#I know he’s a 8 time world champ

[winterisol]

idk if I have any spanish speaking moots here, but do you ever quietly whisper to yourself “no mames” every time you watch Marc do something insane or is that just me?

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ just a race habibi (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : f1 grid x fem reader ; lewis hamilton x fem reader

summary : that one race which goes down in history

tw : emotional, fluff, angst

fc: irina shayk

a/n : THIS IS PART2! thank you so much to @amberjazmyn for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻 this ends on a cliff hanger ! and the time span is during the 2020- 2021 grid 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by lewishmailton, user1, charlesleclerc, user2 and 1,839,378 others

ynshayk I do have a knack for fast things 💋ྀིྀི 🏎️

view comments

user1 MOUTH DROPPED

user2 BRAIN SHOCKED

user3 STONE ROCKED

user4 MA'AM HARDLAUNCHED !?!?

user5 visuals !?

user6 even I would sacrifice 8 wdc for a girl like that

user7 SHE IS GOING TO BE WITH HIM FOR THE EIGHT !

user8 this season is going to end with Lewis winning the 8th💪🏻

charlesleclerc great, now I am replaced by lewis in your feed

ynshayk you have Carlos 👏🏻👏🏻

user9 I just want max to stop winning

user10 istg, max can win his first wdc next year, let lewis win this year

lewishamilton damn, guess need to speed up my cardio

ynshayk the gym’s on your way 😚🤓

user11 oh god, she has turned Lewis into a freaky being

user12 wasn’t he always one ?

liked by lewishamilton, carlossainz55 and 1,983,468 others

ynshayk a summer away from vrooms 🌿🍵🍃⛰️

view comments

user1 she knows the emojis right ...?

user2 MA'AM YOUR HUSBAND IS STILL AN ATHELETE

user3 y/n being unfazed about posting drug emojis

user4 she was probably high in weed

user5 or Lewis

user6 or high on weed while on Lewis !?

user7 AYOO 🔫

lewishmailton sweetheart, you surely didn’t mean those emojis ?

ynshayk what? they are green and associate with nature

user8 yn….😊

user9 y/n 🫡

user10 y/n 🫠

liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1 and 2,578,289 others

ynshayk P2 for the history tomorrow 💪🏻

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lewishamilton ❤️

liked by ynshayk

landonorris I am invited to the party yeah ?

ynshayk nope, you are underage landonorris I am 21! ynshayk sure, you have been drinking since you were 16

user1 MA’AM THE POLICE!?

user2 y/n exposing Lando in comments 💪🏻

user3 YALL, LEWIS WILL BE THE 8 TIME WORLD CHAMPION 💪🏻

user4 let’s go lewisssss

user5 GET IN THERE LEWIS

user6 ITS HAMMERTIME LEWISSS

user7 stocking up my champagne 🍾

user8 DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

mercedesamgf1 we second you on that 😊

ynshayk LESSSGOOO BONO 💪🏻

user9 sitting in the church the whole day

user10 what if max wins ?

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4 and 4,829,379 others

ynshayk a hard day to accept with tears, but I love you my champ, you were, are and always will be the world champ in my eyes 💫🏅

view comments

user1 I really don’t know how to respond

user2 does it mean she thinks max should not have won?

user3 Lewis was the winner! The bloody car !

user4 it was all because of the flag !

user5 Max won it fair and square !

user6 I just know that y/n would be fuming at FIA

user7 I am so glad that she is retired, she would have slammed into max otherwise

user8 LEWIS WE LOVE YOU

user9 y’all really be hating on max

user10 face it, max is the winner, not your Lewis 🫶🏻

user11 I think it’s problematic for her to post the comment online !

user12 ma’am should have kept her views to herself !

user13 So the red bull principal can say Lewis is 8 time champion but not her own girlfriend?

comments on this post has been limited

liked by user1, user2, user3, maxverstappen1 and 782,492 others

f1news BREAKING! Formula One World Champion Max Verstappen was seen fighting with 7-time Formula One World Champion’s Girlfriend, Y/N Shayk.

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the post has been removed due to guideline restrictions

[kozumesphone]

hi hi hi can i please get a percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite reader?? basically she’s all about the love part of Aphrodite and she’s talking about it constantly and he’s her friend and kinda realises like oh wait i’m in love w her

does that make sense?? also can i get a moodboard w it?? <33

thank you and ily!

masterlist

💌┊₊˚⊹꒷ BROOKLYN BABY .ᐟ

⤷ percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite!reader ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᝰ. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 . . . percy jackson and the heroes of olympus

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 . . . y/n constantly yaps about the idea of love to her best friend, percy, and he realises he has feelings for her. (annie’s y/n’s close friend too! i’m too nice to make her an angry b </3) also!! y/n has brown eyes solely bc brown eyes are pretty asf and not talked about enough <3 + ft. best friends to lovers, minor gods dissing (like one time), y/n reading the cruel prince (not directly mentioned), percy having an ‘uh oh, i’m in love’ moment, and a book bouquet. p.s. moodboard at the end!

ᝰ. 𝐤𝐞𝐲 . . . y/n: your name | y/l/n: your last name | n/n: nickname

ᝰ. 𝐰𝐜 . . . 1.4k

ᝰ. 𝐚/𝐧 . . . hdkwjdkw 1/8 asks complete lmao. this req was so cute!! I love reading the ‘moment of realisation’ dialogues in books, but it was especially fun to write it for the first time. it was a little weird to write only bc i’m a cabin 3 kid irl but it’s okay 😭 for the sake of a fluffy fic, I powered through, guys <3

2 years ago . . .

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

“some kid killed a minotaur!” a hermes cabin demigod yelled from near the dining pavilion. glancing up from our glasses of soda, annabeth and I turned towards the voice. “he’s a new one!”

we looked at each other, wondering which god couldn’t keep it in their pants again.

suddenly, a few apollo kids ran out from the infirmary towards the arch near thalia’s tree.

“the new kid’s probably clumsy,” annabeth said.

“he killed a minotaur,” I shot back.

“hey, you can be dumb and strong at the same time.”

“uh huh. whose child do you think he is? I bet it’s one of the big three.” I said.

“no way, they have a pact, remember-”

“do you really think they actually follow that, annie?” I snickered at her.

in a while, an unconscious boy about their age was carried into the infirmary. I only caught sight of his black hair, and dishevelled and bloody look. I decided to visit him the next day to check up on his condition.

the rest of the day was spent reading in my cabin, while my sisters tried new makeup products on our brother, which was quite funny, really.

throughout the next week, I left the warmth of my bed to visit the new kid—percy jackson—in the infirmary. he had begun to regain consciousness.

“who are you?” he asked, sharply inhaling a breath.

“oh, hey,” I smiled at him. “i’m y/n y/l/n. daughter of aphrodite.”

“right. daughter of aphrodite. a goddess,” he repeated slowly.

I realised that no one had explained about camp half-blood to him yet, and took that job upon myself after calling out for will and letting him know that his patient was awake.

“so, there’s gods and goddesses. and monsters. and everything in the greek myths you were taught? they’re all real. at camp half-blood, we’re all demigods—the children of a god or goddess and a mortal.” I continued to explain to him how the demigod world worked, remembering to talk about the mist, the gods, the cabins, and everything else.

I expected him to not believe me, and call me names (like the other new campers) for lying, but he took it like a champ. he nodded at me, sitting up properly, and asked for something so his arm would stop paining. I immediately got will to help him.

the next week, when I was out by the beach, reading my romance novel about a mortal girl and a faerie prince falling in love after being enemies, I heard sand shifting around behind me.

“who-” I turned around.

“hey, y/n, right?” percy asked, walking closer.

“ah, you remember,” I said, a smile growing on my face.

“well, yeah. you’re really just the only person who has spoken to me normally… and not like I was some intimidating and scary… thing,” he said, running his hands through his already dishevelled hair.

“come, sit down.” I patted the sand beside me. he took his place there, sitting down with his legs criss-crossed.

“what are you reading?” he asked.

I explained to him the plot, setting, characters, and everything about the book I was reading for the next few hours.

we sat there till dusk, watching the sun set into pretty hues of pink, purple, and orange.

“it’s so pretty, isn’t it?” I asked.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

“yeah, it is.” I replied to her, eyes fixed on her side profile.

wow. she’s so beautiful.

timeskip: present

“perce!” y/n called loudly, running towards me.

“heyyyy! n/n, you’re back! how was the quest? did you get hurt or anything?” I asked, hugging her, and then moving back to scan her for injuries.

“i’m fine, perce, all good. I got will to check me out and he cleared me,” she said, grinning. her face was swiped with dirt and grime, but she still looked like she was an ethereal princess who walked out of one of her books. “what? have I got a lot of dirt on my face?”

“nah, you’re cool. ‘s pretty.” I said, and she laughed—my favourite sound in the entire world. “and anyway, you need to change out of these clothes and meet me outside your cabin. I have something for you.”

“what is it?”

“that’s a surprise-”

“I hate surprises.”

“you’ll like this one,” I winked at her, as she laughed again.

timeskip

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

I changed into casual loose sweatpants and a shirt since it was summer.

ah, summer. one of most romantic seasons ever. the breeze whipping around a girl’s hair, as a boy runs towards her with flowers. the sunlight falling onto their faces as they share a kiss. watching the sun set in pretty shades everyday with each other. that was summer.

everything about it reminded me of percy. watching sunsets, seeing the sunlight fall on his face after he gets out of the water. the flowers, now dry, that he gifted me for every special occasion.

it was hard to admit that I liked him more than I would like any friend. i’d never picked up any hints from him, that might’ve signalled that he liked me, no matter how many of my siblings told me he did.

all friends hold hands, right? and all good friends wish each other a good morning and good night everyday. what was so special? the flowers?

“hey, n/n!” percy’s voice dragged me out of my thoughts. he was dressed in loose shorts and a hawaii button up, and my gods, he looked so gorgeous.

“perce! at least tell me where we’re going now,” I groaned.

“nuh-uh. a surprise is a surprise.” he brought out a blindfold and handed it to me. I raised my eyebrow at him. “put it on. i’ll take you there.”

“I swear to gods, if this turns out to be a prank-”

“shh, it won’t. now put it on,” he promised.

I walked closer to him and put on the blindfold, and he turned me around a few times to make sure I wouldn’t figure out where we’re going. I scoffed at his childish actions.

as he was standing behind me, I felt his warmth on my back. he took my arms at my side and urged me to walk ahead.

he manoeuvred me in different directions and finally stopped after a while.

“you ready, princess?” he asked. the nickname did something to cause butterflies in my stomach.

“yeah,” I whispered.

he took off the blindfold, and it was too bright for a second. I shielded my eyes and groaned, before letting them adjust to the harsh sunlight.

I looked around and saw a huge, fluffy blanket laid down on the grass of the fields. a basket with food was set in one corner and a bouquet in the centre.

specifically, a book bouquet.

“PERCY, HOW DID YO-”

“surprise,” he grinned, as I turned around and hugged him. he’d always given me gifts when I returned from quests, but this was, by far, the best.

“how’d you know all my favourites?” I asked, looking at the 10 romance novels on the blanket.

“oh, annie helped,” he said enthusiastically. “should we sit down and start eating? you can tell me all about the people in your books, and why you like romance books especially, yeah?”

smiling, we sat down on the blankets, and ate away with no care in the world.

✮⋆˙ percy’s pov

as she talked about her books for the next few hours, I could only think about how beautiful her brown eyes were, especially when the sunlight hit them at the correct angle. how soft her lips looked as her mouth moved at a faster pace than her thoughts. how perfect her cheeks were, smiling wide. how amazing she was. how smart and beautiful she was.

when did my feelings of friendship turn into love, for her?

as she continued to speak of the love between her favourite characters, I noticed her longing for a similar love. I could give that to her, couldn’t I?

wait. what? what am I even thinking? y/n’s my best friend.

“love is everywhere, in every gesture, every glance. it’s the thread that binds us together, connecting hearts across time and space,” she said.

and at that moment, I knew I was done for.

