#Espresso Expert

[lifestyleloot]

Top 30 Innovative Kitchen Gadgets for 2024: Revolutionize Your Culinary Experience

Welcome to the 2024 Innovative Kitchen Gadgets Revolution! Gone are the days when the kitchen was just a room for cooking. Welcome to 2024, where kitchens are practically space stations, and the gadgets? Well, they’re nothing short of sci-fi! You thought your smartphone was the peak of technology? Wait till you meet these kitchen gadgets – they’re so advanced, they might start giving you life…

[landososcar]

espresso ; LN4

pairing(s) ; lando norris x fem driver!reader

summary ; in which yn says fuck it and drops a song while soft launching her (possibly problematic) relationship

warnings ; flufffffff & like one mention of christian horner (🤮)

note ; i apologise for the one post in here where i basically just fan girl over ria but who wouldn’t. +this is pretty long and i got lazy towards the end and couldn’t be bothered making team announcement posts lol

twitter !

instagram !

liked by estebanocon, lewishamilton, and others

youruser my give a fucks are on vacation 😝 espresso is YOURS!!! tonight after i demolish these old men 🫶

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user1 oh she is HER

lilymhe WIFFEEEEE

youruser AHHHHH IMMA MARRY YOU

alexalbon …i’m right here??

lilymhe IRRELEVANT

user2 I NEED IT NOW

bestfriend MY GIRLLLL‼️‼️💓💓💓💓

youruser I LOVEEE YOUUUUU

user3 i say we wave the chequered flag early so we get espresso now

landonorris ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

bestfriend lmfao

youruser 🧡

user4 EXVHSE ME?????????

user5 i love how she just disses half the grid and then just calls it a day

maxfewtrell helllll yeah

user6 maybe she’s never on the podium because she focuses more or singing than racing

user7 or because she’s in a fucking ALPINE

user8 y’all were SILENT when lh44 released music but suddenly it’s a problem when y/n does it

maxverstappen im not that old

youruser yeah okay grandpa

imessages !

twitter !

instagram !

liked by landonorris, f1, and others

youruser i kissed @bestfriend in the club bathroom

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user1 IS THAT A MANNNN

youruser i sincerely apologise 😔

user2 guys do we think that’s mr espresso

bestfriend KISS ME AGAIN, FUCK *****

youruser omg don’t expose him😭

youruser but hell yeah come here gf😻😻😘

estebanocon my f1 teammate or my fav singer ?

youruser me when i’m both

user3 THE INITIAL NECKLACE ????? L?????

user4 omg y/n’s boyfie driving a mercedes ??? Y/N TO MERCEDES 2024‼️‼️‼️‼️

maxverstappen1 stream espresso

bestfriend yasss grandpa !!!

maxverstappen1 omg i try to do one thing nice and suddenly i’m catching strays

user5 IM WORKING LATTEEEEE CAUSE IM A SINGGERRRRR OH HE LOOKS SO CUTEEEEEE WRAPPED ROUND MY FINGEERRRRR

liked by youruser, oscarpiastri, and others

landonorris can’t sleep

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user1 “SAY YOU CANT SLEEP BABY I KNOW THATS THAT ME ESPRESSO” LANDO NORRIS WHAT ARE YOU SAYING

user2 THE SOFT LAUNCH IN THE SECOND PIC TOO OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING

user3 oh hes definitely always streaming espresso

maxverstappen1 what kind of thirst trap post is this mate

landonorris for her eyes only😁

bestfriend but you posted on the main ?

youruser UHM

youruser 💓💓💓💕🧡💘🖤💖🩷💞💙💗🖤💗🩷💝🩷❤️💕💚🤎🩷💕💜💖🖤❣️🩷💕❤️💜🤍💚🩷🧡🩵💛🤍🧡❤️💕💛💚💕💘🩷💞❤️💜💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

landonorris what happened to the soft launch baby

youruser you’re too hot i need people to know your MINE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😘😘😘💓💓

youruser do you think about me every night😁😁😝

user4 oh she’s gone insane

user5 THE EMOJIS IM PISSING MYSELF SOMEONE SEDATE HER

bestfriend girl get UP

bestfriend what have you done to my gf

landonorris MYYYYY girlfriend🥰🥰🥰🥰

bestfriend bite me bitch

bereal !

caption: my two fav f1 drivers (excluding estie ofc🫶)

instagram !

liked by landonorris, estebanocon, and others

youruser unfortunately, i was too hot for the car this week, we’ll get those old men next week 🫶

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user1 SHES FUCKING HILARIOUS

user2 maybe if she stopped making music and focused more on racing she wouldn’t have dnfed

landonorris the car had a issue with its breaks ? how was she gonna fix that. explain quick pls coz you’re an expert

user3 LANDO DEFENDING HER IMMA SOB

bestfriend babe you need a car that can handle hot sexy you are 😫😫 i don’t wake up at 3am on a monday morning to watch you nearly die 😝

youruser my sincerest apologies ma’am 🫡

bestfriend i love you tho🫶🫶

youruser if you really loved me you’d come to the race next week ??

youruser WAS I JUST AIRED

lilymhe we’ll ignore this week !! podium coming next week for my girl i can feel it

youruser 💓💓

user4 i can’t believe her and lando are dating, so unprofessional

landonorris GAHHHH I LOVE YOUUUUU

youruser STOP IT ILL CRY 💞💞💞 MY LOVE🥰

user5 surely her dating an opponent is bad for business

imessages !

twitter !

instagram !

liked by georgerussell, maxfewtrell, and others

landonorris apparently is bad for business? sorry y/n/n’s pr team ig 🙏🤷‍♂️ but stream my girl’s new song‼️‼️

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youruser RIAAAAAAAA

user1 two tit pics in a row omg !?

youruser BABY IVE MISSED YOU COME SEE ME

landonorris 💓💓

youruser GIRL NO I WAS TALKING TO RIA SKRJSKJDJFKS

riabish STOP I LOVE YOU

landonorris wtf😭😭😭

user2 if ria has 0 fans, y/n is dead

youruser RIA PLS COME TO THE NEXT RACE I AM BEGGINGGGGGGGG

youruser make up some sort of reason and pretend quadrant need to come but then i’ll send you (and only you😉) an alpine pass 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

riabish my boss hasn’t planned a quadrant race visit for a couple more races babe😔

youruser JUST SENT YOU FLIGHT DETAILS ILL PICK YOU UP FROM THE AIRPORT WITH YOUR PADDOCK PASS

riabish MARRY ME

youruser FUCK YES AJDKSJAHHAHAH

landonorris guys i think i just lost my gf on a post i made dedicated to her

youruser yeah but you posted a pic of ria, so who was i actually paying attention to ??

youruser i love you so so sooooo much (im actually talking to you this time)

landonorris luv u 2 i guess

youruser nah wtf boutta unrelease this song

user3 what did we just witness

estebanocon you guys are insane

user4 omg bad for business is another banger

user5 when y/n can’t choose between f1 and singing so she just fucking EATS both

maxfewtrell when you ask y/n about her fav quadrant member and you expect her to say lando but you’re stupid and it’s ria without second thought

youruser you’re a close second place max🫶

landonorris wtf am i?? chopped liver?????

instagram stories !

landonorris & youruser added to their story

instagram !

liked by georgerussell, estebanocon, and others

youruser alpine ❤️ all 4 years that i’ve spent in formula 1 have been spent at this team and i now call everyone at the headquarters, garages, and races, family. thank you to everyone who’s made an impact to my life in any kind of way no matter how big or small, i appreciate it more than you will ever know. @estebanocon, thank you for being the best teammate i could ever ever everrrr ask for, you have grown with me and taught me so so many things. we’ve shared more laughs than probably any other teammates and moving to different teams will definitely not stop that.

there’s still the rest of the year until the end of this era and i know we’ll make the most of it. i’ll always remember alpine as the team that brought me in and made me the woman that i am today. the end of this season will definitely be tough but if it wasn’t sad then it would mean there was nothing to miss.

let’s have an amazing rest of the year, i love alpine and will never forget the time ive spent here 💙🩷💙🩷

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user1 IM SOBBING

user2 omg she loves alpine so much this is devastating why would they not re-sign her😭😭😭😭😭

user3 they couldn’t afford to re-sign both her AND esteban, mercedes offered her A LOT more money

landonorris so so so proud of you my love 💓💓

youruser 🫶🧡🧡

f1 never forget the first alpine driver line up after renault… keep pushing y/n!!

user4 ohhh she’s gonna EAATTT at mercedes

estebanocon going to send a mor private text to you now but thank you for everything y/n/n 🩷💙 (you’re also my favourite f1 driver)

lewishamilton ❤️❤️

lilymhe 💓

user5 omg the y/n to merc rumours were true

user6 it’s not even been confirmed yet lmfao for all we know she could’ve just got sacked by alpine and no one wants to pick her up

bestfriend soooo proud of you my girl 💞💞💞💞

riabish prouder than words can explain 🫶

twitter !

instagram !

liked by landonorris, bestfriend, and others

youruser HE FUCKING DID IT !!:!;&/&”!/!;”929/ MY BOYFRIEND IS A RACE WINNER AND IM SOBBING OMG I LOVE HIM SO MUCH LOOK HOW HAPPY😁

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user1 GIRL F1 AND MERCEDES JUST ANNOUNCED YOUR MOVE AND YOURE POSTING THIS LMFAOOO

landonorris WE DID IT BABY AHHHSHDHHAKA

youruser YOU DID IT MY LOVEEDJJRKEKR💓💓💓🧡💓🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🥰🥰😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰😻😻😻😻😻

user2 she’s so funny for just ignoring her merc move announcement 😭😭 she dgaf

user3 boyfie WON she doesn’t give a shit about mercedes rn, give her like 24 hours

bestfriend does this mean i can’t call him no wins anymore

riabish right!?? like, the one gp we go to and he has to go and steal our focus from our girl coz we gotta care about him at least a little bit

bestfriend exactly.. he’s so selfish like wtf

landonorris im so very very sorry

user4 FINALLYYYYYY

maxfewtrell 🧡🧡

youruser guys yes i know they announced my mercedes move! why are y’all acting like you didn’t know about it last week tho😭 i saw the tweets

[fictionandfixation]

Older Bachelor headcanons!

Older Bachelor stardew headcanons because I’ve been playing lots recently! All sfw, some mentions of smoking/alcohol 💕 also please bear in mind I am no SDV expert, so sorry if these go against canon occasionally!

Harvey ☕️🔬📚

• Secret smoking habit that he would rather die than tell anyone about. Not often, but during flu season when he’s stressed, you can find him cooped up in his room with an imported cigar or a Marlboro Gold, an espresso and an Agatha Christie.

• Plays classic soul, funk, golden oldies and jazz in the foyer of the clinic on an old-timey record player, and chooses every day from his large record collection. Frequently irritates Maru with the extent of his Doris Day enjoyment.

• Kind of wide-set - very broad shoulders, and quite tall.

• Packets of salted peanuts and cookies on the clinic foyer desk which he restocks every week.

• Goes to fetch you personally from the mines or Skull Cavern sometimes when you get knocked out. And he also keeps a vintage forest green car behind the clinic to pick you up in. He hopes one day you’ll wake up on the way back and compliment his tasteful vehicle choice or notice he’s bringing you home. You don’t.

• Best friends with Evelyn. Worst enemies with George.

• Tennis player. Plays with whoever will say yes in the mountains and always manages to punt the ball into the lake somehow. Also used to be in a rock climbing club at university, and has sort of sinewy forearms as a result.

• Outrageous flirt after a few glasses of Pinot Noir, mostly because I think he’s on the spectrum but also because I think it would help him stop being quite so nervous.

• Brown suspenders. Every. Single. Day.

• Gives Jas and Vincent candy after their checkup.

• “Sweetheart/honey” as a nickname for you.

Elliott 📜🖋️🐚

• Striped. Matching. Pajamas.

• Finds, forages and cooks mussels when he needs to impress someone. And on that note, very much a French cuisine enjoyer.

• If blue cheese has no fans Elliott is dead.

• Rizz master. Silver tongue. Read so much romance when he was a teenager that it has actively become a part of his personality to be a book boyfriend.

• Very willowy and slender. Metabolism of the gods. Puts away food like it’s nobody’s business.

• Can read several languages, but just can’t master an accent so never uses them in a spoken context. Definitely a student of Latin.

• English accent headcanon! Probably spent the first couple of decades of his life in somewhere high-income like Warwickshire, or (more likely) Cornwall or Exeter, on or near the coast. I am also envisioning him as having been to an old collegiate university like Durham, or maybe a college at Oxford (Merton I reckon).

• Writes and then burns poems about everyone he’s ever been in love with. Starts keeping them when he meets you.

• Chats fashion history with Emily and Haley.

• Religious about his collection of cravat-style ties because he’s seen the Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice a few too many times.

• Frequent book club gatherings with Caroline, Marnie, Robin and Jodi (mostly because mothers love him, the main selling point here being that he has definitely read at least one Jodi Picoult book. He does not remember anything about it, he’s just glad to be invited).

