but it wasn’t the North Face bag you had tucked your water bottle and granola bars into.

It takes less than ten minutes for an ambulance to come screaming into view, braving the small hill that the stones of Craigh na Dun stand on. The man and woman who hop out of the vehicle are as kind as they possibly can be for having such an intense job, and they load you onto a stretcher after hearing Beth's rambled explanation that you disappeared and reappeared - suddenly sick and injured. "What's your name, miss?" The woman asks, holding the door of the ambulance open to offer the mobile American the opportunity to ride inside.

“Beth” She breathes out, terrified and clutching all the things that you had reappeared with. “Beth Franklin.”

"We're going to get you and your friend to Raigmore Hospital," the paramedic tells her gently, moving quickly to get the American seated so they can be on their way. "We're going to take good care of your friend, Miss Franklin. You just sit tight, eh?"

“I don’t know what happened. She was just- she wanted to touch the stones like the show, you know?” Beth shakes her head. “I was taking a photo and then she was just– gone.”

“Does she have any health issues? Asthma? Diabetes? Even migraines?” Any clue as to what is normal for their patient is invaluable. Otherwise diagnosis can be like finding a needle in a haystack.

“Nothing but a little heartburn.” Beth shakes her head and bites her lip. “Her eye, that scar wasn’t there.” She manages to reach her phone again and opens it to show a picture of you taken just before you disappear. Your hands are outstretched toward the stones as you look at the camera and grin.

“Well, that’s a wee bit odd now, innit?” The man peers over his shoulder in time to see the photo right before putting the vehicle in gear. “That an old photo, miss? Hasta be, since it’s afore she got her scar. Unless her soulmate’s the one ‘a got inta some nasty business.”

“It was right before she disappeared.” Beth frowns and looks at the picture again. “And her hair is longer.” She doesn’t mention your soulmate because you don’t have one. It’s a sore subject and people react funny to that kind of news.

“Mebbe she’s gone and traveled through time,” the man chuckles, turning to focus on driving the ambulance out is the woods and toward Raigmore Hospital. “Me nan used’a say that’s what happened to people who touched the Stones, but I think she just liked them books a lot.”

Beth swallows and shakes her head, not believing that although the two of you had giggled about sliding through time and finding your own Jamie. “I don’t know.” She mutters and looks down at you with a worried frown. “I’m more worried about what she has right now.”

“Can’t do better than Raigmore,” the woman tells Beth with surety. She has been hooking you up to various monitors or taking measurements or just generally checking on you since Beth buckled in, but she turns now to whisper something to her colleague and he steps on the gas. “They’ll see her put to rights.”

The rest of the trip passes in a blur, the beeping of the monitors seems faster than they should be and Beth is terrified, especially since she can’t find your wallet, with your identification and insurance card.

Lost items are the least of the hospital’s concerns, ultimately, though the team testing you is grateful to have someone who knows your rough medical history. The full day it takes to get your medical records sent over from your doctor in Florida are nothing compared to the intensity of the race to diagnose you properly. After stabilizing and settling you, it takes a team of no less than seven professionals to put every piece of the puzzle together. The first doctor to suggest meningitis seems to consider it a stretch, but still he says it. When you open your eyes again mere hours after the first dose of medication to test that particular infection, the entire team breathes a collective sigh of relief.

Beth is living on horrible coffee from a vending machine - she doesn’t like tea - and paces like she can make laps on the linoleum for a cure. She hadn’t been allowed back in your room, too worried about what you might have and if it’s infectious.

Opening your eyes is like staring into the sun, despite the fact that nothing about the light surrounding you is natural. There are loud beeps and clicks and you feel like you got thrown out of a bell tower directly onto a boulder. Everything hurts and you feel weak, unable to focus your limited sight on anything for all the brightness. Only one word, through a foggy mind and a scratchy throat, makes it to the surface. “Pero?”

“You’re awake, dearie.” A plump, red-headed nurse with kind blue eyes leans over the bed after checking your vitals. It was a pleasant surprise to have you wake up while she was making your rounds. “Your friend has been so worried about you. I’ll send ‘em in.”

That makes you breathe a little easier, thinking that Pero must be pacing nearby and growling at anyone who even dares approach him. You can't remember the innkeeper having red hair but you were barely paying attention - too excited to get married to care about much about anything else.

Diedre is the nurse that has given Beth the most information and she waves to her now as she makes another lap around the room. “She’s awake!” She calls out, a cheerful smile on her face. “You can go in and see your friend.” “Oh thank God.” Beth exhales roughly, nearly crying as she practically flies towards the room that you had been placed in.

You could swear you hear Beth's voice again, chalking it up to whatever weird dreams you were having, and start to close your eyes again when you feel someone with delicately manicured fingernails grip your hand. That is definitely not Pero...

“Hey. God, you had me so worried.” Beth rushes out, squeezing your hand. “You- how are you feeling?” She needs to interrogate you, figure out what the hell is going on. But first she needs to know that you are feeling okay.

"Beth?" The bulk of your wedding ring vaguely registers against your finger when she squeezes your hand and you turn your good eye on her again, forcing yourself to focus. Are you in a fucking hospital room? "H-how?"

“How?” Apparently you are shocked to be here, but given your appearance she’s got questions. “You disappeared! Where did you go?” Her voice creeps up but she shakes her head. “You were there one moment and then gone the next. I looked around for you and when I seriously started to panic, you were back.”

"Uh..." There is a lot more to digest here than just where you were, or how you got back, but the sadness that registers in your eyes is unmistakable. "Where's Pero?"

“Who?” Beth frowns in confusion. “Who is Pero? You kept calling that name.”

Shifting your hand in hers, you look down at where they're joined - gold band shining slightly in the stark lighting - and sink further down into the hospital bed. "My soulmate."

“Soulmate.” Beth’s thumb brushes over your hand, dumbfounded by the idea that you had left the present. That the magic of the stones wasn’t some story or plot in a book. It was real. “When did you go?”

"It was..." Math isn't your strong suit at the moment, your headache is too bad for that. "A thousand-something years? 1006. Eight years..."

It explains everything. The clothes, the length of you hear if you’ve been gone for eight years. “Jesus.” Beth sinks down into the chair that is by your bed, still clinging to your hand. “You- your soulmate is from the past? Nearly one thousand years before you are born?”

"Figures, right?" If you're really back - if this is really Beth and not some insanely elaborate hallucination - then it means a lot of things happened in Gretna that you don't know about or simply can't remember. Either way, this is the woman you've been missing for literal years, and you squeeze her hand as best as you can manage. "It took literal fucking magic to find somebody who would put up with me."

“Finally found one strong enough.” Beth counters, knowing that it would take a tough man to make you happy. “But what happened?” Her brief smile disappears and she reaches over to brush the bottom of the scar on your face.

"That was before." Each word comes a little easier, which is an unexpected blessing, but your throat is very dry. "Wh-where am I?" You ask, trying to look around a little but finding the whole room far too bright.

“Raigmore hospital.” Beth squeezes your hand before she murmurs your name again. “You were sick, unconscious and burning up when you came back.”

"Alone?" You're almost afraid to ask, not wanting to have to contemplate what it would actually mean if she says yes. It's too much to stomach. Too much to try to wrap your head around if he didn't come through with you.

The fear in your voice makes Beth’s stomach flip and her hold on your hand to tighten. “Just you.” She confirms quietly.

"He wouldn't–" The tears are nearly immediate, hot and angry, leaking from the corners of your eyes like lava. "He wouldn't leave me. Not after we–we just got married–"

“What is the last thing you remember?” She asks softly, wanting to understand more, and wanting to help you in some small way. “Maybe he- did you plan to come back?”

"No." Shaking your head feels like a lot of effort despite you only managing to move it a half inch in either direction. "I got sick. Th-the morning after the wedding, I...felt hot..."

“The doctors said that you- if you hadn’t gotten to the hospital when you did, you would have died.” Even then it had been touch and go for a while once they figured out what was wrong with you.

"What's wrong with me?" If you couldn't save your own eye, then it is no surprise that you couldn't save yourself from whatever you caught. Even if you had brought Pero back from the brink of death, it had taken all your strength to heal someone that ill.

“Meningitis.” Beth remembers that there’s something else that the doctor had said. “C - something meningitis.” They had told her that your brain had been swelling and that was why you had been unconscious.

"At least it wasn't plague, I guess." Not that you really know anything about meningitis, except that the school nurse had scared everybody when you were in seventh grade by saying you could die from kissing.

“You–your brain was swelling and they–” she chokes out a small sob. “They were telling me that you might not make it when you got here. Your temperature was sooo high.”

"He wouldn't leave me." You repeat the sentence a little more firmly, trying to put together all the flashes of things you can put together that may be real or may be imaginary. Pero carrying you keeps coming to mind, and so much riding with his arms wrapped around you. Though that might have been when you were headed to Gretna, not afterward. "H-he must have...the Stones must not have worked for him?"

“Maybe.” She’s less sure considering all of your things were with you and none that would belong to a man. “That must be it.”