I was hopelessly in love with my best friend.

percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite — the love like in her books <3

taglist — @nuncscioquidsitamor-14 @mqstermindswift @puffoz @skeelly @urmomabby @sunnitheapollokid @jgracie @canonfeminine @cinemaconrad @totokyo @urbanflorals @aezuria @thetunnelunderoceanboulevard @cherigall @percabethluvr @pjoverseluvr @maybxlle @mershellscape @riordanness @starlitszn @metyouattherighttime @a-beautiful-fool @sequinsnstars @ssparksflyy @fayvpor @iheartgirlzn

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !

[cat9901234]

Out with the Black and in with the Red

summary: the internet goes viral after Lewis Hamilton's wife posts about her husband's move to Ferrari for 2025.

faceclaim use: Pia Wurtzbach

Liked by lewishamilton, Beyonce, and 20 290 129 others

It’s true… it’s out with black and in with the red!

My husband said that I should be the first one to officially announce it on instagram after f1 stated the move.  😂

View all 900 290 291 comments

lewishamilton: heyyy… you single?

→ y/nhamilton: @ lewishamilton sorry currently dating this guy who's a 8 time world f1 champ… 

→ lewishamilton: @ y/n hamilton he sounds hot

→ y/nhamilton:@ lewishamilton  i dunno he keeps posting thirst traps of himself, seems pretty self absorbed 🙄🙄

lewishamilton:  🤤 🤤 what time do u get home?  

->y/nhmailton: lew there are children present @ landonorris

-> landonorris: @ y/nnorris woah hold on why did you tag me?

racerbia: MOTHER STEP ON ME!!!

LH44S4EVER: lewis hitting on his wife is killing me

lewishamilton: 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Lewwwwy: stop him spamming his wife comments 

lilymnhe: stop why r u so hot?!

-> y/nhamilton: @ lilymnhe ❤️

user66: STOP LEWIS THIRSTING OVER HIS WIFE I CAN'T!

georgerussel: you can always come back to black you know...

USER4: STOP SHE'S STUNNING

user11: mother mercedes is going to become mother ferarri 🔥

user100: mother

user68: mother is mothering

user201: people think that mercedes fans are moving to ferrari for lewis... nah it's for y/n.

user12: I can hear Toto throwing his headphones again from his mistake of letting lewis go...

user3: QUEEN!

[lovewithmary]

I need more Alex x reader so maybe a childhood friends to lovers moment, but she’s a redbull driver 👀

Just friends where everyone but them knows they’re bound to be forever and everyone’s like when are they gonna get together. Cute snapshots of just them being sickenly inlove and oblivious. Maybe reader wins a wdc and Alex is so proud he doesn’t care that they’re in public he has to show how much he loves her and kisses her. Or maybe this happens and when one of them is interviewed they reveal they’ve been together for like 8 years at that point of something and everyone’s like jaw dropped shocked because they thought they weren’t together and just pining. Turn it on to everyone else.

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO... ALREADY LOVERS? — AA23

summary: in which the entirety of f1 is waiting for everyone's favorite childhood best friends to get together... only for them to be together the whole time

pairing: filo!redbull driver!reader x alex albon

fc: kathryn bernardo

masterlist

notes: this one was so fun to make i hope you guys like it!

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris, yourusername, and 493941 others

alex_albon: in honor of yourusername's birthday, here is the annual photo dump of some of my favorite pictures of her throughout the years 🙂🫶

comments

yourusername: it's been YEARS since this tradition... how have you not run out of photos yet??? ↳ alex_albon: you keep making stupid faces and i can't help but photograph them 🤷

georgerussell63: that dog is afraid of Y/N ↳ yourusername: willow loves me ↳ alex_albon: willow runs away from you every time we go home ↳ yourusername: in my defense, willow stays with your family half the time we're racing, so she probably thinks that we're trying to kidnap her every time ↳ user1: THEY'RE PARENTS YOUR HONOR?

maxverstappen1: this is how i find out that Y/N stole my aviators... ↳ yourusername: sharing is care maximillian ↳ maxverstappen1: how many times do i have to say that isn't my name? ↳ yourusername: your parents named you max emilian, they should've named you maximillian to make it easier ↳ maxverstappen1: redbullracing can i get another teammate? this one's annoying ↳ yourusername: jokes on you, I'm the favorite 🫶 ↳ maxverstappen: you spend more time in the williams' garage than your own team's garage, IM the favorite

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 320493 others

redbullracing: happy birthday to ONE of our favorites, yourusername!

comments

user1: redbull is trying not to choose their favorite child LMAO ↳ redbullracing: if we choose one, the other will get grumpy

yourusername: look at how nice this photo is, alex_albon take notes ↳ alex_albon: take notes? who do you think redbull asked for a photo of you? 🤔 ↳ user6: not redbull knowing who to get photos of Y/N from 😭 ↳ user7: alex albon, part time f1 driver and full time photographer for Y/N

user2: alex having unlimited photos of Y/N, Y/N's dog staying with the albon's during the season, Y/N hanging in williams' garage to hang out with alex, AND the fact that alex calls his home hers??? AND THEY AREN'T EVEN TOGETHER??? ↳ user3: ALEX AND Y/N AREN'T TOGETHER??? ↳ user2: user3 NO THEY AREN'T, THEY ARE "BEST FRIENDS" 🙄 ↳ user4: doesn't alex live with Y/N half the time? they're basically married at this point ↳ landonorris: trust us, we've tried getting them together, but both of them are too stubborn ↳ georgerussell63: it's like grasping at straws, trying to get those two together ↳ user5: PLEASE not half of the 2019 rookies trying to get the other half together but failing miserably 😭😭

1193403 likes

redbullracing: Y/N L/N. FIRST-TIME WORLD CHAMPION 👑

comments

user1: MY WIFE IS A WDC LETS GOOOO

user2: is that Y/N L/N who won the 2024 wdc against max verstappen in equal machinery?

user3: congrats on winning champ can’t wait for next season 🎉

user4: once again are we surprised redbull won?

user5: clearly undeserved max was robbed ↳ user6: max isn't gonna fuck you so stop riding his dick so hard

user7: Y/NS MY GOAT

maxverstappen1: congratulations Y/N! very much deserved win for my teammate 🥳

user8: okay but now alex_albon HAS to bag her now, or else someone else will ↳ user9: FR she's a wdc now and even if she wasn't, SOOO many people (including me) want her hand in marriage ↳ maxverstappen1: alex_albon ↳ georgerussell63: alex_albon ↳ landonorris: alex_albon ↳ charles_leclerc: alex_albon ↳ lewishamilton: alex_albon ↳ valtteribottas: alex_albon ↳ schecoperez: alex_albon ↳ lance_stroll: alex_albon ↳ yukitsunoda0511: alex_albon ↳ sebastianvettel: alex_albon ↳ carlossainz55: alex_albon ↳ danielricciardo: alex_albon ↳ estebanocon: alex_albon ↳ zhouguanyou24: alex_albon ↳ pierregasly: alex_albon ↳ kevinmagnussen: alex_albon ↳ logansargeant: alex_albon ↳ oscarpiastri: alex_albon ↳ fernandoalo_oficial: alex_albon ↳ mickschumacher: alex_albon ↳ user10: PLEASE THE WAY THIS SUMMONED THE ENTIRE GRID 😭

liked by yourusername, redbullracing, williamsracing, and 1230402 others

alex_albon: a wdc and her wag 🫶

in all honesty, this was originally going to be a happy anniversary post commemorating our 8th year together, but our anniversary just so happened to coincide with the day you won a wdc, so why not greet you both times?

Y/N, i'm so proud of you and everything you've accomplished. i've seen firsthand what you've done and what you can undoubtedly do in the future and i can't wait to be right beside you when you do it.

i love you so much and congratulations 🫶

tagged: yourusername

comments

yourusername: i love you so much 🫶 😚

user1: 8 YEARS????? ↳ user2: OH I JUST KNOW THE BOTH OF THEM ARE GIGGLING AT THE COMMENTS RN

georgerussell63: YOU'VE BEEN TOGETHER ALL THIS TIME? ↳ landonorris: ALL THE PLANNING WE DID, ONLY FOR THEM TO BE TOGETHER THE WHOLE TIME? ↳ yourusername: "planning" you locked alex and i into a closet right before a gp and we almost got in trouble??? ↳ alex_albon: remember when they planned a grid dinner but they all mysteriously had other plans so we just had an impromptu date using max's card? (we didn't steal it, one of the guys stole max's card and gave it to the restaurant) ↳ maxverstappen1: I PAID FOR THAT DINNER? WHO STOLE MY CARD? ↳ landonorris: 🙋‍♂️ ↳ yourusername: thank you both btw 🫶

redbullracing: congratulations to the happy couple ↳ williamsracing: we've been waiting for this ↳ yourusername: thank you for the blessing 🫡 ↳ yourusername: (we disclosed our relationship to our teams bc we were scared that they were gonna make us break up or something if one of us was accused of sharing team info)

user3: this means they were together since 2016 and by the time they got into f1, they were 3 years into the relationship 😭

user4: this is so impressive though??? cause i can barely keep a secret for a couple days, but 8 YEARS???

user5: "a wdc and her wag 🫶" THE HIGHWAY IS LOOKING GOOD RN

yourusername: alex albon, my favorite wag 🫡 ↳ alex_albon: Y/N L/N, my favorite wdc 🫡

[darkeyessdarkheart]

Good Luck, Babe

warnings: language, implied smut, 18+

pairing: rhea ripley x fem!reader

word count: 3,291

Alright y’all. Bare with me lmao. I haven’t written in years and I’ve been working 12 hr shifts so I can’t promise it’s my best. But here you are for the 8 people who wanted this! lmao. Any feedback or requests would be great! :)

It was a successful post-Wrestlemania celebration in Philly that night. You and some fellow superstars had heard of a local club and decided to continue your celebrations there after the press conference. Music blared throughout the club causing you to feel as if even your feet were vibrating through your heels. You and Bayley were on the dance floor laughing at your sad attempts at dancing. You’d only had a couple of drinks and were just a little tipsy. “Y/N what are you doing?! You look like you’re seizing!” Bayley leaned in to try to exclaim in your ear.

“It’s not my fault! The only dancing I’m good at involves grinding!” You chuckle back at her. She shakes her head taking another swig of her cocktail before looking back at you, eyes glazed over. “I mean, by all means, if it makes it better than that you can dance on me all you want.”

Bayley and you joked back and forth like this sometimes but your relationship was always platonic. You decided to take her up on her offer, taking your free hand and grabbing her free one as well. Pulling her hand up into the air you spun yourself around and began to seductively sway to the music pushing your back closer to her. “Whoo! Yeah girl, damn I didn’t know you could get down like that!” She exclaims as you rock your hips back and forth while also slowly moving down her body and then back up, making sure to push your butt into her. You both laugh as you continue before suddenly seeing a figure coming to loom over you.

“Hey! Mind if I steal your partner there for a bit?!” You hear the voice and recognize it as the New World Heavyweight Champion. You had known for a bit that Damian had a little crush on you. You’d catch him staring at you during rehearsals and at morning gym sessions. He’d always try to spark conversation with you and would even occasionally join in on your workouts if you were working the same area. Somehow he’d always end up “showing you a better way” or form to do an exercise in what felt like an excuse just to touch you. As if you weren’t a professional athlete with years of experience working out. But you didn’t mind, Damian was a nice and attractive guy after all. “She’s all yours champ!” Bayley said before walking away, being sure to look back at you and suggestively raise her eyebrows.

“You did awesome tonight! How’s it feel to finally be champion?” You leaned in to ask him. “Feels almost as great as you look.” He flirts letting his eyes roam up and down your body in your tight-fitting dress. You reach out to playfully push him laughing, “You’re stupid. Thanks though, you look good too.” You smile up at him. Amid your conversation, you can’t help but look over to the bar behind you and see two piercing blue eyes staring right at you. Rhea.