“Dearest/my love” as a pet name.

Shane 🍺🍕🐓

• Snores. Very quiet about it though.

• I know a lot of people HC Harvey as oldest but I reckon it’s Shane. He also acts the most like a bitter old man whereas I feel Harvey is just ‘mature’.

• Could be convinced to grow a beard. Maybe.

• Goes for a jog three times a week. Hates it. Refuses to stop and really isn’t even sure why he does it himself any more.

• Secret Lana Del Rey enjoyer. Mainly a fan of Midwest emo, classic rock, nu metal and sometimes country but the kind of country where they sing about killing people and getting away with it.

• Raised by heavily Christian parents in the Deep South. Yes this is a Southern accent headcanon. Yeehaw.

• Lets Jas put eyeshadow on him sometimes. Shaves properly only when she wants to put makeup on him.

• Craft beer’s number one opp. Wants an ice cold tap Budweiser only, and if there isn’t enough head on it he will be asking for a refund. Not that Gus would ever do that to him.

• Has muscle with padding. Very strong, very wide in stature, but not lean at all. Biceps wider than your neck that you could (and would) use as pillows.

• Makes the most insane hangover breakfast known to man. Bacon. Pancakes. Sausage. Home fries. Butter. Syrup. You’re putting on a bit of healthy relationship weight for sure with Shane as your partner.

• “Darlin’/baby” user. “Sweet cheeks” as a joke. Kind of a joke.

Hope you guys enjoyed these!! I am down irretrievable for Older Bachelor content because I love ✨older men✨

Please let me know if you’d like some more for these characters or the other bachelors and bachelorettes!

[writer-by-the-sea]

hello!! may i request something fluffy where a touch starved elliott is visited by a farmer who can’t sleep and wants to cuddle with him? they’re not yet dating, but there’s EXTREME romantic tension between them

Slightly BARELY NSFT, No beta, no spell check lol

The storm raged outside, the lighting illuminating my cabin, each flash of light shortly accompanied by thunder that roared so loudly it shook my bed. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling, the rain beating down on the roof and providing me with the white noise I would normally crave; but now I laid there disturbed by the storm and sleep continues to evade me.

I let my thoughts slip to the farmer… Weeks ago they told me how they can’t have trouble sleeping through the night, that they were considering pills to help them through the night. I couldn’t help by wonder how they were fairing this night. Were they just as frustrated as I? Tossing and turning under the covers and considering giving up and waiting for the morning?

All I knew was that tomorrow would be a day with many cups of coffee, perhaps even an espresso or two.

I leaned over, reaching for my bedside lamp, flicking the switch with well rehearsed practice— only for the light to ignore me. I blinked at the light, tapping the switching again, and then once more..

“Lovely,” I mumbled and stood. The power was out.

Near my desk sat an oil lamp, one that I preferred to save for emergencies; I suppose this fell into that category. I considered what I would do with my time now, writing coming across my mind. Although, as of late, anything I’ve written has only been conveying my sappy and desperate need for the touch of another.

For far too long I’ve lived in this cabin alone. Something I thought I would enjoy, but I find myself feeling more and more lonely as each day passes. These days it’s gotten to the point where I find myself starved for attention. I wander around town more often than ever, finding excuses to see the others (mostly the farmer,) and I go on to bore them with tales of my unsuccessful writings.

With my lamp lit, I found my way back to my bed, my new plan for the night to reread over my pages and correct any mistakes I come across. Forever I will misspell at minimum ten words per page.

I may be a writer but I am no expert at spelling, ironic as it may be.

Just as I began to settle back in bed, there’s a knock at the door.

Unusual, but it wouldn’t be the first time Willy visited in the dead of the night. He might be in need of some snacks if he saw Sebastian earlier in the day, or asking for help to shovel rain water out of his shop again.

I groaned and slipped out of bed, now giving up on my plans and preparing myself for Willy’s visit. A night of fishermen’s stories and tellings of his childhood. Not that I minded it, but I would rather relax tonight..

The knocking came again, urging me to open it and let them in. Part of me was tempted to ignore it, to pretend to be sleeping and leave Willy on his own — as rude as it may be.

But then—

“Elliott?” A voice called from outside my door, helpless and scared.

I ran to the door, flinging it open to reveal the farmer standing there. Drenched from head to toe, but still smiling as I greeted them. “Oh my goodness!” I cried and stepped back, opening the door even further and ushered them inside. “You must be freezing! Please, come inside!”

The farmer quickly ducked in, wasting no time in kicking off their boots and closing the door behind them. “I’m sorry to drop by so late,” they began and removed their jacket. “I just—“

“Couldn’t sleep?” I asked and took their jacket. I hung it and then offered a towel.

They gave me a sheepish smile, nodding and accepting the towel. “Did I wake you?”

I waved them off. “No worries, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Is it okay if… I stay here a while?”

I could tell they were embarrassed to ask, scared even as they avoided my gaze. If not for the cold weather outside, I would think they were hiding heated cheeked. But that may have just been wishful thinking. “Of course!” I replied. “Stay as long as you like—“ I paused, looking over their drenched clothes and uncertain on how to phrase my next words. “Do you… perhaps need a change of clothes?”

The farmer looked down again, chewing their bottom lip and twisting their hands in front of themselves. “I don’t want to be a burden—“

“Nonsense!” I rushed to my dresser, plucking a few of my clothes out to present them. Mostly oversized clothing, things I haven’t worn in ages but I knew would be comfortable and warm. It would definitely be better than what they wore now, anyway. “Let me know if these are okay,” I said and handed the clothes over. “You can change in the bathroom if—“

“Thank you!” The farmer replied and took the offered clothing….

And then began to strip before me.

I gasped and spun around, heat flooding my cheeks from what I’d saw so little of. Soft, supple skin… A few minor scars across their body, no doubt from the farm and the mines… How I wished to turn back around and take them into my arms, to kiss every scar, to lick every curve, to worship and adore their body just as they deserved.

I held myself back, taking a breath and moving to my bed to readjust the blankets and pillows. I wasn’t sure what tonight would bring, I wanted to keep my hopes low but—

“You can turn back around.”

They stood there, my sweater hanging off one shoulder and my old pajama pants hanging low on their waist. “Sorry about that,” the farmer mumbled. “I was actually really cold and started changing without thinking.”

“It’s no problem.” I chuckled and took their wet clothes from them, moving to hang them in my bathroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Once in the bathroom, I closed the door behind me. How could they look so adorable in my clothing….

I slowly hung their clothing, willing down the urge to run back out and pull the farmer into my arms. To compliment them on how cute they looked, to kiss across their exposed skin and slip my hands under the sweater they wore. To lead them into my bed and remove their borrowed clothing piece by piece—

“Fuck,” I whispered and stared down at the shirt I held. I forced myself to hang it up with everything else.

Tonight, the farmer came to me for a place to relax. For a place to hide out the storm. For a place they knew they could trust without a starving writers wandering hands all over their body. Their perfect, gorgeous, sexy, strong body.

I shook my head and stepped out of the bathroom, ready to chat with the farmer about the weather, about the night sky, about everything but my cravings to just touch them. But all of the words fell out of my mouth.

They laid in my bed, under the covers and flipping through one of my books from the library. The light of my lantern dancing across them, their beauty freezing me in place. A fantasy I’ve dreamt of a million times, only now I could do nothing. My breathing unsteady, the palms now sweaty, my throat dry and all words failing me as I let my eyes trail over them.

The farmer noticed me and scooted to the side of my bed, pushing themselves into the wall before patting the empty side. “It’ll be warmer under the covers,” was all they said before they looked back down at the book. A book that only detailed the secret to ‘writing an award willing novel.’ Something I knew they wouldn’t actually be interested in but…

I climbed into the bed and slid under the covers, biting my tongue when my leg brushed against their own. This couldn’t actually be happening, right? There was no storm outside and I was simply in a very deep sleep. If not for the warmth coming from the farmer, I may have actually believed I was dreaming…

The farmer leaned towards me, their head coming to rest on my shoulder, their book now closed and forgotten in their lap. I kept my eyes forward, my hands turning to fists as I let the weight of their head settle upon me. “This is nice,” they whispered and snuggled in a little further, one of their hands going to lap on my arm. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I muttered back, gulping as they shifted even closer, their arm now laying across my chest as they got more comfortable. “I— I don’t mind.”

My body felt like it was being doused in flames, feeling more aware than ever of everything around me. The rain coming back to my mind, softer than before as it fell across the roof, the thunder still rumbling outside but now miles away, the farmers hair as it brushed against my cheek, their arm as it laid over my fast beating heart, their thumb as it caressed my arm.

“I really appreciate you letting me come in tonight…” I could feel their breath across my neck, my body shivering as I let the feeling wash over me.

I took a breath, attempting to form the words. Their legs were on my own now, the farmer pulling me further into the bed and encouraging me to relax and our combined warmth made my eyes grow heavy.

“I’ve dreamt of this so many times,” I said, my voice a whisper as I finally gave me.

The farmer giggled, their laugh light and adorable… and bringing what I’d just said to light. “And? Is it everything you imagined?”

I sighed and wrapped one of my arms around them. “Even better.”

In the morning I would wake with the farmer still in my arms, their nose tucked into my neck and snoring softly. Our first night together that would become one of many.

[svnnyd4ys]

the seven + nico incorrect quotes lol

Piper: She's the girl of my dreams! Annabeth: You say every girl is the girl of your dreams. Piper: I have a lot of dreams.

!!!

Leo: *watching their house burn down* Leo: Leo: *starts filming* Waddup, guys, welcome to my vlog, today's topic: how to get away with accidentally committing arson because you forgot Spaghetti O's cans are metal and thus non-microwavable! Step one: deny everything.

!!!

Jason, looking at a selfie of Leo’s: I hate this photo. Leo: I’m cute as fuck in that photo! I’m smiling kindly. Jason: You’re not smiling kindly; you look like you’re up to something. Leo: Up to kindness.

!!!

Hazel: Nico, how do you feel about lifting heavy things? Nico: My doctor just said I should avoid— Hazel: Being a wuss? I agree.

!!!

*During a game of Hangman* Piper: Nope, there’s no Q. You lose. Leo: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something! Piper: I already added a belt, four earrings and an extra arm! YOU LOSE!

!!!

Jason: Are you guys bringing anything to the party? Nico: Yeah, an empty stomach. Annabeth: My sparkling personality. Percy: A flagrant disregard for common decency. Hazel: ... Hazel: Chips.

!!!

Piper, looking at a map: It’s a barren, featureless wasteland out there, isn't it? Jason: Other side, Piper...

!!!

Percy: You know, Leo, when you generalize, you tell general... lies. Leo: ... Leo: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns.

!!!

Annabeth: What time is it? Piper: I don’t know, pass me that saxaphone and we’ll find out Piper: *BLASTS the saxaphone* Nico: WHO THE FUCK IS PLAYING THE SAXAPHONE AT TWO IN THE FUCKING MORNING Piper: It’s 2 in the morning.

!!!

Leo: You’re overthinking this. Hazel: You don’t know the appropriate level of thinking, Leo. What if I’m underthinking?

!!!

Frank: I am an expert at identifying birds. Percy: Okay, what about those ones flying over there? Frank: Yeah, they're all birds.

!!!

Percy: *Pulls a glass a water from out of nowhere* Jason: Where did you get that? Percy: My pocket. Jason: How do you keep a glass of water in your pocket? Percy: Skills.

!!!

Frank: If I fall down these stairs, I'm just going to lay down and accept my fate.

!!!

Frank: I’m taking a look at your numbers, and it doesn’t look good. You have a lot of measurements. Quite a few variables. Jason: Is that… bad? Frank: Variables are the #1 risk factor for outcomes. The past is a big contributor to the future. Jason: Isn’t that just causality? Frank: Causality is the leading cause of death in this country. Jason: So what are my odds? Frank: Do you have a family history? Jason: Of what? Frank: Just, in general. Jason: …Yes? Frank: Oh no.

!!!

*the Squad at Disneyland, in the teacups* Leo, Frank, and Jason: *spinning a little and talking* Nico, Annabeth, and Hazel: *flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming*

!!!

Percy: My dad drowned at sea when I was little so whenever someone jokes about fucking my mom I’ll pretend to be really sincere and say some shit like “Glad to see she’s moving on, my dad’s death hit her pretty hard.” Then watch them absolutely fumble trying to figure out a response to that statement. Percy: Update, she got a new partner I can no longer make the joke.

(pre discovering yk his half God-ness)

!!!

Annabeth: I’m gonna mix a can of Red Bull with seventeen shots of espresso in a fishbowl and then chug it while Kids by MGMT plays in the background so I can perceive twenty-three spatial dimensions and fight my own soul.

!!!

Nico: This is a safety pin. *cuts off end* Nico: It is now a danger pin.

!!!

Jason: Sometimes I talk to myself for no reason. Jason: Me too!

!!!

Piper, explaining why they are not allowed to cook: I put the noodles in the pot and put the pot on the stove and turned the burner on high. Turns out you don't put noodles in marijuana and I almost burnt the whole house down.

