#ESTELLE NOBODY IS WATCHING THAT

[amarantose]

PSD — @/waatsoned

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 * star spangled teen

OOC. I don't know if I would label these " headcanons " because she's literally my baby BUT!!!! below are some facts about estelle I wrote when I was bored ヾ⁠(⁠*⁠’⁠Ｏ⁠’⁠*⁠)⁠/

• Her nickname is "Elle" - - TECHNICALLY a name one would default to upon hearing her 'Steven-given' one although it means a lot to her being that the only people who call her "ESTELLE" are her father and maybe her father's friends, you'll tend to notice her respond to terms of endearment far often than her name.

• Her father is Steve Rogers - - it's a well known "fact", yes but mun needs their excuse to write on their relationship ... Estelle does not hold any MALICE towards her father but does find him overbearing as any teenage cosmic entity would, he already shields knowledge of her powers and doesn't allow her to do the reckless endeavors she regularly plans to do, how dare thee, naturally she tends to gravitate towards Bucky Barnes due to this.

• Her hair isn't real! - - funny thing about Estelle being a cosmic entity it doesn't come with the most accepting comments about her shiny—sparkly galaxy like hair, it'd be pretty to dote on from afar until you start to question how this human has a cluster of stars ☆ on their head, so to shield this Estelle almost constantly wears a wig one inspired off of her favorite James Barnes! Short and brown, just how she likes it.

• Bad at selfcare - - IT'S A SHOCKER for a not quite living concept of something to be outted into this human body, thankfully sleeping and eating is not a priority ( although she still enjoys her naps with alpine ) due to wearing wigs constantly she forgets to take care of her ACTUAL hair that despite not being natural does tend to get matted and doesn't flair too well with the earthly atmosphere, she needs constant reminders of this in order to continue on with her day cause if not she'll just brush her wig and throw it on.

• She loves vintage things - - EVERYTHING from the 40s to the 80s is her go-to Estelle finds herself collecting litters of vhs tapes at a time completely clueless to what's been recorded onto them but if it's a FLIM you best bet she's gonna watch the whole thing regardless of what it is, she tries to catch herself romanticizing the older days when she's knee deep in an old 60s romance fanfiction but she can't help but find a guilty pleasure in at the very least wanting to experience it occasionally, time travel is definitely on her to-do list ... Other than that she studies the fashion of these times periods, mannerisms, slang, common things in relation to back then and honestly any antiques she can get her hands on, she always harps about needing money when there's a pile of unused nitnacks next to her bed she could resell for a fortune.

[lunarlando]

Hi I just saw ur girl dad lando requests r open and ran over bc I'm obsessed with dad lando too and there's simply not enough fics on it unfortunately.

Anyway my fic/blurb idea is fluffy and slightly angsty? so lando and fem!wife!reader's daughters r in their teens and and they're used to reader (their mum) typically being the "bad cop" and lando being the "fun parent" who will spoil them and can never say no to them when reader does. One day readers tired of her teens hating her for being the mean one so they decide to switch roles and the girls r rlly confused and angry at lando and start being nice to reader who's enjoying watching lando take her place for once. Maybe the girls ask to go out to a party or ask for new phones or smth u can decide. Ignore my request if it doesn't seem interesting 😭 and have a grt day byee xx

thank you for the request! a few other grid kids make an appearance, hope that's okay! and lando is such a fun dad type guy you're so right x

feel free to request more :)

Having teenage girls was not an easy feat.

You were warned of the terrible twos and gotten through them twice with your sanity intact, but nobody had ever warned you about teenagers. You suspect it should’ve been a given, but when you thought about having teenagers you always saw yourself as the type of mum who your daughters would feel close to.

Now that you’re the mum of a sixteen and seventeen year old, you find yourself becoming the opposite. You’ve turned into the bad cop between Lando and yourself. He’s the fun parent, you’re the party pooper. He spoils Estelle and Delilah because he can, because he loves his girls more than life itself, and you’re stuck reining in his gift giving because you don’t want them to become accustomed to always getting what they want when they want no matter the cost.

Even when you put your foot down on some of their more extravagant requests, Lando finds a way around it. 

Part of the reason Lando spoils them so much is because he was still racing in Formula One when both of them were born and while they were growing up, so he’d miss things sometimes. He tried his hardest not to miss bigger events like their birthdays and holidays, but other stuff like their school recitals, sports games—he did the best he could, but a lot of the time it just never aligned with his busy schedule. 

Now that he’d taken a step back from being in the seat of a car for the past three years, he was trying to make up for lost time. 

“I feel like the girls think I’m a hardass,” you sigh as you’re getting ready for bed one night. Lando is brushing his teeth, but he sticks his head out of the bathroom at your words, frowning at you with the brush still in his mouth. “Do you think they hate me?” 

“You’re their mum, they don’t hate you,” he replies through toothpaste bubbles, wrinkling his nose at you. “All you’ve done their whole lives is take care of them. How could they hate you?” 

“Because I’m their mum,” you say pointedly. Lando cocks his head, like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Mums and daughters are different from mums and sons. Trust me.” 

“Okay, fair. But I don’t think you’re a hardass. You’re just…firm with them, is all.” 

You snort unattractively, looking at him pointedly. “Yeah, I have to be, mister take my credit card, buy whatever you want.” Lando hums thoughtfully, disappearing back into the bathroom to finish washing up before reappearing and padding over to his side of the bed. “I love that you want them to have everything they could ever dream of, and I say this with nothing but even more love, but you’re not the best when it comes to saying no to the girls.” 

“I know. I just…I hate it when they look so disappointed and sad.” 

“And you think I do? I don’t want to be the bad cop, but someone has to,” you grumble, setting aside your book. Lando snuggles up close to you, propping his chin on your shoulder. “You should try it.” 

“Ha, that’s funny.” 

“No, I’m serious, Lan. Tomorrow, we switch roles. You’ll be me and I’ll be you, and then you’ll understand,” you propose, smiling at him in that way you know he won’t be able to resist. All these years and you’ve still got your husband wrapped around your finger. 

“That doesn’t sound like a good time.” 

“Oh, it won’t be. Not for you, at least. But we’re a team, aren’t we?” 

“I hate it when you’re right.” 

—

Fortunately for Lando, things at the Norris household don’t get interesting until nighttime the following day. 

“Hey Mum, we’re going out tonight. Just wanted to let you know since we might be out after curfew,” Estelle says absentmindedly, not looking up from her phone. Beside her, Delilah giggles quietly, ever her older sister’s follower. You want to tell them no—their curfew is late enough as it is and they’ve got school tomorrow—but you refrain. It’s Lando’s turn to be the bad cop. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not. Ask your father first though,” you reply instead. From the couch where he’s watching some rerun of an old grand prix, Lando straightens at the mention of his name, twisting around to look at you with wide eyes. You raise a brow, tilting your head at the two girls who’ve turned their attention on their dad. “Go on, he’s listening.” 

They share a confused look with each other, but you can see the gears turning in their quick teenage brains. If mum said yes, dad would definitely say yes. Easy.

Or so they think. 

Delilah bounces over to sit on the couch next to Lando, smiling at him widely. “Hi daddy! Can we go to a party tonight?” 

Now Estelle’s sitting on his other side, bringing out the same patented charming Norris grin. “Well, it’s not really a party. More like a few friends hanging out. Super laid back.” 

“Uh huh. Gonna need some more details, lovebugs,” Lando hums, flashing their same smile right back at them. There’s no use in trying to play the guy who invented the game. “Who’s gonna be there, where it is. You wouldn’t want your mum and I to worry, would you?” 

“Um…” Delilah balks. She probably wasn’t expecting him to ask so many questions. He usually doesn’t, just says yes because he can’t bring himself to say no to them. 

Estelle cuts in before her sister can potentially dig them into an inescapable hole. “Adrien’s going, Clara and Maeve will be there too, and Teo.” 

Adrien and Teo—Charles’ and Carlos’ sons, respectively, and Clara and Maeve—Oscar’s twin daughters. You know that she knows the two of you trust your friends, so name dropping their kids would give them a fighting chance. She’s smart like that. You’d admire it more if her intellect wasn’t aimed at sweet talking her parents. 

Lando sneaks another panicked glance back at you, and you shake your head slightly. That solidifies his resolve, because as much as he doesn’t want to disappoint them, you have an agreement, and a deal’s a deal. “Sorry girls, it’s gonna be a no. We’re all staying in tonight.”

“What?” 

“Let’s do something as a family, yeah? Game night? Or you can do some laps on the sim, I know how much you like that,” Lando offers up, as if enticing them with sim racing would soften the blow of their dad’s first no. 