You and Rhea joined NXT around the same time and immediately clicked. You bonded over your nerdy video game tastes, love of horror movies and animals, and her vast intent on exposing you to heavy metal music. You two became best friends and an even better tag team. You even held the former NXT Women’s Tag Team Championships together for a run. However, it all changed one night after Rhea won her first North American NXT Women’s Championship.

You were in your dressing room screaming at the TV like a maniac. “Come on Rhea!” You yelled watching Rhea getting hit on the top rope. In the last second, she reversed the move hitting Shayna with the riptide from the second turnbuckle and pinning her for the title. You bolted from your dressing room to the gorilla, and down to the ring. You threw your arms around her squeezing her tighter than ever before as the announcer declared her victory. “You did it! I’m so proud of you!!” You pulled back smiling at her and practically jumping up and down. You went to hold her arm up in the air but instead, she scooped you up with her one free arm, causing you to wrap your legs around her waist. You laughed in surprise but just smiled right back at her, staring into her baby blue eyes. The crowd erupted as she held the title up in the air with her other arm all while holding you to her.

You made it back to the gorilla waiting for your chance for another hug once the crowd of individuals that had gathered to congratulate her had dispersed. “I still can’t believe it.” She stated almost breathlessly, still slightly panting as she stared at the gold on her arm. “Thank you for coming out to the ring. You know I love celebrating with you.” She smiled at you. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, I love you so much.” You threw your arms around her neck and pulled her into an embrace. Only this time when you pulled apart, you couldn’t help but stop at a certain point. Your arms remained locked behind her neck and her hands remained steady at the small of your back and waist. You didn’t know what came over you, you leaned in and kissed her.

She must’ve been as surprised as you were judging by her slight jump. The second you felt it you immediately wanted to pull away and apologize, not even understanding why you did what you’d done. The thoughts were squashed instantaneously by the feeling of her kissing you back. It was like no other, the way your lips molded together, the way you moved in perfect synchrony with each other, how soft and perfect her lips felt. The first tender kiss slowly turned into more as you felt her tongue piercing run softly across your lower lip as she tried to gain access to your mouth. You couldn’t help but accept, allowing the kiss to become deeper and passionate. Your tongues slipped in and out of each other’s mouths with every movement. The moment came to an end all too soon when you both heard footsteps approaching and jumped apart.

Rhea was quickly busy with another superstar coming up to congratulate her. You used this as your excuse to bolt back to your dressing room. You slammed the door leaning your back against it, panting from pure adrenaline. What did you just do?! Rhea was your best friend for fuck’s sake. You had only ever been in relationships with men your entire life. You thought you’d had good experiences with guys, but that kiss. That was incomparable. You’d never felt such passion and dare you admit it, desire in just a kiss. Had you not been interrupted you were unsure how far you would’ve been willing to take that situation. You shook your head putting your head in your hands, not knowing what was wrong with you. Of course, you loved Rhea, how could you not? She’s gorgeous, funny, caring, and you have so many memories together. But did you love her? Or were you just caught up in the moment?

Surely, after all this time you would’ve known if you were into her, right? Your brain was running 100 miles a minute, completely unsure of what to think or do next. The only clear thought you had was you had to get away. You changed out of your ring gear faster than ever, changed into a baggy hoodie and sweats, pulling your hood over your head in an attempt to hide yourself. You grabbed your bag and headed out to your car and drove home.

Rhea blew up your phone that night trying to call you, text you, facetime you, hell she was even emailing you. You couldn’t bear to hear her voice and own up to what you had done. You were deleting her first at least 100 texts quickly, trying to not even read them. Only seeing glimpses of certain ones as you did so.

Rhea🖤: Y/N, what the hell?

Rhea🖤: Where are you??

Rhea🖤: We need to talk!

Rhea🖤: Call me back now.

Rhea🖤: This isn’t funny Y/N.

Rhea🖤: Answer the damn phone!

Rhea🖤: If you don’t answer, I swear to god I’m gonna bloody lose it Y/N.

You couldn’t even comprehend the idea of speaking to her in any shape or form in this state. Eventually, you decided to block her phone number. You told yourself it would be temporary, just until you were able to clear your mind. To understand why you did this and what your feelings truly were for your best friend. However days passed, you managed to successfully avoid her at shows despite hearing the gossip of her adamantly looking for you backstage at every single one.

Your call up from Smackdown couldn’t have come at a better time. You decided this promotion was the perfect opportunity to extend your sabbatical with Ripley. You’d figure it out eventually, you told yourself.

Present

You and Rhea hadn’t properly spoken in a very long time. In what seemed like divine intervention to you, you always ended up on the opposing show. Only having to be around one another at certain pay per views throughout the years. However, thanks to avoidance and always making sure at least one other superstar was in the room with you, you never managed to be fully alone with Rhea. You were polite of course, casual, but you never allowed the conversation to get too intense before ditching. In the instances you were around one another you’d feel her doing what she was doing now. Eyeing you down, as if she was trying to read you. Trying to understand why you were so willing to throw away everything you had together. All just because you refused to admit your true feelings.

You felt your breath catch your throat but tried to instantly regain your composure, looking back up at Priest. “You wanted to dance, let’s dance!” You squeal at him causing him to chuckle at you. You begin to dance together but all the while all you can feel is what feels like lasers beaming right at your face. Rhea was at the bar with Bianca and Jade, ordering another round and talking amongst themselves. However, Rhea wasn't remotely interested. She was captivated by you.

You can say that we are nothing, but you know the truth

You forced yourself to turn around not wanting to feel her eyes directly on your face. Continuing to sway to the music you push your back around Priest, seductively grinding on him. Closing your eyes you tried to distract yourself from the thoughts of wishing you were dancing like this on the woman across the room. You knew at this point what you wanted but it felt as if it had been too long. Not to mention the thought still petrified you. The idea of further ruining the perfect friendship you’d tossed aside. All because you were a coward.

And guess I’m the fool

Finally, you turn back around, planning on telling Damian you were too drunk and should head back to your hotel. Even though you knew you were fine. As you did so you noticed her beginning to head into the crowd, beeling straight to you and Priest. Oh God. Your heart began to race and your stomach felt as if it had dropped to your ass. Your mind was running through every possible scenario to try to get out of this oncoming shit storm. You did the first comprehensive thing that came to your mind, standing up on your tiptoes in your heels, grabbing the back of his neck and bringing his lips down onto yours. Damian immediately accepted, holding your face in his large hands as you moved your lips together.

The black haired Australian stopped in her tracks as she saw what you were doing.

You can kiss 100 boys in bars

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

You were trying to put your all into the kiss. Anything to try to show Rhea you weren’t interested in her. It felt as if you were trying to put on some elaborate performance but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had your hands on top of his then began to grab his shirt, pulling him as close to you as possible. Priest put his hands on top of yours pulling back, “Woah Y/N, I think you’ve had a bit too much muñeca. I’d love to, but not like this.”

All while Damian is gently “letting you down” she finally reaches you, breaking out into a toothy grin. “Hey mate, Y/N, you doing okay? You don’t look so great.” She feigns concern looking you up and down but you know each other too well. You’d spent more than a couple nights out together and she knew your tolerance was way higher than you were portraying. “I’m fine.” You answer quickly, almost too quickly. Damian looks at both of you assessing the situation, clearly unsure of what to do. No matter what else you tried to look at around the room you kept somehow locking eyes with her again. Those light blue orbs taking your breath away every time. “Rhea, you mind helping get Y/N back? You don’t mind right, Y/N?”

Before you can even protest, she interrupts. “Of course mate. I’ll text you when I get her in. Have fun tonight champ!” She grabs your wrist and starts leading you out of the club, shouting at Priest over her shoulder. “What the fuck are you doing?!” You’re trying to pull out of her grip but are unsuccessful each time. She didn’t answer, keeping her eyes pointed towards the exit of the club.

At the last second, she turns, leading you towards the hallway where the bathrooms were. “Rhea, seriously let me go! What are you doing?!” You attempt to exclaim once but she continues to ignore you, just dragging you along.

You reach the bathroom and she opens the door dragging you inside. You look around expecting a multi-stall facility but instead find yourself in a very tight space with the woman you’ve avoided for so long.

“The better question is, what are you doing Y/N?” She turns around finally making eye contact with you again. Your eyes dart once again trying to avoid the intensity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say as your eyes finally settle on a particular piece of graffiti on the wall in front of you. “Yes, you do. You’ve dodged me for years. You don’t want to be around me, fine. But really? You’re gonna try to act like you’re something you’re not?” She shakes her head, her eyes squinting as she looks you up and down as if she was trying to piece you back together in her mind.

“You’re being ridiculous. If Priest wants to pursue me, why shouldn’t I let him?” You cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to subconsciously put a barrier between you and her.

You can say it’s just the way you are

Make another excuse, another stupid reason

“This isn’t what you want, Y/N.” Rhea grabs your chin forcing you to look at her. Your heart is pounding so hard it feels as if it could burst out of you at any moment. You felt a lump in your throat as hard as a stone. The cold feeling of her rings touching your skin would normally make you jump but they felt amazing against your now blazing red skin.

“You may tell yourself that kiss never happened. Bloody hell, you probably have to tell yourself that every day. I bet you think about it all the time.” You felt as if she was rubbing your biggest mistake in your face. You go to smack her hand away, “Stop it, Rhea, it was years ago. I was in the moment and I overstepped. It meant noth-“

She cuts you off, taking you by surprise by pushing herself up against you against the wall, her hands next to both sides of your head. You can’t help the audible small gasp that leaves your mouth. “Tell me you don’t want this.” She whispers as she inches her face towards yours. You gulp.

Good luck, babe.

Well, good luck, babe.

She takes one of her hands and grips your jaw forcing you to look at her. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

You inhale deeply through your nose. Your body was covered in goosebumps yet somehow still felt like it was on fire. Feeling her strong body up against yours was causing your mind to blank. You couldn’t think of anything besides the feeling of her chest moving against yours with each deep breath you took.

In that moment you felt your once strong front begin to dissipate. “Rhea, I-“ You try to start but the ball in your throat causes your voice to catch. You look up at the ceiling feeling tears prickling at your eyes. “I do want you. I want you more than anything.” The tears begin to fall down your cheeks as you continue.

“I’m such a fucking idiot.” You whisper to yourself. Seeing your tears Rhea backed up slightly, taking one hand and gently wiping at some of the tears. “You’re not an idiot baby.” She softly spoke, leaving her hand to rest on your cheek.

“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship but I-“ You open your mouth inhaling deeply then exhaling, trying to stop crying. “I did.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me Y/N? We’d been close for so long. Nothing could and would ever ruin what we have. As friends or, as more.” She enunciates the last part, her Aussie accent thick.

You shake your head, wishing you had a reasonable answer for her. “I don’t know.”

She sighs, pulling you to her in a tight embrace. You exhale, wrapping your arms around her. She holds the back of your head stroking your hair softly. Of course, she’d remember. That was always something she’d do for you whenever you were stressed or upset.

“I missed you so fucking much.” You whisper, squeezing her as tight as you possibly could inhaling her familiar scent.

You’re the first to pull away but remain still, keeping her close. Rhea looks down at you wiping the last remaining tears away. Only now do you notice the tear stains where makeup once was on her face.

Despite the messy makeup, disheveled hair, and groggy voices from crying you couldn’t help but think about how gorgeous she looked.

“Rhea?” You ask softly. “Y/N?” She responds looking into your eyes.

“You’re right. I haven’t stopped thinking about this.” You sigh, shaking your head slightly then grabbing her face in your hands and smashing your lips together. It was as if no time had passed.

The same fire and passion from the first kiss immediately reignited. She reached around your body, holding your lower back and gripping your ass with the other. You moaned softly at the feeling allowing her to slip her tongue into your mouth.

You reached your hands out grabbing every part of her that you could reach. From her long black hair, to her waist using her metal chain belt to pull her even closer.