"Arwena...I—I didn't..." Tears prick at your eyes again, realizing your sweet, kind, steadfast young friend is a thousand years gone, along with playful and optimistic Briac. A knock on the door pulls Beth's attention away from you and your mind out of the fog of regret. "I hear our friend is awake at last." A tall, lanky man hums, smiling as he strolls into the room. He lends Beth a warm smile before leaning over you and looking into your eyes with the air of someone making an inspection. "You're lucky that your friend brought you in when she did," he tells you. "She saved your life."

Beth leans back, trying to absorb what you have told her while the doctor examines you. It’s a lot and if she hadn’t seen you disappear and reappear only five minutes later looking completely different, she would have thought you crazy.

"—This form of meningitis is incredibly rare." The doctor is explaining, though you barely hear him. He is taking your vitals while he talks and inspecting the dilation of your good eye, and saying things that you barely understand because the irony of you being a healer in the eleventh century is that your modern medical knowledge is mediocre at best. "Your recovery and treatment are going to be what we call long-haul, but if you take your medicines, get your strength back, and eat healthily, there is no reason that you shouldn't make a full recovery."

“Can she travel?” Beth pipes up, worried about your ability to travel home, although she still has no clue where your passport and ID are. “Or does she need to stay here longer?”

"It will be at least a few more days." The doctor tells Beth, trying to break the news to both of you as gently as he can. "We will be contacting your general practitioner at home to make sure that you have continuous treatment, and I'm afraid that you'll have to take some time out of work. That infection did quite a number on you and your mind and body will need more time than you expect to recover." He smiles again, clearly used to being the one to deliver bad news because of his boyish looks. "But now that we're certain your friend isn't contagious, we can bring a cot into the room for you, Miss Franklin. You can stay with her as much as you like."

“Good.” Beth immediately agrees, nodding quickly. Whatever happened, she is your best friend and she’s not leaving you for a second. “I can stop wearing out the floors in your waiting room.”

"Am I allowed to have water?" The question feels slightly pathetic, but since you know now that you're going to be stuck in this hospital bed for a while longer and not able to get back to the Stones to go back to Pero, then you'll start with water to soothe your cracked throat. "Of course," your doctor chuckles, nodding to you and Beth before he heads for the door again. "I'll have your nurse get you some and order a cot to be brought up. The rest of the team will be up to check on you soon, so try to rest." He advises and shuts the door softly behind him.

“So we get you feeling better and then we can go home—no, no, back to the Stones…” her eyes widen, and she nods as you start shaking your head. “Of course. We go back to the Stones to see if I missed him coming through?”

"He won't know how to find me," you remind Beth insistently. "We have to go back. O-or watch the news. A random grumpy Spaniard in medieval armor wandering around town is sure to get some attention."

Beth’s eyes widen, realizing that could be disastrous. “Oh shit, yeah, that would be bad. He would be trying to stab cars with his sword.” It’s funny in theory, but he would get arrested and that would cause a whole other set of problems. Movies that include time travel don’t really think about the logistics of that kind of thing.

“He knows what cars are.” You had explained so much to him over the months you had together, drawing little sketches for him on the hearthstones in charcoal before smudging them away. “In theory, I mean.”

“What is he like?” She asks, curiosity getting the best of her.

“He’s…” You crack a small smile, heart aching from being separated from him but relishing the chance to tell your best friend about your soulmate. “He’s grumpy,” you admit right away. “Ornery, you could say. But he has such a good heart, and—” A half-chuckle bubbles out of you unexpectedly. “He’s so fuckin’ hot, Beth.”

“Hot in that unbathed, sweaty kind of way?” She had no idea how the medieval times really were, but she can’t imagine there are too many baths or much attention to hygiene.

“Oh no, if I ever take that man into a Lush he’ll lose his mind.” Thinking of all the ways you can pamper him when he appears on this side of the Stones is going to be what gets you through missing him, you can feel it. “H-he…bought me a bathtub. Traded for it. The most beautiful buckskin for a bathtub that fits two.”

Beth’s heart melts at the thought of your soulmate providing for you. At least you had been taken care of while you were gone. “That’s so sweet. I always imagine sexy bathtub scenes in front of a hearth.”

“Guarantee you that the reality was hotter than whatever you imagined,” you smirk, going quiet for a second when the red-haired nurse returns with a pitcher of water and cups and departs again.

“I- honey, I have to ask….” she hesitates and then gestures towards your eye. “What happened?” It might be a sore subject, but it doesn’t look fresh and she knows you wouldn’t put up with abuse, so it’s not from your soulmate.

"I–" Laying back down fully in your nest of pillows and multiple thin blankets, you shut your eyes for a second and sigh. "I was attacked. I fought the guy off, but lost my eye in the process." There isn't any reason to burden her with all the ugly details, and you would rather not relive them anyway. "It was more than three years ago."

“I just can’t believe it.” You were gone for maybe seven minutes and yet you say you spent eight years where you were. Or, rather, when. “Bastard. I hope you killed him.”

"No..." Although if you were ever going to kill anyone, it would have been Magistrate Padrig in all his piggish bombacity. "But I helped his daughter run away and elope with her soulmate that he didn't approve of. Does that count as revenge?"

“Perfect revenge.” Beth agrees, reaching for your hand again. “I’m just- I don’t know what to say. It sounds so impossible but the things you have, what you were wearing….” she gives a small shrug and tries to make you laugh. “You got the live the Outlander experience.”

"Yeah," you huff, chuckling darkly and ending up coughing until Beth pours a small cup of water and helps you take a few sips. "Even got the nickname. I was Sassenach for years..."

Blinking owlishly at you for a few moments, the cup still up near your lips, she starts to laugh. “Oh my God, you didn’t name yourself Sassenach!”

"It wasn't me." In fact, you had had to excuse yourself to laugh about it soon after the nickname was used the first time. "But it turns out that medieval Highlanders really did use that word for outsiders. And I...I was definitely an outsider. After a while it just became a nickname. Very few people actually knew my real name."

“Like your soulmate?” She asks, smiling slightly when you nod. “What is your soulmate’s name?”

"Pero." Saying his name makes you ache all over again, a wave of sadness tinged with physical pain and plenty of fear as you look down at the gold band on your finger. "Pero Tovar."

Sensing that you are sad, she squeezes your hand gently. “You should rest.” She urges. “The faster we get you out of the hospital, the faster we can go back to the stones.”

"You have to go wait for him." Holding Beth's hand tighter, there is fear in your expression as well as enough desperation to sink a ship. "If he comes through he'll be panicked. You have to—" The clothing that you were wearing has been removed and replaced with a hospital gown, so when you reach for your cloak pin, it isn't there. "My cloak pin. Take my pin and go back to the Stones. Please, Beth? I told him about you. He'll know he can trust you."

She doesn’t want to leave you and she doesn’t want to go to the stones. However, the look on your face tells her that you won’t settle for anything else, You are stubborn like that. “I’ll go until it’s dark, but I’m not camping at the stones.” She warns you.

“Thank you.” You don’t want to admit how tired you are, considering how long you’ve been sick, but your body is screaming for rest after maybe twenty minutes of being awake. If Binx were here, you would hum to her until you fell asleep, with Pero’s nose buried in the crook of your neck as he drifted off right alongside you…and even the remote possibility that you may never see either of them again is tearing you in half. So sleep wins - for now, at least.

******

It’s bittersweet, watching you slap your hands against the stones repeatedly while crying out for the heavens and wildlife to hear. Beth stands guard silently, wishing she knows what would help you. Every day she has sat hear, waited for someone to appear, and every day she’s had to break your heart when she reports that no one has come. Never saying out loud that there might be a reason no Spanish mercenary had followed you, you wouldn’t want to hear that. But the thought remains as she holds her hands together in front of her to keep from reaching for you, from pulling you away from the stone.

"You don't understand!" Even through the curtain of violent tears, you aren't strong enough to pull out of Beth's arms as she drags you back to the rental car. They only released you from the hospital this morning, it's not as though you've been hitting the gym since you woke up five days ago. "He wouldn't leave me! I have to figure out how to make the Stones work!"

“He’s not here!” Beth snaps, trying to get you to into the car. “He’s not here, and you have to accept that.”

"How?" It's not her fault. It's not her fault and you know that deep in your heart. Shouting at her isn't fair. But you have to shout at something right now, or else you might just shut down completely and never speak again - so you turn your eyes up to the sky instead. "How am I supposed to do this? With magic, and family, and my soulmate on the other side of those FUCKING ROCKS and you won't let me go through again?!"

Beth’s heart breaks and she closes her eyes, dragging you close and into her arms for a bone crushing hug. “One day at a time.” She whispers softly, not letting you go and feeling you sob against her.

“I don’t want to.” The words, muffled against her jacket, shake through you with so much resolve that if you were her, you might be hauling her back to the hospital. “Not without him.”

“I know you don’t.” Losing your soulmate is supposed to be devastating and it seems like it is for you. Even though she’s never found hers yet, she doesn’t envy you the agony. “I know you don’t, sweetheart, but we have to go home. We have to.”

“I’m trying to.” You insist, though this time is more sad than angry. After checking every inch of your skin in the hospital and realizing that you had lost every one of Pero’s marks, you had had the first of what are now several breakdowns. The idea that he truly had not followed you through the Stones is devastating to process, but you’re convinced that it is the fault of the magic and not a lack of love.