“Seriously? But dad, it’s not a party! We’re just gonna watch a movie or something!” Estelle exclaims, crossing her arms over her chest.

The girls share another look with each other, this one more irritated than confused. Lando just tries his best to stay firm looking. You, on the other hand, watch the whole thing play out from where you are, fighting to hide a smile, because now he knows how you feel all the damn time. It shouldn’t please you, but as someone who’s been taking the brunt of their teenage-ness for a while now, it brings you just a smidge of joy. 

“That doesn’t change things, unfortunately. You two will be staying here with your dear old parents, and that’s it.” 

“That’s so unfair though!” Estelle huffs, rolling her eyes. 

Lando cocks his head at her, brows raised in challenge. “I’d watch the attitude if I were you, Stell.” 

Delilah switches her tactic to try and salvage things, coming over to where you’re still chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter. Out of the two of them, your youngest knows exactly where her mum’s soft spot lies. “Mum? We just want to hang out with our friends. Please?” 

“You heard your dad, girls,” you say, shrugging. “If he says no, it’s no. Sorry.” 

They disappear down the corridor grumbling to each other rather quickly after that, no doubt already texting their friends about how awful their dad is. It almost makes you laugh, because for once, you’re not the one they’re mad at. Lando trudges over to you, pressing himself against your back in a rather dejected hug. 

“Doesn’t feel great, does it?” 

“Is this what it feels like to be you?” he groans. You can feel him frowning against your neck and you chuckle, running your fingers through his curls affectionately. “We’re setting some more ground rules, effectively immediately.” 

“Like what, don’t be mean to your mum? They’re teenagers, Lan. It’s what they do.” 

“I was never like this.” That draws quite a laugh from you. “What?” 

“So if I call your parents and ask them if you were ever a little shit when you were younger, they’d say no?” 

“...Don’t call them.” 

“That’s what I thought.” You kiss his cheek gratefully still. “We balance each other out well, I’d say. I don’t mind being the bad cop sometimes, but you can’t just be a fun dad all the time.” 

“But it’s so fun being a fun dad,” he whines, but you know he understands. “I don’t have to feel like this.” 

“You’ll get over it, darling. They will too, and we’ll be back to the same old thing tomorrow.” 

“I love you, bad cop.” 

“Love you more, fun dad.”

[justonemorechapternicercy]

Watched Hadestown. Had some Hadercy thoughts.

“That's fucked up,” Percy murmured as the last note of the Hey, Little Songbird trailed off.

A scoff came from his side, and a deep voice replied, “Well, it's Hades, isn't it?”

And that was just it.

It wasn't Hades. Not the Hades Percy knew. It is the Hades everybody believed him to be; cruel and cold, unfeeling and malicious. It was the Hades Camp Half-blood tried to turn him against; the one Chiron was adamant to be the one behind the stolen lightning bolt. The one nobody trusted in.

Not the one Percy got to know.

“No,” he whispered, eyes never leaving the stage. It was a captivating play - he’d never really been to theater before -, and the story was something he love-hated. Still, it made him so mad to see Hades portrayed like this.

“No?” Asked the person sitting next to him in a surprised tone. Percy didn't reply - it would have been rude. The play was still going on, after all.

-

The intermission came as a surprise. He was captivated; the songs were beautiful, the music something he didn't really experience before. Everybody had been so quick to dismiss his interest in the show, thinking that theater was too good for him, but if all musicals were like that, he wouldn't mind visiting other plays as well. It was not the best going to places alone, but maybe he could take Estelle with him, sometimes. She would probably love it - and she deserved a better childhood than his was.

“Well, Little Songbird, what did you mean by no?” His neighbor’s words brought him back from his thoughts. He blinked, looking back to the person next to him, and.

Well.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't stupid. Oblivious, maybe. Scattered brained, definitely - he had ADHD for fuck's sake. But stupid? No.

So, when he saw the gorgeous guy next to him, he knew that it was a god. Not because he was unfairly handsome, but because gods who tried to blend in humans tended to still stand out - in Percy's opinion at least. He didn't know who he was, but that guy was definitely a god. And a god, who tried to trash talk about Hades in front of Percy.

He narrowed his eyes, and said, “What? Do you have problems with understanding a simple word? It means that I disagreed with your statement. I understand that it might come as a surprise, but keep up.”

The god looked surprised, then laughed. It was a good look on him, Percy noted distantly.

“Little Songbird got a sharp tongue, I see. So, if you are so opinionated, what’s your opinion on Hades?” asked with a calculating look.

Percy had no trouble with putting gods in their places. So, he started, “Well, first of all, he is portrayed as a villain everywhere. But like, for what the fuck? He is the Lord of the Underworld, not Death. He does not decide who dies and who lives, he just rules over them. And I would also be pissed off if my realm would be overcrowded. He did not kidnap Persephone without consent. He is not cruel, not compared to basically any other god. And-”

Before he could finish his tirade, he was pulled out of his chair, onto the lap of the god. Who was-

Oh, of course. He wasn't even surprised.

“If you don't want me to kiss you, tell me. Otherwise, you will experience what it is to be kidnapped with consent at first hand.”

“Not before the end of the play,” Percy huffed, pulling away from the tempting embrace. He wanted to enjoy his first time at the theater at its fullest, damnit!

A pause, then, “After the play, then.”

It sounded like a threat.

For Percy, it was a promise.

[formulaforza]

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him. 

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open. 

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside. 

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart. 

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs. 

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools. 

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says. 

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom. 

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house. 

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby. 

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable. 

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch. 

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger. 

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good. 

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house. 

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt. 

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too. 

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And  I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a— 

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence. 

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones. 

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection. 

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug. 

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake. 

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces. 

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat. 

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though. 

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks. 

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh. 

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi. 

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming.  He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place. 

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes. 

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover. 

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of. 

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter. 

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening. 

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him. 

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects. 

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her. 

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house. 

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted. 

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker. 

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs. 

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called.  He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to. 

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up. 

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid. 

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest. 

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it. 

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one. 

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric. 

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter. 

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to. 

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered. 

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze. 

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks. 

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid. 

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly. 

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though. 

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside. 

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child. 

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes. 

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing. 

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead. 

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired. 

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door.  She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt. 

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long. 

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights. 

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of. 

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always. 

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath. 

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside. 

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without. 

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep. 

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it. 

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share. 

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly. 

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day. 

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies. 

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions. 

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day. 

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special. 

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off. 

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said. 

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour. 

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter. 

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it. 

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase. 

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course. 

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf. 

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside. 

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night. 

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings. 

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings. 

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?” 

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants. 

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy. 

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.” 

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes. 

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless. 

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out. 

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks. 

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party. 

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space. 

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is. 

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor. 

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them. 

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase. 

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks. 

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top. 

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor. 

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw. 

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd. 

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner. 

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions. 

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease. 

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter. 

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be. 

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one. 

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor. 

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her. 

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep. 

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains. 

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties. 

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries. 

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off. 

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa. 

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three. 

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows. 

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features. 

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human. 

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them. 

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers. 

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth. 

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug,  and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs. 

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris. 

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction. 

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of. 

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower. 

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them. 

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend. 

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings. 

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that. 

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world. 

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink. 

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah. 

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says. 

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat. 

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal. 

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand. 

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat. 

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear. 

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back. 

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s. 

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one. 

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action. 

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn. 

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good. 

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over. 

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy. 

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them. 

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of. 

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech. 

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected. 

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that. 

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive. 

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend. 

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so. 

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green. 

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body. 

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer. 

“Hmm?” She hums. 

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question. 

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie. 

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her. 