She pulls away and you almost whine. “Come on you, we’re going to the hotel. I’m gonna show what else I’ve been thinking about since that kiss.”

[rose24207]

Switching Sides

Summary: In a day filled with business and adventure, Lando and Y/N teach their children the balance of strength and kindness, reminding them that family is their true source of power and purpose.

Genre: Mafia!Dad!Lando, fluff

TW: Mafia

A/N: alright last one for today! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The Norris household was a quiet chaos that morning, with everyone preparing for their separate plans.

For a family tied to the mafia, days like these felt almost normal—if you didn’t count the subtle presence of Lando’s ever-alert guards around the estate.

Lando stood by the entryway, fixing the cuffs of his tailored suit. His son, Jacob, stood beside him, adjusting his small tie with an air of importance.

Jacob, at just 8 years old, already had an innate knack for understanding people and strategy, much like his mother. He idolized her calm demeanor, seeing her as the embodiment of wisdom and kindness.

Y/N walked into the room with a cheerful smile, her bright energy a perfect contrast to Lando’s composed sternness.

“You both look very dashing today,” she said, bending down to straighten Jacob’s tie.

“Important meeting today,” Jacob said seriously, looking up at his father. “Right, Dad?”

Lando smirked. “Exactly, champ. Time to learn how we handle business.”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Y/N teased, patting Lando’s chest. “He’s still a kid.”

Jacob puffed out his chest. “I can handle it, Mum.”

“I know you can,” she said, ruffling his hair. “But don’t forget to have fun too, okay?”

Meanwhile, Amelia bounded down the stairs, her messy curls bouncing with each step. She was the spitting image of Lando in both appearance and spirit—sharp, determined, and a little mischievous.

“Are we ready, Mum?” she asked excitedly.

“Almost,” Y/N replied, grabbing her bag. “We have some errands to run in town and a little surprise after that.”

Amelia’s eyes lit up. “What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see,” Y/N said, winking.

Lando and Jacob arrived at the grand hall of one of his businesses, the air thick with authority and tension.

Lando’s trusted men greeted them, but their smiles softened at the sight of Jacob, who was a rare glimpse of innocence in their otherwise hardened world.

“Is this your apprentice, boss?” one of the men asked, chuckling.

“He’s my shadow today,” Lando replied, his tone light but firm.

As the meeting began, Jacob sat beside his father at the long, polished table, his feet barely touching the ground.

Lando’s men presented reports and discussed strategies, occasionally glancing at Jacob with curiosity.

To their surprise, Jacob asked thoughtful questions, his young mind already picking up on the nuances of the discussions.

“Why don’t we just talk to them instead of being tough?” he asked during a debate about a rival group.

The room fell silent, and all eyes turned to Lando.

Lando leaned down to his son’s level, his voice low but kind. “Sometimes, being tough is how you protect the people you care about. But knowing when to talk? That’s just as important.”

Jacob nodded, processing his father’s words. The men exchanged looks of quiet admiration, realizing the boy was already learning lessons that most of them had struggled to grasp.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Amelia were strolling through the heart of town. Their first stop was a local orphanage where Y/N often volunteered.

Amelia held a bag of toys, eagerly handing them out to the children. She played with them, her laughter ringing through the room as she organized a game of tag.

“You’re so much like your mother,” one of the staff members said to Amelia. “Always bringing joy wherever you go.”

Amelia beamed. “Mum says it’s important to be kind.”

Y/N watched her daughter with pride, her heart swelling at the sight of Amelia spreading happiness.

Later, they visited a bakery, where Amelia chose treats for the staff back at the estate.

“Dad’s going to steal these,” Amelia said, eyeing a box of pastries.

“He’ll have to go through us first,” Y/N joked, handing over the box.

Their final stop was a park, where Y/N surprised Amelia with tickets to a carnival set up nearby. Amelia’s excitement was contagious as they rode Ferris wheels, played games, and enjoyed the bright, festive atmosphere.

By the evening, the family was back at the estate, gathered in the cozy living room.

Amelia excitedly recounted their day, her hands waving animatedly as she described the carnival rides and the smiles on the children’s faces at the orphanage.

Jacob listened intently, his expression thoughtful. “We talked about protecting people today,” he said, glancing at his father. “I think being kind is like protecting too.”

Y/N’s heart melted as she looked between her children and Lando. “You’re absolutely right, Jacob.”

Lando wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his normally stoic face soft with affection.

“Looks like they’re both learning from the best,” he said, glancing at Y/N.

She laughed. “I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Unstoppable,” Lando agreed, pulling her closer.

In their chaotic world of power and danger, moments like these reminded Lando why he fought so fiercely.

His family was his anchor, and he would do anything to keep them safe and happy.

Thank you for reading!

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 2

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Mature Word Count: 20.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence, flirting, Jack can dance and I will die on this hill.  Summary: Your introduction to the world of Statesman comes with a flirtation, a job interview, a pool game, and an unexpected turn to the night after an unexpected day. Notes: I’m not even mad about how long this chapter is. I *loved* introducing this reader to Statesman and I hope you guys do, too!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Three hours later to the minute, you're standing on the tarmac at Portsmouth International Airport with a backpack slung over one shoulder as you follow a flight attendant in a crisp Statesman uniform up to the stairs to board the jet bearing the company's logo in giant letters splashed across the side. It's really real. It's actually, really real. A discreet picture on your phone will be very quickly texted to your mom before the plane takes off, but for now you're listening to the attendant tell you that the flight will last two and a half hours and that anything you need will be provided on board. There's a man in a Stetson standing just inside the door of the plane as you walk up, and you have to hand it to these folks. They have truly committed to the cowboy aesthetic.

“Howdy ma’am.” Champ didn’t tell him who he was picking up when he called Tequila to his office and told him that he was being sent with the jet to pick someone up. He didn’t rightly think it was his business; but he has to admit that you’re cute. He smirks slightly as he tips his hat with two fingers and motions you towards the captain's chairs. “Want a drink before takeoff?”

"Just a bottle of water would be great." As much as a finger or two of whiskey would calm the hell out of your nerves right now, you don't know if drinking during what is technically one long-ass job interview would be considered very professional. You look around as the flight attendant whisks your backpack away, setting it on the end of a small sofa that serves as seating on the jet. "This plane is absolutely amazing..."

“Aw, come on now.” Tequila steps behind the bar and grabs the bottle of water to set on the shiny surface. “You can’t tell me you don’t drink? You’ll break my heart.”

You laugh, appreciating the man's jovial attitude and willing to admit to yourself that he's very attractive. Not your usual type, but there's nothing wrong with being leading-man attractive. You just normally go for more unique looking men - and older. "Experience tells me that drinking during a job interview is bad manners," you admit, taking a step further into the room. This plane has rooms. "But I've never interviewed for a distillery before, so maybe the rules are actually the opposite now."

“Drinking’s a job requirement.” He flirts, sending you a small wink and reaching for the bottle of ‘82 Special Selection. “Champ’ll have you with a glass in your hand by the time you get done shakin’.”

"Just a little, then." It doesn't matter that your tolerance is hellishly high, you're not aiming to get drunk at all during this trip. "So your boss...Champ? He, uh...he doesn't do things by half, does he?" You're curious about the man after finding next to nothing about him online. Even finding a photograph was like pulling teeth.

“No one at Statesman does.” Tequila grins proudly as he picks up the bottle and uncorks it to start pouring into the awaiting glasses. “So why are you coming to Kentucky?” He’s curious and as an intelligence agent, he’s never one to not ask questions.

“It’s…an interview?” You look up at the man in confusion and laugh, purely out of nerves. “Did your boss not tell you who you were picking up, or why?”

“Champ says go, you go.” You don’t scream ‘new agent’, but he’s been wrong before. “What’ll you be doin’, if I can ask?”

“I’m a pastry chef.” One hand curls itself around the glass he has poured for you, feeling the steadiness of the weight of cut crystal in your hand. “Mr. Rogers wants to expand the food that the distillery is able to offer to guests who take tours and come to events. So…he called me.” Which still seems sort of batshit insane, but you are good at what you do, and you love it. You’re even a good savory chef - but pastry really has been your passion.

"Pastry....like cakes and pies?" Tequila asks, tilting his head as he thinks about it. You nod, giving him a vaguely amused smile that he notices a lot on people around him and he purses his lips, nodding in agreement. "I like it. Although you're gonna be haunted by the ones with sugar addictions." He warns, thinking about Jack's hidden sweet tooth. Man likes to claim that his ever so softening belly is the result of his bad back, but the drawer in his desk that is devoted to candy would prove that is a lie.

“Well, I hope so.” It earns him a bright, genuine laugh with a smile. “Otherwise there would be no point in hiring an executive pastry chef for the distillery at all.” Feeling slightly more relaxed, you take a small sip of whiskey and hum at the gentle burn. The notes of vanilla and smoke in this particular vintage would make an amazing boozy caramel for that chocolate tart you’ve been doing at the restaurant. “Everyone has a favourite sweet. Something tied to good memories or a favorite person. Sometimes it’s a thing you had once and maybe never again, but you’ll just love it forever from that one taste. Sweets are kind of magical like that.”

"I guess." Tequila gives a small shrug, shooting you a grin. "I'm more of a red hots kind of guy myself. I like the heat." He's not overly fond of sweets, but he can enjoy a dessert every now and again. It's more like he would haunt your kitchens for you rather than your cakes.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had Mexican hot chocolate or a spicy sweet candied anything?” When the cowboy looks at you in wonder and shakes his head, you laugh again. Not to laugh at him, just because getting people to try new things is one of the best parts of what you do. “I tell you what. If I get this job, I’ll road-test a batch of my guajillo and cinnamon fudge brownies for the menu. They’ll knock your socks off.”

"If you say so." Tequila looks skeptical but gives a shrug. He's always willing to try anything once. "So you are willing to move to Kentucky to make cakes at a distillery?" He asks, trying to get a feel for you. He's cocky as an agent, but when he doesn't know the woman's background, he can be a bit shy.

“What’s life without adventure, right?” You shrug and take another sip of the drink you’ve been poured. Statesman really is quality liquor, you have to admit that. “It’s a great position and comes with a lot of freedom. Not everybody gets to develop their own menu and recipes at a facility like yours.”

Tequila chuckles, lifting his own glass up and silently toasting you before he takes a sip. "Thank God for freedom, right?" He is meaning his freedoms on a mission, but you don't know that. He wonders if you will be clued in on the real function of Statesman, or if you will just be another front for the intelligence agency.

“Absolutely.” It hits bittersweet, though, this time. Freedom in a general sense is great. But three days ago you were in the walk-in at work and dropped every single thing in your arms when a searing, unintelligible pain took over your entire body. Thinking it was a weird muscle spasm or an allergic reaction to the new body wash you were trying out, you ignored it until the end of the day. Of course, at the end of the day, you stood in your bedroom mirror and realized there was no rash. No reaction. The mountain range tattoo over your heart had disappeared along with the chef’s knife that had adorned the inside of your forearm, and all the scars from cuts and burns that had told you your soulmate had to be a chef were gone. Your brother had tried to be comforting. Told you that you were free now to love whoever you wanted. But that wasn’t the kind of freedom you had ever wanted.

He wonders about the sudden look of melancholy that washes over your face but he doesn't want to pry. You aren't a target and he wants to make sure that you are comfortable around him if you take this job. Something tells him that you will, but he's been wrong before. Hell, he thought Jack would have crawled out of a bottle by now, but when he had left, the man was still drunk from the night before.

The captain’s voice comes over the intercom, asking all passengers and crew to take their seats for take off, and the overly tall cowboy nods in response before leading you to your seat. “So what do you do at Statesman?” You ask, once you’re buckled in and he is sitting beside you. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Security.” He sits down and untucks his jacket from around his back with a small wink towards you. It’s the go-to cover position within the distillery workforce. At least where the civilians are concerned.

“And is this your uniform?” He makes it work, you’ll give him that. But you kind of want to prepare yourself for whatever you’re about to walk into. If you’re going to be wearing a cowgirl hat instead of a toque, you want to know ahead of time.