“I know.” Beth loosens her grip on you enough to start rubbing your back. A small gesture that won’t make up for the heartbreak you are going through, but she doesn’t want you to feel like you are alone. “Why don’t we talk to the innkeeper?” She suggests softly. “If she hears talk of a Spaniard dressed like a RenFaire participant, she can call you.”

“Who knows how long it’s been for him, ya know?” Wiping your eyes barely does anything, but you work at the futile gesture anyway. “My eight years was eight minutes to you. It’s already been over a week.”

“Don’t think like that.” If you do, you will go insane because your soulmate, your Pero, would surely be dead. Although technically, he was very deceased.

"I hope that you meet your soulmate just walking into a normal building in St. Augustine. Totally normal meet cute on a totally normal kind of day." It isn't bitter, though you suppose it could be. It isn't Beth's fault, though. None of it is. You just never want her to have to feel the heartache of leaving your soulmate behind. Especially like this - since you had no say in the matter.

Sighing softly, Beth wishes she knew something to help you. Some magic words of wisdom that would make all of this alright. Even if she knows there’s nothing and this would just be a process. “We got lucky we got your passport expedited and can get home on time. Your demon kitty will be missing you.” She jokes, hoping to make you smile like it always does when she complains about your cat.

"Bowie is an angel." And even though you'll probably have another long, solid cry over missing Binx when Bowie is back in your arms, you are excited to see the handsome black and white cat again. "I hope he's not too mad that he had to be alone for so many extra days. Binx would have thrown a fit if I did that to her."

“Binx.” You had told her about your life, about the cat that was your familiar there in that time. That you had actual magic, fire that flew from your fingertips. “I’m sure that Pero is taking care of her. Or Arwena. You said she was a dear friend.”

"Binx won't leave Pero if she has a choice." Even remembering the sweetness of the two unlikely friends together after they had lived side by side in the cottage for weeks and months brings a small smile to your face. "By the time we left the cottage, she would bring her prey in from the cold and lay it at his feet to soak up all his praise."

Beth chuckles, imagining a fierce warrior praising a cat for the dead bird or squirrel that she brings into the house. “Then Bowie will love him. Put a dead mouse on his pillow.” She shudders, still swearing the evil cat had meant to make her scream loud enough she had lost her voice.

"I like cats that are good providers," you defend, even though you know that Beth hates that Bowie is such a mouser. "Wouldn't you rather have Bowie catch the mice than have them getting into our cupboards?"

“I would rather he not put them on my pillows!” Beth huff, even though she’s happy that you aren’t as forlorn as you had been moments before. “Give them to you. Or eat them.”

"He's a good boy. He just wants you to be proud of him." Sitting back in the car is awkward. Awkward in the same way that it's odd to be wearing panties and jeans and a bra and a sweater again. When you get back to Florida you might have to search out some of those Etsy shops run by historical costumers and get yourself a few pairs of basic stays - life without underwires and elastic marks in your torso was significantly more comfortable. "I guess..." You blow out a sigh and reach for the passenger side seatbelt to buckle yourself in. "I guess we should go back to the inn. And talk to the innkeeper, like you said."

It is a start, and one that Beth will happily take. She starts the engine and looks over at you with concern, you are still weak and recovering from your illness so you are tired. “Rest on the way back. Okay?”

"I'll try." You haven't told her that the last few days have been plagued with nightmares. It's why you had asked her to bring your laptop to the hospital a few days ago. Just to get your mind off your nightmares. And, more specifically, so you could sign up for a bunch of ancestry websites and try to research Arwena and Briac's family line as best you could from a thousand years in the future.

Honestly worried about you, Beth turns on some music, low and soothing in the background. Determined to drive slowly, she sets off back towards the inn that you had checked into on your innocent trip and that the inn keeper had so graciously extended your stay when you had fallen ill.

A mere twenty minute drive from the Stones back to the bed and breakfast in the middle of Inverness where you're sure there will be a three course meal waiting since Beth told the lesbian couple that runs the place that you were getting out of the hospital today. One of them had inherited the inn from her grandmother and the other had attended culinary school in Paris, so they combined forces to make a beautiful experience for their guests. And this week, that had meant sending Beth to the hospital with sack meals so she wasn't doomed to eat whatever came out of the vending machines after the hospital cafeteria closed for the night.

“Here we are.” Beth pulls up to the inn with a small sigh. You are still awake, but you are more relaxed than you had been before. “I bet you will be happy to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

“Yeah.” A real bed will be nice, but sleeping without Pero has been impossible. If not for being sick, you doubt you would have slept at all. “It’s…” You shrug slightly, looking down at yourself in the car. “It’s weird wearing pants again. I know that’s not really affecting anything in our lives right now, I just…everything feels a little weird right now for so many different reasons, and I’m grateful to you for sticking with me through all of it.” Reaching across the center console, you squeeze your best friend’s hand gently and offer her a smile. “A lot of people would have had me committed the second I started talking about time travel and magic. But not you. And I’m thankful for that.”

"Honestly, if I hadn't watched you disappear, I might think I was crazy." Beth admits, having replayed that time over and over again in her mind while she had sat at the stones. Too afraid to touch them herself now that she knows what could potentially happen. She gives you a small smile. "We will get through this like everything else....together."

“Thank you.” Small, soft words, but you mean them from the bottom of your heart. If the Stones won’t give Pero back to you - or let you go back to him - right now, then things are going to have to move forward. You’ve already made up your mind that you’re going to come back next Samhain and try again, wondering if there is some kind of rule that ties their abilities to that day. For now the best thing you can do is get strong again for whatever adventure lays ahead of you. “Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the inn. “Let’s go inside.”

Beth had warned the couple that your appearance and demeanor had drastically changed, not going into details why but just not wanting them to be overly shocked when they see you again. She's certain there will be questions, how could there not be? However, it was up to you to determine how much to tell them.

“Yer back!” Hadley - the elder of the two women who ran the inn - is tidying up the sitting room and setting out a jar of fresh homemade sweets when Beth helps you inside, and she almost succeeds in not flinching when she sees the scar on your face and how very different you look from when you had left the inn on Samhain morning. “Sarah’s just upstairs cleaning up after a check out. Can I make ye some lunch? Or tea, at least?”

Beth answers for you, feeling your tension from the day and knowing you need to eat. "That would be great." She smiles softly and keeps her hand around your waist, as if you need steadying. Maybe you do, even if you had been pretty damn resistant when she had been dragging you away from the stones. "Doesn't that sound good?"

“It does, thank you.” You nod, knowing that classical French cuisine like Hadley makes is going to be a hell of a lot tastier than whatever stew you were eating in the cottage. Even if it wasn’t bad, the vague memories you have of Hadley’s cooking are excellent.

There is a small sitting room, comfortable and inviting and that is where Beth guides you. Sure that you aren’t ready to face all the belongings you have from before your time away. It’s still mind boggling that you’ve lived eight years more in the span of a few minutes. Especially since you haven’t aged, nothing except your hair and your scar, or eye, would tell anyone that you had left.

“It’s been an unexpected week for ye, I’d say,” Hadley offers a soft smile because she’s not quite sure what else to say. “That’s putting it gently,” you laugh ruefully, shaking your head slightly and squeezing Beth’s hand. “I’m lucky to have the best friend in the world to get me through it.” Without Pero, Arwena or Briac, there’s no one you care more about in the world - past or present.

“Just sit down.” Beth insists, hovering and probably smothering you a little but she has a very real fear that if she blinks you would disappear again. Who knows if it’s just the stones?

"Yes, mummy." Teasing is habit - and a bit of a defense mechanism - and you shoot Beth a grin that makes her roll her eyes dramatically but smile anyway. The two of you settle down in a pair of armchairs while Hadley disappears into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with a tureen of soup and a heaping plate of scones to go with the tea tray that you swear she must have been balancing on her head or else how could she carry it all at once? "Luncheon," she pronounces, obviously ready to worry over you along with Beth.

“Good.” Beth gives Hadley a grateful smile and looks at the meal as she fusses over setting it up just so. “It looks delicious but then, everything you make is wonderful.”

"Oh, well, thank you hun." Hadley beams, setting a bowl of steaming hot potato leek soup and a cheddar scone in front of each you and Beth before taking her own. The tea, however, is what you go for first - practically groaning over the taste that you had been missing for eight long years. Tea had not come to Western Europe yet, and while you drank herbal tisanes often, there is nothing quite like a strong cup of Earl Grey.

Beth opens a scone and smears it with the clotted cream that she swears that is the best she’s ever had before she slides it onto your plate. She watches you carefully, wondering when you want to talk to the innkeeper about Pero.

It isn't until Sarah comes downstairs and sits down with the three of you to enjoy some lunch, that you clear your throat gently after pouring your second cup of tea. "I was wondering if I could ask you both a favor," you begin, looking between the couple apprehensively. You're not really sure how to explain this - or if you can explain it at all without sounding crazy.

Beth reaches over and takes your hand, silently giving you support because that’s all she can do right now. She couldn’t explain it properly if she tried.