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you.  Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

last chapter masterlist next chapter

[sesshous]

pers: the ultimate wing“man” [freminet x reader]

summary: freminet makes a new friend (you!)

genre: fluff (gn)

a/n: reader isn’t from fontaine, also takes place after 4.2 archon quests (no direct spoilers to anything though),  this fic kicked my ass i started writing this on the NINTH. but i really wanted to get it done because i adore him ♡ (can also be read as platonic despite the title!)

when most people think of the self-proclaimed greatest magician in all of teyvat, lyney, they also thought of his magic assistant, lynette. when most people think of the magic assistant, lynette, they also thought of the once again self-proclaimed greatest magician in all of teyvat, lyney. when most people thought of freminet, they also thought of… diving? he was the most talented diver in all of fontaine, so it was no surprise that it was anyone’s first thought to connect him with the “only thing” he was actually good at (his words, not anyone else's). and for someone who spends more time underwater than on land and is probably in his own shell more than those armoured crabs you’ll find on the shore, it’s unlikely for him to be associated with other people.

there was one individual that some people didn’t consider..

pers.

how could they not think of him? okay, well pers wasn’t a human, but he was freminet’s most trustworthy companion! he practically brought him everywhere, including to his latest diving session. 

half an hour earlier, freminet had accidentally bumped into estelle, who had signalled him over and told him about how her ore supplier didn’t give her enough beryl conches for a project she was working on and requested him to get her some. originally, he had planned on going home since it was so late into the evening, but then he remembered talking with lyney and lynette about ‘wanting to socialise more’. he already finds it difficult to be around estelle with how much she talks, but he thinks that maybe this could be some kind of first step to becoming more comfortable with her. after agreeing to help her out, he set off to fontaine’s shoreline.

freminet was quick with gathering the beryl conches. after he collected enough, he went back to the surface to sort them out, examining them to make sure that they were in good condition. he did have to admit, diving while it was nearing night was pretty relaxing. it was just him, pers and the sea…

which is why he was now suddenly confused when he heard a sudden laugh. there shouldn’t have been nobody else around with how late it was. did he imagine it? he turned around to see where the laugh was coming from, he saw a figure crouched down with.. pers?

pers must have waddled off while he was so focused on the beryl conches... he swears his attention was only off him for a few seconds! freminet’s mind was at a blank here, but even he knows how rude it would look if he just walked up, snatched pers, came up with some excuse to leave and left, but he didn’t know who this person was- he was just concerned for pers safety! but while he was watching, he saw stranger pat pers lightly on the head and boop his beak with their finger, with the penguin flapping his mechanical wings in response. well, they seemed pretty gentle with how they interacted with pers. and he did remember talking to lyney and lynette about wanting to socialise more (that's why he was out diving so late after all), but normally they were both there with him to help guide him through conversations with people he didn’t know… but maybe this time, he could take this chance to try by himself?

quickly putting away the conches in his bag, he stood up, took a deep breath and nervously walked over to where they both were.

“um…” still anxious, he kept his gaze focused in on pers, however from the corner of his eye, he could see the stranger look up at him, with a smile.

“oh, hello! is this lil guy yours?”

“um,” clearing his throat, “hi. yes- yes, well he’s my friend…”

“really? what’s his name?” you moved you head a above pers in order to view his face, making direct eye contact with him. freminet felt his face heat up, quickly looking away.

“oh, it’s pers...”

“pers? that’s cute! i think it suits him.” moving back to your original position and taking pers’ flippers in your hands to lift them up and down slightly.

“thank you…” he glanced back over at you both (at pers, specifically), and stood silently as he watched the two of you play. 

“what were you doing out here?” you questioned.

“i was just diving for beryl conches…” he mumbled.

“beryl conches?!” you perk up. freminet flinched back a bit. he wasn’t expecting that much excitement for beryl conches of all things. “i saw them in the book i was reading about fontaine’s local specialties! they look pretty, i wanted to get one for myself, but i’ve never dived before…”

“oh… there’s someone who sells them in poisson… in the belleau region.”

“but it would be more special if i got one myself, you know?” freminet tilted his head and slightly nodded.

“yeah, i understand what you mean…” he murmured, silence following through. all he could hear now was the gentle tides against the shore and the squawking of some angler gulls. is this silence awkward for you? he feels like he needs to say something to keep the conversation going. you read a book about fontaine’s local specialties? you must be new to fontaine, did you move here? or are you just travelling- no, that’s definitely too personal... how about your favourite colour? or food? but those are boring, are they not? he could also ask you what you were doing out by the shore so late, but is asking the same question back okay? oh wait! your name-

“you mentioned that you were diving, right?” your voice snapped him back to reality, with you now standing up in front of him, holding out your hands with pers in them for him to take. “have you ever taught anyone how to dive?”

“i was diving, yes. and no, never. i don’t really think i would be the best teacher.” he looked down at your hands, reaching out and taking pers from them, face slightly blushing at your fingers making contact. it’s probably not too noticeable (he hopes). but now, he can ask for your name-

“how will you know if you never try?” you asked.

“well- well i guess you’re right, but i don’t know who would want me to-”

“wait, you can teach me! can be your first student?” your eyes lit up.

“i don’t… i don’t think… i…” he’s stuttering now. great, he made a fool of himself! (he didn’t)

“it’s okay if not!” you reassure him, putting up your hands. “i don’t want to pressure you or anything!” freminet shakes his head.

“oh, no- no, um maybe if i don’t have a lot of assignments tomorrow, i could show you the basics?” he clutches pers tighter to his chest.

“really? great!” you clap your hands lightly, “if you’re done collecting beryl couches, want to walk back together with me to the court of fontaine?”

“yes, i’ve finished. and sure, i don’t see why not…” okay! this time he’s really going to ask-

“that sounds awesome- wait!” you put out your hand to stop him. did he do something wrong?  “i forgot to ask you what your name is! i’m sorry!” laughing awkwardly, following up with your name. ah, you also forgot to ask, and your acting this nice towards him without knowing his name? …that puts him a little at ease.

“no worries, it’s freminet.” even he couldn’t help but give a small smile.

“freminet… i like it! you have a really pretty name.” okay his blush was most definitely noticeable now. 

“ah, thank you...” freminet grip on pers lessens.

“alright, let’s go. i’ll let you lead the way!” 

freminet thinks on the walk back, it should be a good time to ask you those questions he thought of earlier. and for once, he really hopes he doesn’t have a lot of diving requests tomorrow.

“wait, i never got the chance to ask you what you were doing out so late”

“i was exploring around fontaine!… and then i got lost exploring around fontaine… but i guess it’s good that i got lost since i got to meet you and pers, right?’

“...yeah, right.”

[scalene-4]

for somebody that didn’t really use a cellphone until age 12 and didn’t own an iphone until senior year of high school, i’ve certainly made up for lost time. unless i make a conscious effort to face reality on its own terms for the first 10min of being alive on a given day, i usually roll over and grab this stupid thing to look at what other people are up to on instagram or scroll twitter and bear witness to the terminal polarization of society itself play out in real time.

i have to admit, if it were anyone other than elon musk (a nasty petulant man child of a person who seems to have obsessively dedicated his energy and platform to making life miserable for people like myself after his famous pop star ex left him for a trans woman) who had done it, i would genuinely think that buying twitter and changing its name to “X” was a hilarious and ascended move. like anything else elon does, it comes off as the bloated and out of touch result of never being told “no” in your life.

having unfiltered access to social media fundamentally altered me as a person in a really weird and kafka-esque manner. before senior year i was shy and watched the social dynamics of people in my class play out from the sidelines, disappearing into worlds of my own creation with my siblings and close friends once the school bell rang. i was a quiet kid and felt like nobody liked me or saw me, so why would i want to engage socially with the greater Point Loma High School Bubble once i wasn’t physically forced to? of course, these feelings were largely cope as like any other human being i just wanted to feel part of it all and i hadn’t yet realized that channeling this feeling of alienation into art was my greatest superpower. i saw the feeling as a personal failing of sorts, empirical evidence that i didn’t belong because something in me was broken and fundamentally unlikeable. secretly, i wanted really badly to be seen as popular and regarded by my peers, something i probably have never fully reckoned with as my adult life has largely been defined by the pursuit of becoming a famous musician. the roots of that go further back though and that will be a post on here for another time — at this point i’m an angsty 17-year-old completely cut off from the various social dealings of my classmates once school is out and i’m home with my guitar or a pen and paper or a lump of clay.

that all changed once i got an iphone 4S in the fall of my senior year. i immediately downloaded instagram and twitter and snapchat, wasting no breath in making up for lost time. i found that many of my classmates were quick to follow me back and engage with me on those sites, and i quickly became addicted to twitter in particular. the refreshing of the interface and pace of conversation and the way all of our adolescent drama played out for all to see in real time was basically kerosene for synapses yet to be fried on various psychoactive substances. i started making new friends at school from twitter, popular and attractive friends. i didn’t notice it at the time, but my previously regimented and passionate pursuit of excellence in songwriting and my instrument began to fade into the background as i was going to more parties and snapchatting girls and generally becoming a bit more full of myself with each passing day.

i like to joke that if i’d found tumblr at that age and had used soundcloud for discovery instead of just posting half baked acoustic demos to impress my classmates, i probably would have realized i was trans a lot earlier than i did. i tell myself that things play out the way they’re supposed to.