!!!

Hazel: *gets set on fire and screams in agony* Hazel: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

!!!

[cuubism]

Bookstore cryptid Dream part THREE:

--

Hob squints at his phone, wondering how he possibly managed to set his phone language to-- is that Thai? What? Granted, he'd once set it to Japanese in an extremely ill-fated attempt to learn a new language, only to realize his error the first time he tried to drive somewhere and lost all sense of the nav. And then took three hours trying to figure out how to reset the language. Never again.

So how the fuck did he get it set on another language he can't even transcribe into Google translate to get to Settings?

He sighs, shoving the thing back in his pocket and resigning himself to a phone-less day. Sad, to be thinking of it like that. Once upon a time he could live without a constant internet connection, but no longer, apparently.

Then he gets down to the cafe, and the handwritten menu has been pencilled so badly it's illegible. What are they teaching kids these days if not decent penmanship? He'd have sworn the uni kids he'd hired to man the cafe when he's not there could read.

But he's supposed to open in about five minutes, so he leaves it for now.

The rest of the morning goes reasonably smoothly. Hob makes coffee and sandwiches while one of the hopefully-literate uni kids handles the orders--he finds the repetitive process of espresso-making soothing.

Then Dream comes in, and Hob takes over. It's his cafe, and he'll take the orders from his pretty goth "librarian", thanks.

"Dream," he greets, before Dream can say 'Hob Gadling' in his posh, solemn voice. "You going to let me make you something? Or just delivering another book? Because I'll be honest, I'm not sure I'm ready for another revelatory story from my past yet."

"I will accept coffee, thank you," says Dream, inclining his head. Hob punches it into the machine--he's already decided he's not charging Dream for anything, Dream keeps giving him free books after all--but he's got to keep inventory.

Or he tries to punch it in. The screen is all glitchy and scrambled, the words unintelligible, and he sighs in frustration. Damn thing.

Hob gives up, makes Dream coffee, and when he returns Dream does, of course, have a book for him.

"Simply a recommendation," he says, when Hob looks at it with some trepidation. "I think you might enjoy it."

Hob exchanges the coffee for the book. Looks at the cover. And squints in confusion. "Dream, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I can't read Arabic." Or whatever language. He's pretty sure it's Arabic, but he's not an expert.

Dream, for once, looks flummoxed. "This is an English copy," he says.

Hob opens the cover, wondering if maybe it's a translation inside--but nope, still Arabic. "I'm pretty sure I know English, Dream."

Dream takes the book back. Turns it over. Flips through the pages. Holds it by the spine and shakes it out. Looks at the cover again, then at Hob. "This is English," he says.

What this is is the dumbest conversation Hob's ever had. "Dream. Come on."

"Does it not look like that to you?" Dream asks. When Hob shakes his head, Dream sets his coffee and the book down on the counter and takes Hob's hand, dragging him out into the cafe proper. Hob, stunned, just follows him.

Dream pushes him down into a seat. "Read this," he says, and somehow procures another book, smaller this time, from absolutely nowhere.

Hob looks at it. "This is in French." He does know some French, but not whatever niche topic this is about.

Dream makes a frustrated sound. "Spell it out."

And Hob... tries. But every time he latches on a word, the letters.... change. Somehow.

"What," he says, though it's more of a squeak. "I swear to god I can read."

Dream takes the book back. "It's as I feared." Then, instead of explaining whatever the fuck he means, he asks, "Where do you live?"

"Um." Hob tries not to imagine Dream in his living space. "Upstairs?"

"Come, then." And Dream stands and drags Hob after him to the stairs in the back hall, as if he's the one who lives here and not Hob. He's very determined, and still hasn't explained a bloody thing.

Once Hob's let them in the flat above the cafe, Dream goes straight for the bookcase. It's still a bit of a mess--Hob hasn't entirely moved in--but Dream starts scanning the heaps of books anyway, running his fingers along the spines, flipping them over, restacking them in complicated piles. Hob just watches nervously.

Finally, Dream whirls around, a thin black paperback volume clasped in his hands. "I thought so," he hisses at the book. And then to Hob: "Did you get this recently?"

"Um." Hob thinks back. It's not one from Dream's shop, he still only has the two. "Yeah? Think so. Someone left it downstairs." The cafe has a shelf of borrowable books that people can take as long as they leave one in return.

Dream actually growls at the book. Hob's not sure why. It's just a book of poetry.

"Will you tell me what's going on now?"

"The book I gave you is not in Arabic, Hob Gadling," Dream says. "Nor French. You have been cursed."

Hob has... a lot of scrambly thoughts about that sentence. But the first that comes out is, "By a book?"

Dream nods. "It was planted in your possession by whoever left it downstairs."

"Why? Wait, what does it even do? Make things look like different languages?" Hob really hadn't thought opening a cafe was going to get him put on a magical hit list. Jesus Christ.

"It makes the written word unintelligible to you," says Dream. "Whether via a language you don't speak, or via simple recombination." Hob remembers-- of course. The phone. The menu board. "More a nuisance than a true threat to your person. It was meant to send a message."

Hob sits down heavily on the sofa. Cursed? Seriously? "What the hell kind of message, Dream? If you hadn't noticed, I'm running a cafe, not courting the occult."

Although. Maybe he'd like to be courting the occult. If that occult is Dream.

"A message to me," says Dream grimly. "I have enemies."

Hob can't help himself, he bursts out laughing. "You own a bookstore, how do you have enemies?"

"It's a dangerous occupation," Dream says darkly. He sits next to Hob. "I... am sorry. That you were drawn into it. A penalty of being associated with me."

He sounds sad now, not so much about the "enemies", but at the thought that his company might have brought Hob to harm. Hob lays his hand over Dream's where it rests on his knee. "Hey, it's not your fault. And you know, there's still audiobooks."

Dream chuckles. "I can undo the curse," he says. Which is relieving. "And I will destroy this." He sets the poetry book on the coffee table with a look of menace.

"You know, I haven't even read it?" Hob says. "Just the first few pages."

"It is very good," Dream says, to his surprise. "Hence its danger." Then he turns Hob's face towards him with a hand on his chin. Hob goes totally still in surprise. With his other hand, Dream taps his forehead, and a static shock jumps through Hob's body. "There."

A cloud Hob hadn't realized was covering his mind dissipates. "That easy?"

"For me." Dream stands again, swiping up the poetry book. He looks like he's about to leave, and Hob is almost reeling too much to stop him, but he manages to snag Dream's sleeve. "Wait, won't you stay and finish your coffee? And I want to hear about the book that's not actually in Arabic."

Dream gives him a tiny smile. "Very well. For a little while." He tucks the poetry book into the depths of his coat, and Hob doesn't see it again.

Hob shepherds him back downstairs, makes him more coffee as the other's gone cold, and hears all about The Golden Tree, a novel about a modern-day quest inspired by the Holy Grail. And nothing more about curses, though he is rather interested in that, too.

And in Dream. And his strange magic. And his serendipities.

But he figures he'll have time to learn more about that.

Especially if he's intent on courting the occult.

[the-bottom-of-the-abyss]

siren song

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person. While a reader insert, the MC will still be American and have a fleshed out backstory.

They called you Siren They called him Ghost

----

"Siren," Price told Laswell, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

next chapter: chapter 1

Notes: This is my first Ghost story! I have played the campaign and I just couldn't help myself! This is just the prologue but they will meet next chapter. Oh, and this fic will 1000% have smut. This takes place before and during the first mission, "Strike"

This used to be an OC but I'm changing it to a reader insert; Other characters will still talk about "you" in the third person.

Prologue

"Who's your crew?"

John Price sat opposite of Kate Laswell, taking in the cozy atmosphere of the cafe, but still somehow feeling on edge from recent events.

"Sergaent Garrick," Price replied. 

"Kyle?" 

"They call him 'Gaz'." the Captain continued, "He never said anything."

He handed Kate the folder for Gaz and continued reading. "John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper - demolitions. Goes by 'Soap'."

"Why?" Kate questioned as he handed her Soap's dossier.

"That's classified." 

Kate gave him a dubious look, eliciting a chuckle before he moved on.

"There he is..." Price said, handing Kate the folder. "Simon Riley." 

Laswell's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "There's no picture."

Price's reply was quick. "Never."

He handed her a final file, one with a picture of a woman with hair the color of fresh espresso and with a face like an angel. But it was the eyes that set you apart, a piercing hue that seemed a little too empty, void of emotion in comparison to your smile. At first glance you seemed harmless, but the longer one looked, the more unnerving your portrait grew.

"Siren," Price told her, "Sniper, expert in infilitration and undercover ops. American Special Forces."

Kate stared at the picture for a moment before asking, "Siren? As in the sea creature?"

Price shot her a half-smile. "Yes, the same. She seems to be the weakness of every man and she knows it. She's damn good with a rifle but her best weapon is herself."

"Now the rest," he continued, leaning forward across the table, "That's need to know. Unless we got a deal."

"What are you calling this task force?" Laswell asked.

"1-4-1."

---------

Months later

13 July 2022

2200, Upscale hotel somewhere in Europe

The bar was crowded but you weren't focused on all the other people. Those who were drinking away their sorrows, the ones meeting mistresses, and suits on a business trip. No, you was focused on the group of ten Russian Ground Forces operatives in the corner, sporting casual clothes instead of a uniform. Your eyes jumped from man to man, silently matching them up in your head with some of the pictures in the brief General Shepard gave you. Of course, this was only a portion of them, there were about fifty in total staying in the hotel. All of them were waiting on a flight to Al Mazrah and transporting a boat load of weapons, and it was your job to figure out exactly where they were headed.

You leaned back against, resting your elbows on the bar as you sat on a barstool, softly jutting out your chest and letting your hair perfectly frame your face. You knew you were beautiful, and you knew what men would do, what men would say, for a beautiful woman; all the secrets they would reveal, just to touch. A strapless navy dress stuck to your body like a second skin, accentuating every curve on your body, save for a slit in the leg that went up to your mid-thigh. 

Your targets were already glancing your way. Oogling, more like.

Too easy, you thought. You intentionally locked eyes with one of them and batted your eyelashes innocently before looking away, appearing embarrassed to the untrained eye. For extra affect, you crossed one leg over another, causing the slit to reveal more of your smooth skin. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw some of his buddies nudging him and pointing in your direction, all of your plans falling neatly into place. You brought your eyes back to the man now coming towards you and made a show of looking at him up and down, pointing your gaze in between his legs for a second longer and giving a sultry look. You could see his throat working to gulp down his nerves. 

He squeezed himself in the opening beside you and you turned to fully face him. He was average looking, nothing too special. It was what was in his pants you were interested in.

His phone.

"Hello, beautiful," his accent was thick, but the English seemed fluent.

"Hello there," you cooed, letting your voice become sickeningly sweet.

"You are not from here?" He questioned, noticing your accent sticking out among the natives around you.

"No," you replied, "I'm from America but I'm on a work trip. What brings you here?" As you talked, you ran your finger over the hand he had placed on the bar and traced nonsensical patterns.

"A-Also business," he said, obviously getting distracted by the physical contact. You kicked it up a notch, going as far as to rub your high-heeled foot along the side of his calf.  You leaned forward and was pleased to note he seemed already intoxicated, speeding up your plan by being able to avoid spending needless time ordering drinks.

You placed your hand on the man's chest and ran it slowly upwards before traveling down one of his arms. He seemed young and nervous but also attempted to exude confidence while you carressed him.

"I'm only here for tonight but..." you purposefully trailed off, looking at him with doe-eyes and gently biting you lip. "I've been looking for a real man to help me." You were laying it on a little thick, but time was of the essence, and he didn't seem all that concerned. You had him right there and decided to go in for the kill. 

You leaned in real close and whispered in his ear, "I need a man to fuck me."

He audibly groaned, prompting you to bite his earlobe softly before pulling his hand off the bar and setting it on your waist. "Can you be that man for me?"

He nodded comically fast and pulled you to stand up, not bothering to wait for any privacy before sliding his hand down over your ass. A long time ago, you would have been repulsed. You would have showered for days, trying to scrub off any evidence. Now, you didn't feel it at all, didn't pay attention to anything except your next goal: getting him away from his phone. He led you out of the crowded bar, leaving his friends to cheer him on. You boarded the empty elevator and he pushed you against the wall after pressing his floor, smashing his lips against yours. It was sloppy and anything but a turn on but you willingly let him explore your mouth and grope your body and reciprocated with responding movements, all while you were plotting on how to steal the information from him.

A hand made its way to your covered breast. I bet the information is in his email.

Another grabbed your thigh and hiked it over his hip. These lower guys never bother to encrypt anything, a blessing, really.

A hardness grinded into the apex of your thighs and you let out a manufactured moan. Luckily they are on a tight schedule, they likely won't look for a body tomorrow when he doesn't show.

The ding of the elevator caused him to break away and grab your hand before rushing to a hotel room. As he fumbled with the keycard you kissed and bit his neck, all while sliding your fingertips below his belt. He finally got the door open and pulled you inside. He attacked you with his lips again and shoved his tongue in your mouth, pawing at your ass and grinding into your hip.

