#A Christmas Story shooting area

[thatdammchickennugget]

pairing -firefighter!james potter x fem!reader

summary - you visit the fire station on christmas day

warnings - none

wordcount - 600

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Christmas Day arrives with a quiet stillness. You’ve spent the morning baking, carefully arranging a platter of brownies, cookies, and other treats you know James and his team will devour. The scent of sugar and spices lingers on your hands as you slip into your coat, balancing the platter carefully as you head to the fire station.

The station is easy to spot, its red brick façade standing out against the snowy backdrop. Strings of festive lights frame the garage doors, and a small, slightly lopsided Christmas tree twinkles in the corner of the common area, visible through the large windows.

As you approach, you hear laughter echoing from inside. You push open the door, stepping into the warm, bustling space. James is the first to notice you. He’s sitting on the arm of a worn-out couch, a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head and a mug in his hand.

“Little Red!” he calls, his face lighting up as he sets the mug down and strides over to you.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” you say, holding up the platter with a grin.

“Are you kidding?” he says, leaning in to kiss your cheek before taking the platter from you. “You just became everyone’s favorite person. Again.��

The rest of the team gathers quickly, their expressions lighting up when they see the treats. Sirius is the first to snag a brownie, taking a dramatic bite and moaning exaggeratedly. “Marry her, James,” he declares with a wink. “Immediately.”

“Working on it,” James retorts smoothly, shooting you a wink that sends a flush rushing to your cheeks.

Marlene and Remus greet you warmly, pulling up chairs and insisting you sit down while they make you a cup of coffee. Peter waves from his spot near the kitchen, where he’s fiddling with what looks like a burned batch of something vaguely cookie-shaped.

“You’ve officially shown me up,” Peter says, sighing as he gestures to your platter.

“You gave it an honest try, Pete,” James says, slapping him on the back with a grin.

The group settles into easy conversation, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve known them all forever. The firehouse is lively, the warmth of laughter filling every corner. You’re laughing at one of Sirius’s ridiculous stories when the loudspeaker crackles to life.

“Attention, crew. We’ve got a call. Suit up.”

The mood shifts instantly. Everyone moves with practiced efficiency, the banther replaced by focused determination. James stands, giving you an apologetic smile as he grabs his gear.

“You can stay here,” he says, his hand briefly brushing your arm. “We’ll be back soon.”

You nod, watching as the team heads out, the garage doors rolling up to reveal the firetruck gleaming under the winter sun.

Left alone in the now-quiet station, you take a moment to absorb everything. The firehouse feels like an extension of James himself—steadfast, reliable, and filled with heart.

When the team returns about an hour later, James is the first one through the door, brushing snow off his shoulders and looking immediately toward you. Relief softens his features when he sees you waiting.

“Hey,” he says, pulling off his helmet and setting it down. “Miss me?”

“Maybe a little,” you tease, smiling as he crosses the room.

He pulls you into a hug, his gear still cold from the outside air. “Thanks for being here,” he murmurs. “It means a lot.”

“Of course,” you reply, squeezing him back. “I’ll always show up for you.”

His smile is warm enough to make you forget about the cold helmet under his arm pressing up against you.

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[whowrotethenote]

𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞

A/N // Short story set in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place five months after One of Your Girls.

I wrote the beginning and end at the same time and got a little lazy trying to connect the two. So, if it seems rushed towards the middle, that's why. The inspo for the short came from this anon. I didn't include the moments leading up to the actual appointment just because it will be mentioned and discussed in the next part, Desires. I hope you like it anon💗

Warnings // Angst // Adultery // Profanity // Themes surrounding pregnancy & abortion

Word count // 6k

Disclaimer // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist // Navigation

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

“Never have I ever…kissed a girl,” I announce. 

Seven fingers up, standing strong in the lead, I read the room. Demi’s finger goes down, leaving her at four left. And then the unthinkable happens. Anthony puts a finger down taking a sip out of his Naughty Elf mug. 

“Excuse me?!” Demi shrieks with her head cocking back. 

He removes the mug from his mouth, revealing a smirk. “That’s right.”

“Now, you know we need a story time.”

“No story time.” He shrugs. “It used to happen all the time. How do y’all think I discovered I was gay? I had to experiment first.”

“Wait—so you’ve like dated girls?” I dip my head like it’s some grand secret.

“Yup. Kissed ‘em. Had sex with ‘em—” His uncovering of truths is cut short by us gasping in unison. He cracks up. “Don’t get me wrong—pussy is great. It’s just something about men I can’t shake. They’re terrible people but I can’t shake those bastards. What about you, missy?”

“Senior year in high school. Captain of the girl’s basketball team. Think Kehlani but a little thicker,” Demi explains. 

“Mmm.” Anthony and I both hum in agreement. 

“Understandable. And don’t forget that shot, miss thing,” he reminds her. 

She throws one back before shooting her four fingers back up. On the floor of our newly rented Manhattan condo, we were getting lit off left over Coquito I brought from home—the crumbs of Christmas dinner—with our second round of Never Have I Ever. 

The best ice breaker to ease Anthony into our world—who, if I’m being honest, needs no easing whatsoever. He fits right into us. The missing piece to our puzzle. So much so, I offered to let him move in when he shared that his lease was almost up. It was a no brainer. Within the last two months of his hire at the hospital, we became ridiculously close. Anthony is fun, wild, and he doesn’t give a fuck about what anybody thinks. Anyone who embodies those three characteristics is okay with me and mine. 

There’s too much extra space in here. Every which way I turn, there’s an extra room that needs to be furnished and filled with personality. Demi and I are barely home as is. So, we let him take the lead on decorating the rest of the condo. All I can say is, that boy has taste. He made this place look like it belongs in a Home & Gardens spread. 

In the living area that he garnished with cream and black accents—we all sit comfortably in front of the floor to ceiling window. The news talked of the snow sticking and to expect at least six inches by tomorrow morning. Flurries of white hauled down on the other side of the window, blanketing the city, prompting us to take full advantage of the fireplace for the first time.

“Okay, my turn! Never have I ever…” Demi’s eyes float up until the light bulb goes off. “Got my ass ate.” At the same time they put a finger down and reach for their drinks. Seven fingers still up, I wait for them to be done before Anthony’s eyes go wide.

“Wait—why are you still over there with seven fingers up?”

“Never happened,” I confess. 

“Never?” His head dips.

“Never,” I confirm. 

“Well, what about that Alpha from last summer?” Demi squints. “What was his name? Travis? Trey?”

“Terrell.”

“Yeah! Him. He gives me that.”

I shake my head. “Never did it to me. We didn’t do anything really.”

“And nothing from whoever you’re seeing now?”

I grin when all I really want to do is scream. “Who said I’m seeing somebody now?”

“Oh, come on.” He searches for Demi who gives him nothing. Picking up one of those cheap Christmas themed sugar cookies we baked earlier and plopping it into her mouth. “I see you getting texts and disappearing,” he continues. “Gifts and whatnot. You were gone a whole weekend a few weeks back.” His squints with the lower half of his face twisting in amusement. The wider his smirk, the deeper that pit in my stomach. 

“It’s nobody, really.” I laugh, countering the heat capturing my face. Did I forget to mention that he’s very observant?

He shows his hands. “Fine. I’ll get out your business. Whoever he is, that boy’s got taste. That Chanel bag for Christmas?” He puckers his lips while shaking his head side to side. 

“Ouu! We should make gingerbread houses. Let’s see what we got.” Demi shoots up from the floor. Our eyes snagging before she fully rises as I try to convey a thank you through my eyes. An angel, she is. 

“Only thing in that fridge is eggnog and to-go plates. Good luck.” Anthony shouts while going through his phone. 

Anthony is sharp and we’ve only just met some months ago. I don’t like this. Keeping secrets and hiding an entire portion of my life from the people that mean something to me. Not saying anything is too close to lying outright and that’s not who I am. That’s not who I want to see when I look in the mirror. Too many things surrounding him are not just unconventional, but immoral. Never mind that it's a secret hidden from the world, but what does his wife think when he takes extra days away and doesn’t rush home to her and their kids?

I try not to think about her too much. A stabbing—no burning courses through me whenever I imagine him with her and their flock of children. I picture a home full of love and comfort. Nothing like the one mine turned into after my dad got sick. I can see them cuddling on the couch. One of their youngest sprawled across their laps with the iPad. The oldest yapping on the phone in the kitchen to her friends.

She’s pristine and so well put together. She looks it. Always dressed nice in designer. That rock of a ring beaming in every photo. Only the strongest and most resilient woman could raise five kids while her husband came and went unexpectedly like a full moon. She’s nothing like me. I know it. I’m Lana—always late and tripping through life. Never knowing or even prepared for what comes next. 

“You okay, friend?”

My eyes flutter and I snap out of the maladaptive dream at the sound of Anthony’s voice. 

“Yeah,” I lie to him again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

“Mm,” I groan flipping the duvet over my head. 

The sun bullying me awake. My head—a constant pounding at my frontal lobe. My reward for another round of Never Have I Ever, Caresha Please and Drunk Uno. Since the week of Christmas, all I've done is fill my body with alcohol and it's starting to take a toll on me.

The laughs and muffled chatter that must be my roommates, travel through my room walls. I snatch the cover back down, one eye peaking at the digital clock on the nightstand. 

3:12 PM

The fuck?

I know we wrapped it up pretty late last night, but I haven’t slept in like this since being a teenager. A blessing and a curse—my body’s natural alarm clock from years of morning shifts and morning classes, would usually wake me up against my own will. 

The smell of sweet syrup and hopefully pancakes is what boosts me to swing my legs on the edge of the bed and finally stretch. Limbs sore and head still pounding, my slippers scrape against the floor in pursuit to the kitchen. 

“Sleeping beauty!” Anthony beams. I eye their empty plates and a kitchen so clean it looks untouched. 

“Don’t worry. Your food is in the microwave,” Demi informs.

“Why did y’all let me sleep so long?” I rub my eyes opening the microwave to be met with a full plate as promised. I slam it back shut and the buzz fills the room after I press the one. 

“Girl, you’re on break and you have no work. What’s wrong with sleeping in?”

“Don’t want my body to get used to it.”

The plate is full and steaming as I carry it to the open stool next to Demi at the white marble top island. I’m halfway engaging in conversation, with Gossip Girl playing on the TV in the family room over. The metal of the fork hitting my plate as I scoop potatoes while biting into the beef bacon in rotation. Everything’s fine. It’s not until I take my first bite of the scrambled eggs that shit gets…funny. The smooth texture against my tongue at first and then the mini spasm of my throat as I attempt to get it down. My stomach turns once the smell of the eggs becomes too potent while it’s all I can focus on. The biggest thing in the room it becomes. I chew and chew—breath growing heavier and spit getting warmer with every rotation of my jaw. 

The clink of the fork hitting the plate rings dramatically, halting Demi and Anthony’s conversation. It’s all a blur. One second I’m sitting there with them and the next I’m inches away from a toilet bowl. Gasping for air after letting out everything from last night and just a few second ago. The smell—sour and overwhelming, has my back hunching as another round ejects from me. 

“Lana, oh my god.” Demi’s soft voice is over me as her small hand finds my hair. My chest expands rapidly as I cough and spit what’s left into the rest of it. Slamming the toilet, not being able to bear the smell a second longer. I blink hard to allow the sitting liquid in my eyes to fall. 

A stack of tissue jolts into my line of sight and I take it. “Thank you,” I croak and cough again. I shake my head, registering in cloudy consciousness, that look she gives me. “Probably all the alcohol catching up to me.”

“Alcohol, huh?” Her voice fades out. I follow her line of sight to the decorative basket sitting on my sink. A case of L Organic tampons standing tall amongst the other junk inside. Just one left in the clear cylinder. Making it more than obvious that they’ve gone untouched for some time—otherwise, they’d be replenished. 

Our eyes, like magnets, find each other. 

Boxes and boxes tumble inside the mini cart hanging in the crease of Demi’s elbow. It looks like she’s doing inventory. She uses a forearm to swipe what’s left on the shelf into the cart. Two don’t make the landing and I bend to pick them up. 

“Demi—you don’t think that’s a bit much, friend?”

“My ass.” Her eyebrows hike up. Boxes still rippling into the overflowing cart and still falling. The more I pick up, two more come down to the floor nearly hitting me on the head. “Some of these damn tests be lying. This is not the time to guess or play roulette.”

She stomps away from me on a mission. I place the handful of tests back on the shelf instead of adding fuel to her fire. Stomach empty and head full of the worst possible outcomes, I follow right behind her through the aisle. 

No words needed to be exchanged as we stormed out the bathroom together, bundling up and ordering a unnecessarily expense Uber. After disarming and convincing Anthony that I had started my period and didn’t have any tampons left, of course. More lies. 

What the fuck is even happening today? It all feels like the longest nightmare and it hasn’t even been an hour since I opened my eyes. 

My luck isn’t just falling short—it's nonexistent. The self-checkout is under maintenance. So we stand in wait, suppressing angst, as the younger cashier swipes the dozens of boxes with a constant beep. All different sizes, different brands adorned with different fonts. All with that same word somewhere on them that makes me want to throw up again. 

I want to jump out my skin watching the young boy swipe and swipe, eyeing every single test like he’s shopping himself. Eyes hesitantly looking up at us across from him. Our eyes like daggers, pierced on his every move, as if he’s handling thousands of our hard earned money in his very hands. God, I wish he’d hurry the fuck up. Just as I open my mouth to say something, Demi is quicker. 

“Your business—mind it,” she spits. Crossing her arms, pulling her black Chanel shades over her eyes as he nods frantically speeding his task up a couple notches. We came busting in this CVS, calling ourselves in disguise. Already bundled in puffer coats, scarves and beanies to protect from the inclement weather—we added shades that defeated their purpose, seeing as we’ve had them sitting atop our heads this whole time. 

Resting my hands in the pockets of my sweats, I case the store. Some middle-aged folks in the aisles. A group of what looks to be college kids come walking up to the register. And the frail older man behind us in line, with a prescription bag and jug of water in his hands. I pull my glasses down immediately when he and I lock eyes. 

After the ring up from hell, it took the persuasion of seven car salesmen for Demi to talk me out of taking all of the tests, right in the bathroom of that CVS.

“A drug store is not a place to crash out,” she tells me. 

I opt to crash out in the back of this Uber’s truck instead. Bags full of tests like groceries stocked for the inclement weather the news promised us. 

“I can’t be—” The shake of my head finishes my sentence like a period. I can’t even allow that word to flow past my lips. 

“Yeah, no shit.” What the fuck am I gonna do? I can’t be. I just can’t. School. His family. My family. My god—his wife. My breathing picks up and suddenly it feels like the middle of July in the back of this man’s Ford truck. “Lana—Lana just relax. We don’t even know if it’s that yet.” 

“What else can it be?” My face screws up. Tears hot and threatening to spill. “Sir, can you please turn the heat down?!” 

“Sorry—sorry ma’am.” He eyes us through the rearview hastily. I didn’t mean to yell, but damn. The hot air from the vent was doing the opposite of calming me down like Demi suggests. Everything around me feels like too much. I snatch the LV scarf straight from my neck on the verge of suffocating. 

“You two have been careful?” Demi’s eyes pierce mine. Careful. He’s careful with just about everything else, except that. He’s grown careless. Yeah, no phone around me but it feels too good to pull out. Call only from a payphone, but snatching the condom off in the heat of a wild night. “Lana?” She calls my name. I know she’s expecting an answer but I can’t say it out loud. NDA and shame both having a hand to my mouth. 

In defeat, my head hangs until it’s buried in my hands. I can’t be. 

A vivid and erotic reel of all the most recent times, secluded with him, flashes through my mind as I come to the painstaking truth that I actually can be. Before Christmas in Greenbay? Around Thanksgiving? When we went back to the Hamptons house—fire burning and crackling, laying on the living room rug, sweating all the extra left over energy out?

Every time I think I’ve pinned the exact moment it must’ve happened, I come up with a different more likely occurrence, until it seems every time might’ve been the time. It happens so often now—there’s no way for me to sensibly dig out when this catastrophe was born from the chemicals of careless lust and passion. 

My stomach gets queasy. Tight and twisting like I’m preparing for the steepest drop on a rollercoaster. A foreign sound—something between a whimper and a groan leaves me. 

“I think I’m gonna throw up again,” I strain. 

“Please not in this man’s truck.”

“Yes, please,” the driver pleads. Eyes shifting from the road to the rearview mirror. His futile outburst earning him a glare from hell from Demi.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

My Dior bag vibrates between us. We exchange looks before I dig my phone out and sure enough, a text from an unknown number is the latest notification.

Vegas this weekend. He’s asking for you. 9543402985

Staring at the text on the screen, I fight the urge to throw up again. The timing is cataclysmic. My heart usually races for a different reason when I see those words. 

Muscle memory has me googling the nearest payphone or Link kiosk. “Sir, I’m sorry but can you stop at Penn station really quick.”

“You gotta do that right now?”

“If not now, then when?” I turn to be met with her head shaking. “I’ll add the stop on the app,” I tell the driver. 

Quads aching from stammering down three flights of steel steps—maneuvering through chunks of civilians like the most skilled quarterback—face burning from trying to regulate its normal temperature—I snatch the receiver off the hook. 