as time went on and the people from my phone began to see who i was in real life, i think whatever charm i was somehow able to conjure initially faded as i grew ever more confident in behaving like the exact kind of person i hated. i got too drunk at every party, i acted snide towards friends of mine i deemed to somehow be lower than me on my imaginary social ladder, i checked twitter every 45 seconds and i treated anybody foolish enough to date me like a disposable accessory. and the thing is, i wasn’t even really popular by any means. i think people kind of just put up with me because i was around.

i can’t blame my phone for this shift because it was simply the catalyst for igniting teenage insecurity into an unstoppable inferno of cringe behavior and self-centeredness. the nature of a tool depends entirely on the hands making use of it, and unfortunately those hands happened to also belong to a tool. thankfully about a week into college i fell in with a wonderful group of friends who immediately put me in my place and to this day we’re all still pretty close. they saw the lonely girl behind the toolish exterior and something about her was worth loving, even if she said dumb shit sometimes.

like i said just now, i don’t blame technology in principle for amplifying the worst parts of human psychology and behavior. i think those traits are things we need to reckon with in an existential sense, and we’ll always be inventing new things that enable our worst selves. however, i think right now in particular that dynamic is functioning at its most sinister in terms of our greater society.

we have just elected a convicted felon slash rapist slash racist slash wannabe dictator, someone who by any objective account had a messy and disastrous first attempt at the presidency and has wasted no time in round 2 sowing fear and hatred and platforming bigotry. so many people agree this man and his underlings should be taken down, but thanks to social media being the forum for these conversations most if not all attempts at collectivizing and strategizing seem to devolve into a mushy goo. no one can agree on who’s leftist enough or what constitutes bulletproof moral standing — my own community can’t even agree on who’s trans enough. no one wants to say it but i feel like all of this is largely due to the way these platforms incentivize negative engagement, and shrink our scope by addicting us to instant gratification. it’s a far quicker serotonin boost to dunk on some teenager with therian lesbian (it/she) in bio than to dismantle oppressive institutions over time collectively. we’re all hooked on feeling like we’re right and more importantly, like someone else is wrong.

i love the one meme where the left is arguing about whether or not a dog is allowed to play basketball or not, while a dog runs around the court dunking on all of them.

rich people will always have access to healthcare and abortion and be free to express their sexuality however they’d like (just look at how grindr activity spikes at any given RNC event), their decadent lifestyle directly subsidized by us peasants and our phone addictions. i think it is absolutely fucking insane that so many of us regularly acknowledge and joke about the fact that we’re being watched and our activities online are recorded and farmed and sold to advertisers. our going back and forth on x dot com about which pronouns are real actively and materially makes money for these people. our attention spans are so short that they can just keep introducing new events to milk our stupidity for capital and widen the gap as the world around us literally burns to death.

i think the whole luigi thing was a psyop sometimes.

think about it: wouldn’t it be in the ruling class’ best interest to knock off a mid tier ceo in a time of growing social unrest and awareness of the evils of that class? tiktok made it impossible to ignore the genocide israel has been committing on palestine for the better half of a century. even if we don’t always use them responsibly, we have open forums from which to commiserate and collectively realize that life doesn’t have to be this unfair. if i were a billionaire oligarch and could afford to do any insidious thing i wanted, my billionaire oligarch friends and i would absolutely sacrifice a lower tier one of our own in a staged event to placate the masses. when brian thompson was executed like a dog in the street we all pretended that it was this massive instant of social awakening and class consciousness, but really what happened is it gave us all means to sit on our laurels and pat ourselves on the back because Someone Else Had Done It For Us. notice there wasn’t a copycat killer! nothing happened! there was a highly publicized chase (the evidence every step of the way looking extremely convenient and staged) and then it turned out they found a guy and he was hot, and once he was imprisoned that was kind of the end of it. CEOs continue to leech off of us and destroy the planet with no fear of retribution, while the rest of us go online and tell ourselves good job.

tools are what we make of them. i think in this crucial time we’re experiencing, this rapid fall to fascism that is ALREADY TAKING PLACE, we either need to learn how to use the tools we have responsibly and intentionally, or perhaps make use of new or different ones. i feel every day like true class consciousness and organized uprising is within our grasp, yet we keep shooting ourselves in the foot while they laugh. i hope with all of my heart that the next brian thompson (would be awesome if it was elon) faces justice at the hands of the people, truly. no frills or discourse or fancam edits, just cold lead karma and an awkward gmod ragdoll pose on the ground.

regardless, it’s about to keep getting uglier and while i reserve no love for these disgusting rich pigs i’m trying to have a greater sense of patience and empathy for everyone else and even for myself. no one’s looking out for us anymore and it’s clear they never were; now that us faggots and trannies have lost our value as a photo op the democrats aren’t coming to save us. i have faith in and love for the people around me and hold a firm belief that we will have each others’ back once the chips are down.

i also wonder how much of my data has been sold in the time it took to type all this.

[manygeese]

okay had a conversation with @puzzled-pegasus abt fankids (by this i mean we were heatedly debating middle names) but anyways here they are. Featuring percabeth, valgrace, pipeyna, and frazel.

PERCABETH

Kids, Oldest to Youngest:

Matilda Charlotte Jackson: nerd with anxiety, not athletic at all but is gonna get into a good school bc of her grades (she is stressing about it nevertheless), freshman year, 15 years old

Daniel Morgan Jackson: AUTISM, loves dinosaurs, space, and trains, especially trains, 5th grade, 10 years okd

Atalanta Sally Jackson (AKA Addy): ADHD, literally always outside playing with the neighbor’s kids in the park, 2nd grade, 8 years old

Names/Parenting Hadcanons:

Annabeth takes Percy’s last name because she sees Sally, Paul, and Estelle more as her family than the Chases.

Matilda- it was both Percy and Annabeth’s favorite book growing up. Charlotte- after Charlotte Brontë the author of Jane Eyre because Annabeth is a nerd.

Daniel- idek. It was giving Daniel and I think Percy was stumped and at his birth he was like “uh. Uh. Daniel. He’s Daniel, yeah. He looks like a Daniel.” Morgan- means circling sea.

Atalanta- their godly parents wanted them to name at least one of their kids after a hero and Athena was like. Actually present when Addy was born. And she like immediately got attached and was like “such a fierce little warrior! Her name shall be Atalanta!” And Annabeth was too tired to protest. Sally- Percy’s a mama’s boy.

Annabeth loves studying with Matilda and doing volunteering stuff with her to build her resumé.

Percy watches kids shows with Daniel and Addy and becomes surprisingly invested. He wakes them up at like ten on weekends with breakfast so the family can have their Saturday morning cartoons.

Matilda calls her parents Mom and Dad because her friends told her she should (she used to call them Mommy and Daddy), Daniel calls them Mommy and Papa, Addy calls them Mommy and Pops because she saw somebody call their dad Pops on a show once

VALGRACE

Kid:

Hope Clio Piper Valdez: AuDHD, takes after her dad (Jason) in relation to athletics, freaking jock, 8th grade, 14

Names/Parenting Headcanons:

Jason took Leo’s last name because he doesn’t like the memories he has with his mom.

Hope- didn’t want to use the name Esperanza since names have power, but Esperanza means hope, so it indirectly honors Leo’s mom. Clio- muse of history and Jason is a nerd. Piper- their bestie.

Hope has two middle names because A) Leo likes the sound of it and B) Jason wants to cram the most happy meaning into her name as possible because he wants her to have a good life.

They only have one kid because Piper and Reyna live near them and their kids are Jason and Leo’s basically, and vice versa.

Hope babysits Piper and Reyna’s kids on weekends and after school and sometimes other kids. When they’re in New York, she watches Daniel and Addy so Matilda can go to the mall with her friends.

Leo and Hope fix cars together and he is simultaneously so proud and a lil disgruntled about the fact that she will probably be taller than him soon.

Jason gets so invested in Hope’s volleyball and basketball games and he is her biggest fan. Leo drives her and her friends to the high school football games on Fridays and sometimes he and Jason make it a date. Hope is mortified because all her friends can see her dads cuddling.

Hope calls Leo Pops (habit she picked up from Addy) and Jason Dad.

PIPEYNA

Kids:

Calliope McLean-Ramírez-Arellano: AuDHD, books it to the swings as soon as recess starts, 1st grade, 6 years old

Timothy McLean-Ramírez-Arellano (AKA Tim): AuDHD, in the mud and drinking honey from the honeysuckles at recess, 1st grade, 6 years old

Names/Parenting Headcanons:

They adopted the twins when they were about one and a half- apparently they just turned up at Camp Jupiter one day and nobody knows who their mortal or godly parent is. Reyna wasn’t about to let them pull a Jason with the kids, so she and Piper took a road trip to go get them.