"Uniform?" He scrunches his nose and shakes his head. "No ma'am, we dress for comfort at Statesman." He tells you, although everyone had their own sense of business style, Tequila was still more comfortable in ranch hand attire than anything. Jack was on the one to wear fancy threads.

“Just curious,” you tell him honestly, adding a nonchalant shrug because you’re a little awkward about everything. “It seems like Statesman has its own culture about it, and I like that. Places I’ve worked before haven’t felt like a community at all.”

"You won't feel like that here." Tequila promises. "We're proud of what we do and it shows." Of course, there is a lot to that statement that you don't know how true it is but even the front of the distillery was worked with pride. He honestly felt like it was the best damn bourbon mash in all of Kentucky.

“We’ll see how the interview goes.” There’s no way you’re going to count your chicken before they hatch, but this job just sounds like an absolute dream.

Tequila snorts and listens to the engines power up before the large jet starts to roll down the runway. "Everyone who's ever worked for Statesman has probably said some version of that statement." He tells you, lifting a brow playfully. "And never left."

******

The flight seems short with such good company, and the man who cringes at his own name - Tex - brings you from the airstrip to the main building to actually meet Champ when you land. It’s been a mere six hours since that phone call this morning, but it feels days away. The Statesman campus is stunning. Everywhere you look are excited tourists and seemingly happy employees. Most wear some kind of western-influenced style but not everyone, although you do notice that everyone who does wear the cowboy look has beautiful quality boots and Stetsons. If what they’re offering to pay you is any indication, everybody here can definitely afford high quality pieces. There is a decent-sized cafeteria buzzing with eager patrons eating classic Southern favourites, and then there is the brand-new empty restaurant space where Tex introduces you to an older man in worn but well-cared-for western wear of his own, and you’re instantly certain that this is Champ.

Champ gives you an affable grin as he reaches out and takes your hand in his. "Richard 'Champagne' Rogers." He tells you by way of introduction. "But call me Champ." He looks away from you and towards Tequila. "I see that Tex has gotten you here without any emergencies." He nods towards the agent and then looks back you. "How was the flight?"

“Very comfortable, thank you.” He has a patriarchal vibe that leans more toward grandfather than anything else, and you feel yourself relax a little. Your own grandfather would probably fit right in here. Right alongside Champ Rogers. “The campus here is gorgeous. I’m excited to see the facilities you talked about this morning.”

"It's in the back here." Champ gestures towards an area that has been cordoned off and still has the air of being in the final stages of being remodeled. "We were going to do some kinda fancy steakhouse, but folks don't want another one of those." He explains.

“So you’re leaning in the direction of Southern tea house instead?” Following him into the kitchen, it’s easy to see the makings of a world-class set up here. Glistening appliances and brand-new surfaces wink in the bright light and the door to the walk-in is so new it still has film on the window. It’s just the dining room that has no personality yet.

"I want a place where people can come in and relax." Champ tells you. "Indulge and pair new things with old whiskey."

“New twists on old classics?” It’s something that is gaining a lot of traction these days, and you nod your head in agreement. “My style is a combination of things. French technique and American classics, with some British influence to polish it all off. And I can do savory as well as pastry.” If this whole place is going to be a functioning tea room of sorts, you don’t want him to make any mistake about your abilities. “Are you planning on hiring an executive savory chef as well?”

Champ frowns for a moment and shakes his head. "Naw...what's that sayin'? 'Two women in a kitchen's bad business'. You can head the whole thing."

If you had been holding anything, it would have gone clattering to the ground. Your own restaurant. This company is offering you your own goddamn restaurant. The second you start to process it you feel giddy and anxious - like you could actually fly from the butterflies in your belly. “Then I hope you like what I do,��� you tell him with what you hope is a carefree laugh. “One more question, if I could? Before I get to work, I mean.”

Champ raises a brow at you and chuckles. "Shoot, girl, straight from the hip." He tells you. He likes the look of you and he can see why you would be Jack's new soulmate.

“I suppose it’s sort of a multi-part question,” you admit, hoping that doesn’t make you sound inexperienced or unprepared. “I’m wondering if this restaurant will be just for tourists and guests, or if it will also be a facility for your employees? And also what kind of events you anticipate being able to host here with the event space having access to a specialized restaurant.” Frankly, to you, it screams parties and weddings - but who knows what they’re expecting to be able to do?

"Isn't that up to you?" Champ asks, looping his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans and looking around the place again. He shoulda known Jack Daniels soulmate had a keen business sense and a good head on her shoulders. He woulda said the same about Jack until recently. "I mean, it'd be your rodeo, wouldn't you call the shots?"

It’s simultaneously terrifying, inspiring, and nerve-wracking to get that kind of answer, but you end up stifling a grin when Tex flashes you two thumbs up behind his boss’s back for encouragement. “You’d make a hell of a profit from weddings,” you tell Champ honestly, although that’s not why you like the idea of doing them. “Weddings, private events, corporate parties, live music events. From large scale down to small scale, they all run on the same principle. A restaurant staff can handle the catering demands, and we can work with other vendors and event planners to make sure the details are right. I’ve done it at my last two jobs with excellent results.” It’s a goddamn dream come true, that’s what Statesman is. You just have to work your ass off to make sure Champ likes your food.

Champ purses his lips and looks around like he's contemplating it. It all actuality, it would be whatever would make you stay here. As a senior agent, Jack's worth the investment of a business that might actually expand the Statesman brand. And if it keeps his soulmate on the grounds and protected, well that was just fine. "If you want to take that on, I don't see why we couldn't do it. Have the boys in bottling provide a special bottle for the occasions." He offers, knowing that an etched bottle of whiskey would be a perfect wedding thing. "If you don't, you could just have the little dining room."

“Provided you like my food, I would say the most pragmatic path would be to open the restaurant and start with small events first. Expand to weddings afterward.” It’s a big, demanding industry, but you already know you make a killer wedding cake and can manage the menus. It’s pretty literally your dream being laid out on the table here for you to prove that you deserve. “The menu I put together for the tasting can be done in just a few hours. I only need you to tell me how many I’m expected to feed and then I’ll get started.”

Reaching up, Champ rubs his jaw with his hand and hides a small smirk. "Oh I think enough for five or six should be enough." He tells you. "Yourself included."

“Very doable.” That’s just one batch of everything, and you can definitely pull that off without a problem. “Give me two hours, and come back hungry.”

"I'll send someone by in case you need something." Champ decides that he's going to give you space. He needs to fish your soulmate out of his bottle and sober him up a little before he meets you for the first time.

“Fantastic.” Two hours will be a hustle, but you know you can do it. There’s too much at stake here and too much potential on the horizon not to. Whoever this head hunter was that passed your resume on to Champ? You could kiss that person.

******

"Jack." Grunting, Jack tries to ignore the sound of his name being called. He hasn't slept, hasn't done much but drink and for the first time since that awful day Champ desked him, his eyes are closed on their own.

“Jack.” Champ growls his name on the fourth try, and when the best he gets from the noncommittal agent sprawled out on his own living room couch after living at the bottom of a bottle for two solid days is nothing - he holds up the pitcher of water he poured in the kitchen and unceremoniously dumps it directly on Jack’s head and chest.

"SHIT!" Jack sputters, coming up off the sofa in a shock of cold water like he's been hit with a defibrillator. Reaching for guns in holsters that aren't there. "What the — what the fuck?" He demands when he realizes that it's Champ and he slumps back against the now soaked sofa. "Go away."

“Get up.” Tossing him a towel from his other hand, Champ ignores Jack’s order completely. “You got someplace to be in…” he checks his watch. “An hour and thirty-one minutes.”

“Imma off d-desk duty already?” Jack asks, bewildered and he throws his hand over his eyes and groans in pain.

“No.” It would be funny if it weren’t troubling, and Champ shakes his head. “You’re gonna eat something. You, me, Tequila, Ginger, and Diana.” It’s as good a crew to taste test food as any, not to mention they’re generally Champ’s favourite people. His own soulmate is working just the same as any other afternoon, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind being stolen away for a surprise dinner. Diana Rogers is always a fan of surprises, so Champ makes sure to keep them locked and loaded for her at all times.

Disappointment rolls through Jack along with a wave of nausea. He’s not as young as he used to be and he’s gone through a least three bottles. “Not hungry.” He huffs, turning away from Champ and making to lay back down. “Another time.”

“That’s not an option, friend.” Producing a cup of coffee seemingly out of nowhere, Champ holds it out to Jack and hooks the thumb of his free hand into his belt. “I need you showered and lookin’ presentable. And reasonably sober if fuckin possible, so I’ll have Ginger bring you something to help with that if you can’t manage it yourself.”

“Shit.” It feels like a million little hammers from Satan’s army is pounding away inside his head, but Jack sits up slowly and belches. Groaning when the sloshing in his stomach feels like he’s at sea in a dingy during a hurricane. “Yeah.”

“Fine.” The older man nods and offers the coffee again, glad when Jack finally takes it and at least sniffs the brew. “You got clean clothes, or did you ransack your own house along with your desk?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jack grunts at him, not quite making sense. “Why are you in my house?”

“You never shoulda given me a key,” Champ jokes, allowing himself to find a little humor in the moment.

“Remind me to get it back.” Jack scowls and takes a sip of the coffee, hissing when it burns his tongue.

“Now is that any way to talk to a man who’s feeding you dinner?” It doesn’t really have much to do with him and he knows it, but Champ is still going to tease his friend now that Jack is on the other side of the bottle.

“It is when you’re dragging me somewhere I don’t want to go to eat food I don’t think I can stomach.” Jack grouses, throwing Champ a halfhearted glare.

“You’ll manage.” He hadn’t wanted to use this as leverage, but it seems he’s going to have to. “She’s here, Jack.”

Jack blinks for a moment, the alcohol in his blood making him a little slower than normal and then he huffs. “Fuck, Champ, is that why you want me to have some dinner?” He demands.

“Yeah, that’s why.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at Jack, studiously ignoring the indignant tone in his friend’s voice. “She’s cookin’ it, so you’re eatin’.”

There is a staring contest that last for about a minute before Jack sighs. “Shit.” He sets the coffee down and manages to stand, swaying slightly. “Let me shower.”

“She doesn’t know.” Champ tells him, putting out a hand to steady Jack a little before he heads to the stairs. “And it ain’t my place to tell her.”

“Well that’s something.” Jack mumbles, suddenly even less inclined to attend than before. “And nobody else better run their damned mouths.”

“Only you, me, and Diana know.” He has taken his concern for Jack home to his wife, knowing that the younger man wouldn’t judge him or be upset over it. “She’s here to interview for a job.”

“Jesus, Champ.” Jack jerks to a stop and even though he regrets it, his head whips back to look at him. “An interview? Whadya gonna do? Make her an agent?”

Champ huffs, hot air escaping his nostrils and making him feel like a goddamn bull on the charge. “Make yourself presentable,” he rumbles. “I’ll send Ginger to pick you up.” Without another word, Champ rocks back on his heel, pulls Jack’s spare house key out of his pocket, and drops it on his coffee table on his way out the door. If he’s gonna be an ass, he can be one on his own.

Jack blows out a sigh, feeling like an asshole now that the door slams behind Champ. He was out of line and regrets the look of disappointment that he saw in his friend’s eyes. Shuffling to the bathroom, Jack strips and looks in the mirror, disgusted with the reflection he sees.

******

Given what you set out to do, it's a testament to hard work and a small miracle that you have everything done in time. The very last thing to come out of the oven will be the soufflés, and those are scheduled to be done as the first course as soon as Champ returns with his four person entourage in less than two minutes. If there is any mercy in the world they might even come early and be witness to the tray coming out of the oven, because that would be an incredible flex. Everything has been carefully plated and arranged, and you've probably sweated out three pounds of water weight from all the running around you've done in this kitchen, but every single piece of equipment here is pristine and glorious. If you don't get this job you'll be more disappointed than you've ever been to miss out on anything, but at least you'll have gotten to cook in this amazing kitchen once.