"Of course." Sarah practically looks offended that you even think you need to ask. "There is someone that might...come looking for me. A man named Pero Tovar." Or at least you hope there will be, although that isn't entirely the same thing. It's semantics at this point. "If you hear about a Spaniard wandering around town, or causing a commotion, or something jokey about a man in costume coming to Inverness...would it be too much to ask you to call me and let me know? That's my soulmate and I...I would jump back on a plane to come see him in a heart beat. I just...w-we got separated. And I don't know how long it will take him to get here..." It's the best you can do, without explicitly mentioning the Stones or time travel, and you just hope Hadley and Sarah don't find it a suspiciously vague or too-odd story.

Sarah frowns and exchanges a silent, communicative glance with Hadley. The type that couples seem to develop over their relationship. “I will call you straightaway.” Sarah promises after a long moment, looking back towards you. “Pero Tovar, Spaniard, dressed in ‘costume’.”

"He can be a little...abrasive." Thinking of how grumpy Pero can be even when he's in a good mood just makes you smile - a melancholy little thing but a smile nonetheless. "But he's a good man. He's just...well, call it being a fish out of water."

“He will nah attack us, will ‘e?” Hadley asks bluntly. “Somethin’ we can say to calm ‘im down?” Sarah tuts slightly, thinking that Hadley could have put it slightly more tactful, but they both look to you for an answer.

"You can tell him--tell you know his Sassenach." That would get his attention at the very least, and they would have time to explain how they know you.

“Sassenach….” Sarah hums and she leans back to watch you for a minute with a small smile on her face. “He will come here or will we be tracking ‘im down?”

"I don't expect you to go searching for him," you clarify, knowing that that would be too much to ask of them. Even if they were your closest friends in the world, they have a successful business to run. They can't be combing the countryside for your lost husband. "But when - if - he does arrive...he'll be spotted first near the Stones at Craigh na Dun."

“Ahhhh.” Sarah looks positively triumphant as she twists her head and grins at Hadley. “I see.” She nods eagerly as she looks back towards you. “Of course, we will be calling you straight away.”

"Mo chridhe, no." Hadley shakes her head, her eyes practically pleading with her wife not to get so excited. "Lots of people go to the Stones. Tourists."

“It explains it, mo grá.” She is practically bouncing in her chair as she swings her head between her wife and the guests who obviously know the secrets of the stones. “You know it does.”

"It does not." Holding Sarah's hand a little tightly in her own, Hadley bites her lip and shakes her head. "Just because you have an odd auntie with fairy stories she claims are real, it doesn't mean the Stones are actually magic."

You practically fling yourself out of your chair, grabbing for Sarah's other hand like a lifeline. "You know someone?" You blurt out, eyes wide with a sort of desperate hope that you hadn't expected. "You know someone who came through the Stones?"

Her emerald green eyes blow wide and she looks at your desperation before she nods. “Aye, me aunt.” She tells you softly. “Claimed that she had travelled back in time. No one took her seriously. There have always been stories, rumors but no proof of the Stones powers.”

"I'd say this is proof." Putting a finger to your cheek, you touch the bottom of the scar crossing your eye that the women were kind enough not to mention or show a reaction to. "You both know I didn't have this a week ago."

“It wasn’t our business.” Hadley mutters quietly, biting her lip. “But it does look old. Unless you acquired a new soulmate? But that doesn’t explain….” the blindness.

“I was gone for eight years.” The relief you feel at having someone else who will believe you is enormous, and you feel like you’re practically shaking with it. Beth is an emotional bond that you won’t take for granted for a second, but you can’t ask her to do more than she already has. She spent the daylight hours of every single day this last week looking out for Pero for you. “Beth said it was no more than a few minutes to her.”

“The two of you were only gone for half the day before poor Beth was making a call from the hospital.” Hadley confirms, amazed that this conversation is happening.

“It was eight years for me.” And that fact is mind-boggling even for you. “Pero must have brought me back to the Stones because I was sick. But he—for some reason, I mean, the Stones I guess — he couldn’t come through with me. But I know that he’ll keep trying.”

Sarah deflates slightly, biting her lip and starts to speak before she gathers her thoughts. “All the stories I have heard have always been about someone going back and coming home.” She admits quietly. “Alone.”

“I won’t give up on him.” On that, you stand absolutely firm. Nothing in the world could make you doubt Pero. “I know he’s trying to get through just like I would if he had come through instead of me. I just…I’m just asking you two to keep an ear out. That’s all. Not to go searching through the woods for a confused mercenary.”

“Of course.” Both women bobble their heads immediately. “If we find a grumpy Spaniard with a scar on his eye and lookin’ like he belongs in the past, we call you straight away. No matter the time.”

“Thank you.” It’s nothing short of a goddamn relief that they’re so willing, and you sink back in your chair, exhausted. “I think I might need a nap,” you admit, knowing that meningitis has taken all the fight out of you and hating yourself for it. “But Sarah…would you…would you be willing to tell me about your aunt later? I’d like to hear someone else’s story about the whole thing. If that’s okay?”

“Oh no.” Hadley rolls her eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh that is softened with an indulgent smile. “You asked for it.” Sarah huffs and shakes off her wife. “I have the journals. And the stories from others. Legends, what have you. All in me library.” There is an excited sparkle her eyes as she thinks about all the material that has been gathered that she can show you.

“Maybe after dinner?” Being a bed and breakfast didn’t stop the couple from providing all meals to their guests upon request, and Hadley’s cooking really is remarkable. “Our flight is tomorrow afternoon, so I wouldn’t mind sitting up with a cup of cocoa and a story, if that’s okay.”

“It will give her plenty of time to drag everything out.” Hadley rolls her eyes and pats Sarah on the leg. “For now though dearie, you go upstairs and have yourself a nice sleep.”

Facing your things from your old life is daunting, and you’re grateful when Beth gets up from the table with you without hesitation. “I’m not going to freak out or anything,” you promise her, though the stairs do wind you a little. “I just…it’s weird. Really weird.”

“I know.” Beth has tried to imagine what it would be like to be in a certain existence for years only to be thrown back into your old one without any warning. You haven’t said that you weren’t planning on coming back, but she feels like you weren’t. That you were going to stay with your soulmate, no matter what time you lived in. “We’ll have to get you a new phone.”

"I'll have plenty of time to get one, since I'm on leave." It was probably a blessing, honestly, to be on leave from that job. After only a week and a half they would never believe that you had simply forgotten how to do your entire job. "I need a new wallet, too. New cards and everything. All my stuff ended up being thrown into a fire once I realized that I couldn't get back. I didn't want to leave evidence sitting around, ya know?"

“Smart. No one would believe that you had that perfect of a portrait painted. And not on canvas.” Beth snorts, imagining trying to explain that. “Did you- how much did you tell Tovar about your time?” She has taken to calling him by his last name, reserving the very intimate way you say Pero for you.

"A lot." You shrug again, unable to bring yourself to feel bad about it. "More than I should have, probably. Some things you just can't explain well, ya know? Like I don't think he ever wrapped his head around the concept of the internet or cell phones, but electricity? Running water? Cars? All that made sense to him once he believed I was telling the truth. I never embellished to tease him or anything, so he knew I was always being honest."

“It would be fun.” She gives a small, half smile. “Watching him explore a strange new world. We don’t have anything new here. Not like that.”

"We don't," you can admit that readily. "But I'll take a flushing toilet over a chamber pot any day of the week. And I won't mind going to the grocery store over having to hunt. Although...Pero is a magnificent hunter." At the door to the room you share, Beth pops in front of you and unlocks it with the antique key that fits the lock, but lets you go in first. "That's...that's how he got me to kiss him the first time. Which sounds weird, but it was a sweet moment."

She had questions, many of them after that statement but she doesn’t want you to share unless you want to. Knowing that you might want to keep something for yourself. “I do not know anything about hunting.”

"You would hate it." Knowing how sweet and gentle Beth is, you know she would rather starve than have to kill an animal and you fully respect that. "I was...I was teasing him." Having brought it up, the memory is brimming to be told. "We were out in the woods by the cottage on the edge of the village and I teasingly told him that if he could get us a rabbit for dinner, I'd be so glad I would kiss him." The room is welcoming and warm, but you're hesitant as you walk into it, seeing your own things set neatly on the far dresser where Beth clearly tidied them up while you were in the hospital. "He did it, of course, and it was...it was perfect, honestly. I knew I was completely ruined for kissing anybody else ever again."

“That good of a kisser? Or the soulmate connection?” She asks, curious about how a man from a thousand years before this time would kiss. It wasn’t like the basics of being human changed, but it’s a firsthand glance into history.

"Both, honestly." The bed on the right has your sweater folding on it and you sit down on the edge tentatively. The spring in the mattress makes it feel lighter than air, but very different than your down feather mattress in the cottage. The bounce takes you slightly off guard and you smirk at your own amused reaction. It's just a mattress, after all. "Like he was already a good kisser, but because he's my soulmate, it made it perfect and not just great."

“Sounds like he’s a good man.” She sighs wistfully. She’s always wanted to meet her soulmate but so far he hasn’t shown up yet. She sits down beside you and reaches for the bag she had snuck out of the hospital, containing all the things you had reappeared with.

"He is." You refuse to use the past tense for him, even though technically he is very much in the past. "We'll find your soulmate, Bethy. I promise. If I can find mine a thousand years ago, then we'll find yours no matter how hard we have to look."

“I hope we don’t have to look that far back.” Beth chuckles and shakes her head before she hands you the bag. “Here is the stuff you are more familiar with right now.”