Pathetic. You thought to yourself while you faked a whimpering noise and a gasp when he moved on from your lips to bite the top of your left breast. While he was occupied, you reached for the small, curved knife, a minuture karambit, that sat holstered in a sewn in slot inside your dress, just under your armpit. One of his hands creeped up the inside of your thigh, touching the edge of your lace lingerie. 

However, he never made it to his destination on account of the knife sticking in his neck.

A quick kill, although a little bloody. His body fell limp on the ground in front of you, blood continuing to pool out. You dislodged your knife and searched his pockets, finally pulling out his phone. 

"Jackpot."

You used his finger to open up the phone before stepping over his body and sitting on the bed, all of your attention now focused on scanning for any information about tomorrow's final destination for the selling the weapons. A certain message caught your eye; it detailed the schedule for tomorrow and the directions to the base they were meeting at in Al Mazrah for the arms deal. A sense of satisfaction filled you at acquiring this information. You did not feel guilty about killing the man. You have killed many men, and the part of you that felt guilt for the role you played died a long time ago.

You wiped off the blood that got on your chest and walked out of the room, phone in hand. You were not worried about cameras, you knew the CIA counter-terrorism team would take care of it. You took the elevator back up to your own room and immedaitely went for your computer once inside. You pulled up the video call option for General Shepard and sat in the chair, not caring about your mused hair or slightly smeared lipstick or the bruise forming on your upper breast.

He answered immediately and with him was Kate Laswell, the CIA Station Chief. "Siren, tell me you have intel," the general said in lieu of a greeting.

"Of course, sir," you replied. "I have the location, I'm sending you the coordinates now. They are located in Al Mazarah. It says they will be meeting with General Ghorbani."

Both Laswell and Shepard sported a confused look at that. "Why would they be meeting with Ghorbani?" Laswell questioned out loud.

"We will find out tomorrow," Shepard said. "For now, Siren, continue."

"Any hiccups?" Laswell questioned.

"Just the usual," you said. "I will need someone to remove a body and dispose of security footage but other than that, everything was smooth."

"Great work, Sergeant. Your next assignment will begin immediately. You have been apart of the 141 Task Force for some time, but now you will begin your work with a team. Your flight leaves tonight." 

---

15 July 2022

1600, Al Mazrah, U.R.A

"Watcher-1 to Bravo 0-7, you in position?"

Ghost walked through the rocky terrain, stepping back into the sunlight. 

"Nearly there," he replied, continuing moving, climbing towards a vantage point on the sands below. He heard the helicopter before he saw it, flying straight overhead and towards the target point. "Got a heli incoming."

"That's General Ghorbani." Laswell replied.

"He's punctual, I'll give him that," General Shepard chimed in. "Now get up there and see what he's up to in the middle o' nowhere." 

Ghost climbed up a few more rocks, finally reaching the opening and peering down at the base. "I'm eyes on."

"What do you see?" Laswell questioned. He brought out his Spotter Scope and peered down at all the equipment and people milling about.

"Armed personnel, armor and hardware," he replied. "All Russian."

"Our intel was right about them meeting," Shepard said. "But it still doesn't explain why the Russians would be meeting with Ghorbani."

"Supplying Iran," Kate replied, "it's an arms deal." Ghost sat silently as they talked, observing the scene below.

"You copying this Shadow-1?" Shepard asked Graves.

"Affirmative, two birds, one stone..."

"We need positive ID on Ghorbani before we kick this off boys."

"Ghost, can you identify the General?"

Ghost scanned the area, zooming in to look at specific people, checking to see if they were Ghorbani. He found a bunch of soldiers in one spot and said as much. "Armed escorts around one VIP. Russians are very happy to see him."

"It'll be the last time they do..." General Shepard said in response.

"Visual on General Ghorbani."

"Copy. All stations target confirmed."

"Shadow-1," Shepard started, "you are cleared hot for launch."

"Roger that, Actual," Phillip Graves replied. "Ghost, you are danger close to the zone. This arrow's gonna pack a punch."

"Copy. Approved," Ghost replied. "Send it."

"All stations, Shadow-1. Missle is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch. Coordinates. Target designated. Two... One... Shot out."

Soon enough the missle hit the target and the force of it made Ghost step back a bit. "Bloody fuckin' hell. Direct. Target destroyed."

[ju-nebugg]

a complete (and ever-evolving) list of the many titles of mr. henley whispers

because Henry Shields is a genius and all of this deserves to be documented

Henley Whispers

aka the Turbulent Wind

aka the Storm Before the Calm

aka Lithe Spirit

aka Lord of the Prance

aka Bowfingerer

aka the Bark Knight

aka Work Hard Fae Hard

aka Coyote Handsome

aka Tree Weird

aka the Gorse Whisperer

aka the Arrow-ma Therapist

aka Aragorn-al Activity

aka Quiver Phoenix

aka Jack of All Trades, Master of All Trades

aka Tree Willy

aka Dave Fern

aka Soft-Core Faun-ography

aka Forest Whitaker

aka Notorious Tree-IG

aka Mr. Yumnus

aka Ranger Danger

aka Lust of Wind

aka Parry Hotter

aka Pollen Farrell

aka The Wood, The Bard and the Smugly

aka the Longest Bard

aka Daft Skunk

aka Brodo Swaggins

aka Dismay in a Ranger

aka Harriet Shrubman

aka Jeffrey Archer

aka Fen Diagram

aka Look Who’s Tolkien

aka Fennel May Care

aka the Grass Samurai

aka Chloro-Phil Spector

aka Woody Allen

aka Thelonius Trunk

aka the Moss Adjuster

the ✨ rhymes ✨:

human ranger, damage dealer, story weaver, owl deceiver

human ranger, goblin killer, pale ale swiller, dream journal filler

human ranger, rabble rouser, full of heart, devoid of trouser

human ranger, hidden stranger, friend of danger, dark avenger

human ranger, expert juggler, against the chains which bind us struggler

human ranger, loot stringer, shameless swinger, on da funk bringer

human ranger, check bouncer, espresso mispronouncer 

human ranger, rule flouter, truth spouter, earthworm doubter

human ranger, poker player, that which others won’t say sayer

human ranger, trendsetter, otter petter, in-joke getter

human ranger, blame dodger, advertising for a lodger

human ranger, cheeky chancer, always-on-the-off-beat dancer

human ranger, truth spinner, under-7s judo winner

human ranger, time waster, different brands of water taster

human ranger, hog roaster, subtle boaster, party ghoster 

human ranger, crystal healer, your-layers-like-an-onion peeler

human ranger, hell raiser, into-the-abyss gazer

human ranger, lithe linguist, sensual astrologist

human ranger, bugbear wrestler, established-societal-norm questioner

human ranger, tune hummer, every-known-fear overcomer

human ranger, knowledge gleaner, has the grass that’s always greener

human ranger, deer consumer, vole beguiler, badger groomer

human ranger, havoc wreaker, noted after dinner speaker

human ranger, cattle roper, inter-species interloper

human ranger, prey pouncer, fearless fighter, local counselor

deer stalker, fox glover, the one you’re with lover

black run skier, caged bird freer, the-change-you-want-to-see-in-the-world be-er

human ranger, eldritch blaster, surreptitious podcaster

human ranger, villain injurer, power broker, serial milliner

human ranger, wild reaver, what-a-tangled-web-we-weaver

human ranger, seed sower, flower goer, the-distance goer

human ranger, head turner, butter churner, bridge burner

human ranger, shameless liar, rule defier, hair dyer

human ranger, misbehav-er, always-against-the-grain shaver

human ranger, beast enrager, strong orator, up-upstager

human ranger, owlbear slayer, soothsayer, the-field player

human ranger, quick-quip punner, villain stunner, long-con runner

human ranger, heedless cur, own-job-interview saboteur

human ranger, of-wind guster, no-one truster, goat buster

TRUE FACTS ABOUT HENLEY:

he believes that any bird singing in the forest is doing it specifically for him (and birds don’t sing when he’s not there)

he trims his pubic hair into the word “shazam”

he keeps a dream journal (but if he has a nightmare, he ignores it and makes up something nice)

he writes really bad poetry (short, broken sentences, “rupi kaur style”)

he’s been using Ghoul’s Gruel as anti-aging cream (it doesn’t work)

his spirit animal is himself

he pronounces espresso like “ethpretho”

he has a bad feeling about worms in general

he howls at the moon

he pretends to understand all inside jokes

he’s very concerned about the mortgage repayments on his house

he always dances on the off beat in order to stand out in the club

he’s the reigning champion of the under-7s judo competition in his local area

he can tell the difference between brands of water (and he has very strong opinions about them)

he leaves parties without telling people and then comes back in disguise to talk about the fact that he left

he uses healing crystals

he gazes into the abyss until it gazes back because he wants the attention

he uses “sensual astrology” to try and seduce people

he has every known fear (the exposure therapy backfired)

he shaves (against the grain) with a sword (your hair doesn’t grow in hell. he does it anyway.)

he always has the greenest grass (he steals any grass he sees that’s greener than his own)

he runs a grooming business for badgers (“what does he get in return from the badgers?” “…friends”)

he’s an accomplished after-dinner speaker

he tried to hibernate with badgers and they kicked him out

he majored in drawing in sand with sticks

he’s a bed wetter

he always bets all in when playing poker

he is a leading member of the “pithy council” (it’s just him and a ferret getting together to recite pithy sayings)

he will love the one YOU’RE with (aka sleep with your wife)

when someone asks him a difficult question, he turns and runs

he thinks he’s been leaving episodes of a podcast called “whispers on the air” in various rocks and twigs on their journey, but he doesn’t have the spell for it so he’s just been talking to inanimate objects

he has an unhealthy obsession with hats

he sleeps in a web

he invented a kind of long distance running called long distance fleeing (26 miles = safety)

he burns every bridge he crosses

henley (a natural blonde) dyes his hair blonde (his natural hair color) so people will think he has grays because he’s older and more mature than he really is

he must always be upstaging someone

he has an inexplicable hatred of goats and, similarly, an inexplicable love of sea turtles

[sky-kiss]

Raphael x Tav College AU

A/N: Was talking with @molinaesque. Was consumed by the need for a coffeeshop AU. Also. Shadowheart and Astarion, my beloved.

The College is 30 Minutes from Here. It's Noon. He's Down Bad.

__________

“Darling, he’s back.” 

Astarion does not say this silently. Astarion doesn’t say or do anything silently, so there’s no real reason for Tav to be surprised. The elf cocks his hip against the counter, tapping a finger to a tune only he hears. The shop is bustling, but he’s chosen not to help. Shadowheart shifts beside him, chin resting in her palm. 

“You really should say something,” she says, also opting not to work. She leans back against Astarion, and the elf shifts to wind an arm around her. HR is going to have fucking field day. Again. “He’s…of a certain age. That much caffeine can’t be good for his heart.” 

“If he gets what he wants, the caffeine will be the least of his heart’s worries.” Her friend chews the inside of his cheek and considers. “I almost want her to accept, don’t you? He’s swanned about for long; he almost deserves it.” 

 “I am curious; he has that build, you know.” 

“I do know.” 

Tav shoots them both a dark look. She doesn’t need to see her reflection to know there’s a violent blush in her cheeks. They’re burning. She has half a mind to sink into the ground. Or pray for death. “Will you both please be civil?”

“Oh, darling,” Astarion says, “Of course not.” 

That one’s on her. She shouldn’t have expected anything else. Tav shakes her head, turning her attention back to the line. Professor Raphael is loitering near the back, glasses set on the tip of his nose. He’d confessed to her once, months ago, that he didn’t need them; it was purely for aesthetic purposes. People expected as much from a tenured professor, and he intended to play into those stereotypes. It hardly explains the rest of him. 

He’s handsome. In fact, handsome is an understatement. It’s unfair; it’s rude, and in darker moments, alone in the shitty studio Tav shares with Shadowheart, it makes her want to scream. The gods blessed academics with brains; it came at the cost of their looks. And then there’s fucking Raphael, in his tailored suits, with his perfectly mussed brown hair and pretty eyes, and her whole world view goes topsy-turvy.

Asshole. 

It’s another ten minutes before he reaches the counter. Astarion and Shadowheart have gone back to work (shocking), but she feels their attention shift to her. Tav clears her throat, painting on a smile, trying to look surprised. Like he hadn’t stopped in for a quick espresso before class that morning. 

“Professor! I didn’t expect to see you again so soon!” 

“Not,” Shadowheart chimes in, “That she’s complaining.” 

Tav considers the implications of firing one’s roommate. “We are always happy to see repeat customers.” 

He smiles, plucking the glasses from his nose. Tav tries to keep the bottom from falling out of her stomach. She fails. His hands are long-fingered and elegant, and he’s just…the whole thing is a lot. It’s a lot. “My dear, if you were aware of only half of the papers I've been asked to evaluate…you would understand my need for this…outlet.” 

“That bad?” 

“A massacre of the English tongue.” 