Jack is as nervous as a foaling mare around people. He has shaven his cheeks bare and slapped aftershave on until it stung. Combed his hair and put on clothes that are clean and fresh. He feels like he should be confident, but he’s not. His stomach is rolling and it’s not from the alcohol. He had thrown that up in the shower. He’s nervous to meet this woman, this soulmate.

"Look who's up and about." Tequila gives Jack his most encouraging smile as he spots his friend walking up the path with Ginger at his side. "Champ invite y'all to join us for this thing?"

“More like ordered.” Jack mutters under his breath, but he gives a halfhearted shrug. “Guess he figured I needed some fresh air.”

"And he cleaned up all nice for us." Ginger jokes, trying to lighten the mood as best she can. She knows Jack has been inside his own shell for a few days, and why, but she knows that getting him out of the house is the best thing that Champ could have done.

He’s still slightly queasy, but it’s because of who he’s about to meet since Ginger had given him one of her magic hangover pills. “Yeah, yeah.”

"Good." Champ's voice booms over the distillery courtyard from the other direction as he skirts a tour group with his arm around his wife. "Everybody made it on time. Let's get in there and find out what we're eating, huh?" Satisfied to see Jack dressed and upright, Champ heads straight for the side door to the building that will let them directly into the remodeled kitchen.

Jack frowns and wonders why the hell they are eating in the kitchen but he follows suit, dropping back to walk beside Tequila. “How’d you get roped into this?” He asks the younger man.

"Volunteered." Tequila tells him cheerfully. The truth is that he would have begged to come to this thing after hearing you talk about your food on the jet, but Champ had obliged him easily. "Never gonna turn down a good meal, you know me."

Jack huffs at that truth. “You do think with your stomach.” He jokes, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder. “Have you met her?” He asks.

"Picked her up this morning." There's a flash of something like being pleased on his face but he shrugs it off. He's made sure that he's cleaned up and even better looking - in his opinion - than he had been this morning. Just in case those flashes of smiles and laughter he'd gotten on the flight were for the same reason his were.

Jack’s eyes narrow slightly at the tone and stature of the man beside him. There’s something in his voice that has him on edge but he can’t put his finger on it. “From where?”

"New Hampshire." Tequila's strides are just a tad longer than Jack's or Ginger's and he has to keep himself walking slower to be in step with Jack as Champ pulls open the door. "Flew her down on the jet. Champ's orders." The younger man still didn't really understand why a chef needed a security detail, but he was glad to oblige anyway.

It registers that Tequila doesn’t know. Champ had told him that he hadn’t said anything to you, but he had thought the agent had been brought into the loop. Jack relaxes slightly, his shoulders pulling down and he wonders if it’s a mistake. If you were meant to be Tequila’s soulmate and it would all be cleared up by the universe or fate or whoever was in fucking charge of all of this.

"Well damn," Champ chuckles jovially as the party files into the kitchen just in time to see you taking one last pan out of the oven on the wall. "Smells incredible in here. Looks like we made perfect time, didn't we darlin'?" You whirl around at the sound of the now-familiar drawl, prepared to answer the old-fashioned term until you realize that Champ has a woman on his arm when he walks into the room. She's about his age, bright-eyed and beaming up at him as she smiles, and your heart wrenches a little. No doubt this is Mrs. Rogers - most likely his soulmate - and the pang of knowing you no longer have a soulmate of your own sticks in your gut harder than you would ever admit. "Welcome back." You force yourself to smile and focus on the matter at hand, wondering who else the elder cowboy has wrangled for your little audition tonight.

Jack hangs back for a moment, almost unwilling to look towards the voice that sends a shiver down his spine. His mouth is dry and he rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. He doesn’t know what to expect, and he’s afraid.

“I’m set and ready to go, if everyone would like to take a seat?” You had taken the liberty of pulling six stools up to the end of one counter and setting out glasses of water right before you took the soufflés out of the oven, creating a small tasting table for everyone to sit at. “The first course is best served hot.”

There’s a moment where Jack just stands there. Unsure of himself and what exactly to do. His eyes looking from the table to the chairs and everywhere else until he finally looks up and sees you.

The small stack of plates in your hands hits the steel counter a little harder than you mean for them to when you glance up and meet the eyes of the last person to come through the door. He’s broad and lean, clean shaven except for an immaculate mustache and looking at you from under the brim of his crisp Stetson and your mouth runs dry almost instantly. As quickly as your eyes meet his you look away again, feeling your cheeks heat and the last thing you need is to be flustered while you’re trying to get through this thing. Just focus, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the plates to put each course on.

He feels like he’s been hit by a truck when his eyes meet yours. He hates it. Hates how his heart speeds up and his cheeks flush. Unable to shake it off as if it didn’t matter. The knowledge that you are his soulmate is weighing on him. He sees Champ shuffle, catching his eye and it makes him realize he had been staring. “What’s for dinner, darlin’?” He drawls out, as he would if it were any pretty woman.

"First course is a sweet potato soufflé with a blue cheese cream sauce." Carefully spooning the sauce over each soufflé and setting them down at the six places that you've set, you look around at the group and try very hard not to stare at this man you haven't met yet. "The play of natural sweetness with rich and complex cheese sauce makes for a dish that stands alone or compliments almost any protein."

Jack isn’t a fan of blue cheese and almost opens his mouth to say so, but there is something tantalizing about the smell. “Well shiiiiiiit.” Tequila speaks up before Jack can say anything. “That sounds disgusting but it smells like heaven.”

"I know blue cheese can be an acquired taste." More comfortable with the youngest of the men purely from having spent the most time with him, you shrug a little and chuckle softly. "But bold flavours are memorable flavours, and I believe in food being an important part of building positive memories." This meal is your sales pitch - selling yourself and your abilities to this company - and goddamnit a soufflé is just about one of the most technically difficult things to do perfectly. Which is exactly why you did it.

“Well I’m gonna dig in.” Tequila promises with a wink as he pulls a chair out to sit down. “Come on, Jack. You need to eat too.”

Jack. You do your best not to react with anything but pleasantness, and feel your shoulders relax as multiple sounds of enjoyment break out when people take their first bites. What starts out with hesitation from almost everyone turns into surprise and delight, and you have to admit that - if your portion is any indication - this is probably one of the best soufflés that you've made in an extremely long time.

There is something magical about the texture of this thing that he is eating. It’s creamy and sweet and savory. All of the flavors should clash but somehow they compliment one another and bring out the sharpness of the cheese and the sweetness of the yam. Jack groans after the first bite - surprised that it is not making his stomach do anything but demand more - and quickly goes in for a second bite.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ from everybody, darlin’,” Champ chuckles, glad to see Jack acting like a human instead of a man-shaped bottle of liquor like earlier. Even if he’s not thrilled with his friend at the moment, it’s still good to see.

“It’s incredible,” his wife sighs, and she offers you a beaming smile. “I’d eat one of these every day for the rest of my life in whatever flavour you felt like.”

“Well, thank you very much, ma’am.” Even if she introduced herself as Diana on the way in, she’s still the spouse of the man making the decision about hiring you, so you’re going to be polite as hell. “They’re a particular favourite of mine, as well. I’m so glad you like it.”

Jack hates that he files that piece of information away, like he is memorizing your likes and dislikes. What does it matter? Your marks might be on his body but you aren’t his soulmate. His soulmate was Abigail Monique Daniels. Born April 24th 1976 and died August 12th, 1998. Instead of saying anything, he concentrates on his food, eating it faster than he anticipated, and slumps slightly when he’s done with the incredible soufflé.

When everyone has had what they like of the small first course, you collect the plates and deposit them in the sink before retrieving a set of six square plates from the fridge. Each has two petite sandwiches on them, and you set them in front of your panel of judges - for lack of a better term - with as much confidence as you can muster. “Our second course is dilled crawfish tea sandwiches. A distinctly Southern twist on a classic.”

“God, crawfish.” Jack groans, rolling his eyes and nearly drooling. It’s been awhile since he’s had the little mud bugs and he’s always enjoyed dishes with them in it. “This is— fuck—” He bites into the sandwich and his eyes widen in pleasure before they drift shut as he chews.

"I hate to agree with Jack," Ginger jokes, making everyone else at the table laugh. "But these really are excellent." Murmurs run through the group, but the buzz running through you is from Jack's very verbal reaction. Watching cowboys fluster and groan over little tea sandwiches is some kind of pleasure you never really expected, but it's gratifying in a very entertaining way. It's not, you tell yourself, that you find Jack incredibly attractive. Of course not. It's that this tasting is going so well. Yup. That's all it is.

“You’re gonna hafta make more of those.” Jack predicts, speaking to you for the first time. “Two ain’t gonna cut it once they taste ‘em.”

"They'll go straight on the menu, then." You may have been pushing the confidence a little bit until now, but this has you smiling immediately. This is going to work, you tell yourself, and ignore the little extra boost you get from someone you're attracted to liking your food.

“Damn.” Jack sits back when the sandwiches are gone, disappointed when everyone else is eating theirs, “I’d make a meal off of them.”

"Maybe sometime soon, you'll be able to." It's a hope, not anything cocky or pointed, and you don't even hear how it could be considered flirting as you take the second sandwich off of your own plate and place it on his when you get up to plate the next course.

He shouldn’t accept it, it’s part of your dinner, but he picks it up and nods towards you before he pops the sandwich in his mouth with a groan. The soufflé was good, but sandwiches like those are his weakness. Champ chuckles, leaning back on his hair with his arm around Diana. “Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, ain’t it Jack?” He teases, making Jack glare at him.

"Sure is to mine." Tequila pipes up, oblivious to any underlying meaning in Champ's comment. "What's next on the menu, darlin'?"

"The last two courses are sweet." The plating for this has to be done right before serving because of the various textures at play, and you bring the completed plates over two at a time to take away the sandwich plates as you set down the next. "Buttermilk biscuits with strawberries macerated in honey, balsamic vinegar, and cracked black peppercorn. Topped with bourbon vanilla whipped cream." There was no way you were going to do this tasting and not make biscuits. As a staple of Southern cuisine, the quality of a restaurant's biscuits can make or break their entire menu.

“Bourbon whipped cream.” Champ grunts, looking impressed at the mention of a boozy addition to the meal. “It sounds good. Real good. Mighty glad we found you. We wouldn’t be eatin’ so well tonight.” He tells you lightly, looking over at where Jack is sitting.

“This is amazing.” The woman who introduced herself as Astrid hums in delight. "I never would have thought all these flavours could go together, but it's heaven." She grins at Champ before flashing you the same expression. "I might want this instead of birthday cake this year."

“Probably have something even better for birthdays.” Champ nods towards you. “She’s a baker. All things sweet.” That gets Jack’s attention, his love of sweets making him really interested in that.

"So far I haven't met a cake that got the best of me." It's not bragging, you decide, but selling yourself. This is still a job interview and a taste test, and these people need to know that you can rise to any occasion that might land in your lap. "What do each of you usually like to celebrate with?"

“Oh, red velvet.” Diana moans happily, leaning into Champ’s side. “It was our wedding cake, even though it was scandalous at the time.”

Champ chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Always give my girl what she wants.” He jokes, winking at Ginger.

"Chocolate." Tequila's grin is impetuous, like the little boy who continuously got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Carrot cake, usually." Ginger smiles happily as she polishes off the last bite of her biscuit and its fruit sauce. "But I was dead serious about wanting this instead. That might be the best biscuit I've ever had."

"Well geez." You clear your throat, flustered at that level of compliment, while you file away the different kinds of cakes these folks might like to see pop up on a restaurant menu. "Th-thank you. Very much. That's an amazing compliment."

Jack squirms slightly in his chair. He doesn’t celebrate his birthday. It’s too painful. It’s a day he wants to forget exists. He hopes you don’t ask him about it.

“What about you two?” It’s like a horrific moment from some farcical comedy when you turn your bright smile on him and Champ. “No birthday favourites?”