It dawns on me hearing the gnawing dial tone, that I don’t have any quarters. No way in hell am I going back up all those steps to the coin machine. My head rotates to gauge my surroundings. Only a few feet away from me, a young boy—curly fro, no older than fourteen dressed in a Denim Tears sweatsuit—leans on the wall with a guitar in his hands. A more nineteen thirties, blues reminiscent rendition of Snooze emitting from it. 

“Kid.” I step away as far as I can, inching in his direction without dropping the phone. “I know you got some quarters in there.” My eyes drop to his hat sitting at his feet. “I need five dollars in change. “

He looks between his NY Yankees hat and me with my hand out. “I want twenty.” 

“What?!” 

“Twenty or nothing.”

“How you want twenty and all I need is twenty quarters?” It's not like I’m short on money. In fact, I could make the kid’s day, Cashapp him five hundred dollars, and go on about my business. But something about him trying to hustle me, threw me left. Especially considering the day’s already unfortunate events. I’m already abundant in Ls. Two seconds from wilding out on the nearest person. 

He shrugs. “And all I need is a twenty.” I sigh deeply. Patience dropping like the sand in a hourglass. “What I gain from giving you these quarters?”

“You won’t lose anything if you give me the quarters for a five. It's an even exchange,” I bargain. I can see the internal battle, watching his eyes shift between me and his hat. “Look—how about I give you ten.” I show him another five dollar bill. “And you still just give me the five in quarters. You gain five, little man.”

He squints and then counts the twenty quarters off before dropping them in my hand. “Bet.” He snatches the two fives from me and resumes his ballad. 

“Punk,” I mumble slipping his quarters into the slot. I am well versed in the art of negotiation. Years of making a sucker out of my brother whenever he needed to just “borrow” money from my stash. Charged that ass interest too. 

The line rings only twice before that silence signals connection. “Paul?”

“Alana, how are you?” Never been better. I just got cheated out of five dollars. I���m using a dirty ass payphone in underground NYC to call my famous fuckbuddy’s companion. I’m almost a month late on my period. And the dad is public married with five kids already, and old enough to be my father. 

“I’m fine,” I tell the same lie two days in a row. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing down this way. Is it snowing over there?”

“Yeah—bad. I haven’t seen it like this in years.” 

“Well, you’ll be relieved to know you’ll be on the west coast, where there’s no snow by this time on Friday.”

“I thought the show was in Canada?”

“It is,” he confirms. “He doesn’t plan on staying though. He has business in Vegas the next day so it makes sense to just leave.”

“I’ll be staying until Sunday?”

“Monday, actually. I’ll be sending over the flight and hotel details soon.” I nod as if he can see me. “You ever been to Vegas?”

“No.” Before him, I hadn’t really been anywhere. 

“I don’t think it’s anything special unless you’re into gambling.”

“Good to know.” The conversation is static—robotic almost. Or maybe that’s in my head. Every pause feeling like a confession of some sort. Every word I push out feels like I should be saying something else. 

“Anything else going on?” He pokes. 

My mouth opens then shuts. My catastrophic possibility—likely to affect everyone around me, including the man on the phone—hanging tight on prison bars, begging to be set free. This doesn’t feel right. All the secrets. All the suppression. There’s no way I’d be able to do this in front of him after knowing whether I am or am not. So I decide right here that I won’t know. 

Snow flurries land and melt on my face all at once as I jog back to the truck. “Thank you,” I tell the man for the unpredicted stop, right before he pulls off. Demi’s eyes burning on me like the brightest light in a room.

“I guess you’re leaving this weekend.”

I nod. A pause hangs between us. It’s louder than All I Want For Christmas playing on the radio. “I’m not taking those.” My confession breaks free. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

I finally meet her gaze. Her eyes wide and brows lifting to her hairline damn near. “I’m not taking those,” I repeat. “The tests.”

“I’m confused. Did you just come on or something?” She looks me over as if the evidence of my period would be on the clothes I’m wearing. 

“Demi—I can’t take those before I go. Imagine the two lines come up. I’m supposed to just go around him acting normal?”

“Or—hear me out—tell him the truth?”

My face screws up hearing such a simple anecdote that’s the furthest thing from simple. “You’re talking crazy.”

“What is so crazy about telling the truth? Unless you’ve already decided what you’re doing if the two lines do show up, and you just don’t want him to have any say?” Another lingering silence. It’s smoldering hot like the air coming from the car’s vents, yet again. “Wow.”

“We already know his verdict.”

“Oh, you’ve asked him already?” She laughs, but it’s vacant of any joy. “Great—just do whatever you want.” She turns her head to the window after throwing a hand up. 

“Oh—you’re one of those?”

“I didn’t say all that.” Her eyes turn to slits from my accusation. An accusation I knew bore no weight. Demi is as liberal as they come. 

Our eyes sharp and daring don’t leave one another. I’m the first to break. Internal strife too great already. I don’t need two battles. I won’t survive either.

“This is nothing to argue about.” I face forward. Catching the eyes of the driver who snatches his away in a flash. Nosy bitch.

“Not arguing. Whatever the results…I don’t think the decision should fall all on you.” Her voice, way softer than that condescending one from just seconds ago that made me feel smaller than a crumb. “And I think you shouldn’t be so quick to choose, either. Believe me—I get it. This is probably the worst thing that could happen. But the quick decisions are usually the ones we end up regretting.”

My nose flares. Chin quivering as I focus on the snow flurries sticking and melting to rain on the window. I hate when she makes sense. This whole thing feels like the end of the world. One of those situations that’s going to stick to me for the rest of my fucking life. Regardless, of the outcome.

What I imagined yesterday—their picture perfect family, doing what loving families do—I’d put a crack right down the middle. Our secret—our bubble fed in the dark of expensive hotel rooms and hours after midnight—would have no choice but to come to light. And I don’t think I am strong enough for that. Let alone motherhood. 

Friday, January 5, 2024

I laugh to myself, watching in real time as he smugly grins down at Nick Aldis from the ring. Capturing his belt from Paul after just laying out Randy, AJ Styles and LA Knight like they were mere target practice to him. Just pawns on a board. 

I shake my head. A fucking menace. 

“Shitting me?” An outburst that nobody can hear after Nick informs Paul of the fatal four-way match to take place. I know Demi’s going ballistic back home. I stare at the phone on the nightstand provided by the hotel. I could call, but I know that’s probably going against something in the NDA.

Suddenly, a wave of dreariness hits me. Most likely an effect of traveling and all the stress. Although Google told me it was an early symptom of my unwanted event. 

When I wake up it’s almost one in the morning. Still no Joe. 

I shower again, wincing at the water hitting my chest. Usually a tell sign that my period is not far behind, but she’s almost a month late. Life has been moving way too fast, flashing by me. Holidays, traveling to meet him, semester ending—and I never stopped to register that I hadn’t touched a tampon in a month. My head has been gone.

On the plane ride, I decided to heed Demi’s advice. Slow the process of decision-making down by weighing everything first. Pros and cons. So far, the only pro I came up with, is that he’s well off and not afraid to splurge or share. My, you-know-what, would never have to grow content with financial struggles. 

So far that cons list is longer than Santa’s naughty list when he ventures into O’block. 

Child number six (I.e. the baby of the family usually forgotten)

Born out of wedlock

Most likely a secret for most of their lives. Not being able to tell the kids at school who their daddy is

Judgment 

Balancing school and … you know what

Gaining weight from the cravings

Giving birth and all the things that can go wrong with that

More nausea 

Going from an escape to an obligation to him

The cons just kept hitting me like all the dodge balls from the other team when you’re the last man standing on your side—until I was buried in cons.

I make my way downstairs to this hotel that sits in the heart of Vegas. Seas and lakes of lively people, all dressed up and most likely intoxicated. Loud and flashy. That’s all I’ll remember about Vegas. The people, the buildings, the scenery. In your face and in your pockets. 

I eat for the sixth time since this morning. Sitting by my lonesome now at a slot machine. Pressing away and feeding the machine more money to keep losing—a too familiar tango, sort of a reflection for the relationship between him and I.

Vegas nights…this would be a decent theme for a prom. The committee at the hospital had been searching for ideas already, to start planning their annual charity prom for the kids who can’t make their own.

I reach into my purse, ready to text Demi and throw her the idea to get her opinion. I stop myself. I don’t have my phone. Right…

My shoulders slump with the release of a breath. I keep tapping. And tapping. And tapping. Until I’m damn near one with the machine, tapping like second nature while I get lost in my insecurities. 

Is this what I want for my life? For my…

It’s lonely. It’s tedious. Searching for things to occupy my time until he shows up. Always wondering and worrying about what or who he’s doing when he’s not in my line of sight. It won’t magically change just because something or someone else enters the picture. Being a mother to his kid won’t suddenly usher in a new routine in place of him trying to get me in where I can fit in. It’ll be the same scenario. I mean, look how he treats the first mother of his children. 

This is not what I’d want for me and mine. Even when my father was sick, he uprooted being a father as a priority. He was always present. Always doing what his body would allow. He never had to fit us in. Never had to juggle two households and a career. My kids don’t deserve chaos. A chaotic childhood will only make them susceptible to a chaotic life. Kind of like the one I’m living now. 

All I’ve done is generate cons. There are no pros. 

The glow of the TV is the only source of light in this massive penthouse suite when the soft click of the master bedroom door prompts my eyes to pop open from sudden slumber. 

His large frame, a shadow so quiet, as he makes his way toward the bed where I sit up. 

“I woke you up?” He whispers.

“Yeah, but it’s cool.”

He drops the duffel bag by the foot of the king bed where I stand to meet him. Spreading his hands out to invite me into his arms. 

“Mm,” he groans into the hug. Simultaneously releasing a breath together, like he’s transferring all the tension in his body to me. But there’s no need. I’m already overflown with it. Wrapped in his big arms, it hides cowardly. Afraid to come out and show itself in front of him. That’s not the purpose I serve here. “Squeeze,” he instructs. “Tight, tight, tight,” he mumbles with his mouth right on top of my head. The grin sneaks on my face, not for show, as I grip his hard body as much as I can. Burying my face into his hoodie and sniffing in that familiar cleanliness that’s stained on him. The events of the week forgotten for no longer than the twenty seconds we embrace. SWV was right. The cause and cure. 

“Everything alright?” He leans back a few inches. Eyebrows wrinkling and something of a smile dancing on his handsome face. 

“Yeah.” I nod. Voice soft and unconvincing. “I’m fine.” Another lie. Three for three now. The slot machines downstairs would be blinging and flashing obnoxiously. His stillness lets me know he’s not buying the act. “—Just work things.” 

“Okay. I’m gonna take a shower.” I don’t say anything, already knowing the announcement is an invitation. I let him do his thing before he enrages out the steam filled ensuite bathroom. Body dripping wet still—arms big and daring. I almost regret my decision to not join him.

We don’t have sex. The subtle bags sitting under his captivating eyes tell a story of restlessness. He did a lot tonight just on camera, so I can only imagine. My reading proven correct when he sinks his large frame beside me, welcoming me into his space with a hand to the back of my head until it’s comfortable on his peck. 

“What did you do today?”

“Nothing really. Ordered room service. I watched Smackdown.” He elicits another smile from me despite the internal dread, reminiscing on his performance.

“Yeah? How’d you like it?” His large hand slides down to palm my stomach. A gesture that I usually ignore, thinking it was just comfortable for him. No different than the circles he draws on  my hip at times. But this time I freeze up like a possum playing dead. Previous thoughts vacuumed right from me. 

“Um…wait—what—what were we talking about again?”

His chest tightens under me from laughing. “Don’t tell me your memory is going before mine?”

“I’m not the one pushing forty.” I force a laugh. Grateful he can’t see that it didn’t reach my face. 

“The show?”

“Oh, right. Big bully Roman. It was really good. They should have you teaching classes on heel turns.”

“Mm,” he hums sleepily. “Didn’t do anything else while I was gone?”

“I went downstairs for a little bit. Played the slots. And some roulette…”

“Didn’t know you liked to gamble,” he speaks ignorantly and somehow still knowingly. I’ve been gambling since I’ve met him. Gambling my time and the discovery of this whole ordeal. And now, a new stake has entered the bet. The roulette of whether I am or am not still spinning with no landing.

“No…I don’t actually…”

He fights the dreariness in his deep voice for a while longer. Talking to me about his first time in Vegas with the twins amongst other things. It’s not long before I hear the soft snores. 

All I’ve wanted to do, for days now, is call my mom and tell her everything. Let the confessions roll from me like a ball down a hill nonstop. Release the angst from me to her, the way I’ve always done. Selfish tendencies of a child, I know. 

But sadly, I can hear her now. Lana, what business do you have with a married man? A man whose plate is already full when there are men that will come to you with an empty one?

Tina Maxwell—previously Tina Floyd—is a proud woman. Philly born and bred—her, bullshit, and low maintenance, just don’t coincide. Her heart is the size of Alaska, but her pride and self worth can fit two more of that colossal state. Hence, why immediately after my father recovered and just couldn’t seem to raise his spirits back up, with no will to bring back the spark in his marriage after it laid stagnant so long—she filed for divorce. 

I know people judge her for it. I was one of them. How could she leave a man that had just recovered from a battle of fighting cancer? 

The older I get, the more the curtain protecting that answer on the board lowers itself. Life is too short to waste on anything or anybody. She loved and still loves my father. But love is fickle. It burns out too quickly. She gave him a chance and he didn’t want it. She did her duty as a wife and a mother to his two kids. Stayed bedside, overextended herself when he was too sick to work let alone get out of bed, showed up to every appointment and waited in angst through every procedure.

After choosing him for years, she chose herself. And she always does. The only things that take precedence over that, are her kids. 

If she knew how I lay in this bed up under a man that belongs to someone else, while the strong possibility of carrying his child looms over us—she’d drop to her knees. And me along with her, too weak to stomach the look of disappointment on her face. 

Whatever we have—or whatever I think we have—it’s dead. The sun shines on all living things and we’ve never even touched the light of day. So, I might as well lay to rest whatever is left or whatever is expected to come. I already know what he’d want. I don’t need to ask or consider. 

He’s married. Happily or not is irrelevant because he’s not unhappy enough to leave. He made a promise in front of God and his family. She’s who he goes home to. He still comes in whatever luxury hotel room, whatever time of the night, relieving himself of that black band that he displays to everyone except me. 

So, it doesn’t really matter what results come from those tests when I get back home. Just like us, it’s already done. 

A/N // as always, if you read it or even a portion of it, i am forever grateful💗 feedback is welcomed.

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[covenha]

Synopsis: Seonghwa watches Hongjoong crash and burn and decides to revisit a good ole tactic to help his buddy out. This is a two-part spin off of the simp!verse. Pairings: nerd!hongjoong x fem!reader Genre: crack, technically angst?? but it gets better in the next part I swear, fluff honestly god bless hongjoong's heart Warnings: none that I can think of tbh but if i missed anything please lmk! WC: 808 a/n: I am finally back and this is my proof of life. had a bajillion exams and things to study for so I took an unintended hiatus but I finally have time since it's christmas break and I am so excited to be extending the ateez simpverse! as always, none of the characters' behaviors in this fic represent their personalities in real life. and reblogs and feedbacks are always deeply appreciated and keep me motivated to write these things so they are highly encouraged :))

Nerd!joong takes a long look at himself in the mirror, he’s sporting a brand new letterman jacket over his simple blue jeans and white t-shirt. He looked put together. So why was he so nervous today? 

Well, it’s a bit of a long story. You see, today was not just any ordinary weekday for Hongjoong. Today, he will finally muster up the courage to talk to a girl he’s had the fattest crush on since he first laid his eyes on you in his introductory Philosophy class. 

With a jittery kick in his step. He gets ready for his commute to school, calling out to any deity out there for some good luck. 

“God, what’s got you so worked up today? If you shake any harder, you’ll be putting Mrs. Hong’s rose toy to shame.” Seonghwa points out his nervous body language. Hongjoong is staring at the entrance to the amphitheater with laser focus. He’s fidgeting with his fingers and his legs are bouncing up and down. 

“I’m just waiting for her to get here…” Hongjoong trails off, not daring to look away from the door for more than a few seconds. 

“So, you’re really going to go for it? I mean, from what I hear she can be a little cutthroat, Joong.” Seonghwa warns him, but his words shoot through his ear and out the opposite. 

There were rumors going around that you were not exactly all sunshine and rainbows. You seemingly had a neutral face plastered on your face, only showing a smile every now and then with your small circle of friends. Seonghwa would describe you as “such a scorpio” with your sharp gaze, almost resembling a black cat in a way. Jongho and Wooyoung had heard that you were quite blunt and straight to the point. And although there is nothing necessarily wrong with that, they feared it may be too much for Hongjoong’s heart. But alas, he was smitten with you. 

From the way you look so cute when you’re concentrating while taking notes, or how you tugged at your sleeves when the weather grew colder. So when you finally walk through those doors, his heart picks up its pace and his eyes widen. 

You looked beautiful today. Of course, you always looked beautiful to him. You settle down in your usual spot on the left side of the seats and he slowly makes his way towards you. He takes a deep breath as he nears your seat and then stops right where you are seated. 

“Can I help you?”, you ask him. 

He realizes he had been standing beside your seat for an uncomfortable while, merely just staring at you. Oh God, you probably thought he was a creep! Quick, do something. Compliment her! Girls like compliments right? 