Astarion presses beside her, sliding the professor’s espresso (which he has yet to order) across the counter, “You know, our sweet Tav was something of an English expert.” She pinches Astarion hard. “Ow! It’s true. Gods, you vicious little beast! Perhaps if you need a second set of eyes…” 

Raphael cocks his head to the side. “A charming suggestion. Impossible, but charming.” 

“You see, Astarion,” she elbows him back towards the steamer. “He’s impossible.” Tav scrubs a hand through her hair. The color is back in her cheeks, and he must see it. The strange thing is he seems to have softened. “I’m sorry…he’s…they’re…” 

“I understand, my dear.” 

His accent does funny things to her insides. Like horrible, awful, dizzy things. Tav chews the inside of her cheek, indicating the coffee, “This one is on me; you’re here so often. And you have all those essays.” 

“No, I cannot accept.” 

“Please.” Something dark flashes in those pretty eyes. Raphael nods, holding her gaze. The bastard slips the bills into the tip jar, smirking at her. So proud of himself. Tav rolls her eyes. “Very clever.” 

“I thought it was an excellent move.” The professor tips her a wink. He turns to go.

“Professor?” 

He stops, chuckling. “Raphael, please.” 

“Raphael,” she brushes a stray piece of hair back from her forehead. “Do you um…live near here or something? The college is a little…” she makes a vague gesture with her hands. It’s meant to approximate the distance, but it…doesn’t. 

“Not at all.” Raphael holds up his cup in salute. “But I’m willing to sacrifice the time for the…quality of this fine establishment.” He dips his chin, dropping into a half bow that would look ridiculous on a less charismatic man. “Until tomorrow, my dear.” 

Tav stares after him long after he’s disappeared. Her head is doing that buzzing thing, which is probably why she doesn’t realize her friends have pressed in on either side of her. Shadowheart flicks Tav’s cheek. 

“You do realize what you have to do, yes?” 

She knows the answer. Oh, god, she knows what they’re going to say, and she dreads it. “Yeah. I know.” 

And the little shits say it together like it's a bad romantic comedy. “You have to fuck him.” 

“I have to fuck him.” 

[frozenfries]

Cozy Café : A VALORANT Headcanon

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve written for this game, but inspiration struck at a random time. This totally hasn’t been sitting in my drafts since last January

Prompt: If the agents worked at a café, what would their roles and/or signature drink be?

Amidst the chaos of battle, a quaint café stands as a sanctuary for the weary agents. Here, they can take refuge from their high-stakes duels, and trade their weapons for aprons to pursue a different kind of mission: the art of brewing the perfect cup of coffee.

Phoenix: with his vibrant personality and quick reflexes, he’s the charismatic face of the café. Entertaining customers with his barista skills comes naturally as he conjures up dazzling coffee concoctions with a flair of his hand, a burst of flame and a confident grin. His signature drink, The Ignition Latte, is a fiery blend that invigorates even the most exhausted of patrons. Jett: agile on and off the battlefield, she brings her lightning-fast speed and precision to the café. With a swift motion of her finger, she effortlessly crafts delicate latte art, transforming each cup into its own masterpiece. Her Cloud Burst Cappuccino is a smooth delight, creating a moment of feather-light happiness for those who drink it. Viper: the formidable chemist brings her scientific expertise to the world of coffee. With a touch of her gloved hand, she infuses her creations with unique flavors and aromas, leaving customers in awe. Her Venomous Mocha is a mysterious blend that tantalizes the taste buds and leaves a lingering, addictive aftertaste. Sage: with her nurturing personality and herbal knowledge, she adds a touch of serenity to the café and its menu. Her Rejuvenation Tea is a calming infusion that restores both body and mind, providing a moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of everyday. Omen: ever the enigma, he brings an air of mystery to the café. With a flick of his wrist, he conjures up ethereal and smoky concoctions, leaving people wondering how he manages to capture such unique flavors. His Shadowy Cold Brew is a chilling experience that takes customers on a journey through darkness and light. KAY/O: the robotic agent assists in the day-to-day operations of the café, precisely measuring ingredients, ensuring efficiency, and maintaining the coffee shop's cutting-edge technology. KAY/O's presence adds a futuristic touch to the atmosphere, making customers feel like they've stepped into a realm where man and machine coexist harmoniously. Sova: a master archer, you can find him behind the counter carefully crafting his signature drink, The Tracker's Shot: a potent blend of espresso and a hint of blueberry syrup, topped with a delicate foam art of a wolf's paw print. Sova takes great pride in his creation, often using it as a conversation starter with customers, enthralling them with tales of his adventures in the wilderness. Cypher: the watchful surveillance expert provides security for the establishment. He has a keen eye for detail, which translates seamlessly into his signature drink, The Watchful Eye Latte: a meticulous combination of steamed milk, a shot of espresso, and a dash of vanilla spice syrup, served with a meticulous swirl of latte art depicting an intricate camera lens.

Chamber: the polished agent with a mysterious past has a taste for the unconventional, which is reflected in his signature creation, The Trademark Mocha: a rich concoction of dark chocolate, a double shot of espresso, and a hint of cinnamon, sprinkled with a dash of edible gold glitter that gives it an otherworldly shimmer.

Astra: with the ability to infuse her cosmic energy into any environment, she can elevate even a simple drink into an otherworldly experience. The Celestial Brew starts with a base of rich, smooth espresso, followed by a fusion of steamed milk and vanilla syrup, creating a swirling galaxy effect. To top it off is a dollop of homemade lavender-infused whipped cream, a touch of stardust and a sprinkle of edible glitter.

[barbsgirlfriend]

Velvet & Veneer headcanons

Genre: Headcanons

Fandom: Trolls

Warnings: none!

Pairing: a little bit of Veneer x Kid Ritz

⭑

⭑

⭑

⭑

Veneer 🌟

Bro is a bitch 😭

Veneer is mean just like Velvet but in a more sophisticated way. She’s straight up mean and he’s more of the fake mean. He’ll pretend to like you then talk shit about you behind your back.

BOY KISSER!! GAY?! LIKES MEN??

Veneer is bisexual but has a preference for guys. He also might have a crush on the Bop on Top interviewer. 🤭

He’s very sensitive

He’s a very emotional person. No matter what, his feelings control him. However, Veneer’s better at managing it than Velvet. Did someone just insult him? He’s pissed off. Did someone just hug him? He’s very happy.

Veneer can bust some moves bro 🤯

He isn’t really that much into singing. Veneer only agreed to become a pop star because his sister wanted to. Veneer is much more into dance. He took ballet and jazz dance classes when he was younger and loved dancing ever since.

He struggles with impostor syndrome

Now, Veneer is… okay at singing and dancing. He struggles with his self image when performing and is scared of disappointing Velvet.

Veneer has veneers 🤓☝️

He was doing something stupid with Velvet when he was younger and fell. He knocked some of his teeth out and damaged some others. So he had to get veneers and dental implants. He also has a small gap in his front teeth.

Fashionista who???

Veneer only wants to look good. He makes sure all his clothing is presentable and expensive. Veneer pretty much picks out the outfits he and his sister wear. He isn’t that good with hair and makeup though :(

Velvet 🌟

Nice when you get to know them friend

Most people think she’s a bitch (which she is) but she can be extremely caring for her close friends and family. Veneer prob says: “oh she’s actually nice you just gotta get to know her”

Lives on caffeine

Velvet CANNOT survive without some caffeine in her system. She likes to get espressos from Starbucks. She’ll sometimes drink Red Bulls, but only when she’s performing.

She’s one of the girls 😍

Velvet likes women. And that is that

Velvet’s on the spectrum

She was diagnosed with high functioning autism when she was like twelve. Velvet struggles with empathy and understanding other’s emotions. She’s also very mean as a way to protect herself.

Expert song writer

She might not be good at singing songs… but she’s excellent at writing them! Velvet wrote some songs that the other famous Mount Rageons sang.

Emotional af

It doesn’t take much to make her snap. Velvet gets teary eyed when she’s angry and yells. She also gives really bad silent treatment. The reason she ran away when the trolls were yelling about her kidnapping BroZone is because she runs away from her problems instead of facing them head on.

(Anyway, I hope you like my silly headcanons! I’ll try to make more soon)

[sailorstarr-chan4]

Sugar and Spice - an InuKag coffee shop AU

What's this? An InuKag oneshot that is NOT porn? It's been ages! This fic has been 4+ years in the making (aka, collecting dust until I finally finished it today), and now, at last, I'm sharing it. In honor of 6 years since I shared the coffee shop AU headcanon list, here at last is my first "true" coffee shop AU for this fandom.

This is also officially my 100th Inuyasha ficlet that goes into my oneshot collections! I hope y'all enjoy some silly fluff! ❤

Posted under my "Tied Together" collection: ff.net & AO3

Words: 2,662

Setting: coffee shop AU

Rated: K+

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I've worked in food service and customer service and am fully aware that all I wrote below is bullshit. Fiction is fiction lol ^^"

~*~*~*~

“Sugar and spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” 

That stupid nursery rhyme, thought Kagome furiously as she jabbed at the coffee machine, was the biggest load of bull! 

At the moment, this “little girl” was made of molten lava, bubbling under the surface of the falsely tranquil mountain of her Customer Service Persona, and any second now, she was going to blow her top. 

All because of him! 

The Asshole, with short silver hair, golden eyes, perpetual frown, and absurdly adorable dog ears, came into Kagome’s workplace every Friday morning. For the past four months. And not a single occasion had passed where he remotely acted like a decent person! 

He seemed to use Coffee for the Soul (the cafe where Kagome normally adored working) as an outlet for all his personal problems. Yeah, one of those customers. 

Kagome actually considered herself somewhat an expert of dealing with those sorts; she had an uncanny talent of letting their snippiness and rude manners roll off her back like water on a duck, and smiling so sweetly and behaving with such politeness that eventually even the angriest customer either slipped away shamefaced or let their anger temporarily melt away. 

But not with him. She had no patience with The Asshole. It was simply impossible! 

Still, Kagome had a rep at Coffee for the Soul for being “the sweet barista,” so every Friday was a test of her fortitude. At first, she took it head-on, with all the enthusiasm of any wide-eyed bushy-tailed newcomer, despite already being employed there for two years. 

But then, he had snatched the cup from the counter, glared at her, and spat out, “You smell funny.” And promptly left the premises! 

Fuming, Kagome had spent the rest of her shift off-kilter, with sharp movements and incoherent mutterings under her breath, causing her coworkers’ heads to turn in surprise. From then on, Fridays became a tense battlefield of wits: the Asshole Customer vs the Slowly-Losing-Her-Cool Barista. 

“Kagome, I can take over, if you want–” her coworker and friend Sango tried offering once, but Kagome refused point blank. 

“This. Is. War!” she had snarled, pushing the buttons and slamming down utensils with such ferocity that no one dared tried to argue. 

So, every week Kagome and The Asshole had their “face-off,” with tension one could cut with a knife until he left the premises. The only blessing of that infamous customer’s regularity was that his order was forever the same: black coffee, with a shot of espresso. 

After a month of his weekly visits, it was suggested that maybe, perhaps, the baristas could already prepare his drink ahead of time. Best case scenario, he leaves Coffee for the Soul all the earlier (and lessen the damaged mood of a certain stubborn employee). Worst case scenario, he changes his order and they cut their losses. 

Kagome shot down the suggestion with a righteous fury. 

“He can wait for his stupid order just like everyone else!” she hissed at Sango. “And he can go through my suggestions and sales-pitches, too!” 

(Sango chose not to say that Kagome normally avoided the sales pitch with other customers, preferring to take the “personable” approach that generally opened them up to trying new things without her input. It was a brilliant, psychological tactic that worked most of the time, so she really did not, in fact, have to do the Sales Pitch Spiel with The Asshole.) 

And thus, Fridays always ended up the same way: 

The Asshole enters the cafe. 

Kagome greets him with a beaming smile that fools absolutely no one. 

The Asshole begins to tell his usual order.

Kagome cuts him off with a long, cheerful spiel on all the various types of drinks, additives, and specials. 

The Asshole scowls. Mutters something along the lines of “you talk too much.” 

Kagome beams with the radiance of a thousand suns. 

The Asshole mutters, “Just black coffee, with a shot of espresso.” 

Kagome: “Would you also like that with a shot of caramel, vanilla, hazelnut, nutella, chocolate, mint, or strawberry?” 

The Asshole: “Plain. Nothing else.” 

Kagome, her smile almost unnaturally wide: “Very good, sir. And would you like whipped cream, soy or whole milk?” 

The Asshole, growling slightly: “No. Just black. And espresso. Like I said a million times already.” 

Kagome, positively overflowing with the Joy of Providing Good Customer Service: “Excellent choice, sir.” Gives the same exact total amount that The Asshole pays every week. Meticulously counts back his change, all the while smiling uncannily. 

The Asshole pockets his change. Sits down. Glares at Kagome’s back (according to witnesses) as she cheerfully, painstakingly, slowly prepares his coffee before personally coming around the bar and placing it on his table with a chirpy, “Here’s one black coffee, with espresso, and no additional flavors, cream, or any interesting whatsoever! Enjoy your drink, sir!” 