"Thanks." The clothes are dirty, for the most part, but you distinctly remember having one clean chemise in the bottom of your bag that you dig for - pulling it out with a nearly triumphant flare. "Pants are nice, but I don't think I'll sleep in them ever again. These things are like the world's best nightgown."

“Is that- what do they call that thing again?” It’s more off white than the pure snowy white that is always depicted in the movies. “The undergown thingy?”

"A chemise." It's slightly misshapen, since it's one you made yourself, but it's comfortable and soft and you wouldn't trade it for anything. "And I'm not going back to bras, either. I'm going to track down somebody on Etsy that makes historical clothing and buy a few sets of stays." The confusion on Beth's face is clear and you dig into your bag again to pull out the corset-like garment. "See how it's not long like a corset, but still laces? It's all support and no underwear. It's great."

“Fucking shit.” Beth tilts her head and whistles at the contraption with interest. “I knew bras were torture devices created by men to punish women for their mommy issues.”

"I'm gonna get you one," you promise her, slinging your arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug for her amusement. "You'll see how awesome they are. And somehow also good for your posture? Which is great in a world where nothing is ergonomic."

“Jesus, I didn’t think about that.” Her eyes widen and she grins, pushing you back slightly so you fall back on the bed. “Get some rest!”

"Wake me up for dinner?" The expression you give Beth is completely puppy-eyed, but you don't really care. Not having to spend all day monitoring stew on the fire makes you feel positively lazy. "Hadley's cooking is way too good to miss."

“I will.” Beth promises, reaching out and caressing your cheek and pushing your hair back. “You get some rest, okay? Some real sleep without all the beeping.” Sleeping in a hospital is never very restful.

******

In the end it's about a five-hour nap for you, and when Beth wakes you up you can see that she's been on her laptop at the writing desk on the other side of the room while you were asleep. "Hey friend." Ungluing your eyes and yawning, you shift over in the overlarge bed so she can sit on the edge. "Everything sorted out for tomorrow?"

“Yeah.” Beth nods and sits down beside you. “I’ll pack you up when you’re talking to Sarah about…others who have experienced this.”

"You don't have to do that." The last thing you want is for her to feel like a servant, not when she's already done so much for you. "I can pack up a little now and finish in the morning before we have to leave for the airport."

“No, I want to give you a chance to talk to her and not worry about that.” She reaches over and takes your hand. “You don’t have a long time to learn and look over whatever she has, so use it.”

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to wait on me," you explain, gladly accepting the gesture of her hand in yours. "I know I'm in recovery and all that, but if I don't do at least a little bit every day I'll never build my strength back."

“I know, but I also know that you will have a lot taken out of you just with the dinner and research.” Beth huffs. You had gotten winded going to the bathroom at night.

"Yes, mummy." The tease makes both of you smile, and you sit up in bed with only a little bit of effort. "I'll get back to where I used to be. Apparently almost dying takes a lot out of you."

“I have to imagine that he was terrified of losing you.” Beth murmurs quietly. “To send you to a place he doesn’t know. If- he’s probably going insane in his time. Wondering if you’re alive.”

"I can't even imagine how worried he must have been when he couldn't follow." It brings tears to the surface almost immediately, thinking about how panicked you would be in his place. "I just hope...if it's been a long time for him, ya know? I hope they went to Spain like we were planning. To get Arwena and Briac settled. H-he was so happy about being able to go home again..."

“Shit.” Beth could slap herself as the tears start to fall and she wraps her arms around you again. “I’m a dumbass. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s okay…”

"No, it's okay." Sniffling back any kind of flood, you hug her tightly before letting go again. "I'm gonna cry sometimes talking about him. It's just...it's unavoidable. But that's better than never talking about him or pretending he doesn't exist."

“I know. Let’s get you freshened up so you can go gorge yourself on Hadley’s cooking.” Beth jokes, tossing you a smile.

"You're joking, but that's exactly what I plan on doing." You slip out of bed and throw a sweater and skirt on over your chemise, feeling more comfortable that you had earlier in the same sweater and jeans. The slippers you had packed for shuffling around in are soft and gentle on your feet, and you head downstairs with Beth a mere ten minutes after waking up.

Dinner is delicious, as always. Hadley outdoing herself with the food and Beth groans when she pushes back from the table, the food baby in her belly making her want to unbutton her jeans. “Holy cow, I should have worn a dress too.”

"I'm telling you, it's pure comfort." Groaning a little in your own right, your hands cup the empty water glass in front of you and you lean your forearms on the table. The inn's other guests - a pair of friends from Australia and an elderly couple from Wales - nod their agreement before getting up from the table to help Hadley clear the table. It was a true family style meal and that had kept conversation polite and light.

Sarah is obviously eager to get started and Hadley shoos you and her wife away from the table. “You two go on, I’ll handle this with all the other hands helping.”

“You’re a doll,” Sarah grins, and you follow her into the inn’s small library eagerly. There’s a dessert tray already set out with shortbread and two cups, and you have a feeling that either tea or cocoa will be on the menu later on when you both have room again.

“I pulled all the books that I have on it.” Sarah tells you, gesturing over to the coffee table with stacks of books. “Including auntie’s journal.”

“Wh-when did she go back to?” Knowing you aren’t alone — well, you always knew logically that you couldn’t be, but seeing the proof is completely different.

"From what she gathered, she went to 1692." Sarah pulls her journal out of the stack, a worn leather bound thing, and looks over at you curiously. "When was your time? Your soulmate's time? I've never heard of soulmates across time, but it's a fascinating idea."

“1692? Thank god she was in Scotland and not America.” You shudder a little even thinking of it. In 1692 in the Colonies, there is no way you could have escaped hanging at Proctor’s Ledge with the other accused witches of Salem. “When I left it was January 1006.”

"Gods and Goddesses be praised." Sarah whispers under her breath, eyes rounded in shock at how far back you had been sent. "It is a miracle you found him at all."

“He found me.” As usual, talking about Pero gives you both that undeniable swell of love in your chest and a sadness in the pit of your stomach. “He was all but dying from tuberculosis when his horse just walked him right up to my cottage. I’ll never really know why they were in that party of Brittany, but I’m grateful for it.”

Her brow wings up at what the man had been sick with and she shakes her head. “I guess that it is good he showed up at your door.” She murmurs softly. “Did your scars appear when you showed up there, from him, I mean?”

“Yes.” Accepting the journal in her outstretched hand, you run your fingers over the cover and sit back in your chair. “Did your aunt…was it an accident? Or did she go to the Stones hoping to travel?”

“It was an accident.” Sarah settles down beside you before she snaps her fingers. “Would you like a brandy? A sherry? Sometimes telling a story is better with a stiff drink in your hand.”

“I’m not supposed to…” The shrug you give her is weak. “Medications and all. But please, you go ahead. I’m just happy to have indoor plumbing and central heating back.”

She snorts and bites her lip as she stands and moves over to the beverage cart. “I can’t imagine. I mean, I can, but you lived it. More than any RenFaire experience.”

“Think about the least luxurious camping trip you’ve ever been on, and then take away all your little luxuries.” The chuckle you let out is low, but you have to admit it’s the truth. As far as environment went, anyway. “It wasn’t all bad. Truly. I met some genuinely kind people and had wonderful friends. And learned that I am a lot stronger than I think I am.”

“Did you—” Sarah breaks off the question as she brings her drink over and sits back down. It’s a touchy subject and one you might not be okay with answering.

“Did I…?” You prompt, not wanting her to hold back. “We’re sharing stories tonight, Sarah. If it’s something I don’t want to talk about, I’ll say so. But you can ask.”

“Did you have the ability to…do things there that you can’t here?” Sarah asks candidly. “Auntie said that she had magic in the time she was there.”

“I—” You stare, wishing you knew this woman well enough to just reach over and hug her. “I was…a healer. Ironic, considering I couldn’t even take care of myself.” As if you haven’t had that thought enough this week. “I mean…I know there are other witches in my family. My mother gave it up before I was born but I joined a coven years ago. I just…I was so much more powerful there.”

“I’ve often wondered if that’s why some can pass through and others can’t.” Sarah admits, taking a sip of her brandy and staring at the amber liquid as it swirls in her glass. “If magic is required, even in minuscule amounts. Auntie said that magic then was more powerful because technology has taken over in this time.”

“I’ve heard that said.” Your grandmother used to claim it was the case, before your mother caught wind of her teaching you about the old ways and cut off contact. “I wish there was some kind of clue about how they work.”

“The stones?” Sarah hums and looks over at the books and handwritten accounts that she has preserved. She didn’t amass them, her family did, she just continued on the tradition. “I personally think that they do what they want, when they want. That it’s all foretold.”

"If that's true, it's not very comforting." It's downright maddening, actually, that the Stones would bring you to your soulmate only to separate you again for seemingly no reason.

“I know.” She can’t help that, although it doesn’t help your situation. “I am not certain though. We may never know.” She bites her lip and looks over at you with cautious optimism. “Would you be willing to tell your story? Have me record it? For the legacy of the stones and a record of it?”