They each keep their own last names but decide to hyphenate for their kids’ last names.

Calliope- when Piper heard that Jason gave his kid a middle name from the muses, she was like, “omg we should match!” And Calliope is both a whimsical little instrument on a boat and the muse of epic poetry so it was meant to be.

Timothy- Reyna wanted to name him after somebody important to Piper, so Piper suggested Thomas after her grandpa, but then she vetoed that because “he wasn’t giving Thomas.” Reyna kept suggesting T names until Piper approved.

No middle names because Reyna doesn’t like them (isn’t that right, RARA?)

Absolutely LOVE Hope. When Tim is mad at one of his moms (they didn’t let him have ice cream for dinner), he starts calling Hope his mom which never fails to make her laugh.

Calliope loves to be pushed by Reyna on the swings because unlike Piper she’s never afraid to actually make her go higher when she orders it. However, Piper is better to play tag with because she looks funny when she runs.

Tim reads stories to his sister at bedtime: Corduroy, Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Gorilla, and the storybook version of Cinderella because they both love that movie.

Tim and Calliope call Piper Mommy and Reyna Mamá.

FRAZEL

Kids, Oldest to Youngest:

Frank Zhang-Levesque, Jr. (AKA Frankie): anxiety, takes after his mom, ironically, but built like his dad, 8th grade, 13 years old

Harry Parker Zhang-Levesque: autism, takes after his mom still, followes his big brother around like a lost puppy, 6th grade, 11 years old

Names/Parenting Headcanons:

Frank and Hazel broke up in college but got back together in their thirties.

They hyphenate their last names for both themselves and their kids.

Frank Jr.- Frank didn’t want to name their kid after him, but Hazel was like “I want it to be a family name because I love you” and Frank is a weak man. Couldn’t think of a middle name and Frank didn’t have one so they figured they’d stay loyal to the source material.

Harry- originally wanted to name their kid after baby after Hazel, but it was a boy and Frank insisted that the name Hazel for the boy wouldn’t go over well with the other kids in his 6th grade class. They settled for Harry. Parker- wanted to have and homage to Percy, but Hazel admitted that she didn’t like the name Perseus (then apologized even though Percy wasn’t in the room), so they just went with a middle P initial instead.

Harry likes archery and Frank is SOOOO relieved because he was afraid he wouldn’t have many things to connect with his kids over. He does pottery with Frankie.

Hazel loves going to art classes, museums, etc. with Frankie and Harry. The whole family goes to the pumpkin patch and gets their own pumpkin to paint/carve in the fall. It inevitably becomes a contest because Frankie, Hazel and Frank can get competitive. They iris message Leo and Jason, Piper and Reyna, Nico and Will and Percy and Annabeth to get them to vote on who won. It’s usually Hazel.

Frankie calls Frank Father and Hazel Mom, Harry calls Frank Dad and Hazel Mother.

[queenjunothegreat]

Hello, everyone!!! Who wants to be sad??? I apparently did because I wrote this. Always a good day when I get to write about how much I fucking hate Beryl Grace tho! Anywho, moving on!

And now here we have day five: And That Will Be Enough

“Your hair’s getting long again,” Leo commented quietly. “We’re gonna have to cut it soon.” Jason just grunted and pressed his face harder into Leo’s stomach. Leo sighed. “Jace, you know I haven’t gotten the whole Professor X telepathy helmet perfected yet. You gotta talk to me.” Jason was silent for a long time. If it were anyone else, Leo would have gotten frustrated, but Jason always chose his words very carefully. “Estelle’s two years old now.” “She is,” Leo agreed, not really sure where this was going, but willing to follow Jason anywhere. Jason squeezed Leo tighter. “She’s– She’s so little.” “She is.” Jason went silent again, and Leo almost couldn’t breathe for the tension that hung thick in the air. Then, in a small, fragile voice that Leo knew from his own experiences whispering about his sins in a confessional booth, Jason said, “I was two when my– When I joined Lupa’s pack. D’you think I was that little?” *** Jason and Leo go to Estelle's second birthday party, which brings up some memories. Turns out being abandoned in a park leaves a mark Ao3 Anniversary Collection Day 5: Parents

Through a series of coincidences that were in no way any fault of their own, Leo and Jason never got around to meeting Estelle until she was two years old. Piper had gotten to meet her (apparently being rich and homeschooled came with its perks) but convincing the faculty of Edgarton to just let two of its students go galavanting across the country to see a baby had been a little too difficult for even Piper’s charm. Then, of course, summer had rolled around and they meant to go see her, but Jason had been unceremoniously slapped with Quest Duty from his dear old dad, Leo had managed to break his leg, and the Jackson-Blofis household had gone on a trip to Germany to introduce the baby to her grandparents, and Jason and Leo were once again back at school, still without having been in a room with everyone’s favorite baby. But this time it was different. Now, Leo and Jason were at NRU and it was much easier to convince their professors to give them the weekend off for their surrogate sister’s birthday party. 

And what a party it had been. Leo hadn’t been to a birthday party that was anything but a roomful of traumatized demigods eating pizza and pretending to be less traumatized than they were in years, and he’d never been to a party for someone that young. It had mostly been for the adults and gathered teenagers, really and truly, but there were a few kids from Estelle’s preschool there, too, and Percy had put on a quite frankly masterful puppet show for them all. They’d all had a grand old time, and the weekend was over too soon, leaving Leo, Jason, Piper, Reyna, Percy, and Annabeth to all climb on Festus’s back for a hard ride to New Rome. All in all, a fun, worthwhile experience, and Leo was glad they’d finally gotten the chance to meet Estelle. 

The problem was Jason. He was… quiet, but not in his normal “sitting back and keeping watch” way, more in a morose, contemplative way that Leo didn’t really like. Nobody else had noticed, but Leo was as fine tuned to every change in Jason’s mood like it was his job, so he noticed. So, when they finally got to New Rome and they all went their separate ways, Leo didn’t even say a word before climbing into the lumpy twin bed that had been assigned to Jason. 

As expected, Jason immediately crawled into bed after him, and wrapped his arm around Leo’s waist, and pressed his face hard into his stomach like maybe he could hide from whatever thoughts were stuck in his head. Leo frowned softly and  began carding his fingers through Jason’s hair. Along the line, Jason had finally decided to grow it out from the standardized crew cut of the Legion, but he still never let it get too long because he hated the way it felt tickling the back of his neck. 

“Your hair’s getting long again,” Leo commented quietly. “We’re gonna have to cut it soon.” Jason just grunted and pressed his face harder into Leo’s stomach. Leo sighed. “Jace, you know I haven’t gotten the whole Professor X telepathy helmet perfected yet. You gotta talk to me.”

“I don’t know who Professor X is,” Jason mumbled, still hidden away.

Leo rolled his eyes, and gave a teasing tug to the lock of hair around his finger. “Shut up. Yes, you do, and I know you do.” He felt Jason smile, and he went back to his previous petting. “Now, come on. Tell me what’s up. Please?”

Jason was silent for a long time. If it were anyone else, Leo would have gotten frustrated, but Jason always chose his words very carefully. “Estelle’s two years old now.”

“She is,” Leo agreed, not really sure where this was going, but willing to follow Jason anywhere.

Jason squeezed Leo tighter. “She’s– She’s so little.”

“She is.”

“Sally loves her a lot. Paul, too.”

“Yeah. Lots of people love her.”

Jason went silent again, and Leo almost couldn’t breathe for the tension that hung thick in the air. Then, in a small, fragile voice that Leo knew from his own experiences whispering about his sins in a confessional booth, Jason said, “I was two when my– When I joined Lupa’s pack. D’you think I was that little?” 

“Jason,” Leo breathed. He wanted to wrap Jason up, maybe even fold him up and tuck him behind his ribcage so he could stay warm and safe in the space he’d carved out of Leo’s heart. He couldn’t do that, though, not with Jason clinging to him like he was, so he just cradled Jason’s head like it was the most precious thing on Earth. “Oh, god Jason. I’m so sorry.”

“Sally wouldn’t leave Estelle, would she?” Jason asked in that same tiny voice. “Not-not when she’s so little.”

“She wouldn’t,” Leo confirmed. “Sally’s a good mom and she loves Estelle a lot.”