The Asshole furrows his brow, downs his coffee in one gulp while glaring into Kagome’s equally fiery eyes behind her fake smile, tosses the cup, and stomps outside without a word of gratitude, the door bell jingling in his wake. 

This exchange became famous. There were variations, of course, oftentimes on The Asshole’s end, where he’d cut Kagome off faster than usual and bark at her to “stop stalling and give me my fucking coffee already.” At which point, a venomously smiling Kagome would politely tell the customer that rude language was not appropriate at this establishment and if he did not comply, she would suggest he find business elsewhere. 

(He never did. Kagome seethed about it constantly.) 

At first, Kagome’s coworkers were scared she would get a “talk” from her higher-ups, but to everyone’s astonishment, no reprimand or discipline was issued. The supposed reason? “As inappropriate as we would generally find that behavior, the customer has never filed a complaint and continues to give us business. So, we’ll let it slide this time, but expect exemplary service with the rest of our patrons.” 

(That was the spoken reason, but Sango, Miroku, and Shippo, all eyeing their normally bubbly and genuine coworker turn into a terrifying fake, condescending queen when face-to-face with the source of her wrath, suspected that the managers found it, well, entertaining.) 

Miroku was the first one to make that observation after two months of “the war.” He noted that even the other customers were positively gleeful, watching Kagome and The Asshole rather like watching boxers in a ring. Newcomers would be quickly and quietly filled in on the scoop and they’d find themselves invested in the tense face-off as well. 

“I would not be surprised if our bosses have a betting ring going around or something,” Miroku confided in Sango and Shippo while Kagome was on break. 

“That’s so unprofessional!” Sango gasped. 

“Can you imagine how bored you’d have to be with your life,” Shippo piped up thoughtfully, “to be that invested in the love lives of total strangers? Talk about pathetic.” 

(Sango and Miroku were not fooled. Shippo eagerly watched “the show” every week just like everyone else.) 

Because regardless of the rage behind Kagome’s eyes, despite the rants and ravings she subjected her coworkers to about how abominable The Asshole was, there was no denying how she was obviously, hopelessly attracted to him. 

No one told Kagome this, of course. No one dared incur her wrath any further than necessary. But her cheeks always reddened when the telltale bell rang at 9 am and he entered the cafe. She always smirked when making his drink, and always watched him leave afterwards. 

The love-hate-tension between Barista and Customer was the greatest source of entertainment anyone could ask for. 

Until one day, when a change of the routine nearly threw everything into unmitigated chaos. 

The Asshole came inside, looking uncharacteristically nervous and twitchy. Kagome primed herself for another battle, barely registering the way his usual scowl was missing and in its place was a rather pleading, puppy-eyed look. 

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please,” he said in one go before Kagome opened her mouth. 

The morning buzz around them fell deafeningly silent. Sango froze in place of handing a customer their drink, Miroku’s hand nearly burned on the oven, and Shippo all but literally choked on his drink of water. Every single person, customer and barista, were staring at the nameless customer and a rigid Kagome. 

Kagome opened her mouth a few times like a dying fish, shook herself, and croaked out, “Repeat that one more time, please?” There was no sign of her over-the-top Customer Service persona. 

“One black coffee and one pumpkin spice latte, please and thank you,” The Asshole repeated, blushing furiously, but his tone was sincere. 

Kagome blinked. There was a ringing in her ears. He never said “please” or “thank you.” And he certainly never ordered a second drink, let alone pumpkin spice! 

Come to think of it, he was also dressed nicely. Instead of his usual red leather jacket and dirty jeans, he cleaned up rather well, with a button-up shirt and slacks, and dress shoes. Dress shoes?! Kagome’s head swam. Was he on a date? Oh gods, he was definitely on a date! 

The silence in the cafe renewed its buzz, but this time with an uptick in excitement. Everyone was wondering the same as her, gossiping delightedly over who his date was going to be, and how their beloved barista was going to “take the heartbreak.” 

Well, they had no reason to fret or fuss. Because Kagome had nothing whatsoever to care about! The Asshole may be a thorn in her side, but plenty of women had bad taste and went for those types. So what if he had a date? So what if he cleaned up way too nicely and looked devastatingly handsome, but also adorable in how nervous and shy he clearly was? So what?! 

“Your, uh, your usual is different today, hehe,” Kagome awkwardly laughed, hating herself for losing the battle. “You on a — a date or something? Haha, just kidding, I—” 

“Yeah, um,” the Asshole ran his hand through his hair, grinning bashfully, “I’m hoping she’ll…. like the gesture.” 

And then, the volcano finally erupted. 

Without a shred of fake niceness in her voice, Kagome coldly gave the total amount to her regular customer and all but threw the change into his hand without counting. She stomped over to the latte machine and started to prepping the order, her vision going red. 

Who was she?! Who was the one who took her asshole away?! 

Wait…. What? 

“Kagome…” a concerned voice broke into her reverie. “Your hand’s shaking.” 

Sango gently but firmly removed the partially-made drink from Kagome and quietly suggested that she sit in the back to “take a moment.” 

Angry tears pricking her eyes, Kagome furiously splashed cold water on her face from the sanctity of the bathroom, before gazing at her reflection. What was the deal? Why did this bother her so much? She hated The Asshole! She dubbed him “The Asshole” for good reason! He insulted her! He was always such a jerk! 

But then again, how much of that was just a bad first impression?, whispered a treacherous voice in her mind. Has he ever actually been a jerk since that first day? 

And loath she was to admit it, Kagome could not think of a singular incident. Grumpy, to be sure, blunt and ungracious, certainly, but not really an outward “asshole.” If anything, her petty behavior over the past few months outweighed his terrible first impression. 

Shame washed over Kagome. Shame, jealousy, and sadness. Such a waste…. All this time, she could have employed her actual customer service skills and had gotten to know him. Instead, she lost her chance and now he was chatting away with some pretty young thing and would probably never order his usual black coffee with espresso ever again— 

“Hey, Kagome?” Sango’s tentative voice called out, knocking on the door. “You mind coming out?” 

“Just a second,” Kagome called out, rubbing her face clean. She stepped out into the kitchen, and was promptly seized by a pair of hands. 

Before she could ask what was needed, Sango had already untied Kagome’s apron. “Sango, wha–?” 

“No time! Here, take my hairbrush and tease your hair a bit — oh never mind, I’ll do it!” 

“Sango! Pft!” Kagome blew her hair out of her face, fumbling as Sango frantically worked around her. “What are you—ouch! That’s my hair tie! What’s going—” 

“It’s a shame you’re not wearing something cuter, but it can’t be helped. After all, if he was won over by that gross cold attitude you’ve been dishing out, I’m pretty sure he’d want you even in a potato sack…” 

“Who would want me? Sango, what are you talking about?!” 

Sango paused in her hairbrushing, and stared, stunned, at the bewildered Kagome. “You really don’t know? Oh, this is even better—!” 

“Better? Know what???” 

“Just head out and see!” 

“See? What are you—- ah!” 

And with that, Kagome was tossed unceremoniously from the back, and out onto the “floor,” or customer area of the cafe. Spluttering, she flipped her hair out of her face and looked around. The Asshole was standing nervously at his usual table, clutching his two drinks. Upon noticing her arrival, he walked over, looking for all the world like a lovestruck schoolboy about to ask out his crush. 

Kagome blinked, realizing he was not looking over her shoulder, but rather squarely at her, into her eyes. Heat rose on her face. “Wh-what…. Do you have something to say?” Or are you just going to be rude again and break my heart? The voice said, unbidden, in her mind. 

The Asshole reached out and offered one of his drinks. It was a pumpkin spice latte. 

“Let’s start over. My name is Inuyasha, I’ve liked you for months, and thought we’d have a chat over some coffee.” His face was burning red, and his ears lowered low on his head, but his eyes remained resolutely fixed on hers. 

Sharp inhales scattered around them. The entire cafe seemed to have collectively held their breath. 

Kagome stared blankly. Then blinked. “Come again?” 

Inuyasha took a shaky breath and began: “My name is Inuyasha—” 

“No, no, I heard you. I just…. I don’t believe it.” 

“Why doncha sit down and then maybe you'll listen to me instead of just assuming?” 

There it was. That was her beloved Asshole. Suddenly, Kagome grinned happily and took the proffered drink. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Inuyasha. My name is Kagome, and, um,” she blushed so hard she was fairly certain steam was coming off the top of her head, “I’ve… liked you for months, too.” 

“I FUCKING KNEW IT! Cough up, Shippo! You owe me $20!” 

Inuyasha and Kagome both jumped a foot in the air and spun around. Half of the cafe was applauding, the other half harassing each other for exchanges of —- 

“You placed bets on us?!” Kagome lamented to an excitable Sango who was counting her winnings to Miroku, while Shippo sulked. 

“Well, I thought it was awful at first,” Sango said nonchalantly, “but I confess, I couldn’t resist after today!” 

Kagome turned and looked Inuyasha in the eye. They both started laughing and sat down, trying to ignore the chaos around them. 

“Oh by the way,” Kagome said, taking a sip of her latte, “how did you know to order pumpkin spice?” 

“I can smell it on you. The day we met, you….. smelled so much like pumpkin and vanilla, it was overwhelming. I, er, thought you smelled rather nice.” 

“That’s not remotely what that sounded like,” Kagome said, raising an eyebrow. 

Inuyasha grinned, looking slightly abashed. “I have a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth. And I can be awfully stubborn. Betcha you know what that’s like.” 

Kagome’s face burned even hotter and she sipped her drink. “Well, girls are made of sugar and spice, you know,” she said cheekily. 

[klapollo]

once again the thing about poptimism that irritates me is not that it praises pop but that it praises the most boring, consumer-friendly, top 40 radio pop. artists like magdalena bay and passion pit and stromae and japanese breakfast who do really exciting creative things with pop beyond the framework of super-digestible mass commercial music are rarely included in these conversations about what makes the Pop Perfection that self-proclaimed music fans on stan twitter love to profess themselves to be experts in.

like i love radio pop i really do. but i don't think espresso can hold a candle to like, oracular spectacular in terms of artistic ambition and musical quality. i think a lot of the main pop girls' indie contemporaries like hemlocke springs are running circles around them with artistry and originality. and that's what frustrates me -- that so many people heard "we're seeing musical merit in pop music" and took that to mean "the most common denominator pop is the best"

[tightjeansjavi]

Slow Hands | Joel Miller x f! reader

Chapter 2 “an espresso a day keeps the doctor away”

A/N: I breezed through this chapter just like the last one 🥺 I hope you all enjoy reading. Please note there is mentions of anxiety attacks and PTSD in this chapter. If this sort of content triggers you, please tread carefully if you choose to read. 🤎

~word count: 4.2k~

Summary: Joel is overwhelmed with the realization that he knows you in some capacity and struggles handling his emotions that come with the realization.

Warnings: mentions of PTSD episodes (I am in not claiming to be an expert on this stuff but I did do some research to actively depict what this disorder is like for Joel) anxiety, anxiety coping mechanisms (ie counting, focusing on one thing and blocking out everything else) overwhelming emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, fainting, feeling like breathing is not possible, zoning out, disassociation, denial, mentions of childloss, mentions of loss in general, internal thoughts, angst, mentions of prescription pills for anxiety, some fluff towards the end, no age gap, no use of y/n, reader has no physical description but goes by the nickname ‘Beanie’ (+18 minors dni!)

“…Joel?” You asked softly when he didn’t immediately respond to you stating that the coffee was so good because of a bit of sugar and love sprinkled into it.

Joel blinked and tightened his grip around the mug slightly. His fingers flexed, and his jaw tightened to an edgefold.

“Is everything alright? Did I..say something wrong?”

Your voice was sounding fuzzy and muffled to his good ear, almost as if you were standing far away; too far for him to detect the words flitting past your lips.

His eyes were focused on a spot along the wall next to your head. He tried to not allow his thoughts to presently consume him, but when these episodes sprung up, it was a challenge for him to handle. The room felt like it was closing in on him. Inch by inch till he felt like he was suffocating from the paranoia.

Fuck me. His internal thoughts plagued him.

Breathe, Joel. Fucking Breathe.

I can’t breathe. I’ve forgotten how to.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck. Not this again.

His hand that wasn’t presently purchased around the mug was now resting along the rustic wood. His fingers thrummed nervously as he struggled to take steady inhales. Something that once was so easy, and required little to no thought, was now becoming a struggle once more.

His lips opened and then closed, and then opened again but no words flowed through them. He could taste the anxiety lingering on his tongue as his mouth went dry. The last time he had one of these episodes was when he and Ellie arrived in Jackson for the first time. His mind kept playing tricks on him when he saw a woman who would be about Sarah’s age (if she had lived) with a little girl. Now, he didn’t just face images of Sarah flashing in his brain. He saw Ellie now too.