“I like your scarf!” Hongjoong manages to blurt out, in spite of the massive brain fart going on inside of his head. Unfortunately, he says it a little bit too loud, causing people in the area to shift their focus to the both of you, making you want to shrink into your seat. In the distance, Seonghwa can be seen face-palming as he watches his friend crash and burn in real time. 

“.... thanks?” you mutter. 

“Uhm, I was wondering what your ideal type of guy is?” Hongjoong finally musters up the courage to say something with actual substance. This was the moment he had been waiting for. All those weeks of yearning, the longing glances at you in class, the sudden get-up with his outfit today. It all led to this moment where he finally has the courage to- 

“I like guys who don’t talk to me.” Your words put an abrupt stop to his train of thought. 

“Oh.” 

“Joong, it’s gonna be fine. There’s plenty of other people in the world! Maybe she just isn’t the one for you.” Seonghwa tries to reason out with a tipsy Hongjoong in their shared dorm room. 

“But she was gonna be my wiiiiiiiife!” he whines at his friend. 

“We were gonna raise some kitties with a cute little catio in the back of the house and, and, and I was going to cook her breakfast in the mornings and we were going to live happily ever after with our scorpio babies!” he rambles on, distraught at his planned future with you not going exactly to plan. 

“Hongjoong you guys are not married.” Seonghwa corrects his drunk friend. 

“We are in the sims!” He pouts. 

Seonghwa sighs. Hongjoong was deep into his feelings for you and confirmed Seonghwa’s deepest fears. Hongjoong was a simp. (On this blog we love simp!joong!!)

And as he stared at his forlorn simp of a best friend, he knew what he had to do. He had to consult the Reddit gods. He was going to use the power of manifestation. 

[kk095]

Xmas in the ER

*Hello there everyone, and merry Christmas to those who celebrate! As promised, here's my latest story. I hope you all enjoy the story as much as I do, and feel free to shoot me a message, comment, or leave me asks if you have any questions! I will also be posting another story sometime on New Year's Eve.*

As the old saying goes, Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year. The holiday is a great opportunity to spend time with loved ones, exchange gifts, and make lifelong memories. But for Dr Lindsay, this year’s Christmas was just another Wednesday where she was tasked with holding down the 7pm to 7am overnight shift in our ER. Naturally, Lindsay was bummed out about the idea of having to work on Christmas, but the emergency department is a 24/7 operation! Little did she know, she’d still have a holiday she’d never forget!

That night, the weather was awful. It was dark, freezing cold, and snowing heavily. Visibility was limited, and the roads were covered in a fresh coat of snow and ice. “Jeez… I bet we’ll have a couple of MVCs tonight.” Lindsay thought to herself shortly after she started driving, trying her best to carefully make her way to work through the frozen, wintery landscape. Fortunately for Lindsay, the roads were mostly empty, most people in the area opting to stay indoors. Even though the roads were empty, the conditions were less than ideal, so she felt the best move was to drive slowly.

Despite Lindsay doing everything in her power to arrive safely at the emergency department, fate had other plans for the cute, sporty tomboy doctor! On the highway about 10 minutes or so from her destination, Lindsay’s car slipped on a patch of ice on the road. The car almost immediately lost control, redirecting the doctor’s vehicle towards a cement barrier in the median of the highway. Lindsay’s heart raced as she white-knuckled the steering wheel, frantically attempting to regain control of the errant vehicle. But it all happened so fast! There was only so much Lindsay could do in those few seconds. Lindsay was unable to stop or change the trajectory of her car and slammed head on into the cement median.

CRUNCH! The windshield shattered, glass fragments flying everywhere inside the vehicle acting almost as little bits of shrapnel. Lindsay raised one arm to attempt to cover her face from the glass shards, but a few nicked her face and neck. The steering column was forced inwards, slamming Lindsay in her chest with tremendous force before being blown back a second or so later when the airbag deployed. “AHHH!” Dr Lindsay yelped, feeling something pop inside her chest. Even with the vehicle stopped after the impact, the momentum generated from the accident caused Lindsay to be thrown around a bit. Just like that, the roles were reversed, and now Lindsay found herself in need of assistance in the ER.

Upon arrival at the emergency department, Lindsay was awake, alert, and doing anything and everything she could to fight through the pain. While being wheeled in through the main entryway of the ER, she was laid out on a backboard atop a gurney with a c-collar around her neck. Lindsay was stripped barefoot, down to just her black sports bra and scrub pants. EKG electrodes and wires were stuck onto her torso, while IV lines were set up in each arm. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around her left bicep, and a pulse oximeter was on her left index finger. The ER doc’s body was in relatively good shape, but she had some cuts and scrapes on her face and neck from the glass shards.

While being wheeled in, Dr Lindsay was experiencing a weird déjà vu of sorts. She’s walked through those same entryway doors more times than she could count, but she never saw the emergency department from that angle. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea of being brought in as a patient. Her pretty blue eyes scanned her surroundings, attempting to make sense of the nonsense. “33 year old female, blunt chest trauma, single car MVC. BP 60 over palp, heart rate’s 140 and climbing, pulse ox down to 90. Got IVs going on scene and started fluids, but her vitals aren’t looking too good.” Lindsay heard a female medic rattle off while wheeling the stretcher down the hall towards trauma room one. “Ok, thank you. Let’s get her over to trauma one. I’m gonna start her on the MTP and get a chest x ray.” A familiar voice replied to the medic. “who is that?” Lindsay thought to herself. “Dr Sarah maybe? I know she was supposed to work the day shift today.” Lindsay answered, still thinking to herself.

The gurney was still being wheeled towards the trauma bay. Dr Sarah leaned over, coming into Lindsay’s line of sight and lowered a stethoscope onto her chest. Sarah didn’t look down at Lindsay’s face, so she didn’t immediately realize who her next patient was. “Diminished breath sounds on the left side, we might need a chest tube.” Sarah observed, pulling her stethoscope away after a brief listen. Dr Sarah then looked down at the gurney, her eyes locking with Lindsay’s. Sarah’s eyes could be seen widening behind her glasses, absolutely stunned at what she was looking at. Sarah gasped, unable to get a word out. “Sarah….?” Lindsay whimpered, her voice weak and breathy. “OHMYGOD, Linds?! What happened?” Marveled Dr Sarah, still processing the concept of Dr Lindsay- a friend and coworker, being her next patient. Lindsay’s lip quivered, her eyes started to moisten. “my car… it just slipped… I don’t know what happened…” Lindsay explained to Sarah, her voice wobbly, now on the verge of tears. “It’s ok Linds, it’s gonna be ok! We’re gonna take a good look at you!” Consoled Sarah, gently grabbing Lindsay’s right hand, her voice a bit panicked.

Once in the trauma room, the stretcher was lined up parallel to the table, where Nurses Heather and Nancy waited. “LINDSAY?!” Heather exclaimed the instant she recognized who the patient was. “Hunny?! What happened?!” Nurse Nancy chimed in, equally surprised. Lindsay didn’t answer, but the familiar voices certainly comforted her through the terrifying uncertainty she was experiencing. “Let’s get her on the table on my count! One… Two… THREE!” Sarah barked out. The trio of beautiful ladies picked up the backboard and carefully moved their coworker onto the table while the paramedics took their stretcher back and exited the room. “Ah….” Winced Lindsay, feeling some pain inside her chest while being placed down on the table. Dr Lindsay squinted, the bright, fluorescent overhead light practically blinding her. “BPs 60 over palp and dropping. Hang 4 units of O-neg and prep Lindsay for a chest tube.” Ordered Dr Sarah, her voice urgent. “Linds? I have to put in a left chest tube. You know how bad they hurt, but be strong for me, ok? I promise I’ll be fast.” Dr Sarah kept Lindsay in the loop about her treatment. Lindsay hesitated for a moment, trying to mentally prepare for the pain she was about to endure. But the logical, doctor side of her took over, realizing that the brutal, painful procedure had to be done. Dr Lindsay’s eyes looked up at Sarah, and she nodded. “Go ahead.” Permitted Lindsay, giving Sarah the green light to begin chest tube placement.

Lindsay laid on the table in the supine position, her left arm raised above along her head. The normally calm and collected Dr Lindsay had a nervous expression on her face. The doctor turned patient’s lips were pinched tight, her forehead puckered, her icy blue-grey eyes looking in the direction of her left ribcage where the tube was to be inserted. She watched Dr Sarah insert a needle full of lidocaine to numb the skin. Lindsay felt a quick pinch, but nothing too worrisome. Sarah then sterilized the incision area with an alcohol wipe. “Ok Linds… Here we go…” The cute, nerdy redhead doctor told Lindsay, reaching for a 10 blade scalpel that sat on an equipment tray beside the trauma room table. Sarah took the scalpel and made a 1 inch cut at the intersection of the 4th intercostal space and anterior axillary line. Lindsay could feel the cold, sharp blade’s every move as it effortlessly slashed her skin apart. Lindsay saw stars, her eyes rolling back in pain. After the cut was made, Sarah attached a Kelly clamp to the proximal end of the chest tube, then bluntly inserted it into Lindsay’s chest cavity. “YAHHH!!!!” Yelped Lindsay, her eyes shooting wide open. Dr Sarah continued the procedure, guiding the tube further into Lindsay’s chest cavity into the pleural space. “AHHHH!!!” Lindsay let out a blood curdling scream, in absolute agony, her eyes tearing up, both her hands making tight fists, feeling the plastic tube forcing its way deeper inside her chest. There was a hiss of air once the tube reached the correct location from trapped air vacating Lindsay’s chest cavity. Lindsay gasped loudly and dramatically, then attempted to sit up. “whoawhoawhoa!” Nurse Heather stepped in, gently laying Lindsay back down on the table. “Stay still for us Linds. So far so good hunny.” Nancy chimed in, gently stroking Lindsay’s hair. Sarah lowered her stethoscope onto Lindsay’s chest and had a listen. “Tube’s in.” Sarah nodded.

Although Lindsay’s breathing improved following the chest tube placement, her vital signs continued to drop. Dr Sarah started another round of blood products and upped Lindsay’s meds, but that didn’t seem to be doing the trick. Lindsay began to shiver dramatically. Her long legs trembled and shook, and at the far end of the bed, her toes were scrunched up hard, showing off the white and red candy cane themed nail polish on her toes, along with the thin, wavy, prominent wrinkles that permeated the soles of the big, size 12 feet Lindsay was always so self conscious of. “Mmmmm…” Lindsay moaned. Dr Lindsay began taking rapid, shallow breaths, continuing to moan. “Shhh. It’s ok Linds. Hang in there a little longer for me…” Nurse Nancy’s calm, soothing voice told Lindsay. “I…I…” Lindsay babbled. “You what sweetie?” asked Nancy. “I just… I can’t believe I’m gonna die on Christmas…” Replied Lindsay, an impending sense of doom consuming her. The trio of caretakers in the room stood there frozen for a second, taken aback by Lindsay’s response. Nobody could believe that words like that were coming from Lindsay’s mouth. “You’re not dying hunny! We need you here New Year’s Eve! You know how we get slammed every year!” Nancy tried to encourage, her tone of voice upbeat and positive. “New Year’s Eve? Pshhh…” Lindsay scoffed, continuing to shiver. “I’m gonna be toe tagged and under a sheet in a little while…. Forget New year’s…” continued Lindsay. “No hunny, don’t say that! We’re gonna fix you up!” Nancy reassured, her voice getting a bit wobbly, upset by how Lindsay was talking about her own fate.

Before Lindsay could even answer, she started gasping loudly, taking deep, dramatic gasps. The heart monitors began beeping louder and faster, playing an almost ominous tone. “She’s crashing…” Heather announced. “linds? Stay with us hunny!” Nurse Nancy said to Lindsay, holding her right hand for a second. Again, Lindsay didn’t answer. Her frantic hyperventilating continued, her eyes WIDE open. “We need to intubate. 8.0 ET and a laryngoscope!.” Ordered Sarah, her voice roaring through the room. “Lindsay? I’m gonna intubate you, ok?” Sarah told Lindsay, moving to the head of the bed. Dr Lindsay looked up at Dr Sarah, their eyes locking for a moment. Lindsay looked like she was trying to mouth something, but couldn’t get the words out. “What’s up Linds?” asked Sarah. Lindsay didn’t answer. Her eyes shifted away from Sarah’s. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open, but became locked at the ceiling. It was like a switch was flipped. Lindsay’s shivering and gasping came to an abrupt stop. The monitors began to alarm at that point. “V-fib! Starting compressions!!!” Nurse Heather shouted out. Heather immediately began chest compressions, pushing down on Lindsay’s chest hard and fast. Nancy swooped in, snipping off Lindsay’s sports bra, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples. At the head of the bed, Sarah got right to it, beginning rapid sequence intubation. The nerdy redheaded doctor carefully navigated the flexible plastic tube into her friend’s airway. Lindsay’s head bobbed and lolled around from the residual force of Heather’s hearty compressions, creating a moving target for Sarah- nothing that Sarah couldn’t handle! The breathing tube was navigated further into Lindsay’s airway, ending up in the correct depth and location in a matter of seconds. “I’m in!” Sarah confidently announced, taping the tube in place.

Post-intubation, the trauma team decided to shock Lindsay. The defibrillator paddles were charged to 200 joules, gelled, and pressed up against Lindsay’s bare, flat chest. “Alright! Everyone…CLEAR!” Sarah shouted, sending the first shock into the patient once everyone backed away. “MMMPH!” Lindsay moaned, as if she felt the shock. The first defibrillation didn’t do the trick, onto the second one! The defibs were recharged to 250 joules, and shock #2 was promptly delivered. “Mmm….” Moaned Lindsay, again, almost as if she knew what was being done to her. Shocks one and two didn’t do the trick, but third time’s the charm, right? The paddles were charged up to 300, and Lindsay was shocked. Her chest shot up and her back arched. She held that position for a second or two before plopping down onto the orange backboard. “Damn it, no change! Shocking again at 360. Everyone… CLEAR!” Barked Dr Sarah. KA-THUNK! Lindsay’s 6’1 frame was tossed around effortlessly by the stronger shock, but like before, v-fib persisted. With the paddles still pressed up against Lindsay’s bare chest, Sarah shocked Dr Lindsay again at 360 joules. At the far end of the table, Lindsay’s feet kicked up, slamming back down hard half a second later, wrinkling the soles of her big feet once again.

Following the fifth shock, the trauma team switched gears, giving CPR and ambu bagging another try. Heather placed the heel of her gloved hand on the middle of Lindsay’s chest and began pumping away hard and fast. Lindsay’s chest caved in, and her toned belly with abs rippled and jiggled out from the sheer force of the chest compressions. Heather felt Lindsay’s ribs break, but nonetheless, she kept up her life saving efforts. At the head of the bed, Nurse Nancy attached the ambu bag to the ET tube, puffing the light blue bag every few seconds or so, sending critically needed oxygen directly into the coding doctor’s lungs. Dr Sarah stood off to the side of the table injecting the first doses of epinephrine and atropine into Lindsay’s IV line in hopes of stimulating positive cardiac activity. While waiting for the meds to kick in, Heather kept at it, brutally going to town on her coworker (now patient’s) chest. Heather looked down at Lindsay’s face while continuing CPR. Lindsay’s head bobbed and bounced around in sync with each individual compression. Her eyes were WIDE open, her face locked in a full-blown death stare. The ET tube hung out the side of Lindsay’s mouth, taped in place, hugging her pale lips. Heather couldn’t believe a familiar face was in such dire shape. “The ones with their eyes open never make it…” Heather thought to herself. Back at the head of the table, Nancy continued ambu bagging. “You’ve got a long life ahead of you… We all love you and need you here Linds…” Nancy whispered into Lindsay’s ear, as if she was trying to convince Lindsay to not die.

Over the coming minutes, Lindsay’s chest began to take an absolute beating. A nasty bruise started to form in the center of her chest on top of the breastbone. Mid code, Lindsay’s chest tube began to drain a substantial amount of blood seemingly out of nowhere. “What the hell?...” A surprised Dr Sarah thought out loud. In the blink of an eye, a couple liters of blood drained through the tube. “She’s bleeding somewhere in her chest. Maybe a cardiac chamber or great vessel injury.” Speculated Sarah, trying to explain away what she was seeing. “I’m gonna do an echo. Let’s see what her heart’s doing. Maybe that’ll give me something to work with.” Sarah went on. With CPR ongoing, Sarah squirted a little bit of clear, conductive ultrasound gel onto Lindsay’s bare chest. She turned on the ultrasound monitor screen and lowered the wand onto the portion of Lindsay’s chest where the gel was and began moving it around for a second or two to spread it out a bit. Sarah then moved the ultrasound wand over Lindsay’s heart and eyes the monitor screen. “….oh Lord…what a mess in there…” Uttered Sarah. “Hmm?” Heather overheard. “Massive tamponade.” Sarah shook her head. “Pericardiocentesis?” asked Heather, wondering what the next step was. “I don’t think that’ll do the trick. We need to crack her chest and see what’s really going on in there. I’m gonna set up a thoracotomy tray.” Sarah explained to Nurse Heather. Nurse Heather’s eyes went wide once she heard the word “thoracotomy.” That was a last ditch effort, hail Mary procedure used in the most critical patients. Heather has seen many patients get their chest cracked during her time as a nurse in our ER, but the idea of a friend, coworker, and familiar face being the recipient of such a procedure really bothered Heather at a deeper level.