"It isn't an entirely pleasant tale," you warn her, knowing that there are parts of your story that would have you in therapy for years if telling them to a professional wouldn't land you in an inpatient facility. "But if it can help...if maybe one day we can figure out how the Stones work because of me or your auntie or other people who went through?" You nod and offer her a smile. "Then I think we're going to need a pot of tea."

"I promise that it will be very closely guarded." Sarah smiles reassuringly and sets her brandy down. "I would ask for a written account, but it would be easier to just record it, right? If you want, we can just record the audio, if it makes you more comfortable?" She wants the account for her information collection, but she doesn't want to push for more than you want to give.

“Since we only have one night, it might be easier to record it for now.” Curling up in the armchair, you pick up a shortbread cookie from the tray and smile a little at the large grains of baker’s sugar on top. After eight years without cane sugar, these are going to be so sweet. And amazing. “If I remember anything later in that I forgot to tell you, I can always write you a letter?”

"Absolutely. This is your story." Sarah assures you. "What you wish to share or keep to yourself is yours to decide."

“Well, it starts a few days ago, lasts several years, and then ends up here again.” Only one other person has heard all of it. Only Pero. But not even he knows where the journey is headed now. “Let’s put the kettle on and dive in.”

******

Beth sighs as the door to the apartment you share is pushed open and immediately your cat starts to cry. Yowling like he’s been murdered even though she sent her parents over to feed the darn thing and make sure the litter robot you had splurged on was clean. “Well, here’s your welcome committee.” She jokes, aware that you are tired after the international flight.

“My baby!” Immediately dropping everything, you nearly fall forward to scoop the chunky black and white cat up in your arms to be rewarded with his powerful purr box roaring to life immediately. Even Binx, for all her glorious cuddles when she was in the mood to give them, never quite purred the way Bowie does. After crying behind a pair of sunglasses through two airports and most of the flight, being back in your apartment is disquieting. When you had imagined coming back here, it was with Pero’s hand in yours and the eager excitement of showing him what the world will become. Instead, you feel like your heart is completely hollow - and maybe if you’re lucky, the purring might start to fill it a little.

She handles everything. Luggage, transportation home, getting everything into the apartment. Just letting you mourn like you need to. Fresh tears appear as you cling to Bowie and Beth heart breaks all over again, slightly moving around you to take care of getting the door closed and takes your bag to your room before depositing her own. Groceries would need to be ordered, but she will take care of that, knowing you aren't up for it. Instead, she wishes that you knew what had happened to the man who is your soulmate, maybe it would give you some closure.

“Beth?” In the doorway to her room with Bowie in your arms, you lean against the door frame and wish you knew how to say what you felt. How grateful you are to her that she has been so helpful and so supportive. How dearly you value her friendship and who she is as a person. “I-I just…I thought about you every day. That should have been the first thing I said to you. How much I missed you. A—and…” When your voice breaks again you just shrug it off and press a kiss into Bowie’s fur. “I love you. And I missed you. That’s what I wanted to say.”

"I can't pretend that I know what you went through, or what you are going through now." Beth leaves the bag on the bed, willing to unpack later and walks over to you. Bowie bristles at her slightly but doesn't hiss, turning and burrowing into his favorite person in the world. "But I- I am glad you are here. I don't know what I would do without you."

“Looks like you never have to find out.” Hugging her with Bowie between you gets barely any protest from the cat - he just snuggles into you more determinedly and you press your forehead to Beth’s with a sigh. “I just wish he were here too. That’s all.”

"We'll go back next year." Beth promises you, the same promise she has given you for the past three days. Knowing that you need to hear that you can go back and stand at the stones with your hand against them for days if you need to.

“This vacation was…not what we imagined.” Huffing a laugh, you wipe the dried tears from your cheeks and tip your chin back to leave an affection kiss on your best friend’s forehead. “I’ll let you unpack, honey. I have eight years of Bowie snuggles to catch up on.”

"Remember to him that it's only been two and a half weeks." Beth chuckles and shakes her head. "I'll order some groceries and we will get you all settled in."

“Thank you.” As many times as you’ll say it, you can really never say it enough. When your world turned upside down, she didn’t run or hide or abandon ship - she doubled down and reminded you exactly why you call her Ride or Die.

"Of course. Do you want pizza for dinner? Or hell, we could even order Chinese." Beth offers, shooting you a grin. Things will slowly get better; it will just take one day at a time. You've been through a lot.

"Let's stick with pizza tonight." Ordering Chinese will just give you yet one more pang of wishing Pero was here, telling you stories of his time at the Wall and all the shit he used to get into with William. "Whatever toppings you want. I'm just excited for pizza."

Beth snorts and grins at you. "Of course." She hums. "I'm honestly surprised you didn't contrive a ninth century version of a pizza."

"No tomatoes." You shrug, laughing half-heartedly. "They come from the Americas, and it was way too early for that. Plus...no mozzarella." Really, though, you have to laugh at how well she knows you. "I did get pretty good at a kind of flatbread-style thing with cooked down carrots and melted cheese. I'll make it for you some time when you're craving medieval eats."

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Beth mutters, less than eager to try it. To be fair, she hates mushy carrots so that isn’t entirely her fault. “I’ll go order the pizza, call out if you need help.”

“It’s better than it sounds!” You call after her as she heads back down the hall, and you end up following her back out to the living room just so you don’t have to face your old bedroom alone quite yet. Remembering how all the bullshit on your smart tv works will be bad enough for now.

“Yeah right!” The kitchen is where she’s headed to now, needing to dump out the milk that might have lasted if you came back on time, but it was now sour. Assessing how much cat food Bowie has left since she’s 100% sure her parents over fed him. She opens the cabinet you use for a pantry and hums. “Do you want me to order more tea too?”

“Please.” There’s no question that you’ve pretty much been drinking your body weight in Earl Grey the last few days, and the doctors seemed to be okay with it so you are, too. “And…this is going to sound incredibly dumb.” Skirting the kitchen counter, you go to stand next to her at the cupboard. “Could we get some fresh fruit? I can barely remember what bananas taste like, but I know I used to love them.”

“All the fresh fruits.” Beth nods and quickly opens the app to add them to the cart. “We will have fruit for days!”

“And no more dealing with a beehive to get honey.” Roping one arm around her waist, you hug Beth to your side and remind yourself to smile. Grieving doesn’t mean that you can’t appreciate a few good things here and there.

“Yikes.” Being allergic to bees and wasps makes Beth shiver slightly. “Yeah, that would have been all you. I would be going without honey.”

“All those videos about beekeeping and bread baking and the whole cottagecore movement during Covid was actually kind of helpful,” admit. Rifling through the cupboards with her is oddly soothing and a little fun - letting you get excited about foods you had been missing. “If I hadn’t been watching that living history museum’s YouTube channel for ages, I might have been pretty screwed. Thank god I’m a nerd, I guess.”

“Well, you certainly are an expert on ninth century life.” She jokes, bumping your hip. “You should set up a little knowledge center. Like Colonial Williamsburg.”

You snort, trying to imagine how that would even work on a logistical level. “If anyone tries to argue technicalities with me, I’ll just start babbling about magic until they leave me alone,” you joke.

“Do you want to recreate the Salem Witch Trials? They already do that in Mass.” Beth snorts, shooting you a grin.

“Aw, come on.” A good-natured roll of your eyes makes you both laugh again. “This is Florida. I’ll just keep a jar marked ’bath salts’ in clear view and no one will even blink if I start to sound crazy.”

It shouldn’t be as funny as it is, but Beth can’t help but giggle and nod in agreement that it would be overlooked as ‘Florida being Florida’. “We’ll build up a small cottage and pray the gators don’t take it over.”

“I’ll go from being a Sassenach to a big witch.” Of course the whole thing is a joke, but laughing helps immeasurably. You feel less like you’re going to be torn in two by your own heart when you can laugh with Beth. “I…um…I was thinking about something. On the flight, I mean. And I was kind of wondering what you would think of me spending my medical leave trying to find traces of Pero or Wena and Briac in history? I know it’s a long shot, but if—if I can’t be at the Stones, and I can’t get back to them at all…I need to at least try to know what happened to them.”

“I was honestly wondering when you were going to try to look for them.” Beth admits, knowing how you work after being your friend for so long. “I think it makes sense. Knowing what happens, if you can, would be a godsend. Do you remember Briac’s surname?”

“They called this family Lannion, because that is where his father came from.” Surnames still were not terribly commonplace in Brittany in that century, so it is a slightly sticky subject to wade through. “He would be Briac Lannion, or Briac Tovar, if he decided to change his name.” There is not a single shadow of a doubt that those two amazing teens would take Pero’s name and present themselves as a loving family. “It’s just…not that many records have survived from that period, and it might take a long time to find even a trace of them. I just don’t want you to think I’m losing it or something. If you were the one left back there, I would be looking just as hard for you.”

“Honey….” Beth abandons the peanut butter jar to see how much she had left to reach out and grab your hand. “You do what you need to do in order to cope. I won’t think you’re crazy. You’ve just- you’ve gone through something very few other people have had to go through.”

“And I can’t go to therapy about it, so I guess amateur historian is the next step.” That warns you a soft chuckle from her and you hug Beth tightly before picking up the peanut butter jar and waggling it in her direction. “What would you say if we ordered a package of Oreos to go with this bad boy?”