“Joel? Can I–get you some water or something? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost..” Your hand had reached out to gently touch his forearm and he immediately flinched back, as if he had touched something scalding and his body's natural defense was to flee from it. The milky whites of his eyes were on display, reminding you of a frightened, cornered animal or a deer fleeing from a pack of wolves.

“I’m–I'm sorry.” He sputtered out. Trying to gather his thoughts so that he would come across as being coherent. “You–I have to–I have to go.” He raked his fingers through his salt and peppered stained tendrils of hair. “I’m sorry, I just–I can’t be here right now darlin.’”

His voice was so low and timid, you could barely depict the words he was saying. You had opened your mouth to speak again, but his broad frame was already scurrying out the door. The sound of the hinges being smacked open nearly startled you as a frigid breeze whipped past, carrying in a spray of snow in its wake.

Joel Miller was gone within a blink of an eye and only after he had left did you realize that he had abandoned the owl mug on the counter.

Joel’s boot-clad feet were carrying him faster than his brain could keep up with.

One foot after the other easy peasy.

One. two. three. four. five. six. seven…

20 steps to the Tipsy Bison.

“TOMMY!” Joel’s deep baritone voice boomed through the empty establishment, sans his younger brother moseying around the bartop.

“What are ya fuckin’ yellin’ for? Christ, Joel! Nearly gone and gave me a heart attack!”

“DID YOU FUCKIN’ KNOW THAT WE SORTA KINDA KNOW EACH OTHER?!” Joel was one hot mess as he stopped just in front of the bartop. His fists were trembling at his sides and he did in fact look like he had seen a ghost.

“Brother, what in the hell are you goin’ on about? Why are you yellin’ at me?” Tommy responded with genuine confusion. He hadn’t a clue who, or what his brother was referring to. “Why don’t ya sit down, and i’ll pour ya a drink, okay?” He gestured to the open bottle of whiskey on the smooth countertop.

“Did you know that Beanie is from Austin? You said you knew her in some capacity, right? Did you fuckin’ know that she used to own the coffee shop on mainstreet? ‘Cuppa Smiles’ was the name of it. Did you know this entire fuckin’ time?” Joel yanked back the stool before sinking down on it as Tommy poured him a splash of whiskey to which Joel downed in one hefty gulp.

The younger Miller brother’s face fell at the realization. “Fuck, Joel. I’m so sorry. I swear..I had no idea. No fuckin’ clue. Now that you mention it, Beanie does look like that barista that always did the silly little latte art on your coffees. Hey, Joel? Maybe you shouldn’t–”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do, alright? Jus’ pour me another.” Joel mumbled as he rested the rim of the glass along his temple. “Yeah, the coffee shop with the fuckin’ strawberry jelly filled donuts that Sarah loved so fuckin’ much.” He croaked out the last part. “She loved those donuts Tommy. She loved them!” He slammed the glass down on the bartop so hard, Tommy swore that it had shattered.

“Alright. Alright, Joel. Let’s just..lets take some deep breaths before we go and get ourselves all worked up over this, okay? If I knew Beanie was that barista, I would have told you right away brother. You know I would never ever hide somethin’ like that from you. I would never.” Tommy’s tone was ten times softer than Joel’s as he tried to talk him down.

“I forgot how to fuckin’ breathe Tommy.” Joel deadpanned as he stumbled off the stool and began to pace while gripping his hair from the roots so tightly, Tommy was afraid that strands were going to be yanked out. He started counting under his breath as he paced back and forth. Tommy knew that his brother had these episodes however, he didn’t realize until now just how bad they could get.

“That’s a piece of my fuckin’ past out there that I had no fuckin’ clue existed up until now! I fuckin’ froze in front of her like a goddamn vegetable. A fuckin’ vegetable Tommy!”

The walls were closing in again on all sides as Joel struggled to regain his composure. Counting wasn’t helping like it normally would and now it really was beginning to feel like his airway was being physically cut off.

Tommy was already jumping into action when he realized nothing he had said was talking his brother down. As soon as Joel felt Tommy gently grasping his forearms, everything went black as his body collapsed to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Joel had only fainted once or twice during an episode, and it was only when he was alone with his thoughts that had become too painful to handle.

Joel woke up in a scratchy hospital bed with one damn flickering fluorescent light buzzing above his head and he was visibly confused as to how he ended up there in the first place. One second he was yelling and pacing and the next? He couldn’t remember the exact moment everything had gone black.

His brain barely registered a familiar pair of arms hugging him tightly. It was Ellie clinging to him like a koala bear. “Tommy, He’s awake!” the teen exclaimed as she buried her face into Joel’s shoulder.

“Ellie? What’re you– hey, s’alright baby girl. I’m alright.” He softly rasped as he brought his hand gently against her hair, threading his fingers through the dark brunette strands to soothe her. “How the hell did I end up here, kiddo?” He turned his head slightly to the side so he could kiss her temple gently.

“You fainted in the Tipsy Bison. Tommy was there with you, and he said you were yelling and pacing and then you–you just dropped to the floor. He said it was so sudden he didn’t know what the fuck to do at first. Next thing I know I see him and a couple men carrying you down the street. Do you feel okay? Does your head hurt?”

Ellie couldn’t help but ask as many questions she could cram in at that moment. Her and Joel may have not been on the best speaking terms, but that didn’t mean she still didn’t care about him. She cared about her dad more than she was willing to admit.

“Oh, thank fuck.” Tommy announced as he stepped into the examination room. Deep creases of worry were etched between his brows as he took a seat in the chair at the front of the bed. “How you feelin’, brother? Doc is gonna be here in a sec. Can I getcha anythin?’”

Joel was still gently twirling strands of Ellie’s hair between his fingers. The motion soothed both her and him and he no longer was feeling like he was trapped in a figurative box. “M’alright. My head kinda hurts? Dunno. Do I got a bump or somethin? I’m sorry for freakin’ you out like that Tommy. Everythin’ sorta just felt like it was closin’ in on me, y’know?”

“Joel, you don’t have to apologize for that. I’m sorry there wasn’t more I could do to help you through that. You did hit the floor pretty fuckin’ hard, so I won’t be surprised if you do in fact have a nasty bump on your head.”

Ellie was already gently feeling around his head for any signs of a head injury and when her fingers brushed over a particularly tender spot along the back of his head, Joel visibly winced from the light pressure. “Ouch.” He mumbled softly.

“Yeah, you got yourself a decent sized bump. We’ll get some ice on it, okay Dad?”

“Okay baby girl.”

The tender moment between father and daughter came to an end when Jackson’s doctor strode into the room carrying a clipboard in one hand. “How’re you feeling after that fall, Joel? Feeling any pressure in your head?”

If there’s one thing Joel Miller despised; loathed even, it was doctors. Before the outbreak happened he dealt with his primary doctor talking to him about cholesterol and his bad back and minor addiction to caffeine. Joel always waved his doctor off and continued on with his life. Hospitals had the same effect. He was certain it was because of the annoying fluorescent lights, the chilled air, and the underlying smell of bleach. The only time he could confidently say that he ‘enjoyed’ being in hospital was when Sarah was born. He was there the entire birthing process and once his baby girl was placed into his arms his life changed forever.

Now? Well, things had changed, and all he really wanted to do was go home and sleep this entire thing off.

“You want the truth or some bullshit lie doc?”

“I take it you aren’t the biggest fan of doctors?”

“Not in the fuckin’ slightest.” He deadpannned

The doctor nodded as he set his clipboard aside. “Good. I won’t bullshit you either then, Joel. So, do you know what post traumatic stress disorder is?”

Joel couldn’t help but scoff at his question. “Do I fuckin’ look like I know what the hell that is, doc?”

“It’s more commonly known as PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder is a psychiatric disorder in which a person has a difficult time recovering after he or she has experienced or witnessed a terrifying event. PTSD can sometimes last months or years. In some cases, there are certain triggers that can bring back those specific memories of the trauma. These memories can be accompanied by intense emotional and physical reactions to the trauma.”

“So..you think I have this disorder or somethin?’ Well, I don’t have that so no reason for you to go and blow smoke up your own ass doc.” Joel retorted.

The doctor let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed the pads of his fingers against his temple. “So, you’re telling me that you’ve never experienced any kind of trauma in your life? Nothing at all? No loved one dying? Outbreak day?”

Sarah dying

Tess dying

Bill and Frank dying

Henry and Sam dying

Ellie..

These were the people who immediately popped into Joel’s head and he averted making eye contact with the doctor all together as he found himself focusing on a frayed edge along the collar of Tommy’s jacket. Ellie had found his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she stroked the outside of his hand with her thumb.

He swallowed hard as he gently squeezed her hand back. “Yeah, my daughter died n’my arms on the night of the outbreak. Some government solider shot at us. Tommy was there to witness it. Then my–my partner Tess got bit. She sacrificed herself so that Ellie and I would survive. Then..our good friends Bill and Frank died. Suicide. Henry and Sam dying in front of of us and Ellie, my daughter she–”

“It’s okay, Joel.” Ellie whispered softly to him.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Joel. Your daughter dying, and all the other people you lost along the way is what’s triggering these episodes that you’re having. Where were you today when you started feeling overwhelmed?”

Joel exhaled a shaky breath as he squeezed Ellie’s hand tighter in his grip. “Beanies coffee shop..we know each other from Austin apparently.”

“Ahh, yes. The nutty coffee woman. When you realized that you knew her from the past, how did that make you feel?”

Joel felt like every pair of eyes in the room were focused on him and he hated it. He didn’t want to be answering these questions. He didn’t want to be stuck in this scratchy bed. He didn’t want to listen to the annoyance of the buzzing fluorescent light above his head. He just wanted to go home.

“Overwhelmed and shocked I guess? Then it just felt like the walls were closin’ in on me and all I could see was Sarah and Ellie’s face and–I ran.” He admitted quietly.

The chair the doctor was sitting in squeaked as he stood up. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but all the signs are pointing me to diagnose you with PTSD. Now, these are just my suggestions, and I honestly don’t expect you to agree with them. My first suggestion is that you cut back on the amount of coffee you’re drinking. Caffeine can make you jittery and cause you to feel all wired up. If you experience another episode like the one you just had, caffeine in your system will probably do more harm than good. I also suggest you distance yourself from Beanie’s coffee shop for the time being. Things and people from the past can trigger these episodes to happen. Maybe just take it easy for a few days before you do anything drastic.”

“You want me to give up coffee? Ain’t no fuckin’ way that’s gonna happen.” Joel immediately put his foot down.”

“Like I said, these are just my suggestions. I could probably get you some anxiety meds as well. There’s not a ton of options due to low resources, but I can try and work something out.”

Joel shook his head immediately in response. “No, that’s alright i’d rather not take anythin’ that could potentially fuck with my emotions more. I got addicted to takin’ pills when I was livin’ in the QZ. It was an ugly time in my life and I'd rather not revisit it.”

“Suit yourself.”

It was late in the evening when you had finally gathered enough courage to return the mug Joel had left. The snow was beginning to steadily fall as your boots crunched under the white fluff. Joel’s house was just on the other side of town. Word spread pretty damn fast about Joel fainting in the Tipsy Bison shortly after he was at your shop. You couldn’t help but feel like this was partially your fault. Deep down you knew that you had no control over Joel’s reactions and emotions. This however didn’t have you feeling any less empathetic for him than you already did.

“Alright, here’s the plan. You’re gonna walk up to the door, knock and then if Joel answers you’re gonna hand him the mug. If he doesn’t answer, just leave the mug outside on the porch or something.” You gave yourself an encouraging pep talk as you walked up the steps, kicking off the extra bits of snow from the crevices on your boots. You took a deep breath, exhaled and knocked softly on the door.

You could hear faint shuffling along the otherside of the door. You were just about to set the mug down off to the side when you heard the lock unlatch and the door creak open. Ellie popped her head out with a curious expression on her face when she saw you. “Oh, hey Beanie! What brings ya here?”

“Hey, El. I just um–Joel left this in my shop earlier. I heard what happened and I just..wanted to make sure this got back to him.” You gestured to the mug in your hands.

Ellie turned her head back inside the entryway before yelling, “JOEL! There’s a nice lady here waiting for you with a mug!”

Joel’s grumbled tone could be heard approaching from the kitchen. “Ellie, what did I say about openin’ the door to strangers–” He paused as he approached door and peeked his head out over the top of Ellie’s “Oh, hey Beanie. Uh–sorry about my kiddo. I hope she didn’t give ya a hard time or nothin.’”

Ellie gave him a light and playful shove, sticking her tongue out before she said goodnight to you and retreated back inside.

“Oh, no no. She didn’t give me any trouble at all. I just–wanted to stop by and make sure that this got back to you.” You held the mug out to him as he stepped outside onto the porch with his broad arms crossed against his chest to block out the chill.

“Shit, the mug. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave it there I swear. I hope I didn’t freak you out or anythin.’ I just was y’know, goin’ through somethin.’” He cleared his throat nervously.

“It’s okay. I heard that you fainted at the Tipsy Bison? Word travels fast around here unfortunately. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I heard everyone in the damn town knows about it now. I’m alright, jus ’ got a minor bump on my head and I've been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. Ain’t that a mouthful?”