Betadine was splashed across the left half of Lindsay’s chest. The strong, chemical scent of antiseptic hit everyone’s nostrils in less than a second. Sarah picked up the scalpel, making a crude, but decisive incision. The cut started just to the left of Lindsay’s sternum, extended laterally across her chest, underneath her left nipple, and concluding just shy of her left armpit. Heather halted CPR while Sarah worked to separate the underlying tissue and muscle to make way for the rib spreader. With an adequate space created, the metal rib retractor was placed, and Lindsay’s chest was forcefully pried open. A loud popping and cracking sound echoed around the room while Sarah turned the knobs on the spreader. Upon entry to Lindsay’s chest cavity, there was a massive rush of blood. “Suction! SUCTION!” Shouted Sarah, packing handfuls of surgical sponges into the fresh incision area. Heather lowered a suction tube into Lindsay’s chest cavity and began removing the excess blood to create a good line of sight for Sarah. The suction tube made a wet slurping sound as it removed the blood. Meanwhile, Sarah incised the fibrous lining of the pericardium to relieve the tamponade and placed a vascular clamp on the descending aorta in order to redirect blood flow and quell any arterial bleeding- at least temporarily. Heather continued to apply suction every few seconds or so, the line of sight clogging up with blood like clockwork. “Starting cardiac massage.” Announced Sarah, reaching into Lindsay’s chest, beginning to vigorously massage away at Lindsay’s strong, athletic heart. Sarah’s gloved hands were wrapped firmly around the beautiful tomboy doctor’s heart, squeezing much needed blood to the rest of her body. A wet, rhythmic squishing sound was produced from Dr Sarah’s internal resus efforts. “Come on�� come on Linds…” uttered Sarah under her breath.

Sarah squeezed and squeezed, but her multiple cycles of cardiac massage failed to restart Dr Lindsay’s heart. Next up, the team opted to give the internal paddles a try. The internal paddles were charged to 20 joules and lowered into Lindsay’s chest around her erratically twitching heart. THWACK! Lindsay’s heart tensed up for a second before going right back to v-fib. Sarah sighed. “No change, going again at 30. Everyone… CLEAR!” Sarah shocked again. Lindsay’s torso jolted sharply in response to the shock, but v-fib remained. “Hitting her again at 40!..... CLEAR!” Sarah’s voice surged. “Mmm….” Lindsay moaned in reaction to the shock. “she’s still in v-fib, let’s go again…. CLEAR!” Sarah yelled out passionately. A dull, wet thump was heard, however, Lindsay’s heart still couldn’t be shocked out of v-fib. “AGAIN!... CLEAR!” Yelled Sarah, lowering the blood soaked internal paddles back onto Lindsay’s cracked open chest. “Still nothing. Recharging the internal paddles to 40!” Sarah announced, her tone of voice growing more and panicked. The high pitched, electrical whirring sound of the paddles recharging bounced around the room. “Ok…. CLEAR!” Sarah defibbed Lindsay again. Almost instantly after the shock, the heart monitors flatlined. Lindsay’s heart sat completely motionless in plain sight. Dr Sarah removed the large, spoon shaped paddles and gently set them back on the crash cart. Sarah began removing her gloves and eyeing the clock on the wall. “It’s over. Time of death, 19:35.” Sarah called out, abruptly terminating the code.

The trio of caretakers stood there shell shocked for a moment while the high pitched hum of the flatlined monitors droned around the room. Nancy removed the ambu bag, a small amount of air quietly hissing out. Heather switched off the monitors, making the once loud, chaotic room eerily silent. Nobody said a word, but knew exactly what to do next. The IV lines were taken out of each arm. The EKG electrodes were disconnected. The BP cuff was taken off Lindsay’s left bicep. The pulse oximeter was taken off her left index finger. A blue surgical drape was hastily tossed on top of the thoracotomy site. Lindsay’s eyes remained wide open as her body was covered, appearing as if she watched the sheet get pulled over her head. Last but not least, a toe tag was filled out and placed on the big toe of Lindsay’s left foot. The tag dangled in front of Lindsay’s hot, wrinkly soles, serving as a harsh reminder that no Christmas miracles would be taking place that night. In this alternate reality, Lindsay was now the latest beauty who found herself toe tagged and under a sheet in our emergency department.

[positron2399]

Some concept art and a cover for my likely not upcoming "hard" sci-fi superhero story called "Whispers in the Stars." The story stars our Superman stand-in "The Juggerknight," aka, Delroy Mathews Jenkins Jr., or just Del for short, and his voyage across space and time as what can best be described as the incarnation of Mars. Unfortunately for him, when he first got his powers, he accidentally fell through the first two stories of his house and killed most of his immediate family on a warm Christmas Eve except for his brother in Nebraska and his remaining granddaughter who was at a sleepover, in essence, he's a living neutron star as while he's only 3ish meters tall, he weighs almost as much as Phobos, when conscious, he's always levitating.

He has all the typical "superman" powers such as super strength, super speed, controlled levitation, complete invincibility, and gamma ray vision (he can practically shoot quasars from his eye and fingers if he wants). There's also some unique abilities such as just not needing to eat or rest (not that he could eat as he no longer has any orifices), the ability to make "shields" of space where the speed of light is zero, the ability to instantly understand alien languages (not their thought processes tho, most of their sentences sound/look like gibberish to him) and that he's rather "slow" compared to most other supermen, as in he can only go upwards of seven times the speed of light (he doesn't move much faster than Mach 10 on inhabited planets and 89 m/s in cities) He can also move through wormholes in this setting, which only light and gravitons should be able to move through (idk about reality, I just want semi-instant communication but no ftl)

Still, it isn't really the powers that make him superman, but his heart, which is very much needed in his dark forest universe (civilizations less than 20 light years apart are generally friends till star pop or heat death). As in, he'd stay with and attempt to comfort somebody attempting suicide, patch up and stay connected with a styrofoamer, rescue some old lady's stupid cat from a tree, swat those sperm-looking military drones from the sky, rescue any and everyone from a building bombed by aforementioned drones, regardless of their affiliations, and then frame and hang a child's shitty artwork of him/themselves as a supe around his house. Heck, the only (cannon) reason his armor is purple and blue is that his granddaughter and one of his remaining army buddies suggested it as opposed to the creepy "natural" white-grey of his suit that gives more "I'm here to sterilize your planet" than "I'm a weirdo given the powers of a god and will use it to make the world a better place bit by bit... then spray graffiti on varying national monuments cause what are you gonna do about it?"

Alright, finally onto the next supe, their name is "Pyninby," and he's essentially some magical girl who's essentially a heavily enhanced Akira or highly nerfed Dr. Manhattan. Much like Del, her powers just suddenly activated, specifically while playing with friends and, well you can imagine what happened to his friends, family, and entire home city. Hell, she was more or less an area of ruined, ever-changing space till he reached twelve in both human and brunniee years. Pyn never goes by it/that pronouns specifically as the varying word and space governments of their people referred to their first "form" as such, they could hear and see everything they were saying yet had no means of communication. Their Madoka-esc outfit specifically comes from the joy and comfort given to them by her girlfriends, his space navy uncle with whom she lives most of the time, and their mentor/adoptive father Delroy. His second form looked closer to the depressive blue glowing demi-god Dr. Manhattan. His favorite foods include basically any type of brunniee cake and sorbert, small vertebrates and bugs she notices when grazing, improvised explosives, and city sweepers such as hydrogen/antimatter bombs.

As for their powers, they pretty can do pretty much anything they can imagine but generally attack using barrages of manifested magic guns, missiles, and particle beams in a similar manner to Mami from Maodka. The ability to reach three times the speed of light and also the capability to move through wormholes.

The Elsen-looking mfs are how background/unnamed humans will be portrayed in the series, important humans look like people.

The regular brunniee is an early concept for Pyn's uncle and is not the final design. He survived her "ascension" to "godhood" by being on tour fighting a war over territorial disputes for the largest of the three brunniee gas giants... He really hates any type of alarm because that generally meant a fusion-propelled missile was speeding toward the space submarine and he'd die at 26. despite their mammalian appearance, they're closer analogs to archosaurs such as birds and non-avian dinosaurs.

I call this hard sci-fi because everything aside from the superheroes would be rather "realistic" such as space crafts not being to exceed the speed of light, their battles being closer to submarine warfare, semi-alien psychology/biology, and the aliens using para terraforming tactics /space mega-structures to colonize their solar systems (they could turn their shitty Venuses and Mars analogs into a silicon copy of their home world, but that'd likely take thousands of years and they live in they tend to live immediate now).

@ki-2-your-heart @toxetta @piko-chan @galaxyalphawolf @laven-dere @eysunemu @awawanyan

... Rather upset Tearykitten deactivated as I didn't have any other means of contact and can't check in anymore

Forearm Shiver, Fake Orchestra, Faithless Purification(megalovania remix), and NEOtech:Online (GenericAntagonist and Underformer remixes respectively) would fit the series like a glass slipper

[roamingtigress]

A Night for Us by Roaming Tigress Hosea and Dutch break into New York's Luna Park one Christmas day in the 1920s -- and revisit memories of Christmas pasts.

A Night for Us by Roaming Tigress

Luna Park.

A vibrant slice of electric heaven in Brooklyn's Coney Island; a picture of modernity, adventure and wonder awaits you on every corner of its expanse.

Such a place isn't where most would expect to find a pair of old men seeking (mis)adventure in the Roaring Twenties, but, here we are.

"Dutch, I don't think you're quite as nimble these days."

My idiot husband listens as well as he always has—barely at all.

"Just one more rung, Old Girl!"

He's climbing up a damn iron gate. It's part of a grand entrance with splendid art deco styling, its electric lighting visible for miles at night on Surfside Avenue. One slip could result in an embarrassing end to his storied life.

Now, I'm sure you're telling yourself: has Dutch truly lost it?

Well, possible. But I think to have "lost it", you'd have to have it in the first place.

But, let me tell you one little detail.

It's Christmas, and the park is closed on Christmas.

Did you think it would stop us?

No.

To my relief, Dutch came down from the gate on the opposite side without breaking his neck. That stupid, handsome grin of his could light up the whole park -- and the rest of Brooklyn.

"That was easy enough 'sea!"

I scoff. It wasn't easy for me to watch.

I love that fool.

Now it was my turn to come down the gate; after all, someone had to keep an eye on Dutch. It would be irresponsible for me to let him run rampant in such a place -- heaven knows what he'd do. There may be no park left to reopen in the new year!

And besides, why should he have all the fun?

I was a touch more cautious, mind; he was hovering right underneath me with his arms out as if he wanted me to let go and catch me. But as to not give him the satisfaction of wanting to play big brave rescuer, as if waiting to catch some fair maiden escaping a witch's castle, I managed to climb down the gate without as much as a scuffed nail.

"Not bad."

Now Dutch scoffed, giving me a poke to the ribs as I have done to him many times to keep him in line.

"You were worried."

I give Dutch a jab back; he lets out a most manly squeak; still ticklish!. "Funeral costs have gone up these days."

Dutch rolled with the punch. We hadn't lost a step in that area; in fact, we've gotten sharper, seemingly knowing what the other one would react, and would say next.

"Save yourself a little money and take me to the taxidermist instead!"

I threw my next punch. "As if I'd want to see your ugly old mug over the mantle!"

He dodged.

"Who said it had to be the mantle? I think I could look rather dashing over my spot on the bed!"

I sass back. Dutch is really pushing to get coal for Christmas.

"I don't think I want nightmares!"

Then I get it. I really get it.

Dutch tossed a snowball at me. I didn't even see him make it. I expertly dodge.

"Almost!" I brag, tossing one right back, getting him square in that wonderful big forehead of his and acting completely oblivious to it.

And then he hands me the old man's memories card as he whirls me under his arm, with much the same elegance and grace he had done when he was younger. "You used to say, 'almost' isn't good enough."

I was referring to aiming his gun; he wasn't terrible at shooting, but let's just say, I polished up his skills. And here he is, haunting me with those words some thirty-odd years later -- in the context of snowball fights.

He laughs that hearty laugh as he spins me around again, out into the grand entrance of Luna Park's electric circus.

Only the 'circus' has packed up the tent for the remainder of the week.

Gone are the bustling crowds that would pour through this spot where Dutch twirled me. Many would be rushing towards ticket booths for their rides -- perhaps the Parachute Jump, the Dragon Gorge -- while others visiting the concession kiosks to fuel up for the day; popcorn, peanuts, cotton candy. Those families who took in the stunning marvel that is the Electric Tower watched trained leopards perform and rode the latest state-of-the-art rides have settled in their homes for the holidays, maybe listening to holiday tunes on the radio.

There's still a faint smell of buttered popcorn in the air from yesterday's Christmas Eve, the last day the park was open for the year. And indeed, some was left behind in a popcorn cart. It was parked by a souvenir shop which sold pennants featuring the trademark grinning 'Tilly' face stamped on with 'Luna Park.'

I see a sparkle in Dutch's eye; I know what he's thinking. First popcorn, then a pennant.

I quirk an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure that popcorn's stale now -- "

Dutch flashed me a cheeky grin, acting as if I hadn’t seen him snatch a pennant and shove it into some hidden pocket of his coat, which I’m convinced leads to an endless void. It's probably where he stashes all those plans.

"It'll only get more stale without someone eatin' it."

Before I could retort, he whipped out his trusted lock pick from an inside pocket of his black bear fur coat and flashed it to me with a grin. He knew damn well he could have got through the gates with it, but where was the fun in that?

"We could get popcorn theft to our list of crimes, 'sea!" He made a showing of picking the lock of the popcorn cart.

Yes, I'm excited about the prospect of that report getting around; Hosea Matthews and Dutch van der Linde are now wanted for the theft of stale popcorn and a Tilly pennant on Coney Island's Luna Park on Christmas. Rival gangs near and far would flee in terror.

Still, I take my bag from him -- costing me a nickel -- and let him lead the way.

I snort, leaning in as I munch on a few pieces, taking in the eclectic settings. I've secretly made a mental note to come back in season, a surprise for our wedding anniversary.

"I think the Pinkertons would be stretched to their resources with that one."

Dutch chuckles; more easily amused these days, even by his own little comments and jokes, and I cherish it.

"What would you say if I took you on a ride?" Dutch asks smoothly, pulling me close in his arm, making it impossible to resist. I could have retorted with a quip about him already taking me for a ride, but I chose to let him run the show. He's a little frailer these days on account of the rigours of old age, but, he still holds me close and his hold is snug, almost shoving me into his coat. I feel so warm, almost not needing my own.

An inner voice said no, this was luna-cy; what would he know about operating one of these things? He decided that if nobody was around to operate, he'd play the part himself.

Foolish, very foolish.

But I said, yes.

I've said 'yes' to a lot of risky things in my life; starting a gang, willingly getting myself into all sorts of schemes, situations and scenarios to varying degrees of success -- a few that resulted in me getting caught and put behind bars -- but getting married to Dutch van der Linde was the biggest risk I have ever taken. In our stories, I may come upon as being completely exasperated, and while there may be some truth behind that, I do not regret saying 'yes' to that man.

Damn it, I love Dutch.

A reminder of how much I love him was when he offered me some of his popcorn in his fingers. I have plenty of my own, but . . . I softly nibble it out of his fingers, gently brushing them with a kiss. The wondrous surroundings we're in almost seem to have melted away.

"You remember our first Christmas when I did that . . . ?" Dutch asked in a tone softer than his usual.

I smile, leaning my head against his shoulder as he leads me down past a kiosk that hawks linen textured coloured postcards during the park's opening hour, just behind the gates. He swiped one behind the desk and into his coat it went. Another crime on the Pinkerton watch.

"I do . . . " I smile; that was nearly forty years ago. We had scammed a gentleman into taking a horse with hung papers (falsified pedigree) and well, he wasn't too pleased about it. We chose to lay low versus taking on the gang he ran with, a rough bunch that once dominated Grizzlies East.

"I remember it being incredibly windy and cold and watching the snow blow around as we popped the popcorn over the fire. Nice little homestead out by Window Rock. You were still a little bit shy, but so charming. You heard my stomach rumbling and thought I needed a snack break. So you took some popcorn out of the bowl and offered it to me by hand."

Dutch gently twirled me again, past a ticket booth, and another kiosk that sold cotton candy. The sweet smell still lingered there, though not a trace was left, to our disappointment.

"You ended up having most of the bowl. I settled for dried venison and cranberries."

Mercifully he got a turkey later on in the day when the snow cleared.

I shake my head, letting out a feigned dramatic sigh. "Are we going to bring that up again?"

"Either that or the ugly gloves I made you." The crinkles around his eyes are more evident now as he smiles, particularly when he feels cheeky, and I love them all the more.

"Don't remind me!" I tease.

Oh, they were ugly gloves, made of cowhide poached from Emerald Ranch, but oh, they were loved. And despite the crudeness of their design, they lasted damn near nine years.

"Were they really that much uglier than that satchel you made me?" He laughed, leading me past a series of shuttered kiosks; they held little interest to him as there was nothing visible for him to grab.

"You told me it was from bobcat, but I ain't never seen a bobcat grey with black stripes!"

It was one of my earlier attempts to con Dutch. No need to judge; I learned from that experience.

He led me down further into the park, past more shuttered vendors and snow-dusted children's rides, before we came up to an elegant carousel, the Ocean Wave. It was a beauty brought in for the 1907 season and was due for replacement. The horses were still elegant in design but paint was well worn on their saddles and the horse hair tails were sparser now, evidenced by much use. But like us, there was still some life left in the old gal.