That seemed to be a breaking point for Jason because he took in a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly Leo’s shirt was wet. “Why-Why didn’t my mom love me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Leo said the word so fiercely that it came out almost like a snarl. Fiery anger and hatred flared to life in Leo’s chest, just like it always did when Beryl Grace was the subject of discussion. “Jason, no. You didn’t do anything. You were a baby, and what your mom did was wrong. I don’t– I don’t care what was going on with her and Jupiter or whatever, moms don’t leave their babies in parks, and if they do, that’s not the baby’s fault.”

Jason was shaking like a leaf, so Leo gently bullied him until they were both sitting up and he pressed kisses to every inch of Jason’s face, taking care to kiss away any of the tears that still clung to his cheeks. When he was done, he situated himself in Jason’s lap so he could tuck Jason’s face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He pressed one more kiss to Jason’s hair before he leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “You were good, Jason. You are good. You’re kind and brave and a better son than someone like Beryl would ever deserve to call son, and I love you so much.”

Jason made a little choked sound in the back of his throat and clung to Leo like a lifeline. “Did you have a good mom?”

“My mom was the best,” Leo said with a wistful smile. He pulled Jason back just so he could press their foreheads together. Jason’s eyes were just as beautifully blue as ever, even red-rimmed and teary and Leo didn’t bother to smother his besotted smile. “She loved me lots and you know what? She’d have loved you, too. Almost as much as I do.”

Jason leaned forward that last little bit and pressed their lips together. It wasn’t a great kiss, it was far too salty and wet to claim that title, but it was one Leo knew he would remember for the rest of his life. It didn’t fix anything, not really. No matter how many times Leo proclaimed his love, it would never fill the hole Beryl had so cruelly carved out with her neglect, but maybe it didn’t need to. They couldn’t fix it, but they could face it. They could face down their ugly, hurtful pasts together and walk hand-in-hand into the brilliant future that awaited them.

And maybe that would be enough.

[pumazoey]

After Nightmares

visions of alternate timelines full of destruction and chaos are a lot for an already overworked young woman to handle. estelle gets a chance to be vulnerable again and zoey learns how to take care of her. its a win win.

this is my first time writing any kind of agere so PLEASE be nice/send feedback about it or just the story in general. to the anon from earlier i’m sorry if this characterization doesn’t fit your standards :)

Dealing with visions was already tiring. Visions lead to fainting, they lead to slurred speech and difficulty breathing and chanting of that word: “eyes”

So many eyes, everywhere. The world turned purple, with swirls of black and yellow and white, her head pounded, her brain throbbing in her skull like a drummer in a hard rock band. 

And then she would pass out.

There was no alerting anyone: nobody could sense it, not her friends, not her family, not the cats. She coped well, for someone afflicted with a generations-long curse. 

On most days, the eyes weren’t even the worst part.

She was more vulnerable while she was asleep. That was a good rule of thumb: the less awake she was, the easier she was to throw for a loop. The nightmares came fast and frequent. After particularly bad ones, she would wake up crying.

And that was exactly what had happened that night.

“Estelle?” Zoey sat bolt upright, rapidly blinking sleep from her eyes as she watched her girlfriend writhe in pain. She put a firm hand on her shoulder, grabbing her and shaking her. 

“Nnnnnn…” Estelle let out a sharp little whine, kicking her feet. “Don’t wanna- don’t wanna see anymore…” Zoey squeezed harder. She didn’t want to cause any pain, but her instinct to wake the girl up far overtook that desire.

“I know, I know-” Zoey sounded panicked, which was uncommon. Her usually snarky demeanor had been replaced by worry. “Yeah, I know.”

By the time Estelle was awake and back in full consciousness, it was clear something was very, very wrong. She hugged her knees to her chest, tears running down her cheeks like raindrops down car windows. Whatever she’d seen had shaken her to her core.

“Hey…baby…” Zoey reached out tentatively. The words stung her lips when she said them; she was still learning how to be more genuine and baby may have been pushing it. “Is something wrong?”

Estelle looked up at her, and Zoey was immediately transported back to her time as a kid, scared and alone at the foot of her mother’s bed, watery eyes and clenched fists after a bad dream. Estelle was just a child again. 

“Do you need anything?” She kept her voice to a whisper. “I can go get you a glass of water? Extra blanket?”

“Don’t wanna get up…” Estelle managed to say through whimpers. “He’s out there.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zoey urged. “Sometimes it’s less scary if you talk about it.”

Estelle shook her head and moved closer to Zoey. “I don’t wanna…”

“Well, then, let’s try to go back to sleep.”

“No! He’ll get me…don’t let him get me…” She pressed her face into Zoey’s chest, her ginger hair falling around her damp face. Zoey wrapped both arms around her, clutching her securely. God, Zoey, don’t fuck it up. She’s a mess. Don’t make it worse.

“Okay…do you want to just sit here, then?” She stroked her girlfriend’s soft curls, shifting slightly side to side.

Estelle rested her chin on one of her breasts, amber owl eyes staring at Zoey, unblinking. “Can we turn the lights on? I don’t like the darkness…There’s eyes n’ there…”

Zoey obliged, flipping on the lightswitch beside their bed. The girls were illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps on their nightstands. “Better?”

“Better.”

“Will you sleep if I leave the lights on?” Zoey carefully moved her lover’s hair out of her face with no more than a gentle brush of her fingertips. 

“I don’t know…” Estelle sounded genuinely unsure. She closed her eyes, breathing in Zoey’s scent. It seemed to comfort her in a way. 

“Stel, honey, are you feeling okay? Do you feel sick or anything?”

“Not sick. Uhm…like…small. And the world is big.”

“Yeah, I see that. Well…I know I’m not good at comforting you, and I can be kind of…harsh and intimidating and I’m probably not the greatest girlfriend…”

Estelle clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shush! You’re warm. Like a teddy bear.”

“If that’s what you need, I’ll gladly be your teddy bear.”

[thedeadlycod]

so, I was digging for fanfics and came across a redit/ quora where someone mentioned a betrayed Percy story that I imminently dug to find. and I can't find it. they only mentioned it briefly but what they said was Percy was cursed by the Ari and everyone forgot about him then he makes a life in the mortal world until Grover finds him via empathy link.

I'd also be happy with some good percy is cursed by the ari fics and recovery/ trauma post tartarus fics

I think that's the fic you were looking for.

since the fall (nobody seems to know my name) by Chill_with_Penguins

Words: 13,283

Pairing: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson

Completed: yes

The thing is that is had all gone so suddenly and spectacularly wrong that Percy had never seen it coming.

(In which everything goes wrong, Adulting is stressful, and Percy has no clue how he's supposed to raise Estelle with a ton of help, much less when everyone has literally forgotten he exists.)

When it comes to some post tartarus stories these are great

the perseid by liminal

Words: 8,378

Pairing: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson

Completed: yes

"let me love the world like a mother let me be tender when it lets me down" maggie smith - rain, new year's eve

the world and the gods through percy's eyes, after tartarus but he's still going through hell

Behind these sea-green eyes by stuckInaDitch

Words: 1,798

Pairing: gen

Completed: yes

This is one of those things you observe about a person and never mention it to him. She knows very well That she's treading dangerous waters, and she knows the dismissal was her queue to drop it, but she's watched everything he's ever wanted slip out of his grip too many times from the sidelines.

Of Divine Moves by Valorem

Words: 2,244

Pairing: gen

Completed: yes

Percy smiles softly looking down into the water, Jason is for a moment certain he’d seen some Merepeople. “Triton is celebrating my return.” He says like it’s a very common thing for Gods to celebrate the lives of Demigods, “This is his domain,” He grins, “My brother really pulled out all the stops for this.”

or

There is something significantly different about Percy now that he's returned from Tartarus. Jason can't quite put his finger on what.

I am not what I expected (The poison just didn't take) by dcninja

Words: 29,524 

Pairing: gen

Completed: yes

After the War against Gaea, Percy finds himself struggling in the life he worked so hard to get back to. The more he tries to fit back in, pushing down his powers and emotions after the war, the more things seem to fall apart. As Olympus prepares to officially reopen at the Winter Solstice, Hermes takes notice that something is off with the Savior of Olympus. But when he asked for help from Hades, none of them could imagine what Percy’s trip to the Pit led to and what it will mean for the hero.

Or Percy finally reckons with the consequences of challenging Akhlys with a little help from his immortal family, who he might be around for a lot longer than he thought.

[innerchorus]

Arslan Senki Chapter 126 (Part 2)

And unlike Kmanga you don't even have to pay twice for the privilege of having it split into two. SPOILERS for this chapter, I can't stress enough that the ending is a huge fucking cliffhanger so if you don't want to get spoiled please don't look.