“Sounds like you’ve had a shit show of a fucking day, Joel.”

He lightly laughed as he felt a small grin tug on his lips. “Yeah, you can say that again. Doc also said that you’re bad for my health..I don’t really give a fuck what he has to say ‘bout it.” His reply was so casual in deliverance that your silly little heart skipped a fucking beat.

“The doctor really said all that? I don’t want to end up triggering you or anything like that, Joel.”

“Yeah, the way he put it is that I am pretty much forbidden from seein’ ya and havin’ your delicious lattes. Forbidden might be a tad on the extreme side, but he just suggested that I uh–stay away from you for the time being, cus’ I got issues. We all do, but the doc pretty much said no more coffee. You know what I gotta say to all that? Fuck it. I don’t believe in any of that mumbo jumbo doctor bullshit anyway. Life’s too short for me to be givin’ up the simple pleasures in life just because they may or may not trigger me.”

“I do agree that it does seem a bit extreme. I just honestly feel terrible for earlier today and dropping that complete bomb on you like that. It wasn’t how I had planned for our first interaction to go. Well, first in over 20 years.”

“Darlin,’ there ain’t nothin’ you should be feelin’ terrible about, okay? You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. I haven’t had an episode like that in a while, and just about anythin’ could have triggered it. I just was not mentally prepared to run into someone from my past so suddenly. The funny thing is that for the past few months I've walked past your little shop, shaking my head and muttering because a coffee shop in a post-apocalyptic world? Seemed a bit silly to me at first. That latte you made me seriously brought me back to those mornings with my daughter. I ain’t just sayin’ that to blow smoke up your ass either. Your coffee was delicious before the outbreak, and it sure as hell is delicious now.”

His fingertips lightly brushed yours as he removed the mug from between your palms. His eyes fell upon your own as you locked in a soft gaze. “You really loved my lattes that much?” There was so much more you had wanted to say but Joel Miller had left you feeling positively flustered.

“Absolutely, silly latte art and all. Listen, I know it’s probably overwhelmin’ for you as well, but..would it be alright if maybe we uh–we talked more and possibly became friends? Tommy has been encouraging me to get myself out there more and try to live a normal life. He was the one who actually suggested that I go to your shop. I was against it at first, but I realized there was no harm in it, y’know? Anyway..i’m ramblin’ again.” He chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile.

“Of course we can talk more. I have honestly struggled to make friends here as well. You’d think it would be easy considering Jackson isn’t that big, but some days I still feel like an outcast. I spend most of my time making new mugs for the shop in hopes that more people will come in. I guess I'm just known as the ‘nutty coffee woman.’ I think it’s quite fitting.”

“Well, we can be outcasts together? I think Beanie is actually more fitting than the ‘nutty coffee woman.’ Maybe some folks around here are just jealous of your talents. Your mugs are truly a work of art.”

“I like the sound of that; outcasts together. Maybe I can show you how to make a mug one of these days? It’s pretty simple once you get the hang of it.”

“I’d love that.” Joel admitted truthfully.

A comfortable silence washed over the two of you as the snow began to fall harder in bigger flakes as the wind picked up. “Shit, I'd better start heading home before the snow worsens. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You were balancing your weight on either foot as you wrapped your arms around yourself to block out the chill.

“Do you want me to walk you home? I don’t mind at all. Yes, of course we’ll see each other tomorrow.” He could see you shivering from where he was standing under the porch light. If he had a jacket on he surely would have offered it to you now.

“I appreciate your offer but I'll be alright. You’ve had a long day and should get some rest. Enjoy the mug and I'll see you tomorrow.”

Joel nodded as he watched you turn on your heel and descend down the porch steps. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Beanie. Have a good evening!”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder as you waved, “See you tomorrow, Joel!”

He waited until your silhouette disappeared into the falling snow before he headed back inside. He placed the mug on the center of the counter and headed up the stairs to his bedroom.

It was some time in the middle of the night where Joel found himself unable to sleep. He had a nightmare of the day where he thought that he had lost Ellie for good. It was the one thing that had caused their relationship to grow rocky and created the distance between them. He tossed and turned before giving into his consciousness. The floorboards groaned and creaked as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes. The snow had continued to fall as he made his way down into the kitchen for a glass of water. The billowing snowflakes casted a shadow through the soft curtains as his eyes zoned in on the mug you had returned to him. With a light sigh he picked it up, rubbing his thumb across the detailed painted owl as his eyes closed. He pictured Sarah, and the strawberry jelly filled donuts inside of your shop. I can do this. I can be her friend. I can let her in. He internally thought to himself.

He gently set the mug down next to the coffee pot on the backside of the countertop so that he could have his morning coffee in it and immediately think of you, his newfound friend from a life he once knew.

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Tag List: @chaotic-mystery @cavillscurls @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @kirsteng42 @korynnekorynne @amanitacowboy @casa-boiardi @yazsos @joeldjarin @bitchwitch1981 @laurrrra @whattownheadshake @evylzzz @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ladymildfrd @bobafettbutifhewasgay @gintheginger @pedrobaby @sheepdogchick3 @cactusangie @mrs-dr-reid @littlemisspascal @tessa-quayle @darkroastjoel @pedrostories

(I think this is everyone! I might be missing a few that wouldn’t allow me to tag you 🥲)

Chapter 3:

[xxfaggatronxx]

Mmmmmm Price-

But this time it’s Father’s Day related.

(Update: felt there wasn’t enough Gaz, so I added a few more blurbs of text.)

Price had a semi-normal upbringing. His parents were strict Catholics, everyone was hetero, cis, and white. He was always a little nervous talking about Father’s Day with his team though, as no one else had a Dad, or at least a good one, in Simon’s case.

Johnny’s dad walked out on them, the Scot growling whenever someone asked, but then he would proudly go on about how he helped his six younger sisters and what they were all doing now, or blab about how he didn’t need a father, he was the man of the household. But Price sometimes saw the hurt in his eyes, how Johnny would never talk about why his dad left. He explained one night, after a few beers, that he came out as transgender, female to male, and his sisters soon came out afterwards, seeing that their mother was accepting.

Johnny blamed himself for their father leaving, as the man was homophobic and transphobic, it seemed.

Simon’s father was a work all on its own; a druggie with a want for living in the past, ignoring the needs of his children just to get another quick fix, achieve a high that was as impossible as touching the stars with both feet planted firmly on the ground. Simon wasn’t closed off about this, gruffly and almost openly talking about their experiences with their shit father, how the man had turned its younger brother against them, made their job seem like it was criminal and bloodthirsty. Sometimes, if they were in the right mood, with a book in their hands and the worn baclava, it would quietly talk about their deceased nephew, Joseph.

How they would help the boy make Father’s Day cards. And near invisible tears would fill its eyes as they explained the first time Joseph was old enough to make a card on his own, he gave it to Simon instead of his father. No one mentioned how that same card was framed in their office.

Kyle. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. Kyle didn’t have a father. Well, he did, but his father was a literal sperm donor. He was raised by his two moms, lovely women who had come to drop off brownies and other treats, how they found the secretive 141 base made Price turn to Kyle, who blushed when he asked, making a meek noise. “…My Mums track my phone,” Price was amused, his sergeant who dealt with life-or-death situations, was timid when it came to his Mums, and it was no wonder, as it seemed they put the Fear of God in that boy whenever he was slightly rude to anyone.

Price had asked about his father one time, trying to seek someone who had one, and Kyle’s nose had wrinkled, confusing Price. He had talked about two parents. The sergeant had laughed: “Mate, I grew up with my Mums, not a bloke in sight,” Price was immediately shot down, apparently having the only Non-shitty, present father figure in his life.

Gaz being anxious around two of Price’s other favorites, a certain….. couple. A couple who was looking for a third. Farah and Alex. Price could see the way Kyle near fell over his own feet in his haste to get either of their attentions, Price…. Nudging him along sometimes. Giving him pep-talks and little quizzes.

“Just talk to them! Remember, Alex likes….”

Gaz would pipe up. “Specifically rainbow-dyed Daisies, the band Green Day and Nirvana or anything considered Classic Rock, but he prefers to call it just Rock, and he takes his favorite drink, green tea, with four sugars and a spoon of cream, with Jaffa cakes!”

“Good. Farah prefers…”

Gaz would smirk, and expert in this particular subject, as he and Farah were so similar. “Farah likes daffodils, any Lofi hip-hop station, but she likes the one where the girl is writing in a book and an orange cat is on the windowsill, and she only drinks espresso on Thursdays, every other day is raspberry tea, nothing else.”

“Atta boy! Now…. Do you want a smoke?” And Kyle, he would smile at the fact Price shared his very expensive, Cuban cigars with just him. They would both watch a game of Futbol, new or old, and yell profanities at the opposing team until Soap, drowsy and pissed that they were screaming at two in the morning, with his partner Simon sleepily holding his hand, would yell. “Stop yelling at the damn box! Some of us sleep, ye ken?!”

Price fixed his boys’ views on fathers, and Father’s Day.

Fixing everyone tea in the mornings, coffee for a certain Scot who grimaced at the ‘Warm Leaf Water’ served to him. It also included going out for brunch, taking the boys to a brunch at Waffle House, Kyle grinning and going on about the waffles, and Simon who would order their single cup of coffee and too much creamer as Kyle looked on in horror at the lack of waffles. Then there was Johnny, who would steal bites from Kyle’s plate, even with his own breakfast. Price would end up apologizing to the waiter, at the end of it all, leaving a big tip.

What with Simon’s near refusal to speak to strangers, Price would order for them as they glared at the poor Waffle House server, Johnny changing the song on the old jukebox in the corner to anything Scottish, making the Brits in the Manchester Waffle House curl their lips in annoyance, to Kyle’s oddly specific order about how he wanted the eggs done a certain way and the amount of sugar in the waffles and how they needed to use oat milk in the waffle and-

“Sorry my boys are being so rowdy,” Price had sighed one day, and Kyle and Johnny had beamed, Simon blinking in surprise. Price brushed it off.

Price got used to leaving fifty dollar tips.

Then there was shopping. Simon liked the clothes at Hot Topic and Spencer’s the best, as it was mostly black. Kyle and Johnny could also find shirts they liked there too. Sometimes it was chaos, Johnny trying on the most outrageous outfits, asking if the thong he was modeling looked good or made his ass look fat, always joking. Kyle would wolf whistle and Simon would grip their knees with wide eyes, Price sighing and shaking his head.

Kyle would then follow after Johnny, putting on the crop tops and near panty-like shorts, asking if he looked gay, as Kyle himself was bisexual. Johnny would howl with laughter, “Not gay enough! I can’t see your dick-print, lose the underwear!” Simon looked horrified and would blush as people turned to stare in the dressing rooms.

Often times, Simon would follow after Price, dead eyed stare and built like a brick shithouse, and Price would have to ask for double XL shirts for his…

“Excuse me, do you have any XXL shirts? It’s for my… kid,” Price settled so it wasn’t as awkward for the employee. He didn’t notice Simon stiffen, and the employee walked away to find the requested shirt in the required size. Price turned and noticed their stared, grumbling about how they acted like kids anyways, so he might as well address them as such. He saw Simon tear up and quickly wipe their tears away, and could see a faint smile beneath their mask.

Johnny took the most of these to heart, and it wasn’t long until Price sought Johnny out, hearing soft sniffling from his room. “Son, you alright in there?” Price asked with a gentle voice each time, knowing exactly what was wrong, what was happening behind the closed door. Price would open the door, seeing Johnny in his boxers, binder off and too-big shirt, that was most definitely one of Simon’s, draped over his form.

“It’s stupid, Sir, I ken it’s just mah’ head and dumb hormones…” Johnny would mutter with grit teeth, testosterone bottle and a needle in hand, the syringe not even filled. It was a weekly dance, every Saturday like clockwork, if it could be helped. Sometimes missions got in the way though, and it was now three weeks deep, and Johnny hadn’t had his shot.

Price sat beside him, rubbing his back until Johnny handed over the needle. And they would go through the motions. He would insert the needle into the vial and draw up the thick, syrupy medication. Flick the end to get the air bubbles out, then pinch, insert, press, remove, massage. Then it was about reassuring and making sure Johnny was in a good headspace, letting him know that the team didn’t care about his body, only that he was happy.

And on Father’s Day, if he took after Simon and hung up the three handmade cards in his office, proudly displayed for all to see: rookies and bosses alike, who cared? Specially if all of them said:

‘To the Best Father I’ve had,’ From Simon

‘For my Dad,’ From John

‘To my Third Parent,’ From Kyle

[starsmacabray]

i think my favourite part about reading fanfiction is the amount of obscure knowledge i now possess

hockey? never played but you can consider me an expert

will i ever need to know the complicated inner workings of criminal defense law? perhaps not but i know it

the perfect technique to making an espresso? put me in coach

how to steal millions of dollars worth of art? i’m your guy

you want statistics on specific songs that came out throughout the 70s and 80s? i thought you’d never ask

bartending? tell me what drink you want baby girl