"I think a carousel would be more of your style?" Dutch suggested, gently easing me in front of him for me to take a better look. I caught him earlier eyeballing the tall wooden structures of roller coasters further into the park. I tugged at his sleeve in a polite 'no.' He had pretended to not have noticed, in his eagerness to take me on a tour of the grounds.

My eyes bright up even more than they already were. Yes, I love carousels; I always have, ever since I was a boy (and I was one at one point). This man knows me a bit!

"Might as well take a spin on her before she goes for firewood," I muse with a twinge of sadness, taking in the intricate craftwork, and step back as he hits the switch of the power. My adoration of them was infectious; it was yet another opportunity for Dutch to get sappy with me.

"I suppose I could trust you with a carousel." I chuckle, choosing a grey horse that looks much like my dear old Silver Dollar, and Dutch hops on, right behind me, a bit of a surprise given I thought he was going to choose the white horse in front.

But I can't complain.

Dutch secured me with a gentle embrace as the horse, in a frozen mid-gallop, moved up and down in a gentle rhythm with the music. The natural light was dimming now, and a big "pop" of the light would surely draw attention from any security guard if there were any in the area. Admittedly, it added a little excitement.

"Just in case you fall off," Dutch teased, leaning that wonderful cleft chin on my shoulder. "Saving you the embarrassment of going out on a stolen away ride on a carousel."

I scoff. "Getting me back from earlier?"

"Maybe." I didn't even need to turn around to see that he had that grin on his face again.

I had to grin as he kissed me on the cheek. Now I know the real reason for him joining me on the ride; just to nuzzle as many kisses on me as he could until the end of the ride. He was being terribly distracting, but I couldn't get mad; he was being awfully sweet.

"You really haven't forgotten much, have you?" I asked in a gentle tone, reaching a hand around to touch his; he had been forgetting the odd thing, such as locking the doors, and then worrying if he hadn't locked them, sometimes waking up from a deep sleep to do so, but he's held onto nostalgia like a steel trap.

Dutch answered me with a distinct hint of vulnerability, that had been absent since his arrival in the park. "You don't let me forget."

I unexpectedly feel a catch to my throat as he leans in to give another soft kiss on the cheek.

"You're right, I don't."

I give that hand, slightly more bonier than it once was, a gentle squeeze.

"Do you remember that state fair we went to?" I could hear the smile in his voice. "Went on the night it officially started. I wanted to kiss you on the carousel."

Dutch's nostalgia pool is still deep.

And that was what brought us to New York; Dutch had wanted to keep those memories alive by reliving them again. While the gang remained outside the city limits, he stole me away for Christmas, not giving me a hint as to where we were going.

I carefully turn around in his arms, careful not to slip and give a reason for Dutch to play hero by readying to catch me again, and slowly, tenderly, we kiss. This time, I'm holding him, as if subtly telling him to not worry about his memories; I'll always have a hold onto them for him.

At that moment, the rest of the world seemed to melt away, and it was only us. In our minds, the infirmities of old age had melted away and were replaced with our youth again; only I pictured Dutch wearing his mustache. Now your preference may differ (facial hair is a subjective matter) but when I look back, I think he looked a bit silly without it.

Our kiss broke when the music slowed to a stop. We hadn't even noticed the sky had faded from its pinkish-blueish hue of a winter's sky to near black. We were lost within each other, something that has been happening with comforting frequency as of late.

"Even better than that time, 'sea."

I've always loved how he had shortened my name, short already. It's endearing.

"I think we could check out the Electric Tower and . . . " His eyes light up, and his features are handsomely reflected by the carousel lights that had yet to shut off.

"I think I have a surprise."

He had been studying some sort of map for weeks leading up to the move to New York; now I know what he was planning.

Off we went again, but not before Dutch hit the switch on a pole for electric power, and it was then that the park truly became electrifying; one by one, brilliant displays of lights switched on, and some rides even came to life.

One of those rides was the famed Dragon Gorge.

Against my better judgement, I decide to let Dutch drag me along onto it. To those not familiar, think of an ornately decorated indoor rollercoaster, featuring mock scenes of varying dioramic scenes of our nation, from the Arctic and Rocky Mountains to historical events, such as the Battle of Port Arthur, the explosion of the U S.S Maine which got us into the Spanish-American War. Guarding us on our journey were a set of magnificent 45-foot-tall plaster dragons poised outside, with a fantastical wing span. Like the horses we rose on, they were intricately designed, with green, glowing eyes.

The ride -- an idea borne out of sheer spontaneity out of Dutch -- was more fun than I had anticipated it to be, and when it came to its stop, off we went to that majestic Electric Tower.

This was a structure made for the 1901 Pan-American Exposition, and a sign boasts of having no less than 44, 000 lightbulbs, eight watts apparently. This amazing display of modern design was featured in Dutch's stolen postcard. And speaking of the devil, Dutch had wanted to climb up it for a better view -- and drag me along. For amazing as it must be, I stood my ground firm; we had enough climbing for one day, let's not further risk the wrath of the trespassing gods, I didn't think I could catch Dutch if he lost his footing and fell.

And so off to the next destination, our surprise destination; something, to my delight, as something I was a bit of an old master in.

Ice skating.

The venue is converted for swimming in the summer, but for now, it was a skating rink for two.

A few stolen pairs of rental skates later, and we were out on the ice. My beloved husband, bless him, has long lacked coordination in this department. For several years I have patiently tried to help him skate somewhat more gracefully than a skittish moose on a frozen lake. After six years, we finally concluded that we can't all be good at everything, even Dutch.

But oh, how delighted he was to find out there was a skating rink in the park, for me!

"That's it, Dutch, I think . . .I think we're finally getting it!" I spoke proudly when his long legs had at once stopped acting like they were made of rubber; he was slightly cheating, as he carefully held onto me, but he was trying, for me.

"It only took eight years," Dutch scoffed.

I gently corrected. "Fifteen."

Another snort from my husband. Stubborn as always!

"Nonsense."

I stood my ground.

Again.

"Fifteen years."

As Dutch crossed his arms like a petulant child, he realized he wasn't holding onto me. Slowly but surely, he came to the realization that, by George, he's finally got it.

I gently took the lead when I felt we were steady and ready, and slowly, we kissed, under this night for us.

[louisupdates]

joshuahalling 2023 sort of feels like a wild blur. 2022 and the first @louist91 world tour was an absolute rollercoaster that grew so big and so fast for a lot of us that with the ‘Faith in the Future’ world tour following it up sharply in 2023, it just felt like an extension of the chaos and we only really fully stopped back to back tours just now leading up to this christmas!

In between all of that mayhem though, I was honoured and massively baffled to have been nominated for @iheartradio favourite photographer last year, just being nominated was amazing but to spend a few days in LA seeing old friends, creating new ones and attending the event at the Dolby Theatre made it really a once in a lifetime thing for a photographer from Cornwall who feels like he’s been winging it for 10 years now… so it’s very bloody surreal today to have been nominated for a 2nd year in a row! This is all with serious thanks to the legend @louist91, his team for trusting me on the visuals for these tours, our phenomenal road crew who make these shows so amazing to shoot and honestly the most passionate and supportive fanbase Louis has created around him who are the reason this whole thing is even a thing. A double bonus is that ‘All Of These Voices’ is also nominated for best film which I was fortunate to film some bits alongside @charlielightening so definitely a big celebration. anyway this is all a massive ramble, basically…

It’s a little different to last year, votes are now strictly on the iHearts website which i’ll have in stories/etc. and quite restrictive to certain areas of the world unfortunately but there are ways around that. Each person can vote once per day from today till March 25th!

And last but not least, just wanted to say i’m surrounded by some insane talent and peers I look up to in this realm so please make sure you check out all their work during this process! So thank you @iheartradio for creating this category once again.

VOTE HERE

[offender42085]

Post 1206

Before and After......

Blaize Pedro Plaza, South Carolina inmate 393171, born 2002, incarceration intake February 2024 at age 21, scheduled for release December 2051

Murder

In February 2024, a court determined that. a man will spend the next three decades behind bars after pleading guilty to shooting a man and leaving him for dead along a roadside in Newberry County.

Blaize Pedro Plaza, 21, of Whitmire, pleaded guilty at the Laurens County Courthouse to a charge of murder. Circuit Judge Frank Addy Jr. then sentenced Plaza to 30 years in prison. Under South Carolina law, sentences for murder must be served day-for-day, with no possibility of parole or early release. Plaza’s trial was scheduled to go forward in the upcoming week.

Just a few days before Christmas in 2021, Plaza and his girlfriend were riding with the victim, 24-year-old Jamal Alston, in the early morning hours when an argument ensued. Alston pulled the vehicle over alongside Highway 66 in the Whitmire area of Newberry County to allow Plaza to use the restroom. At some point during that stop, Plaza shot Alston five times with a 9 mm pistol before fleeing the scene in Alston’s vehicle, leaving Alston gravely wounded on the side of the road.

A passing motorist spotted Alston and contacted authorities for help. About the same time, a vehicle fire was reported in Union County. The vehicle belonged to Alston. Investigators quickly developed Plaza as a suspect and within 24 hours they located and interviewed both Plaza and his girlfriend. Plaza confessed to the crime and his story was corroborated by his girlfriend.

4a

[haddonfieldwhore]

sparks fly - will borgen (2)

will borgen x fem!reader (part social media)

summary: you bring you favourite player a birthday gift at a kraken practice

warnings: this is pure delusion lol enjoy, fluff 🧸 please pretend the game on dec.20th was at home not in california

word count: 1.3k (this is part 2 )

❥ click here for part one

9:46am - you

you came back downstairs dressed and feeling refreshed after your shower, grabbing your phone off the counter getting your shoes on. you had a few errands to run, and if you wanted to be home in time to watch the game tonight, you wanted to get a move on.

since it was close to christmas, you hated how busy it was downtown, but you always loved how they decorated the trees, snapping a quick picture and posting it to your story. you admired the passing buildings from the backseat of the uber you were in, when your phone buzzed in your lap. your eyes almost fell out of your skull as you saw what the notification was. once again, you had to check a few times to convince yourself that it truly was the real will borgen messaging you, and you pinched yourself as you typed out each reply.

he didn’t reply as fast this time, and you tried not to look insane to your driver as you checked your phone every 10 seconds. finally, a reply came through, but it only left you more bewildered.

he had sent you a ticket to the game? you couldn’t fathom why, but you weren’t going to say no when your favourite player was saying he wanted you there; that he wanted to see you. the game wasn’t until later that evening, giving you plenty of time to both get ready, and overthink everything about the situation.

•

6:21pm - you

you still felt like this was all a dream, even as you arrived at the arena and got to your seat, in the lower 100s section near the net that the kraken would shoot on twice during the game. you felt bad, wondering how much the ticket had cost, but you were pretty sure the players got a few tickets for free, so you hoped that was the case.

the kraken won in the end, leaving you feeling even more on cloud 9 as you walked up to the concession area of the arena. you were getting ready to leave, when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket.

you felt like you were going crazy, wondering what made you so special to deserve all of this happening to you. nervousness grew in the pit of your stomach - you had never hung out with a professional hockey player before. what would you talk about? what if you made a fool of yourself? he must have sensed your hesitance somehow, because after a minute of you not replying, another message came through.

if someone had told you 24 hours ago that you would be texting with, never mind getting coffee with will borgen, you would have laughed in their face. but somehow, you wondered if he had also felt that little spark between the two of you at the iceplex, and that’s why this was all happening. it sounded a little too fantastical for you, but you would believe anything at this point.

you got to the starbucks, the restaurant part being mostly empty, just a few people in line for takeout. you sat at a table in the corner, waiting anxiously.

as promised, 20 minutes later, you saw will sneak past the two people still in line, and over to your table.

“hey, thanks for waiting,” he smiled shyly, and you smiled back at him. how could he be nervous right now? you wondered.

“no problem. you’re really you,” you laughed softly, and he chuckled.

“yea, did you think i wasn’t?”

“a tiny part of me did. the ticket kinda convinced me but this is …. a little insane.”

“in a good way?” he asked nervously.

“will, of course i mean in a good way. i just … why me?” you fiddled with your hands in your lap, picking at your fingernails.

“why not you?”

“i mean i’m just me and you’re.. you.”

“you realize that makes no sense right?” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but giggle. despite how nervous you were, you felt more and more comfortable in his presence.

“you know what i mean.”

“you know, matty actually had to convince me to work up the nerve to message you.” you looked up at him, surprised.

“really?” you asked in disbelief. “do the other guys know-“

“no just him. he doesn’t know we’re together right now but he convinced me to invite you to the game.”

“well thank him for me then,” you laughed. “should we get drinks?” will nodded, and the two of you went to the counter to order. will insisted on paying for the drinks despite your protests, and he asked if you wanted to walk around the arena.

“you’re not worried about people seeing you?”

“no, most people are gone anyway even if i did.” as he took a sip of his drink, you smiled, noticing a familiar string of blue beads around /,” you smiled, holding his wrist softly to admire it on him.

“yeah, this really pretty girl gave it to me for my birthday,” he said, sliding his hand into yours and licking your fingers together. you blushed slightly as you walked hand in hand around the arena, will showing you around and explaining different things about the game. it had only been about half an hour, but you felt like you had known eachother for years.

•

matty beniers was walking out of the arena, having stayed a little later than usual after the game. as he looked down the hall, he noticed you and will walking the other way, smiling to himself as he walked to his car.

“he actually did it,” he thought to himself, proud of his friend for taking his advice. he ran into yamamoto who was also just leaving.

“hey, borgy’s not with you?” he asked, and matty shook his head.

“he had a few things to do tonight,” matty lied, not wanting to be the one to tell the guys about will and his potential new girl.

“i guess we’re celebrating his birthday without him then,” kailer laughed, and patty pushed him gently towards the door.

“more cake for us.”

•

10:51pm - you

“so did you enjoy your birthday?” you asked, laughing as will swung your joined hands back and forth between you slightly.

“yes, but i think i might have enjoyed today more,” he smiled. “it is getting late though and i don’t want to keep you here forever. do you have a ride home?”

“yeah, it is. i can take an uber-“

“i could drive you if you want?” he offered, and you smiled.

“if it’s not a bother- thank you.”

after a short drive, will pulled up outside your apartment, and you felt sad to be saying goodbye. what if he didn’t want to see you again?

“i would invite you up, but i really wasn’t prepared to have guests so the place is a mess. and it’s pretty late so you probably want to get home and-“

“it’s okay,” he laughed at your rambling. “next time. we fly to anaheim for a few days but i’d like to see you when i get back- if you want to i mean,” it was his turn to ramble, the fact that he was also a little nervous made you feel more at ease somehow.

“yeah, i would really like that,” you smiled. “i’ll be cheering you guys on from home.”

“thanks,” he replied, but looked like he wanted to say something else. “…can i kiss you goodnight?” he asked, and your face got warm, but you nodded. he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours softly. the taste of coffee on his tongue was sweet, and you found yourself wanting to kiss him again as he pulled away, but you didn’t.

“i’ll text you tomorrow?” he offered, and you nodded, getting out of the car and wishing him goodnight. he waited in his car to make sure you got in the building safely, and you sighed happily, a huge smile on your face as you rose the elevator up to your floor.

you just hoped the next few days went by fast.

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[louistomlinsoncouk]

joshuahalling 2023 sort of feels like a wild blur. 2022 and the first @louist91 world tour was an absolute rollercoaster that grew so big and so fast for a lot of us that with the ‘Faith in the Future’ world tour following it up sharply in 2023, it just felt like an extension of the chaos and we only really fully stopped back to back tours just now leading up to this christmas! In between all of that mayhem though, I was honoured and massively baffled to have been nominated for @iheartradio favourite photographer last year, just being nominated was amazing but to spend a few days in LA seeing old friends, creating new ones and attending the event at the Dolby Theatre made it really a once in a lifetime thing for a photographer from Cornwall who feels like he’s been winging it for 10 years now… so it’s very bloody surreal today to have been nominated for a 2nd year in a row! This is all with serious thanks to the legend @louist91, his team for trusting me on the visuals for these tours, our phenomenal road crew who make these shows so amazing to shoot and honestly the most passionate and supportive fanbase Louis has created around him who are the reason this whole thing is even a thing. A double bonus is that ‘All Of These Voices’ is also nominated for best film which I was fortunate to film some bits alongside @charlielightening so definitely a big celebration. anyway this is all a massive ramble, basically… It’s a little different to last year, votes are now strictly on the iHearts website which i’ll have in stories/etc. and quite restrictive to certain areas of the world unfortunately but there are ways around that. Each person can vote once per day from today till March 25th! And last but not least, just wanted to say i’m surrounded by some insane talent and peers I look up to in this realm so please make sure you check out all their work during this process! So thank you @iheartradio for creating this category once again.

[vigilxnte]

A Christmas Problem

Daryl x !Reader

It's Christmas time, and you've not long joined the group. Everyone but daryl seems to acknowledge you. but on a supply run, you understand why.

⚠️A Fluff tone of Fluff⚠️

1.5k words Approx.