Champ throws Jack a look and clears his throat. “I normally have red velvet, for the missus.” He tells you with a grin. “And Jack isn’t one for birthdays.”

“No?” This plate is a little larger, so there is more time to linger and talk. “That’s a shame.” But it also smacks of bad memories, so you just lend the man a sympathetic smile and try to ignore the twist in your gut that wonders if he lost his soulmate, too. “Well, I hope they start to be fun for you again sometime soon.”

Jack can’t offer more than a half hearted smile, doubting that very seriously but it’s nice that you care. Or at least make the appropriate noises. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.” Tequila huffs awkwardly, giving a nervous chuckle.

Sensing the topic might be better left alone, you shut your mouth tight and stand from the table to collect empty plates. The last course is your ringer — your family’s favourite cake that gets made several times a year depending on who requests it for what occasion. Each small, star-shaped plate bears one large cupcake, decorated simply and beautifully. “The last course is coconut cupcakes with whiskey cream cheese frosting, using Statesman ‘82 Special Selection,” you explain as the last plate goes down. “I hadn’t tried it before, but Tex poured it for us on the flight here and the smoky vanilla notes are perfect for this application. Please, enjoy.”

Jack isn’t a coconut person. Never really cared for it, but his eyes close as he has a religious experience with a fucking cupcake. Groaning as he lets the flavors burst on his tongue and slowly chews.

Champ smirks, eyes crinkled in amused approval as he watches Jack fall in love with a goddamn cupcake. It’s damn good. He won’t deny that. But seeing Jack react this way when he knows his friend’s general aversion to the fruit is proof enough for him that even if you weren’t his soulmate, you’d still be the right person to hire for this job.

“I don’t even like coconut and I’d eat a hundred of ‘em.” Jack groans as he finishes up his cupcake and looks around the table at everyone else to get their input.

"How many times have you gotten men to propose marriage with this cake, honey?" Diana jokes, swiping up a missed blob of frosting with her finger so nothing is wasted. You laugh, an actual real, deep belly laugh, and shrug innocently. "Family legend says that it's how my Grandma Jane got her beau to propose," you admit. "My grandfather always said he was going to ask anyway, but we all think it was the cake." The family recipe is one of great important and great popularity, and clearly with good reason.

Jack shuffles in his seat, another damn fact to learn around you and he knows he won’t forget it. Damn mind is trained to remember facts and his brain seems to think that learning about you is a good thing.

"Your granddaddy'd be off his rocker not to ask after a taste of that." Tequila declares, leaving a completely clean plate in front of him. He's got a warmth in his chest and a pride in his smirk at having influenced something you made tonight, even if it's only by accident, and he swears to God that if Champ doesn't offer you whatever this job is, he'll hop back on that jet to New Hampshire himself to hear that laugh of yours again. "Dontcha think, Champ?"

Champ raises a brow at the obviously smitten cowboy and sneaks a glance at Jack who is studiously ignoring the entire conversation and drinking water like a dying fish. “Have to agree.” He chuckles, amused by the development and wonders how this little love triangle will play out.

"Well," you sit back on your stool, looking between the smiling, seemingly satisfied faces and feel your heart stick in your throat. You've done all you can do. If they like your food this much to your face but decide not to give you the job, then at least you put your best foot forward. "Thank you for your consideration. I'll clean up here and find my way to the address I was given to stay at tonight while you make your decision." The staffer, in her polo shirt and khakis, that had come by an hour into your cooking time had dropped off an address allegedly on the Statesman campus that would be yours for the night, but you didn't know yet if it was the same one that Champ had said on the phone would belong to the person who received the executive chef position. And right now you're far too afraid to ask.

“That sounds good, sweetheart.” Champ leans back in his chair and rubs his belly. “We’ve got some talkin’ to do, but thank you for a fine meal.” He turns towards the others, about to tell Jack that he should walk you to the accommodations you’re staying in, he should recognize there. But before he can, Tequila leaps out of his chair.

“I’ll walk you!” He blurts out, cringing a little at how loud he had gotten and gives a small shrug. “I mean, I’ll help you clean up and show you where to go, give you an unofficial tour.”

"That's very nice of you." He's sweet, this towering cowboy with the bright smile, and while Jack is far more your type, there's no denying Tex is attractive. "I'd appreciate the extra hand to figure out where I'm going. This place is kind of huge." If you've only got the one night here, it won't hurt to pass it in good company. As attractive as you find Jack, and as much as he seemed to like your food, you don't get the feeling that he likes you very much.

Tequila lights up and it takes everything in Champ not to snort at his eagerness. Jack looks like something’s stuck in his craw, his slight frown making the older man smirk as he watches the two of you gather dishes and carry them beyond the barrier into the belly of the kitchen. “You coulda offered, ya know.” Champ tells Jack, making the other man huff.

“I’m going back to my place,” He sulks, standing up and glancing towards the doors again, seemingly torn.

"At least say good night," Diana urges, seeing the hesitation on Jack's face. "She worked hard tonight and you liked what she made, so just...stick your head in? Say good night? There's no harm in being polite."

“Damn fool.” Champ hisses, making Diana turn and shush him. “Can’t see that it’s a damn blight on her memory to be actin’ this way.”

"Everybody mourns differently, Rick." Diana murmurs, shooting her husband a fierce look as they both watch Jack shuffle his feet at the turn of the long kitchen, debating whether or not to go in.

Jack has never had fucking sweaty palms, never. Not even when he was standing at the altar waiting for his sweet Abigail. Now, it feels like his hands are coated in baby oil. He can’t keep them dry, rubbing them on his jeans for the fourteenth time since he’s stood. “Damn Ginger and her hangover shit.” He mutters to himself, rolling his eyes over how juvenile he is being. Rolling his shoulders back, Jack assumes the bravado and cockiness that he is known for and pushes through the barrier to stride into the kitchen.

You practically jump when the door opens again, not having expected anyone to come in. Tex is beside you at the sink, loading the dishwasher after you rinse off plates, but when you spin around you're surprised to see Jack standing in the doorway with a charming grin painted on his face. "Jack." You swallow your surprise at seeing him along with the laugh that had been bubbling out of you when you heard him approach. "Can I help you with something?"

“I’ve got to get goin’ miss.” He murmurs, suddenly a lot less eager to escape, but it’s for the best. “Just wanting to thank you for the fine meal.” He reaches up and tips his hat towards you. “Have a good night.”

"Thank you very much. But hang on one second." Quickly running over to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen, you rummage for a few seconds before coming out with a container bearing the rest of the crawfish salad you had used in the sandwiches, and another bearing two more of the coconut cupcakes that he had ended up loving. "Take these with you," you insist, holding them out once you're in front of him again. "In case...in case I don't get the job, ya know? You seemed to really like these."

Jack opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he silently takes the containers. Touched that you would give away the extras because he had liked them. It’s only when they are against his chest does he remember that the entire point of him coming into the kitchen was to be polite. “Thanks, sugar.” He drawls quietly, looking down at the food. “I—I appreciate that.”

“It was very nice to meet you, Jack.” He seems slightly odd, or maybe just taken off guard, or maybe he’s sad. You can’t tell, but he was very nice about your food and you’ve always been the sort of person to return kindness with kindness.

Jack stares at you for a moment, conflicting emotions waging a war inside him as he does. Finally, he reminds himself that you don’t know who he is and he’s free to leave. He nods again and looks past you towards Tequila. “Behave.” Jack tells his younger friend, knowing that he can get rowdy when he wants.

“They call us Southern gentlemen, don’t they?” Tequila shoots Jack back a wink that you don’t catch and grins. “Y’all get home safe. I’m just gonna show our new friend here around the place.”

Jack frowns as he turns around and walks out of the kitchen, bitterness swelling in his gut and he hates it. He reminds himself that this isn’t his place. He killed your soulmate.

“He seems nice,” you observe, trying to shake off the odd feeling that washes over you when he looks sad again before walking out. Like you want to rush after him and give him a hug or something.

“Jack?” Tequila looks up from the pan he is washing and gives a shrug. “He’s a damn good man. Going through a rough time.” It’s not his place to mention it, especially to someone who’s not aware they are all agents. So he leaves it at that. “But he was right, those were some damn fine desserts.”

“Thank you.” The way that makes your cheeks burn is professional pride, you tell yourself unconvincingly. “I’m very hopeful. This…this job would be a dream, and everybody has been so nice. It would be…a real adventure, ya know? A big, fresh start.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. “Workin’ for Statesman is never dull. Always havin’ an adventure or ten since coming on.”

Taking the last pan from him, you load it into the industrial dishwasher and shut the machine, pressing the button on the side before you wipe your hands. “What’s the most fun you’ve had working here?” You ask, wanting to see if you can get a feel for this place and these people and what their adventures might be.

“Well–” Any and all stories would have to be tamed down for your ears. Plus you don’t have a security clearance. “There was the time we had someone try to break into the facility to steal a barrel of the ‘65. It was personal then.” Tequila huffs. “Best damn batch we have.”

You’re about to ask how that could possibly be fun until you remember he’s security and you end up shaking your head and laughing. “Do you get that a lot? People trying to break in, or theft?”

“More than you’d think.” He snorts, knowing how it might seem crazy to a civilian. “It’s why our security system is so advanced. If you run across some hardware you don’t recognize, best to stay away.”

“Really? Wow. I wouldn’t have thought it would be that bad.” Leaning back against the sink, you stretch your arms and feel a little bit of satisfied soreness coming through your muscles after a job well done. “You must have a big team, then? Champ made it sound like a lot of employees live on the premises, but that would make this place absolutely huge.”

“Yeah.” Tequila hooks his thumbs through his jeans belt loops and grins at you. “Lotta technical stuff they do, don’t understand it, but the big brain was here. Astrid? She’s over our R&D.”

“Damn,” you murmur, impressed. “Well…are you up for that tour? I’d love to see the whole place.” Just in case it’s the only chance you get.

Winking at you, Tequila straightens and walks over to you to offer his arm. “Nothing like a nice night and a pretty girl to walk with.” He flirts.

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m not the first girl you’ve ever said that to?” Not that you care, though. You’re not one of those uptight people who thinks people should only ever be with their soulmates. And even if you were? Well…you don’t have one anymore, so it’s kind of a moot point. Instead of lingering on it, you grab your bag from under the counter and take the arm you’re being offered with a smile. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

“Who knows, might be the last time.” Tequila murmurs, aiming another grin at you as the two of you make your way out of the kitchen and through the empty dining room. “This is going to be our newest venture.” He teases. “Some kinda tea room? With Whiskey? I don’t know but the food’s amazing.”

“Oh god, don’t curse it,” you groan playfully, wiping one hand down your face.

“Naaaaahhhhh.” He chuckles and opens the door for the two of you to walk out into the late evening twilight. “I can tell you’re gonna get it.”

“Either way, I’m glad I came.” Sure it’s different from New Hampshire. Drastically, in some ways. But you’ve lived your whole life on the sea coast and Louisville is a big city. It would be, just like this interview, a big adventure.

“You’ll be enjoyin’ the country and mountains in no time.” Tequila predicts, bringing you around to see the distillery up close.

The facilities are actually beautiful. Equally rustic and hyper modern depending on the building, with aesthetically gorgeous gardens lining all the walkways as far as the eye can see. The main building is full of offices, Tex explains, and even those are as beautifully kept as the rest of the grounds. It’s impressive, you have to admit it. You were absolutely right to think this place would make an amazing wedding venue. It will - for you or for whatever chef gets hired.

The path for housing is off the main distillery, secluded enough that people don’t feel like they are living at work. Trees and shrubbery separating the spaces so that it feels like a little relaxing oasis. The path way is lit, Diana insisting that it makes the entire area look romantic and of course Champ wasn’t going to deny her. “This is our housing.” He tells you. “We decided to go with the theme and model them after mountain ‘shine cabins. With modern conveniences, of course.”