That's a piece of the (Un)Holy Master's cloak...

Nicely dealt with by Andragoras!

Anyway, this is proper confirmation that Team Zahhak's clothing has magical properties / a life of its own and can potentially be dangerous even when separated from the wearer.

Given how fast the Master can dodge (or more correctly this is a teleportation style of evasion that I mentioned before where he reappears behind them) it's impressive that Andragoras actually landed a blow, though it's not even close to being a fatal one. Still, he looks like he's aiming to finish the job until the Master tries to regain control of the situation by attempting to blackmail Andragoras with the location of his child!

These panels of a shocked Hilmes in the background just watching all this drama unfold, lol

Anyway, it turns out Andragoras cannot be blackmailed and he'd rather renounce his child than be manipulated like this, which is... very on brand for Andragoras, regardless of what the truth about the child turns out to be in Arakawa's manga.

The Master: tch! Hilmes: Yikes

(Is anyone of the Parsian royal line a good father? Doesn't seem that way in recent generations. Hilmes, please reverse this trend with Irina by your side, I'd love to see you both happy with a family!)

Anyway GUESS WHO'S KNOCKING AT THE DOOR IN THAT LAST PANEL? THAT'S RIGHT, IT'S ZANDEH, PUPPY BOY TO THE RESCUE! And he's still got that little guy who was one of Kharlan's soldiers with him, and that warms my heart for some reason, I hope he gets to live.

Hilmes... 😭

I wonder what Zandeh thinks? It's clearly not 'nothing at all'.

Anyway this makes me really sad because where we saw Arslan open up to his followers and receive their support, Hilmes... can't bring himself to do that. Personally, I feel that at this point, Zandeh would support him regardless (as would Sam, who unbeknownst to Hilmes already knows the truth) but Hilmes can't bring himself to admit it, to admit the fact that he's based his whole life around a lie. Without his claim to the throne, who is he?

It's sad that he can't see that the right to rule and the qualities that might inspire loyalty and love are based on so much more. I'm not saying that he's a worthy ruler right now, unlike Arslan he hasn't even thought about how he'll govern the country for the better, but I do find it sad that his mindset leaves him so isolated here when it doesn't need to be that way.

(I'm going to need an Irina mention soon. At least show that Hilmes is thinking of her, even if he feels he can't speak with her.)

That's it for Team Hilmes content this chapter, anyway.

Who should Team Arslan bump into on the way to Mount Demavant but the Zot with a leashed Don Ricardo, still clinging on to Rukhnabad! So while Arslan did deliberately set out to get the sword, in the end it looks like it's going to happen via a chance encounter (well, if anyone can ever persuade Don Ricardo to let go of it).

Gieve recognising Rukhnabad is a great moment! Even he is so shocked that it seems like he's struggling to form the words as he processes what he's seeing.

I feel pretty sorry for Don Ricardo, he hasn't really recovered mentally from his encounter with Zahhak, he doesn't look to be in a great state, and while the Zot are merely intending to hand him over to Arslan, they can't communicate with him so presumably all he knows is that he's their prisoner, he has no idea what his fate will be and nobody to reassure him. Likewise, they don't know what he's been through.

Team Arslan try to figure it out thanks to Estelle, but Don Ricardo is too distressed, so they decide to find a village to stay the night. It's at this point that alarm bells started going off in my mind.

Narsus says "It's too quiet." (I start thinking of the village he stayed in with Alfarid where Arzhang had killed all the villagers.)

The horses start freaking out (we know they react this way to Team Zahhak)

Team Arslan find bodies of villagers with only their brain eaten (and who do we know of who has an appetite for brains?)

OH FUCK, OH SHIT, OH FUUUUCK

A weird mist begins to seep into the scene; Zahhak in the novels was described as exuding a miasma of sorts, I think it provoked fear in those who were close to it?

PANELS THAT FILLED MY HEART WITH PURE DREAD

Gods, I hope everyone survives this encounter. I don't know how it's going to go down but it strikes me that this could be it, this could be the actual deciding fight as far as Zahhak is concerned, because we have Rukhnabad on the scene right here, it could really be happening in Arakawa's manga right now, and I'm not sure I'm ready?

My head is ringing with questions. What does Zahhak's full form look like (we see the snakes clearly but not what they're attached to)? Is he fully resurrected or are the shoulder snakes just operating on the instinct of hunger? What happened to Kaykhusraw's body? Are any members of Team Zahhak here with the Snake King? If Team Arslan do fight Zahhak here, how do they go about it? One on one? As the strongest warrior, will Daryun take him on? Will Arslan (with Estelle's help) manage to persuade Don Ricardo to hand over Rukhnabad, and will he opt to take on the Snake King himself with the sword's powers?

Man I wish Kubard were here... I've always said he'd set everyone straight about the notion of taking on a being like the Snake King in single combat... Just kill it, any way you can.

Part of me feels like Zahhak won't be defeated yet and this encounter will serve its purpose mainly in showing Team Arslan that he truly has been unsealed, so now they'll know what the sorcerers were working towards and they'll know what they're up against. But will they come through this unscathed? I'm not ready for character deaths!

My working theory as of this post: Zahhak is not fully conscious and is mainly being driven by the snakes' hunger; he is heading for Ecbatana for some sort of ritual involving the head jars where he will truly return in full. The final confrontation will take place after matters in the capital with Andragoras and Hilmes have been resolved, and may involve entering Team Zahhak's lair beneath Ecbatana (ArAkAwA sHoW mE tHe DaRk TeMpLe).

Guys... I am utterly exhausted, this chapter has wrecked me. I'll keep an eye out for raws / somewhere to read the simulpub for free and post a link if I see it.

[novemberthecatadmirer]

Kidnap family fic in which

Maedhros was overwhelmed & knew they were so fucked up

Maglor was depressed & half crazy

Elrond and Elros were fine

But the children kept having strange uninvited visitors

And the adults pretended they knew nothing

(Maglor also tended to believe it was just another hallucination)

—————

Elrond & Elros’ visitors:

Seagulls and other sea birds. Occasionally giant albatrosses appeared offering dried flowers only grown in blissed realm. They were all nasty to M & M. Sometimes there would be one or a few seagulls that just stayed in their camp all the time and looked at everything with judgmental eyes and made noises whenever Maglor tried to sing.

Two grey-silver mourning doves. They glowed occasionally. No one knew how they came or how they left. It almost seemed like they could appear out of thin air. Maedhros saw them once, paled and fled from the scene immediately.

The twins went lost one night and returned by the morning. They said they played with a giant white wolf but the wolf was friendly and gave them rides in the woods.

The twins never talked about how they got them but one day they each had one new hand-made Doriath style flute. It was lucky Maglor knew a little about the instrument from past experience.

Maedhros was sure that tree out there was the same tree at their last camp

Invisible beings that apparently only the twins could see and hear. Sometimes there was soft singing in their room. Nobody understood the language and if anyone other than the twins tried to listen they started to get headaches.

The stars seemed to be brighter and blink more than usual when the twins were out looking at stars. Maglor felt sometimes the stars danced a little bit but he might be imagining things.

Gil-Estel occasionally got unnervingly close. The light made Maedhros & Maglor’s eyes hurt but the children seemed to be fine.

The twins sometimes talked about their mother like she never left. Elrond casually mentioned his mother taught him a new healing song “last night.”

Elros once got affected by one of Morgoth’s plagues and almost died. After he recovered from the fever he said he had a dream of getting lost in a grey place filled with spiders and a lady who looked like his mother but with starlight in her eyes and hair evaporated the spiders with a song and pointed him the right way back.

—————

Maedhros knew they were watched and he couldn’t even be mad at it. It was a good thing that many would still be there to look after the children when he and Maglor finally fell to their oath

—————

When Maedhros and Maglor left the twins behind at night to get the Silmarils the darkness closed around them.

Invisible hands was pulling their hair dragging their clothes trying to take away their swords. Unnumbered voices cursed at them begged at them demanded them to turn back.

The darkness was impenetrable the land moved beneath their feet

Three times they were led back to their camp where there was warm familiar light

They turned around and walked away each time

But they asked the invisible beings in the dark to look after the twins

They knew they would

[teafootballandmore]

I ccan't believe how many of you thought he doesn't care. Man is online all the time, likes a lot of things about him (remember when he didn't pick phone from Ancelotti and then posted that photo?). Besides he himself said he watch fan edits of him!!!!!