Having fun making these, if you have any ideas for content shoot me a request. Thank you and enjoy my short story :)

It's finally Christmas. Yay. Except, there's no point in celebrating. No tree, no lights. There's no dinner, or presents or joy. Just death surrounding us at all times. I see it as a constant reminder of our past life, burdend with the curse of surviving. I was lucky to have found Rick and his group jusy before winter. Otherwise, I would have been totally screwed. Everyone in the group seems nice, but there's just one man I can't place an opinion on. Dixon. Every time I speak with him, he either ignores me or walks away. I don't know what I've done wrong or if I've said anything wrong. He just doesn't want me around. Luckily, today's the day he can't ignore me, as Rick partnered us up together for a supply run. I love them, let's me get out for just a bit rather than stood behind the walls of alexandria for the rest of my life.

Snow began to cover the town we called home as i made my way to the frount gate; waiting for daryls arrival. His bike and crossbow stand waiting, but he's no where to be found. I scan the area determining he isn't here. I stand in the freezing temperature waiting for him. About 30 minutes later, he stroles up with two scarfs, wrapping one around my neck and securing it. He gives me a nod and mounts his bike, placing the crossbow onto his back. Why is he giving me a scarf? I thought he didn't like me? Without another thought, I get into the pickup truck parked behind him. Daryl signals carl to open the gate. Once open, he drives off, and I follow right behind him. If you had told me 10 years ago I was scavenging for food, with the man who can barely even look at me, during an apocalypse, I would have called you crazy. But unfortunately, here I am, driving for hours looking for the first place we can find to scout. Fortunately for us, rick sent west where none of us travelled, so hopefully, we didn't have to go far. Hours pass until I see daryl turn towards a housing estate. I follow. We both pull into the quiet neighbourhood, no one to be seen anywhere. Not even walkers. Exiting my vehicle, I raise my gun and begin mapping the area. It was abandoned. I returned to daryl opening the house next door to me, kicking it with his foot he was in. The door burst its hinges and made a THUD hitting the floor. Still no noise came from walkers in the area. I look at dixon and give him a questioning look.

"Watch your back," he whispered at me. I returned him an agreeing nod. keeping my gun in one i reached for my knife with the other, holding them up in the event of a surprise attack. Checking every crevice of the house, we concluded nothing dangerous could hurt us here. I take my bag off my back to begin looting the cupboard. "Jackpot!" I shout, followed by daryl returning a gleeful smirk. Tins of everything, soup, beans, tuna. Who ever live here certainly was stocked up. With my bag now full, I return to the vehicle. I placed my gun in boot while beginning emptying my bag into the back of the pickup truck. Time goes by, and I notice dixon hadn't come back. I checked the watch on my wrist, indicating it had been a good 10 minutes since I saw him.

I panicked, rushing back to the house to find the kitchen destroyed. The table and chairs were broken, and blood splattered across the floors and walls. Fuck. "Dixon!" I called for him, no response. I heard banging from the back door. I slowly make my way to the back of the house, in hopes of finding my missing companion. Nothing but a walker on the other side of the door. My stomach dropped. Where had he gone? Returning to the back door, my path was blocked. 2 walkers had heard the banging of the door and had made their way into the house. Without a second thought, I rushed towards the first and got it straight in the eye. Unfortunately, my knife got stuck, I struggled to remove the knife, leaving me defenceless. I reach for my gun, but remember I left it in the back of the car. I scramble backwards in the kitchen, looking for a weapon. Oblivious, I trip and fall on the broken chair leg, hurting myself on the fall. The walker no close I panic and remove the peice of wood from my leg. As the walker fell towards me, I stabbed it into the back of his head. I breathe heavy, in relief, and in pain as I taken my jacket off to wrap up my deep wound. I had to hurry back to the vehicle so I could stich myself up. Except I couldn't work. "Fuck!" I shout in defeat. My only option was to crawl back to the vehicle. I get on my stomach, wincing in pain as my leg banged against the floor. Slowly howling body across the floor, I hear footstep running towards the house outside. It was daryl. His face dropped as he saw the mess I was in, I could see he felt guilty he left me alone. "Need a hand" he forced a smirk while offering me his hand to help me up off of the floor. I placed an arm around his neck for a support as he placed me in the living room. A large fire place was centred in the middle of the room with a log holder filled with logs. I felt relieved we had some form of shelter for tonight. Dixon returned back to the pickup to grab the stature kit. He returned with our blankets and some food, indicating we were stopping herd tonight.

Before I could grab the stature kit, he beat me to it. I'm already tending to my wound. He watched me as he placed my leg onto his to ensure he wasn't causing me any pain. Of course, I winced, but he was being gentle. He took out some ripped sheets and soaked it with the rubbing alcohol, cleaning around my wound. Once again, being as gentle as he could. I forced him a warm smile through the burning pain, but he quickly looked down when his face turned red. Was he blushing? Wait. Does this man have feelings for me? He took the needle to begin stiching my open wound. Time passes, and he finishes my leg up by bandaging it up. I looked him in the eyes and told him, "Thank you, dixon." Once again, he avoided eye contact. Before he could get up, I reached for his hand and pulled him back. He finally looked me in the eyes. I repeat again "thank you" to ensure I get a response. "Not a problem," he said in his deep, rasped voice. We exchange a smile before he leaves to prop the door back up. I saw him look back over my way a couple of times to ensure I was okay while I rested. I tried to avoid looking at him, but I couldn't help but smile, knowing this man actually cares for me. Darkness had now cast over the house as dixon started the fire. He lifted me off the couch and placed me into the blanket he had positioned by the fireplace. Before I could thank him again, he had already lay next to the fire opposite me. My eyes felt heavy as I began to fall asleep. The last thing I saw before my eyes closed was daryl watching me as I rested.

I woke up instantly, cold sweat and heavy breathing. I get nightmares, but this one was real. Too real. Daryl was awake and saw me in a panicked state. "You good Y/K," he said, showing concern. as he too sat up. "Yeah, sorry, I sometimes get nightmares like this." Before I could finish my sentence, he had already made his way over to me and placed his blanket beside me. He placed his arm over me as we lay down, pulling into him. I felt the warmth that exerted from his body into mind. I placed my head into his chest as I wrapped my arm around him. "You're going to be okay," he told me, planting a kiss onto my forehead. I look up at him and give him a loving smile, and he to returned one. "Merry christmas, Dixon." i smiled, "You too," and just like that, I fell asleep. Cuddled into the man who wouldn't speak to me.

[wastelandmoony]

Déjà Vécu: Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen : Pitch Perfect

Summary: Sports!

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+ only!, angst, anxiety/overwhelming feelings, language, mentions of death and self harm, mentions of abuse, mentions of drinking.

A/N: Hiya friendz. Long story short, I accidentally deleted the document I was writing this on, including the already completed ending and full plot outline. 50k+ words in, and needless to say I was enraged. After taking a short break to grieve, I picked it back up and I'm very happy to be continuing.

I also think it's worth mentioning that I truly believe Sirius is a good person, but he's also a product of his environment. He's not perfect, he's not a proper gentleman. His family is extremely fucked and I believe that some of those mindsets/attitudes have seeped into his psyche, and he needs to do some deep unlearning to amend those. With that being said, please don't come for me for writing him to be a lil bit of a dick lol

Read on AO3

Companion Playlist

Déjà Vécu Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 1st, 1974

“—I need you to sit still, otherwise I’m going to end up chopping your ear off!” 

Peter sat on the floor of the train compartment in-between her legs while she carefully poked the tip of her wand through his hair. Barty Crouch had launched a wad of Droobles gum out of the window as they were entering the passenger car, striking Pete directly on the side of his head and immediately bonding to his hair. Sirius had his wand poised at their compartment instantly, but upon seeing Regulus’ smirk he faltered, lowing his arm as she pulled him into the corridor. James had tried to charm the gum out, to no avail.  After 45 minutes of whinging, yanking, and a few singed locks of hair, she knew what had to be done. 

Gingerly, she ran her wand through the side of his head, muttering a severing charm against the fine blond strands. 

Once complete, she sat back and sighed, “Sorry Pete, it’s the best I could do.” 

She was able to save the majority of the affected area, but there was still a pretty visible chunk of hair missing. Peter reached up, groaning as he grazed his fingertips over the shorn spot.

“Relax mate, it’s just hair, it’ll grow back,” Sirius chided from the corner.

Peter stood up, shooting him a glare, “Speak for yourself, how’d you feel if you had to cut yours?”

Instantly, Sirius’ hand shot up to touch his dark locks, which he had yet to trim since last summer. The sight was comical, the expression of mild terror washing across his face at the thought. She stifled a laugh, smiling over at Remus who was slumped by the window reading. He had barely spoken to any of them since they met at the platform. She nudged him with her foot, raising an eyebrow as he looked up through his lashes.

You okay?

Just like Sirius and James, they could communicate with just a look, the result of spending almost every day together for years.

Remus shook his head slightly, eyes sinking down to meet the page again. He wasn’t going to open up with the others in earshot. 

She dug through her bag on the floor, emerging with the leather-bound sketchbook he had gifted her last year. Tapping him with the toe of her shoe once more, he reluctantly retrieved his own as she quietly scribbled a question mark onto the page, discretely tapping her wand so the other boys wouldn’t notice. Remus’ hastily scrawled response came quickly, causing her heart to drop into her stomach.

Mum’s worse. She won’t make it to Christmas.

———

September 10th, 1974

“Is he even chewing?” Marlene whispered in her ear as they both stared at James from across the breakfast table. 

He was visibly distracted, eyes constantly darting down towards the Gryffindor Team Captain at the end of the row while he mindlessly shoveled food into his mouth. 

“What’s wrong with him?” She looked over at Sirius beside him, calm and collected as he flipped through a Defense textbook. 

“Try-out list goes up today. He’s worried he’ll lose his spot on the team to someone new, wants to be the first to sign up…something about ‘showing determination’?” 

“Can they do that? Replace current members with new ones?” She was a little shocked by that notion, something that seemed rather unfair in her opinion, but then again she wasn’t really a sports-girl. 

“If they’re better qualified, yeah,” Sirius turned his focus back to the book on the table. 

“Aren’t you worried about your position too?” She took a bite of toast as he smirked.

“Not in the slightest, I’m the best Beater this team has had in years—“

Marlene cleared her throat.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Relax, McKinnon. All I’m saying is they’d be stupid to replace me.”

“…and why’s that exactly?” 

“I put butts in seats.”

She looked at Marlene and the two burst into laughter, almost spraying pumpkin juice onto the table. 

Sirius face was blank when she caught her breath.

“So you’re saying, that they won’t replace you because you’re their star player?” She choked out.

He nodded, “It also helps that I’m the best looking one on the team.”

Another round of laughter from her and Marlene, this one drawing James’ attention.

“What’s so funny? He asked, watching as the two girls gasped for air. 

“Sirius thinks he’s the heartthrob of the century, said he’s not in danger of being replaced on the team because everyone comes to the matches to see him grace the skies!” She giggled back, Marlene held her sides as she cackled.

James nudged his friend, “None of us are safe mate. I heard rumors that little second year on reserves is stellar with a bat, the quiet one with the curls?”

Sirius scowled, “…the girl?”

“Oi!” She kicked him under the table, “What’s the problem with that?”

He shrugged, “Nothing, there’s just…not many good girl quidditch players. Flannery would be stupid to replace me with—“

“—a girl?” She interjected, eyebrow cocked.

Sirius held her gaze, eyes narrowing, “Anyone.”

The four of them sat in tense silence for a moment, James retreating back to his food. 

Ryan Flannery, the Gryffindor Captain, stood up a few meters down and turned to leave the hall, scarlet team jersey shining bright in a sea of black robes. 

She stood up silently, gathering her things without so much as a word. 

“Where’re you headed?” James looked up.

She tightened the bag strap over her shoulder, “Sign up sheet is being posted.”

“You can’t be serious!” Sirius whinged, mouthful of food, “You can’t even play on our team, what point are you trying to make?”

“I may not be able to take your position, but I can definitely help my house defeat yours, and humble you beyond belief,” shooting him one last glare, she spun on her heel and strode out of the hall. 

———

September 21st, 1974

Fourth year had not started out well for Sirius Black. Not only had one of his best friends ceased speaking to him, but Mary had finally had enough and broken off their relationship after he had forgotten her birthday in lieu of embarking on another prank with the boys. The cherry-on-top of the proverbial bad-luck sundae, was that Mary had begun to spend increasingly more time with his best friend and Marlene, the three of them attached at the hip for the majority of the day, much to Sirius’ misery. 

“You can’t just sit around all day moping,” James tossed a quaffle into the air, sprawled across his bed while Sirius buried himself in a book.

“I’m not moping,” he growled, “I’m studying.”

“We haven’t been back for even a full month yet!” James sat upright, the ball tumbling off the side of the four-poster. 

Sirius ignored his friend, trying to focus on the words written across the page that at the current moment were becoming impossible to read. 

“C’mon,” James appeared at the side of his bed, ripping the book from his hands and placing it on the side table, “take your problems out on a bludger.”

So he did.

Every ounce of emotion he felt was poured into quidditch. He thought of his mother’s sneer as he swung the bat at an oncoming assault; or of Mary, and the way her mouth curled when she called him immature during their breakup. He thought of Reggie passing by in the corridors, looking through him like he didn’t exist. 

Nothing compared to the thoughts of her though. The way her eyes erupted like wildfire the morning she argued with him over the breakfast table, her shoulders set tight as she strode confidently out of the hall. He thought of his first morning back from Christmas break the year prior, how he’d embarrassingly cried to her in the confines of the dormitory. He thought of the color of her hair, strands glowing in the crack of light from his bed curtains, asleep on his shoulder when he woke up hours after begging her to stay; he’d never noticed the faint freckles  on the tops of her cheeks before—

—crack! 

“Easy, Black!” James called, still hunched over from avoiding an overly aggressive hit. 

Sirius shook his head to focus, “Sorry mate, got carried away…”

———

October 12th, 1974

Marlene had been running her ragged ever since the morning she decided to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team. She had excitedly offered to train her up until the morning of, something that was originally welcomed. After the first week, her body was screaming for it to stop. She could already fly pretty well, it was learning the reflexes and technique of the position that was difficult. Every morning at dawn, Marlene would meet her at the pitch for training. She’d then drag herself to class, every muscle threatening revolt. 

The morning of try-outs had her nervous to the point of nausea. It didn’t help that Gryffindor was also holding their session at the same time at the opposite end of the pitch. Marlene and James met her at the edge of the locker room, eager smiles and confident hugs from both. She didn’t see Sirius until she was in the air, circling the posts to warm up. He was sitting atop his broom across the field, talking to James mid-air about something, hands gesticulating wildly. James caught her looking at shot her a thumbs up, Sirius turned his head to see and immediately set his mouth into a hard line. 

Fuck you, watch this, she thought angrily.

Falling into line with the others, she waited patiently for her name to be called, watching intently at the competition. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team was never great, only having won a handful of championships in their time, they were consistently lack-luster in the aggression department which always ultimately led to their downfall. Luckily for them, she had enough rage coursing through her veins due to Sirius’ casual misogyny to make up for the entire roster’s deficit. 

She’s not sure what happened once the whistle blew, the adrenaline rush caused her to blackout. The sound of the bat cracking against a violent force echoed, paired with the whipping of the passing air. Only fully returning to her body when both feet touched solid ground, she looked around to find a dozen wildly grinning Hufflepuffs, and a blonde Gryffindor beater racing across the pitch cheering. 

Marlene threw an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tightly like a proud mom, “You were brilliant! James stopped midway through a drill so we could watch!” 

She looked down the field towards the practicing Gryffindor team, James and Sirius wearing completely opposite expressions. While the former whooped and cheered, the latter was a statue, eyes wide and mouth agape. 

The Hufflepuff captain jogged over and pulled her attention away, clapping a firm hand on her back, “Right, so,” he chuckled, “this hasn’t happened in recent memory, usually we wait to try out all of the recruits, but I think I speak for the entire team when I say we would love to offer you the open beater position. I don’t think we’ve seen that type of maneuvering…well, ever.” 

She let out an exhausted laugh, smiling over at Marlene who was still draped over her shoulder, “Of course I accept, I’d be honored.” 

Marlene cheered, giving her one last squeeze before sprinting back to her own team. She watched as James leaned over to say something to Sirius, who still remained stoic. He quickly averted his gaze, which had been narrowed on her ever since. 

———

October 12th, 1974

Sirius had been nervous all morning, not because of his own team’s try outs, but because of hers. He knew she was excellent on a broom, but that didn’t do anything to stop the sinking feeling in his stomach every time he thought of her in the air. It was the same feeling that hit him years ago, as he watched her fall just out of reach. He’d never been able to shake it, as ridiculous as it sounded, and now she was going to throw bludgers into the mix? What was she trying to do, kill him?

They still hadn’t spoken since the morning of their fight in the Great Hall, so he kept his distance as James and Marlene wished her good luck just outside the locker room, opting instead to make a beeline for the rest of their team by the goalposts at the far end of the pitch. Mounting his broom, he tried to breathe and retreat into a calmer mindset. James met him in the air, immediately launching into an explanation of some new formation he wanted to try out. In order to not give away the fact that he currently wanted to jump out of his own skin, Sirius tried to match his best friends enthusiasm, adding some flourishes to his idea and pretending like it was the most important discussion in the world. Mid-way through a thought about Seeker training, James drifted off, shooting a thumbs up to the other side of the field. Sirius followed his eyes and saw her hovering near the opposite goalposts. She looked nervous, he could tell by the little furrow between her brows, she did it a lot while studying he’d noticed. The sinking feeling was returning, and he clenched his jaw to relieve some of the sensation, watching as she joined the rest of the yellow and black uniforms. 