“Double stuffed?” She asks, as if she needs to. Oreos and peanut butter are the ultimate comfort food.

“Is there any other way?” This will be the way to do it. Small doses of comfort. The idea of returning to your old normal. Nothing about this life is bad, per se, it just has an unfortunate lack of Pero Tovar. Which, from the disappearance of his shared scars, seems like something you will have to get used to.

******

It’s been months. Four months since your world completely changed and you are slowly starting to come back to yourself. Beth worries, hovers really, but you don’t let her do everything anymore. She grunts as she shifts boxes in the storage room you have, tilting her head when she sees the markings on the box. Carrying it out of the room and down the hall, she pushes your door open. “Look what I unearthed.”

The big shipping label on the unopened box reads your grandmother’s home address from before she went into hospice - when your aunt and cousins were helping her pack things up and distribute them between family members and your mother had continued her mantra of Grams being ‘dangerous’ somehow. Because you had listened to her then, the box remained unopened after its arrival. “I guess it’s about time I took a look,” you admit, scooting over on your bed so Beth can set the thing between you.

“Do you want some privacy?” That has been the question that most frequently falls from Beth’s lips, rather than ‘how are you feeling?’ since your health has improved.

“No, it’s okay.” Setting down the cup of tea in your hands, you instead reach for the nearby butter knife from your afternoon snack to slice the tape open. “It’s not like I had much of a relationship with her. I don’t know what she could have even left me.”

She’s never really heard you talk about this grandmother of yours, so she sits on the edge of the bed with idle curiosity as you open the flaps. Bowie is stretched out beside you with his eyes closed but as soon as the cardboard opens, his head pops up and he lets out a yowl.

“Bow-baby, don’t be so dramatic,” you scold him, rolling your eyes fondly at the cat’s antics. The top layer of the box is packaging, of course, then a beautiful wool shawl that looks like it must have been hand-made sometime many decades ago. A small jewelry box holds a few trinkets like an old claddagh ring and a set of earrings with a perfectly matching necklace that remind you of all those Alphonse Mucha posters your friends had in their college dorm rooms. Under that is a large square - something heavy wrapped in tanned leather that feels weighty not because it is actually heavy, but because it feels magical. It almost seems to pulse in your hands like it has its own heartbeat, and Bowie yowls again in objection before diving off your bed and hiding in his kitty castle on the other side of the room. “What the hell?” When you pull the leather wrap off, the book is bound in beautiful dark mahogany stained leather, but there is no title. The binding is cracked and worn, there are tears in pages sticking out at odd angles, and it smells as much like your old herb stores as it does like a book.

“What is that?” Beth leans over, intrigued by the worn leather and the smell. It doesn’t smell musky, but it smells old, treasured. Like how she imagined archeology sights smelled when she was going through her Indiana Jones phase.

“I’m not sure.” Putting the protective layer aside, you carefully lay the book out in your bed between you and open the cover. In the inside of the cover is an elaborate illustration of what might be the symbolic tree of life, and a few flowers labeled with names in what you recognize as Middle French. The fly page has more drawings with names in what seems like Middle Spanish, and someone had come in later and added names in modern English underneath everything for convenience. The next page is the one that makes you stare, choking on a gasp and pulling away from the book all at once like it’s burned you. Balance is the key is written out in the center of the page. In your handwriting.

Instantly Beth is snapping to attention “what’s wrong?” She demands, looking at the book and then your hand to make sure that nothing sharp was on the pages that cut you.

“Do you remember that I told you about the grimoire I made for Arwena?” The way your voice shakes when you ask makes you sound almost like your teeth are chattering. It had come up a few times over the last few months, usually when you were trying to remember the exact proportions of ingredients in a potion. Magic in the twenty-first century takes much more concentration and intention.

“Yes?” Beth furrows her brow in confusion, looking back at the book. “You wrote down your spells and potions for her to use when you decided you were going back the first time. Before you decided to stay with Pero, right?” Even if her heart had clenched when you admitted that, she hadn’t held it against you. It was your soulmate after all.

"Look." Picking up the book as gingerly as you possibly can, you turn it so that Beth can see the page it is laying open to. After years upon years of friendship and working in the same office, you would know her handwriting anywhere - and you know she knows yours just as well.

“Is- holy shit.” Beth whispers, eyes wide and jaw nearly unhinged. “How did your grandmother get the grimoire you wrote a thousand years ago for Arwena?” You’ve talked about Pero, Arwena and Briac so much that Beth feels like she knows them. At least she wishes all of your friends could gather for a drink at the local pub.

"I have no idea." The tears fall freely and immediately, though you're careful not to let them fall on the book. Each page is brittle and requires a delicate touch, but it's obvious that these are the pages that you wrote out for Arwena six months and a thousand years ago. "I can't believe it's survived..." Some of the pages in your handwriting have been amended by other people later on, and the pages directly afterward are clearly in Arwena's looping hand. Seeing it again brings on more tears, but they are such joyful ones that you don't even mind the heartache that comes with them.

“She must have added on to it.” Beth whispers, amazed that the book has not been destroyed through carelessness or by time itself. It honestly belongs in a museum.

"It wasn't just her." As you move further and further through the book, it's clear that it has been rebound and added to several times. Sections of pages vary in color, the handwriting changes periodically, and the annotations get fewer the further in you thumb, purely by virtue of fewer readers having tested and adjusted the spells. "How many other people have added to this over the centuries? I mean...this thing is huge now. When Wena gave me the notebook, it was maybe the size of a novel."

“This is proof that they lived, thrived.” Beth rushes out excitedly. “Is there anything about the family in there? A history? Where they went?”

"The fact that some of it is in Middle Spanish might mean that they went to Valencia." Flipping back to the original section of the grimoire and Arwena's carefully constructed spells, you squint at a page bearing the ingredients to a paste that treats 'hede and tooth payn in bebitas' and smile. "Wena's handwriting, with a few words of Spanish here and there. And...oh my god..." Down in the corner of the page, there is and added note: 'Keyp calendula buds farr from tine hands. Pero lyks to et them. "They really did name their son after him like they said they would..."

“That’s so sweet.” Beth bites her lip, knowing that you might need a moment, so she stands up. “I’m going to make us some tea, how does that sound?” She asks softly, smiling at you. “I’ll be right back; you have that cry if you need to.” It’s not about abandoning you, she’ll be back with a cup of soothing tea, but she wants to let you reminisce without answering the inevitable questions she would have.

When you nod, Beth takes your empty teacup from your nightstand and squeezes your shoulder gently before leaving you alone with the book. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way, after having come up with absolutely nothing in your search through historical records. The immense number of ways records could get lost or destroyed in a thousand years meant that even if little Pero Lannion had his birth and baptism recorded in the parish church in Valencia, any of a hundred different things could have happened to the church’s books. A stray set of barely inked paw prints makes you choke on a sob. Arwena’s handwriting on the page giving you the unshakeable feeling that they must be Binx’s prints, which means the entire family - your entire family stayed together at least for a short time. The page is a protection spell, something meant for the well-being of a traveler, and the note at the bottom of the page is even more alarming than seeing Binx’s paw prints in ink: “Toomorow Pero returns to th’ Stons w’ thys enchaentmont upon his ryng forr sayfe kipping.”

Beth tries to take her time with the tea, knowing you need your own space to go through the book. Except she hears a small cry and the spoon drops back into the cup and she rushes back into your room. “What’s wrong?”

“He went back!” With your heart pounding a mile a minute you feel like you have to shout to be heard above your own boiling blood. “Look! Wena enchanted his wedding ring with a protection spell the night before he left.” You’re shaking slightly as you turn the book to her, pointing at the bottom of the page frantically.

Beth’s heart sinks slightly, knowing that it’s a blessing and a curse to know that. There’s no accounting for him between the time he left and when he made it to the stones...if he did at all. “That’s great.” She manages brightly, plastering a smile on her face.

"You don't think it's great." As much as she might try, you've known each other too long and too well to be able to get that stuff past one another.

Beth sighs, unable to lie to you when you ask. She nods towards the book and gives a helpless shrug. “I just- I’m afraid that you’re going to be waiting forever. Especially now that you know he tried to go back to the stones.”

"Of course I'll always be waiting for him." It's almost silly, to you at least, the way you love him on such a deeply instinctual level and the way you know that he loves you too. "But the stories Sarah had from other people who have gone through...even if he had made it through the first time, that doesn't necessarily mean he would have arrived at the same time as me. Apparently my reappearing ten minutes after I went through is a complete anomaly. There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason as to when people appear on the other side. It's as if the Stones decide." Looking down at the book again, your thumb brushes over Pero's name in ink with affection. "This just proves that he didn't give up trying."

It’s a touching way to look at it, but Beth is also practical. There is a good possibility that Pero Tovar died in his time, after all, you don’t have any of his scars anymore. Her real fear is that you will spend your lifetime waiting for a man who isn’t coming.

"I don't plan on dating again or anything like that," you tell her, looking back down at the book in your lap like you can dispel its secrets if you just ask it nicely. "He is my soulmate. My husband. Even if it was only legally true for a day. So yes, I will always be waiting for him. But I don't view that as a bad thing. I-I'm just sorry that it makes you worry."