Then I don't get why he's hiding now. Cause there's no chance that people wouldn't brought up her past, her looks, their cheating last summer etc.

he just through himself under the bus cause now people found his past from Dortmund days and wc 2022 -no way people would look for that if he got caught w someone like Estelle. He dropped his image - basically became laughing stoke because he needed a gf cause all his friends have 🤷🤷

Silly Judy

My theory is that he believed that since she had so many famous men everyone wanted her and he's the man for being with her. But he doesn't think through that there is reason why nobody ever claimed her 💀 and now his ego is hurt.

[rosmerie-sleeps]

Random Omega Strikers head cannons that I posses

(for context, a lot of these came from discussing the game with my bestie (who doesn’t play the game but has read all the lore))

X sings opera in the shower

Half of the furniture in Era’s small apartment was brought from Etsy

Rune periodically sleeps in Atlas’s house. The rest of the time he sleeps over at his parents

Luna has a potato chip review channel in order to raise funds for her research, she invites her friends Juno, AiMi and Zentaro to review the said chips with her. She also sometimes has special guests (ex: Atlas, Asher), but that’s usually when they are trying the most unhinged flavors of chips (ex: cotton candy)

Juno watches a lot plays. Sometimes she asks people to recreate said plays with her and nobody has the heart to tell her no

Vyce got soundproofed walls for her house/apartment because the neighbors kept complaining about the noise

Both Rasmus and Estelle have no idea how to cook.

Asher has absolutely no idea how to fashion (THIS ONE I WILL DIE ON A HILL TO DEFEND) (I have EVIDENCE!!)

Juliette can and will fall asleep on Dubu for whatever reason (usually happens when they are waiting in extremely long lines or had a tiring day at the restaurant)

One time for Father’s Day, Kai bought his dad tickets for all the games he was having that day in an effort to make him proud. His dad only showed up to the very last one, where. Kai, of course, lost pathetically

AiMi unironically likes prunes

[boxfaery]

So, I'm watching Torchwood for the first time. Never seen it before all brand new to me, except the childrenof earth specials that I watched on their own. But cos I'm watching Doctor Who with my son I figure nows a perfect time to watch the show I never did.

So, episode 5 of series 1. Small worlds. Im siding with the faeries here.

The show does an awful job of making them into bad guys. Jack's all upset cos they killed his men, but then openly admits his men got drunk and ran over a kid, and seemingly faced no consequences for that. The fae were enacting justice.

The first person we see them kill, is a peado. Literally Jasmine gets forgotten about at school so he follows her on her way home, tries to force her in his car so he can do peado shit.

The next person is Estelle, which I'm not happy about, and it's kinda ruthless, they're trying to warn off Jack. But it's not really enough to tip the scale.

Jasmine's step dad (or mums boyfriend as they aren't married) is an awful person to her. He calls her weird, he says nasty things about her and to her. He doesn't try to understand her. He says "no wonder your dad abandoned you" and "you don't have any friends" and treats this child with such disdain it's unreal. And when he makes his little speech at their anniversary party, he talks about he can't wait for them to have children of THEIR OWN. he doesn't care about Jas and doesn't count her as his child, despite helping to raise her for 5 years. He boarded up the entry to Jas's favourite place to try and control her instead of understanding her, and when she got visibly upset he manhandled her. Because he wouldn't let go, she bites him, and his response is to hit her in the face, and go back to his party and hide the bite wound so nobody questions what just happened.

The reason Jasmine is happy to go with the faeries is because she is neglected and abused and they have punished the people that absued her. (or attempted to)

The only person that didn't deserve what they got here (including the traumatised school bullies) was Estelle.

[madame-airlock]

I was tagged by @witchybitchybisexual

Hiiii! I am so sorry it's taken me forever to do this. I've been crazy busy with work and I've had very little time to answer. I hope it all make sense. Most of the answers were typed out while half asleep, throughout the week, and I may have gotten some episodes/seasons mixed up. Sorry and enjoy?

1. How did you find out about the show?

It was 7/8 years ago.

I'm pretty sure it was a gifset on Tumblr. I already knew Betty by fame so I knew this show would be good. If I remember correctly it was a gifset of the scene where Rose asks "do we have any orange juice left?" And Dorothy says "no we're all out" while pouring herself a glass of juice, followed by a bunch of comments about the show.

2. One storyline you’d eliminate?

It's been a while since I watched the show so I don't remember everything. I can't think of anything besides empty nest right now.

Either that or the one about Blanche's daughter's artificial insemination. I didn't enjoy that one that much.

It's not exactly a storyline, but I'd eliminate the amount of unnecessary comments both Rose and Dorothy got in the later seasons, for being dumb or ugly. I think they went a little too far.

3. Best guest star/character?

I have a soft spot for Jean and her episode 💜

4. Character you most relate to?

Rose, 100%. I'm not the brightest, like her, and I love animals.

5. Favourite character?

Blanche and Rose

6. Favourite story of a cast member?

As in, behind the scenes? The joke they played on the girls, where the photo albums had the crew's crazy photos in them (it's a Christmas episode, when Blanche gives the others calendars).

In the show? 72 hours, for the message it delivered.

7. Which was the episode that got you hooked?

There wasn't a specific one. I hit play and never stopped watching!

8. You could wear one girl’s wardrobe for the rest of your life, who would you pick?

Uhm, honestly? Nobody's 🙈

9. How many kids do you think they all actually had?

I lost count. Around 10-12 among the four of them? Maybe???

10. Do you think the actresses would’ve gotten along with their characters if they met in real life? Why/Why not?

I don't know much about Estelle and Rue to say it for certain, but I'd say yes, purely based on vibes.

11. What are your other comfort shows?

I'd say Nurse Jackie, but only the earlier seasons with O'Hara. I mostly have comfort movies, like the parent trap or the emperor's new groove.

12. Headcanons? (Feel free to list as many as you’d like)

And if I said Dorothy and Blanche secret bisexuals in love with each other? 🙈

If either of the girls is feeling down, the other two (minus Sophia) are probably ready to give her a cuddle and have an impromptu sleepover.

13. What would you change (if anything) about the show/ characters if it was set in the modern day?

Make Dorothy and Blanche girlfriends :D

14. Which other Fictional Characters would you like each one of the golden girls to meet?

I'm not sure tbh.

15. Who were your favourite duo?

Each pair had their moments, but I especially liked Rose and Dorothy or Rose and Blanche.

15. Who should’ve got more 1:1 screen time with each other?

Dorothy and Blanche, I think.

16. Calmest season?

I want to say the first one, maybe? I don't remember all the details

17. Most chaotic season?

Season 2, between Rose's love interests and the song contest, is definitely a crazy one. Although S7 had some solid episodes as well (sick and tired and the one about the murder mystery dinner)

18. Favorite Season?

Season 2 has most of my favourite episodes.

19. If the girls hadn’t had their established careers, what other ones could you picture them doing?

Rose: something with animals

Blanche: iirc she's a pretty good dancer, so maybe that?

Dorothy: I'd say a literature professor or something in academia

Sophia: maybe a cook?

20. Best aspects of the show in your opinion?

The way it tackled certain topics that are a taboo still to this day, and they mostly did it with care. Sure, not every joke has aged well, but most of them did! And even if there was conflict, it got solved. I'm thinking about Sophia's thoughts about Phil, for example, or the way Sophia and Rose acted in the AIDS scare episode.

21. (This question is for my fellow cheesecake lovers) favourite cheesecake flavour?

Plain with chocolate chips, with caramel sauce, with strawberry or raspberry sauce.

22. Storyline you wished they had expanded upon?

I know I've brought her name up way too many times already, but I'd have loved to see Jean coming back to the show in later episodes/seasons

23. Questions you’d ask the actresses?

Nothing comes to mind right now :/

24. Episode that brings you the most comfort?

The one with Jean.

25. Episode that made you laugh the hardest?

The Great Herring War

26. Which other work that the actresses did, did you enjoy the most?

I really enjoyed Hot in Cleveland. I tried watching TMTMS but I wasn't feeling it. I watched 3/4 seasons of Maude and I enjoyed it but not my favourite.

27. Best St Olaf Story?

Obviously the great herring war

28. Best slut story?

"what do you mean you had 56 boyfriends?"

29. Best Sicily story?

I'm not a big fan of those, I can't honestly remember any specific ones off the top of my head.

30. Which girl would you be most interested in seeing a prequel of? And at which point in their life?

Honestly? Neither. We have seen something about their past in the show. I think a full prequel would take away the key elements of the show. And, you'd find out which of their crazy stories are true and which aren't, when I prefer to keep it a mystery, if that makes sense.