Turning to James, he motioned towards their own teammates, “Let’s get started, yeah?”

He tried not to watch her, instead putting every ounce of focus into beating out the new Gryffindor hopefuls. During the 3rd chaser trial, James called a time-out.

Sirius flew over to his friend, slightly bewildered at the sudden stop-in-play, “What’s wrong?”

James shook his head and pointed across the pitch, “She’s up.”

His breathing hitched, and he paused for longer than a moment before spinning around and watching what he could only describe as the most graceful display of a violent position he’d ever seen. 

The bat was truly an extension of her arm, moving effortlessly through the air as she dove and weaved through the others. One back-handed hit almost had him gasping for air, the way she had turned without missing a beat and avoided an almost catastrophic blast from the incoming bludger. It was hypnotizing. 

As the Hufflepuff captain blew the whistle, she began to retreat back towards the ground, and soon Sirius saw Marlene rocketing across the field below to undoubtedly embrace their friend. Beside him, James was pumping his fist in the air, cheering loudly so she could hear. He couldn’t do anything but stare as she smiled at the team captain, saying something that caused Marlene to hug her again before making a return back to their side of the field. His clear inability to speak caught James’ attention, earning him a strong clap on the shoulder.

“You should think about closing your mouth mate,” James whispered in his ear, “people might think you love her or something.” 

[fatherentropy]

I know a lot of you aren't going to read this or care but I needed to get my thoughts about Veilguard out of my head so I can go back to just indulging with it's content without caring anymore so: Veilguard review.

Gonna keep it non-spoilery until it's not then I'll put a big ol warning there for you to swerve outta there if needed.

(warning for 4000+ words) TL;DR:

I think this may become my favorite Dragon Age game to play and I love these characters so much

This is by far one of the worst Bioware games I've ever played

Firstly and to be completely transparent, at the time of writing this I have STILL not been able to get past Lothering in Origins (my computer got worse while i was running a playthrough.). DAII was my first Dragon Age game and is my favorite of the series. Inquisition is pretty good, much better imo after some DLCs were added and it feels more like the full on epic it deserved to be I think. At the end of the day, I am a Mass Effect fan first and a Dragon Age fan sometimes. I'm also not terribly versed in every single development problem Veilguard has gone through except for the unfortunate canning of important developers and some notes from articles I spied.

So, you know, keep that in mind.

I!! wanted to start this by talking about the things I loved in the game. Because I do in fact love this game. It's just that the love gets tangled up in the things that are disappointing because I can see the big picture and see how much better it could have been and it gets wrapped up in one big ball of-not to be overly dramatic-kind of hurt? Thus me needing to talk about it so I can get back to just loving the thing and hopefully not being haunted by my regrets like it's Christmas Eve and I'm a wealthy businessman with questionable practices.

The story is pretty great and fun if you don't think about it too much but Dragon Age fans think about these sort of things a lot and if you put a little scrutiny on some of these things it's gets kinda ???? Funky.

It feels like a lot of the heavy lifting for why anybody is willing to work with you is done by Varric in whatever he was doing the past 10 years which you aren't really told. Except in half a dozen comics and books I frankly don't have the money for and should be bonus material instead of things-you-need-in-order-to-know-what's-up. Kind of spiel.

I also think a major pain point is the neigh absolute lack of contention in most areas of the game outside the bad-vs-good guy shit (and Solas) and the lack of any meaningful choice really did shoot the game in the foot. Now I do understand that choice in particular was a thing that was eventually going to get hit. There were just too many big world wide decisions you've made in the past couple of games and that shit gets kind of hard to keep track of. However, there were choices made in Veilguard that is made for the longevity of the series while also salting the earth and it severely undercut the narrative.

I think one of the things people love and adore about the series is the choices you make. Many of these aren't even about having a hold over the narrative but having a place in it. It's been a minute since I've played it, but I think even DAII has several choices that literally have no baring on anything but netting gains or loses on companions and just choose what kind of menace you're going to be. It's fun! I don't need them to be big. Maybe just if I refuse the reward or push for bigger rewards or yadda yadda yadda. It's the little things! You cannot get rid of these things entirely but boy howdy did they ever try.

I also have gripes about the choices they make you make but I can't bitch about that without spoilers so... LATER.

I wanted to talk about the lack of contention first but realistically it combos in with the choice thing so here we are talking about it after but there is just no political or social nuance in this game at all except for maybe exactly only Solas. After playing the first three games (or playing the last two and reading about Origins like me) you kinda get the impression that Northern Thedas is actually mostly fine except a little inequality and the Venatori and maaaybe the Antaam but mostly everyone's friendly and the South is just REALLY fucking violent about everything for no reason.

With the reputation grind and the narrative's insistence that you hAVE to strengthen your allies and friends this would have been kind of a great time to have quests about winning them more strength by actually kind of doing important shit? Like maybe having to make decisions about whether or not to convince factions to accept help from shady persons or forgo it knowing you'll be weaker but maintaining the faction's ethos. Maybe some negotiations between greater nevarran Mortalitasi politics and why they should let the Mourn Watch concern themselves with shit outside the Necropolis? In fighting between in-faction groups that feel one way or another about choices you've made. It all ends with them helping you in the end, just maybe not as strong or stronger but what we get is kind of some bare bones sidequests that don't always feel connected to the faction you're helping or... important?

Which I don't think I'd have a problem with if there were more of them that gave greater scope to the world but that's also not really a thing. Tbf, there's no reason to have them. You're only grinding to 50 and faction reputation and you probably wouldn't want to do all the sidquests in Inquisition to get there. I just want to have ones that matter, give more shape to the world and aren't hunt-monsters-that-aren't-even-in-this-faction's-jurisdiction. (game that simultaneously made me fall in love with Nevarra while giving me fuck all about it outside Emmrich's quests)

I think it should be noted that this is the first time we are seeing some of these people as not enemies or illusive factions from abroad.

I need you to know this is my third draft of this document and I keep having to leave and come back because I just have a lot of thoughts. So to start off with, I have to reiterate that I am a Mass Effect fan first and a Dragon Age fan sometimes. I can see Mass Effect's influence all over the game and as a Mass Effect fan I have to say: I am... upset. Which is a thing I have been planning to write about since the beginning of trying to write this document but today's dev AMA confirmed that this was supposed to be a "Love letter to Mass Effect 2" and I am no longer upset! I am LIVID.

To recap for those of you who don't care about Mass Effect but are reading this for some reason: Mass Effect 2 has one of the worst main stories in the entire series. Nothing you do actually matters in the long run because ME3 undoes all your work and everything set up for you at the beginning of ME2 you destroy yourself by the end.

Most people regard it as one of the better if not the best game in the series.

This is because the characters are fucking phenomenal and make up 90% of the game so you know this journey is about THEM who gives a shit if your mission is whatever, it's about the satisfaction of winning their loyalty, making sure they're a team so you can focus on being Big Goddamn Heroes at the end (or fucking it up and watching a few or all of them die).

This is the game that made me paranoid about doing all sidequests as soon as I got them because *I* managed to get all my companions to live BUT at the cost of my ship crew dying which I did not know was a thing that could happen and your medic's traumatized lines "I watched them die. they were processed ─ rendered down into some kind of raw genetic paste ─ and pumped through these tubes." haunts me forever. (partly because I listen to the death whispers from ME3 to feel something but nevertheless, the delivery? raw)

This may sound familiar to you if you've played Veilguard because they... tried but there's just a fundamental misunderstanding of how ME2 impacted it's players and how players impacted the world in ME2 that made it feel the way you were supposed to despite the plot being silly.

This brings me back to the lack of conflict which especially fucks over your companions and your relation to them. Yes there's like one kind of weird conflict between Davrin and Lucanis while they're going through shit and yeah Taash and Emmrich have a situation briefly but there's nowhere near the heat there has been in past games. One of your crew in DA2 will straight up tell another one that he is sad her mother died for her not because it's sad but because she's not worth dying for. And that's the game regarded as having the best found family dynamic in DA and probably a better comparison to ME2 in the regard of fighting to keep your crew together.

In ME2, what you do matters and the order you do things matter. Mass Effect has a Paragon/Renegade system which are ways you can change a scene IF you've accrued enough points in being more diplomatic or more points in being a complete asshole. Some of your companions are diametrically opposed to one another and the minute you complete both their loyalty they WILL come into confrontation and if you don't have a sufficient enough paragon or renegade score to get the appropriate response either then or after you WILL lose one of them. If you dedicate yourself to Paragon or Renegade or the other it's easy enough to get the points but if you're trying to get an optimal playthrough, doing solely paragon or renegade isn't always the best way to go.

I'm not saying I want some of your companions to hate each other. I enjoy the friendships they've developed but the moment Rook said something like "We're a family" I cringed because I realized what was happening because they just weren't putting the work in to make that believable to me. People are messy and the stakes in DAV are the biggest they've ever been so our crew should be at their worst and there is material for contention THERE but what we get the Disney Channel version of it where they almost immediately makeup and you're really not apart of it.

One of the confrontations in ME2 pits an Alien girl who's people were forced off their home planet by the own synthetic life they created and have suffered severe biological and cultural degradation because of it and one of said creations who's rebellion for autonomy caused that. The next game, they come back and if you don't (or can't which is an important distinction in it's possibility) use their work as a catalyst for peace but choose one people over the other they both express regret for the loss of the other's people despite the contention between them and stringent desire to save their own people. The kind of orchestration required to pull off peace and this dynamic feels earned and heart wrenching and that is the level of story telling old fans of Bioware expect from it's games.

The 3rd Mass Effect game was largely disliked despite the complexity of choices that intertwined and character dynamics. It was very obvious the ending didn't match up with the narrative spun by the rest of the game and was changed last minute from another which probably would have been liked less but the choice was too big and landed the series in hot water which lead them to try and do a complete divorce from the series with Andromeda which was also largely disliked because it was just a weird jump with a very weak story. I didn't actually mind it. It had no lasting impression on me so I can't tell you exactly what happens in that game but I didn't mind the leap conceptually because I understood they did back themselves into a corner with the last decision made in ME3.

So I sit here looking at Veilguard NOT disgruntled by the prospect of change. Change is usually good and made in order for the greater prosperity of the series. The problems in Veilguard isn't simple change but the lack of care that resulted in a lesser product over all. DA2 suffered in a similar respect with it's over use of previous assets in a repeated and monotonous level design and the fact some fans felt that it didn't successfully break away from feeling like a glorified DLC to Origins. But the storytelling is still done in a way that it lives rent free in many people's minds. It's not an epic, it is a story about some shlub and their crew of messy nobodies who try vainly to protect the city they all live from increasing social pressures of the world which boils over and consumes all of them no matter what you do.

ME2 is about a soldier who is forced to work with a human supremacy agency because they are the only ones that are taking a new threat seriously so without support from the usual greater forces, you seek out specialists and old friends to go on what is quite literally called a suicide mission.

Veilguard is a direct continuance of Inquisition where some random agent is made the herald of a revived religious movement that leaps up around them after an accident only to find out that one of your friends is directly responsible for that and going off to put the world in even greater danger.

Veilguard wants the found family in DA2 to fight a threat even greater than Inquisitions while honoring ME2 (badly) but also there are a bunch of disjointed small focused factions that are helping you and while I think this could have worked and been quite possibly one of the best Bioware games of all time, the ghost of its would be greatness haunts the narrative buried under the bones of development issues and missteps which just makes it hurt in a very not good way.

I don't think old fans who complain about Veilguard are upset it's not the same as what they were expecting but, to go back to my scrooge analogy, we're haunted by ghosts of Bioware past that laid the groundwork for what to expect, and the ghost of Bioware present which is incomplete and the future which can only really get worse under the capitalistic pressures that have long run the video game industry in the ground in the name of greater profits over quality. The only people producing good games at a reasonable price are indie developers who aren't really trying to produce a game with the scope that Bioware games have typically provided.

I'm sitting here and thinking my main take away from this is that I simply don't care about the new Mass Effect game Veilguard is getting abandoned for to produce. If this was supposed to be a love letter to ME2 then it just showed a fundamental inability to create Mass Effect games that would honor it's predecessors while bringing it into the new age and if it somehow manages to be good it's just another slight to Dragon Age fans and the fumbled production of Veilguard. I don't want to see Ryder or Shepard or another N7 specter at this point. I want to see Rook and their crew in a game where I feel okay leaving them in there because DA has a very specific need to abandon it's old protags and I'm not okay with that this time! I don't feel good about where any of them were left and the state of the world!

SPOILER WARNING! I'M NOT HOLDING BACK ANYMORE. GOING ON HERE'S YOU'RE WARNING.

(don't ask me about the image, it was there. it's big, has the vibes. She was iconic for that.)

POV: You are me. Your controller has some slight drift so the little laser beam managed to slip from the target and you're trying to figure out how the fuck you messed up the puzzle because there's no way to get to an island and this is how you accidentally spoil yourself that there's a secret ending and you're about to get a part of it.

Then like the genius I am I googled it again to try and figure out how to get it, skim read something that makes you think they based this off of ME2's model and go oh! Okay. I should look up optimal assignments so nobody dies.

Then I find out Davrin or Harding dies no matter what depending on you choose to lead the distraction team and you just have to stare at a wall for awhile because that is NOT Mass Effect 2 where everyone can absolutely live if you do everything right. That is Mass Effect 1, Virmire come to haunt me again.

I need you to know when I got to Mythal it's almost the earliest you could get to her give or take a side mission because I'm bad at combat and those fuckin' ogres were kicking my ass. So when Rook drops the "We're a family" line while taking to Mythal I had to once again stare at a wall because I already spoiled this for me and I was going "what the fuck are you serious? This is what we're doing?"

I'm telling this to you because I need you to know after I figured all this out I was turning over the plot while going through it looking for one specific thing and that's the narrative that would have supported the kind of storytelling that would have gained the right to kill off one of your companions. (the wording on that was labored but I really needed to say all of that like that because I meant it like that.) It just is not there. Or at least not in a way where it feels like the inclusion of that actually added ANYTHING to the narrative and honestly reading interviews under headlines that say shit like "Devs know that you had no problem leaving stroud in the fade 🤭 and made sure they were gonna hurt you this time" feels like it was literally just thrown in for shock factor rather than a conscious effort to create a compelling story and I'm just not here for that kind of garbage.

Like, I need you to understand I straight up had to save mid mission to kill Ghilan'nain and leave in order to leave and watch the last part of Arcane. I came back and immediately rolled into the fight with her and the bit where you're trapped in the fade and yeah I cried but I was feeling ever so fucking JARRED by the difference of satisfying tragedy I felt at the end of Arcane to that stupid ass bullshit in Veilguard.

And the fact this is a wind up to reveal Varric is dead is just further insulting to all three of these characters. Two returning characters and one new character who, and I hate to be this guy but I haven't seen ppl point this out and as guy who's played a lot of Bioware games, is black. Which, Bioware has historically been REALLY FUCKING WEIRD with it's black companions. (No, I have not forgiven for the shit they pulled on Jacob Taylor and I shan't ever I don't think considering they pulled this.)

I don't mind that they killed Varric. That one I picked up on almost immediately from the hints they were putting down and I was waiting for more hints and shit but the longer it went on I realized the game wasn't even interested in setting up a pretense of giving him and his fans a satisfying ending and goodbye. This man has been here since DAII. There's not enough lingering around his memory because he's competing with whoever else died.

Frankly Rook's connection to him has to be kind of made up by the player because they don't really set up anything for you except you've been traveling with him for almost a year and he's just an amicable guy which also just kind of has to lay on the laurels of having to have known him. I love the cold opening into Minrathus, it's very cool but I feel like THIS would have been the game to go back to it's roots and have a personalized opening to each Rook's origin to establish both a connection to Rook, Rook's place in the world and their connection to Varric and Harding and just had you kind of live with Varric as a leader for a hot goddamn minute making the transition of power feel more natural and not forced. It's weird.

But then the player just doesn't feel like they mattered to the greater story actually. Not as Rook and not as Inquisitor. Not that Rook is a bad character, just weirdly hooked into the plot. Gods forbid your Inquisitor wasn't romantically involved with baldie then they're only role is to tell you every choice you've ever made doesn't matter anymore because Southern Thedas got wiped the fuck out.

I know everyone and their mothers have been kinda leering at Taash's companion quests and like yeah they're not great. Neither is like the Rivain. Like not the map tbc, I love that map and all the maps actually. Down with empty open worlds, long live intentional map design with fun puzzles makes my brain go brrr. Kissing guy who made those on the mouth. At least I think the maps are built around the needs of the script and not the other way around unless problems arise in making the stage (which happens) because that'd be kinda silly. It's just our glimpse of Rivain is around a Grey Warden keep with some chasind stuff and Antaam. All of Rivain is kind of just not about Rivain and it annoys me deeply like where the fuck is the people who aren't Lords of Fortune. I don't even know what the culture is supposed to be inspired by besides like orientalism I guess.

ALSO I need everyone to know I had JUST got done ranting about one reoccurring trope with biracial/bicultured people in another game only to turn around and run directly into Taash's dumbass choice about making them pick between their cultures.

THAT IS NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS.