“I - I’m always going to worry.” At least you’ve come out and said it. Making your wants known and Beth reaches up and pets your head gently. “You would do the same if it were me.”

The moment of silence that falls between you as you look at each other is surprisingly calming. The love you have for your best friend, and she for you, is completely different but just as thoroughly bonding. You really will never let go of each other, and that means the world to you. Especially after everything you’ve lost. “I would,” you agree finally. “I really would.”

Another moment passes where Beth just hugs you, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing you tight before she pulls away. “I still want to know why you have Arwena’s book now.”

“I do, too.” It’s too much of a coincidence to ignore, frankly, and you look down at the book again with curiosity. “It’ll take a while to read the whole thing, but maybe I’ll find some clues as I go through it?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Beth agrees, standing up. “I’m going to finish making that tea while you look through it. I know it’s even more special to you now.”

Truth be told, it would have been something interesting but not terribly meaningful as an heirloom. But now? It is easily the most precious thing you own.

******

It would take endless days of meticulous reading and deciphering before you found the answer. Some handwriting was messy, some non-standardized spellings nearly impossible to make it. Some ink has been made cheaply and faded over time only to be retraced by later hands with more reliable materials. It’s a work of art, really. A careful compilation by dozens of women, and even a few men, over hundreds of years. But it is the sturdy pocket in the back cover that holds the answer to how Arwena’s grimoire made it back into your hands. It’s a Sunday morning when Beth drags herself out of bed late that you find it. There are pages upon pages stacked in the back cover’s protective leather folder, and at first you thought you were losing your mind. Too overcome with grief at not finding the answers in the book’s pages to be setting things correctly. But there was your name at the top of the first page, spelled out plainly in a hand that you recognize as belonging to the book’s fourth contributor - Arwena’s granddaughter, Almunia. It’s a list. A very long list of names, but it’s clear - they are the names of all of the women and men who contributed to the book’s contents over time. Some even have places listed beside them, though it is unclear if it is where they were born or simply where they lived.

“Hey.” Beth yawns and shakes off the last dredges of sleep as she shuffles into the kitchen where you have the book spread out over the dining table. “You didn’t stay up all night, did you?” She asks, patting your shoulder as she moves into the kitchen to make coffee for herself.

“I got up early.” If she knew how early she’d probably be upset, but you still have trouble sleeping without Pero. “Look at this.”

Once the water is dumped in the holding tank, she throws a filter into the basket and dumps in three scoops of coffee before turning it on. “What did you find?” Her robe winds around her body as she shuffles over and pulls out a chair beside you.

“There was a folder built into the binding. I’ve seen it in notebooks before but never anything like this.” Carefully showing her the way the back cover of the grimoire accordions open, you tap the top of the first page in front of you just as delicately. “Arwena’s granddaughter started a list of all the book’s contributors, and…look.”

Beth looks at the list of the contributors and frowns, shaking her head. “Why would your grandmother be a contributor?” She asks, tilting her head as she examines the page.

“Look at the names on the page before.” Shuffling the papers carefully, you show her a dozen more names that are much more modern than anyone called Arwena or Almunia. “Now look at this.” To the left of you, your laptop is open to the painstakingly researched family tree you have been working in over the last four months. Each name from the list of grimoire contributors lines up with the women in your family going back more generations than you can easily show - you would have to spread it out all over the wall like a madwoman. “I think…” Your throat catches as you look up at Beth with wonder and disbelief in your eyes. “I think this is my whole family.”

“Wait—” Beth blinks and shakes her head before looking between the list and the family tree. “You think you’re Arwena’s relative? That she’s your ancestor?” It’s not exactly crazy, but what are the odds?

"Sarah says that the Stones send you to where you need to be." It was something you had talked over with the innkeeper many times since returning home, as the two of you text regularly. "What if...what if I went when and where I did...to make sure that I could help Arwena and Briac?" The thought is as comforting as it is heartbreaking, honestly, and you look back down at the book in awe. "If I hadn't been there, she would have had that monster's baby and been forced to marry him. She never would have even known Briac was her soulmate, let alone get to spend her life with him. A-and...and I'm the one that taught her magic..."

“Well if that isn’t the never-ending circle.” Beth quips, finding it far too early to be dealing with life altering revelations without coffee. “It means that you are basically responsible for your entire family tree.”

"I guess..." you blow out a breath, eyes tracking back up to Beth as she walks back over to the coffee pot. "I guess I kind of am."

“Wow.” Beth pours a cup of coffee and adds way too much sugar before she comes over and sits down beside you again. “There’s something that I need to talk to you about.” She admits quietly, fidgeting slightly.

"Anything." God knows you talk to her about enough weird shit, the least you can do is sit up straight and give her the focus she deserves.

“I—” Beth blows out a breath with a nervous giggle. “Might have met my soulmate.” She’s been very hesitant to bring this up because of Pero but he wants to meet you.

"What?" You practically jump out of your chair, ready to hug the ever-loving shit out of her as soon as she puts her coffee down. "Are you sure? How? Where?!" Of course it makes you miss Pero - but since you have never stopped missing him, it hardly changes how you feel. Only adding the fact that you are excited for your friend.

“He- he goes to my gym.” In the concerted effort to get fit, she had signed up for a gym membership. Also allowing you to have some privacy on nights where you needed to mope but not have company.

"Honey, that's amazing." Though you do smirk at her slightly, knowing her as well as you do. "So how many nights are you actually spending at the gym versus how many nights have you been with him?"

She rolls her eyes, but the way she ducks her head gives her away. “I haven’t seen the inside of that gym in six weeks.” She admits with a laugh.

"Beth!" Knowing she goes out at least three nights a week with a gym bag on her shoulder just makes you laugh, but it subsides a little when you register how long she just said. "Six weeks? When did you meet him?"

“Two months ago.” She knows you might be upset at her, but there was no way she was going to smoosh her growing happiness in your face while you are still mourning.

"I—" You stuff your hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, feeling more than sheepish in the face of why she kept this completely life-changing piece of information from you. She was being gentle. Letting you grieve and readjust to the life you left behind. "I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me," you murmur, knowing that you probably would have done the same in her place. "But I'm also very glad you're happy."

“I—you’re doing so well.” Beth stresses. “I didn’t want to make you relapse or…” she gives a helpless gesture, knowing you will understand.

"I'm always going to miss him." Hopefully now that Beth has met her own soulmate, she understands a little bit better how deeply your love for Pero has embedded itself in you. "But I don't want it to mean missing out on your life."

“I know. I was just wanting to give you some time - hell, give myself time.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s different with him.”

"That's because he's your soulmate." You hum, seeing the happy grin spread fully across her face. "Now. Tell me everything."

“His name is William and he has these beautiful watery blue eyes.” Beth gushes, the floodgates opening now that you seem to be handling it well. “Kind of dirty blonde but I like it better dark when it’s wet.”

"You and your blue-eyed men." She has a history full of them, and you had teased her one year by making her a little rag doll 'Perfect Boyfriend' that had blue glass beads for eyes. "What does he do?" Popping up from the table, you snag her hand and bring her back into the kitchen, deciding you'll make brunch while she gushes over her new man. Bacon and waffles sound like a perfect start to the day.

“Private security.” She tells you, taking another sip of her coffee. “The reason why he was at the gym. Getting ripped to protect people.”

“We like a man strong enough to fight but soft enough to snuggle.” You waggle your eyebrows at her and grin. “Come on. It’s been two months. I know you’ve fucked him by now.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to braaaaaaggg.” She laughs, rolling her eyes at you and picking up her coffee mug to hold it very saucily aloft. “It’s amazing.”

“Brag all you wanted, honey. I’m happy you’re happy.” And miraculously, even with the way it tugs at your heart, you’re not having to convince yourself that it’s true. Just maybe…the fact that Pero’s best friend was named William can be saved for later.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear

SatS: @canadianmaebe @badassbaker @od-ends @amneris21 @padbrookcottage @chaoticfestninja @xdaddysprincessxx @mostclevermiss @im-sylien @wherethewildfanlives @ficsbynight @djarinsimp @ellenmunn @jediknight122 @under-the-seas @wellaintthatsumthin @sarahbellesaurus @roxypeanut @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bruxasolta @kaylay2187 @freshlemontea @humanransome-note @virtualanchortimetravel @leoisme @do-not-go-gently-42 @catsandgeekyandnerd @happypalaceroadpie @ghoulpatroul @lizzystorm48 @imoutoid @rainbeaubrightchild @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @dudelorian @thirddeadlysin @piratesangel @jazzieomega @iceclaw101 @strangegirl32 @lights-on-the-ridge @godofbadass8909 @pann-malii @littleone65 @notyouraveragemochii @shawdowolf993 @rebel-fanfare @rav3n-pascal22 @love93sstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @aurelac-heart @we-could-have-been @bilibiche @prettydull180 @dinoflower @my-life-as-a-bird @tuquoquebrute @damnitjaskier @fishingforpike @sherlock221b114679797 @sainteredhood @nekodemon73 @missredherring @middlemichi @moonflower91 @rachelle-on-the-run @miscellaneousfangirling @danamercury @hyacinthsatdawn @i-am-amora-the-enchantress @milkandoil @generalplaidhorseherring @raptorclaw24 @mrsparknuts

My Masterlist!