I'm a Filipino German American and I look Asian so I have to fight to be German American because that's what I fucking am no matter what anybody expects from me from my face. Meanwhile my Pinoy roots were stolen from me by a woman who came to the states with the idea that her kids would be American but that just ain't the way the world works when you're not white passing. You cannot run and "choose" the other culture. You will forever be expected to be what you aren't because you look and there's not a lot to do about that brokeness inside you but try and come to terms with it and embrace all that you are anyway.

I also just find using modern day identity labels to be boring and lazy world building for a fantasy world. Even modern day LGBTQIA+ folks can't agree on what to call our shit and we're so very messy about everything and we have been here for so very goddamn long and have had many different names. That's just a bit of a pet peeve, I'll admit.

I think the crowning moment of Taash's quest their mother's moment when she declared Taash's strengths before sacrificing herself for her and Taash's grieving over her passing but I'm also gonna attribute that last bit more to Taash's VA doing good work.

Think the weakest quests for me otherwise were actually Bellara's? Not that it's bad conceptually. Just that it feels like duct taped together oddly where I kind of lost track of the emotions and logic in any given scene. Like over all I got yeah turning people into demons bad but we go from 0 to 100 real goddamn quick and I just felt left behind. Just confusing. Like it's fine, but confusing.

Kal-Sharok should have been it's own faction and I will die on that hill. Dwarves have gotten the short end of the stick for SO long and they finally have a fairly comparable moment in the story and it's just nothin'. BYULLLShit

You know I haven't really cared for Solas. I think I was on copium for a bit during Inquisition because my friends liked him so I was like "yeah I like this guy" but nah, I've kind of considered him a poor man's Ascian after playing Shadowbringers (sorry) but they really leaned into making him kind of a fucked up dude in Veilguard and I do enjoy him a lot more. But also the Rook/Solas dynamic is so much more messier than Lavellan/Solas dynamic. I feel like it was a loss to not have a meaner romance path there if you weren't a Solavellan. Guys who are dragging each other down to hold the other accountable by the throat.

NGL I think I kinda hate endings where it's like "and the bad guys lost and everyone who lived were happy :)" endings like man I wanna know what they're all up to now so I can be sure they're good. That's probably a me thing but it does put me on Copium that they'll drag Rook and co back out to do more with them but I know I'm asking for too much. I am in pain.

I'm descending into less concentrated rambling now I think I just!! Love the game but like I want it to be good and it's not and that hurts me a lot and I'm afraid what corporate will take from this because it's never the lesson they should because everything is all numbers.

EDIT: oml I forgot the line I tied to complaints I'd have later about choices they make you make. Like it was largely about Taash but also like Neve where the Thread guy is like "yeah we're gonna help you for this" like isn't that why we're here? Why am I getting a say in this? Why is this the place I'm suddenly putting my foot down? Why don't I get to ask Neve for her opinion before I just become the most annoying person in the world about this like ayo? WEIRD

Lucanis, Davrin and Bellara at least straight up ask you for your opinion and Harding, Emmrich and Taash obvs need some help even if they don't explicitely ask for it and this one for Neve isn't even the BIG choice it's just a dialogue choice that can lock you out of being able to make the choice which is kind of cool because it's about the only way to shoot yourself in the foot with any of the companions which I'd like if it just didn't just kind of come from nowhere. It's like Rook suddenly remembered they're a person who has opinions in the middle of a conversation and it's just OK. anyway

[dailytomlinson]

joshuahalling: 2023 sort of feels like a wild blur. 2022 and the first @louist91 world tour was an absolute rollercoaster that grew so big and so fast for a lot of us that with the ‘Faith in the Future’ world tour following it up sharply in 2023, it just felt like an extension of the chaos and we only really fully stopped back to back tours just now leading up to this christmas! In between all of that mayhem though, I was honoured and massively baffled to have been nominated for @iheartradio favourite photographer last year, just being nominated was amazing but to spend a few days in LA seeing old friends, creating new ones and attending the event at the Dolby Theatre made it really a once in a lifetime thing for a photographer from Cornwall who feels like he’s been winging it for 10 years now… so it’s very bloody surreal today to have been nominated for a 2nd year in a row! This is all with serious thanks to the legend @louist91, his team for trusting me on the visuals for these tours, our phenomenal road crew who make these shows so amazing to shoot and honestly the most passionate and supportive fanbase Louis has created around him who are the reason this whole thing is even a thing. A double bonus is that ‘All Of These Voices’ is also nominated for best film which I was fortunate to film some bits alongside @charlielightening so definitely a big celebration. anyway this is all a massive ramble, basically… It’s a little different to last year, votes are now strictly on the iHearts website which i’ll have in stories/etc. and quite restrictive to certain areas of the world unfortunately but there are ways around that. Each person can vote once per day from today till March 25th! And last but not least, just wanted to say i’m surrounded by some insane talent and peers I look up to in this realm so please make sure you check out all their work during this process! So thank you @iheartradio for creating this category once again.

[consumeroflemoans]

Trick or Treat- HA! Joke's on you, I'm egging your blog, I'm throwing toilet paper at it

I'm spray painting your inbox

With Vilidia

This was brought up like ages ago, but let's overlook that because it fits with halloween

So, Vampire Vil x Nightmare Before Christmas Idia

I do have to disclose I haven't watched the event so I don't know what happens in it which in turn means there's not going to be anything specific to it here, mostly I just imagine him wearing the suit and call it a day

Vil lives mildly close to civilisation and comes out to find some food, occasionally also just for the fuck of it, just strolling through the village at night while people give the noble man that's lived here for longer than some people's parents distrustful looks as he shoots back a smile that looks less like a greeting and more like a promise that you'll lose a significant amount of blood soon

Realistically I would assume he would move every now and then or dissapear for stretches of time, just enough for no one to comfirm immortality, but still enough to be a bit suspicious

Or maybe it's just that not enough people end up talking to Vil for him to become more than a phantom of a supposed citizen, a resident of a house that he belongs to more than it belongs to him in the mind of the people, at least not enough people who would be able to tell anyone else after they have talked

So as fate and also me would have it in the search of said food, he hears whispers hush through the branches and at this time of night there's rarely a face to be seen that so willingly puts itself under the moonlight, in a secluded area at that, so he ventures out a bit, ventures out too far, an oversight like he would normally never let himself commit because Vil is knows better than to wander off into the forest shortly before dawn breaks, yet there he is, dreading sunrise like some kind of amateur

The treck back to his house is a dreadfully long one, one that he knows he won't make so his best chance is to search for some kind of shade now, he'd rather not stay in a cave but when the choices are between that and his own demise it's acceptable for the day, when you've gone through such lengths to preserve yourself for years upon years your efforts should not, cannot be wasted by refusing to get near dust

But worry not, his clothes are spared when he finds, in the middle of the forest behind some hills, perhaps about seven of them, a very small village just down a hill with a big manor placed right in the middle, were his eyes not as sharp and honed, he could almost have missed it with how dark and dreary it looks, not a light anywhere in sight

So he walks into it, through the streets, as much as the village looks empty there are sounds to be heard from the houses

He goes for the manor, it doesn't seem to house that many people and it's much easier to fade into the background in a building that big

He enters and it seems like he was right about it not housing many people, in fact it seems like it's housing absolutely no one at all, unfortunate for his hunger, but convenient in terms of not being discovered

He walks through the halls, through a ballroom, a dining room, a library, past paintings and curtains and into a bedroom, drawing everything close to block out the first rays of the sun he lays down to sleep

When he wakes there's someone standing at the foot of the bed, staring at him and looking oh so nervous

Before Vil can act and spring into action, said person speaks, and Idia meekly introduces himself to Vil and the story

Instead of biting him to death Vil does the same

What happens now is that Vil stays, he still hasn't managed to feed himself, the rough plan is "suck Idia dry", I'm incapable of writing those words with a straight face, since it seems he's living alone and doesn't leave the manor at all so he won't be all that missed

But from their first interaction on Vil has been set on doing this with finesse, he's not even quite sure where this desire came from, but it's there

He doesn't want to drag Idia by his hair until his teeth are at his neck and then have him bleed out in his mouth, realistically Idia can't do all that much against being eaten if he just decided to kill him right there, he's obviously not that strong, but Vil wants him to let him close, he wants Idia to let down his guard until Vil can just lean forward and puncture an artery like it's nothing, it feels like a job that calls for more subtlety even against every instinct screaming that he should eat right now before he starts to wither

There's something enjoyable about putting on a performance anyway, before becoming a full time leech he was an actor after all

I'd imagine these two are related anyway, one resulted from the other

Vil's desire to be beautiful or perfect being the catalyst of a search into magic, knowledge and power that leaked into the world during the ancient times, in the face of the, for him, dreadful process of aging, conquering death and the deterioration associated with it

He's not an actor right now because it was becoming a little suspicious, but in a century he's planning to get back on the stage

Which makes this a new level of odd because nothing Vil has come to fear more than that, a live dedicated to the preservation of his perfection makes anything perceived a failing quite a bit more horrifying and he's quite too old to play with his food

Somehow this does not stop him, everything is screaming at him to just eat now, but somehow he does not, this interaction is running on time for himAt first Vil would only randomly run into Idia, who seemed all to eager to leave whatever room he was in when Vil enters, but they end up doing some more talking, somehow Idia seems to literally dissapear off the face of the earth when he retires for the night which means Vil can't even sneak into a room or something, no matter where he searches Idia is simply gone when he looks

So forced by Vil's own refusal to do this without style, they get to know each other as Vil's desire for consumption grows so in the basest of descriptions their interactions look like this:

"While my brother still lived here, we used to play a lot of games, I beat him most of the time, wasn't very good at ephedrismos though."

"Hm, fascinating." (I Want To Drink Your Blood So Bad Right Now)

Idia shows him a few things around the manor, points out old worn down marble busts that he says depict his family members, shows him a very nice ornate box he keeps in the house because it's a family heirloom and talks to him about little gadgets and tools he made

Vil lies about still being a famous actor because Idia doesn't go out enough to know something like that and tells him about his passion and love for the craft

Which he still needs to stay alive to do again and it's getting a little close with that one

Vil also actually bothers to go outside a few times and search for someone else in order to not starve, but it's really weird because somehow he sees people walking outside through the window during the day when he manages to peek past the curtains, there's an odd array of clothing, some don't quite fit with what others are wearing, though it's hard to make out details, but whenever he breaks into any houses there's simply no one in them and any people he follows walk past a corner and they're gone

So while Idia and Vil get closer, the latter keeps getting hungrier and somehow the idea of killing Idia via edible blood loss gets more and less appealing at the same time

And by now Vil actually feels like he's starving, desperation, fear and hunger and one morning when Idia comes out to greet him in the morning he pins him down and bites him

There is no blood So, the village is dead, every person seen living there is a mirage, a reflection of someone who once was actually here, standing in the same places, wandering the same streets they did when they were alive

In a nod to the myth of Pandora and very slightly inspired by one of my favourite games, Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box which actually was translated to Pandora's Box in german, the family heirloom in Idia's house was essentially given to them with strict orders of it never ever being opened and when it was his turn he failed, it got opened, everyone around died and was cursed to remain projection forever stuck where they are, Idia eternally stuck the protector of a dead piece of land and a box already opened, also the event that caused magic to leak into the world

There were some attempts to rebuild in the past which is why the village doesn't look as ancient as it should, people went in and built new buildings, brought new clothes, tried again and failed again

I'd conclude it with Vil dying and Idia looking at him with profound sadness in his eyes

Sorry for being late with this, I was planning to send this in sooner, but I fell asleep 👍

Hope you have a good Halloween

-Leuchtturm

HI I LITERALLY TYPED OUT A WHOLE ESSAY IN RESPONSE TO THIS BUT TUMBLR DECIDED TO DELETE IT

This absolutely destroyed me I’m going insane

Ok ok I’ll try to summarize the points I made but I don’t remember them all

1. Is Vamp Vil anything like Twst Vil in the sense that he’s always had to play the villain? If so I bet he had a mental breakdown when he realized he’ll have to harm others for his own survival. Maybe he even starved himself at first until he accepted he had to eat

2. Absolutely cannot take ‘suck Idia dry’ and ‘pulling on his hair until he can sink his teeth into his neck’ seriously. Babygirl that is literally just foreplay

3. VIL YOU ICON. ‘Yeah I want to suck the life out of this man but I want to do it with style. I have STANDARDS’ I love that so much

4. Obsessed with the metaphorical implications of Vil getting hungrier the closer he grows to Idia but also more reluctant to act on that hunger. Man is literally starving to death but he cares about Idia too much to try anything

5. Obsessed with the lore for this place. It being a mix of the story of Pandora’s box and just the vibes of this place turning into a literal ghost town all because of Idia mmmgmgm yummy

6. ABSOLUTELY FOUL ENDING 10/10 I WANT TO CRY. I desperately want a happy ending for them but neither of them deserve that happy ending. Vil vanishes from existence and becomes a simple episode of companionship in Idia’s everlasting undeath. Perhaps in a different circumstance they could have become closer, but not in this universe. Also I think it would be really fun if Vil became one of those fleeting shadows of people, taunting Idia from afar in his death.

I am so unwell thank you so much

[servants-hall]

All Creatures Great and Small producer Yvonne Francas gives an inside track on the Christmas episode

All Creatures Great and Small is heading back to our screens for a Christmas special, which is due to be full of seasonal joy and high emotion.

"It’s a journey of love, kindness, and warmth," reveals the show’s producer Yvonne Francas, as What to Watch catches up with her for an exclusive chat to get a sneak preview of the upcoming episode, airing on Channel 5 on Thursday 21 December at 9 pm. It will air on PBS Masterpiece in the New Year after the fourth season.

Set at Yuletide 1940, it sees caring vet James (Nicholas Ralph) spending the festivities away from both Skeldale House and his heavily pregnant wife Helen (Rachel Shenton) as he is training with the RAF.

Here, Yvonne Francas spills the beans on the All Creatures Great and Small Christmas special…

All Creatures Great and Small’s Christmas episodes are always a delight. Is there a pressure to produce something that's heartwarming for the show’s fans? “Yes, we want to deliver something special. It took 12 to 14 days to film and a couple of months to prepare. It's a pressure but a lovely one to have, because I’ve not worked on another show that’s as loved by its audience.”

How would you sum up this episode? “It's about the absence of people, because James and Tristan [his fellow vet played by Callum Woodhouse] are away at war and everyone is missing them. But it’s also about community and family coming together. There’s romance and joy, and wonderful animal stories! We even have a fight over who’ll be Father Christmas – Siegfried [Samuel West] doesn’t want that position!"

How is James feeling about being apart from Helen for Christmas? “James would love to be with Helen, but he's having to accept what serving means, because the people he is with are in the same boat and desperate to get home but they're not allowed…”

And Helen is heavily pregnant now. What has it been like for Rachel to wear the prosthetic bumps? “We’ve used several prosthetic bumps for Helen in this series and Rachel had an advisor, who used to be a midwife. But Rachel’s amazing and completely gets it!”

We hear the RAF base has an avian mascot that James needs to treat. Is there anything you can reveal about that? “Yes, the men need their mascot to be fit, as it gives them confidence to do their job. We chose a bird, because it echoes the RAF wings. It’s beautiful and we sent Nick for training to familiarise himself with handling it.

“We also have our regular animals at Christmas like Jess and Dash [Skeldale House’s dogs], Tricki-Woo [Mrs Pumphrey’s beloved pooch] and Oscar the cat. Humbug, who plays Oscar, loves being cuddled! We have another dog too, who isn’t friendly, and Carmody [James Anthony-Rose] deals with that…”

What was it like filming the airbase scenes at the Yorkshire Air Museum at Elvington, near York? “It’s so authentic. We brought in a Nissen hut and located three planes that still exist that would have flown to train airmen at the time and they flew around for us. I sat in one and you do feel exposed to the elements.

“For the RAF costumes, we used a costumier and also sourced some through our military advisor Taff Gillingham. Nick enjoyed wearing his, it gave him a different demeanour. He looks the part. In one scene, he had to run in the uniform, overcoat and hat and he never complained, even though it was June!”

Was it tough keeping everybody cool when you were filming? “We had around 115 supporting artistes throughout the Christmas episode, with many in coats and scarves for the party. As it was summer, when we were outside, we had shaded areas and cold drinks and Melissa Gallant, the executive producer, brought ice lollies! Then, in the studio, fans were on and doors were open when we weren’t shooting.”

And what can you tell us about the Christmas community dinner that kindly housekeeper Mrs Hall (Anna Madeley) organises in The Drovers Arms? “The war affects what they can provide, although Mrs Hall finds an ally who puts their hands on more food and it’s a wonderful spread. Our art department researched what they’d have been able to get hold of and Bethany Heald, our home economist, created some amazing food.”

How hard has it been to recreate a wartime Christmas? “The art department did research online and in books and magazines. We have paper angels and crepe paper banners because people made their own decorations then and our production base is opposite a Christmas tree farm, so we chose lovely trees.

“There’s a big one in Darrowby’s square and the special effects people created fake snow, which they sieved onto the ground, and they used foam when it needed to come out of the sky, which was supplemented with online visual effects. With roaring fires and carols too, the episode does feel Christmassy!”

The Christmas special of All Creatures Great and Small airs on Thursday December 21 at 9pm on Channel 5 and it will also be available on My5. It will air on PBS Masterpiece early next year.