There’s big houses and little houses, and what looks like a small apartment complex to one side of the neighborhood built on Statesman grounds. On the other side, beyond what you can only describe as a small park and grove of trees, are three much larger houses that smack of importance or seniority. “Who lives in those?” You ask, pointing toward the trio.

“Those belong to our senior staff.” He points at the largest. “That’s Champ’s in the middle and Jack and Ginger on either side of him.”

"Ginger?" Tilting your head at him slightly, you ask the quest with your brow slightly furrowed. "What does she do?"

Tequila winces, catching his mistake. “Astrid.” He corrects. “We just all call her Ginger. Nickname of sorts.” He can’t tell you that it’s her code name Ginger Ale.

"Got it." You nod, remembering that he had said Astrid ran the research and development department at Statesman - whatever that meant when it came to whiskey. "I'm guessing that one is hers?" The house on the right of Champ's is hyper modern with clean lines and very little of the mountain-aesthetic charm of the other houses around. It looks like it was made just for her with all the bells and whistles. Conversely, Jack's house to the left of Champ's looks like an almost Victorian-style ranch house with a wrap-around porch and a paint job as pristine as his mustache. It's much more your style than Champ's mountain cabin or Astrid's smart house, but since it doesn't matter at all you don't say anything about it. "Which one is yours?" The question is out of your mouth before you realize how exactly it sounds, and your eyes go wide with embarrassment just a split second later.

Tequila grins at you, sending you a small wink. “Come on, darlin’.” He drawls playfully. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” He knows you don’t mean it how it sounds, but he can’t resist teasing you. He moseys down the path and points to one of the small cabins. “That one there is mine.” He tells you proudly,

"It looks comfy." True to bachelor form, which you expected, the curtains hung in the windows are dark and 'masculine' in a deep shade of green, and a glimpse through into the garage reveals a large, shiny pick up truck that is probably his pride and joy.

“It’s where I hang my hat.” Tequila looks at the cabin fondly. It was probably the most secure he’s ever been in his life and he risks his neck on every mission. “And there’s where you’re stayin’.” He points at a newly built one off to the left, nearer to Jack’s. “It’ll be yours if you get the job. It’s furnished.” He rushes out. “So you won’t be sleeping on the floor or nothing.”

"We'd be neighbors," you laugh, as if everybody here doesn't live in the same neighborhood. It's a company town without feeling creepy or oppressive. This is the end of the road, both literally and figuratively, and you offer the man beside you a smile. "Thank you for the tour. And for being so friendly today. I've been nerve wracked since 9am, but whether you knew it or not, you helped calm me down. I appreciate it."

“No problem at all.” Tequila senses that you aren’t going to invite him in and while he’s disappointed, he’s not going to complain. Some women need to be wooed and you seem like the type to like the effort. “There’s a fresh bottle of the ‘93 in there, made sure of it. Lighter, but it’ll put you to sleep just like a baby.”

“Thank you.” There’s a hesitation, and though you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s there, you listen to your gut and squeeze his arm gently before slipping your hand out of it. You’ve never been one to fall into bed on a first date - and nothing about this very odd but fun day was ever a date to begin with. And hell, if you actually do get hired here, that could be a hell of an awkward situation. “Hopefully,” you shrug, feeling like if you don’t at least say something you’ll regret it later on. “I’ll see you again. Fingers crossed, and all that.” It’s so stupid when it comes out of your mouth that you almost wince. “I’m gonna retreat,” you announce, huffing at your own awkwardness and pointing a thumb toward the door of the little house you’re meant to stay in. “Before I embarrass myself or say something dumbass. Good night, Tex.”

“Goodnight, darlin’.” He sends you a wink and steps back from the cabin steps that you two had managed to drift towards. “Let me know if you need anything but I’m sure they put everything by you need in there.”

“I’ll come knock on your door if I need a cup of sugar,” you joke, reaching for the doorknob. Dumbass. You waited too long and said something dumbass. Chuckling instead of wincing, you say another good night and go inside. Time to call your family and tell them everything that happened today.

******

Jack tells himself that he is just making sure that you are safe. You are technically his responsibility now. At least until someone in the universe realizes they fucked up. Guilt is another reason why he’s standing in the shadow of the large oak tree, watching you walk into the cabin and close the door behind you. Tequila turns and strides towards his own cabin, whistling a jaunty tune under his breath and Jack sighs in relief when he doesn’t spot him.

The house is gorgeous. It’s simply decorated but welcoming, clean and crisp and clearly unlived in. The kitchen has a spectacular range and a huge fridge, which currently stands empty but has a map of the Statesman campus stuck to it with a Stetson-shaped magnet and there is a bottle of ‘93 on the counter as promised. Deciding to call home after you have a drink, you pour two fingers of single malt into a glass from the cupboard and continue to wander around the ground floor.

“You could always go talk to her.” Jack doesn’t react when Champ steps up next to him beside the tree. His own gaze fixed on the newly built cabin. “Can’t be more than thirty steps to her door.”

Jack purses his lips, unhappy that his friend is in his mind. “Champ…” He warns, not wanting to be pushed right now.

“Well,” the older man shrugs, a small smile on his face as always. Champ perpetually looks as if he’s up to no good - mostly because he is. “Somebody should tell her she’s got the job. Don’t see why she should be twistin’ til tomorrow morning.”

“You’re really going to do this? Open up some tea time type thing?” He huffs, unable to believe such a thing would go over well in the whiskey distillery. Even if you are an amazing baker. “Just to keep her here?”

“It’s a restaurant.” Champ reasons, hooking his thumbs in his belt as he watches you appear in an upstairs window. You’re on the phone now. “I wanted a steakhouse for the place, but Diana said it was boring.” He laughs, knowing his wife was probably right. “She’ll make a good run of the place, and she’s got a mind for expanding it to do weddings.” He glances down at Jack but doesn’t push the point. “Good head for business is what she’s got. We’d be lucky to snag her even if she weren’t who she is.” Or what you are to Jack.

Jack sighs, resigned to the fact that you will be here. He’s not opposed to the idea, he likes anything that makes money. But he knows this was catered to you so you would stay. “She’s gonna hate me.” Jack predicts, guilt hanging around his shoulders again.

“Maybe.” Though Champ chuckles affectionately. “Hell, you’re my best friend and even I hate you sometimes. But…she might surprise ya, Jack. Can’t know unless you try.”

“She’s not Abigail, Champ.” Jack whispers the words softly, almost shamed by them but he can’t help his feelings. He never expected to have another soulmate…ever.

“Of course not.” He answers immediately, brow furrowed over the very idea. “Nor should she be. You’re not the same man you were back then.”

“I– I don’t know how to be a soulmate anymore.” That’s his biggest fear. That he would be horrible at it, or God forbid, lose someone again. Jack is scared of nothing, but this has his heart hammering in his chest.

Champ sighs, softly and hopefully not enough for Jack to hear. “How about just bein’ her friend?” He suggests, wondering how in the hell this thing with Tequila was going to play out alongside Jack’s fears. You might end up being trouble for Statesman, he can’t know yet. “For all you know, this second soulmate of yours could be platonic and you’re worryin’ over nothing.”

Jack chuckles and it’s a harsh sound. “Have you ever known anything about me and another woman as pretty as her to be platonic? Few exceptions of course.”

“Only gorgeous woman you’ve ever been strictly friends with is Ginger.” Champ admits, snorting in amusement. “But I’d like to watch her wife whoop you for tryin’.”

This time, Jack’s laugh is lighter, more genuine. It was true that while Gabriella looks innocent, the woman could - and would - knock a grown man on his ass. He’s witnessed it at the bar more than once. “One if she crushes me with her thighs.” He jokes.

“I’m sure she’d oblige if you asked.” The two men laugh, feeling the tension dissipate a little, and Champ claps his hands on Jack’s shoulder in that brotherly way he’s become accustomed to do. “Tonight or tomorrow,” he tells Jack. “Tell her when you’re ready. But she’s goin’ home on the jet tomorrow to pack, not to leave for good.”

Sighing, Jack turns and watches Champ wander back towards his own house, Diana no doubt waiting for him. He should tell you tonight. Not let you wallow in misery and suspense. After you get off the phone, he’ll go knock on the door.

******

“I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out, but…I kind of love the people I’ve met so far,” you admit to your mother, sinking down in the window seat that faces the backyard of the little cabin that someone will soon be living in. The guest room has a beautiful reading chair and end table in it, but the master bedroom has a window seat so plush and comfortable that you could just sleep right here. “It’s beautiful here, too. It really is.”

“You said they loved it, that has to mean you are going to get the position.” As disappointed as she will be to have you move away, she knows that it would be fantastic for your career. “Your own restaurant! Just imagine what you could do without having to pander to someone else’s ego.”

“Dad will be thrilled to know the house has a guest room,” you joke, feeling hope flutter in your chest and staring out into the backyard with the now-empty glass still in your other hand. “And the yard could have room for a garden if I wanted.” You sigh, leaning back against the wall and wishing you didn’t have to wait until morning to find out. “If I don’t get it, we should bring him down here for his next birthday. Celebrate sixty-five with a distillery tour and a trip to Dollywood. It’s only a couple of hours from here.”

“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.” She promises, smiling at the wistful hope in your voice. You want this position, that much is obvious. “Tell me – how did the coconut cupcakes go over?”

“Like gangbusters.” And your giggle is nearly triumphant. “The owner’s wife joked that it’s good enough to get a proposal so I told the story about grandma and grandpa, and…” you grin to yourself thinking of Jack’s ecstatic reaction. “There was one guy at the tasting who doesn’t even like coconut who was completely in love with them. I think I may have converted him.”

“You know…your grandpa didn’t like coconut either.” Your mother practically cackles. “Said she won him over. Only coconut thing he would ever eat.”

“Seriously?” That makes you laugh a little harder, and you wish you had just one more sip of whiskey in the bottom of that glass. “I don’t want to jinx it,” you tell her finally. “But I have a really good feeling about this place.”

“Good feelings inspire good outcomes.” She hums, hoping that you will call her with good news tomorrow. “I can’t see them not hiring you after sending a private jet.”

“I hope so.” You really, truly hope so with everything you’ve got. “Either way, I’ll be home tomorrow. Either to pack or to wallow in disappointment.”

“Either way, we are going to celebrate.” If there was one thing that was taught in the household you grew up in, it is that even losses are celebrated. Because it meant you tried, and it would make you try again.

“Okay.” Nodding against your phone, you sigh softly again and roll your shoulders back against the wall. “I’m going to pour myself another drink and watch a movie until I’m ready to go to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Relax, sweetheart.” Your mother murmurs softly. “See if they have a soaker tub to lay in. You managed to work on your day off too.” She tells you that she loves you and ends the call.

She’s right, but you decide that whiskey and a movie sounds better than a bath and you wander downstairs again. The bugs sound different here. Kentucky air smells different from New Hampshire air. But still, somehow, it could very easily become home.

Jack sighs when he sees you walk back into the living room, phone not pinned to your ear. He should go talk to you. The first step seems to take forever - the length of time it takes you to pour a drink - before he starts slowly walking towards your house.

The knock is unexpected, and part of you wonders who you hope is on the other side of that door - Champ with his decision or Tex offering company. Or even Jack, handsome and slightly sad Jack, though you can’t figure out why he would visit you. “Coming!” You call out, leaving your drink on the kitchen counter and hustling through the living room. A split second before pulling open the door you decide you’re hoping it’s Champ more than anymore, but when you see Jack standing on the front step instead, your heart jumps a little. “Jack!” It makes your voice jump, too, and you groan inwardly about being awkward around him yet again. “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone. What do you…” Be polite, dammit. “Would you like to come in?”

Swallowing, Jack gives a small nod as he curses himself for being a fool. It’s talking to a lady, something he had no problems with. It didn’t matter that he is wearin’ your ink. “It’s not too late, I hope? I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all. I was just going to have a drink and relax.” There’s no reason on earth he should make you so nervous, but he does, and you bite the inside of your lip. “Would you like to join me?”

“Sure.” He’s not going to turn down some whiskey, even though they should have left you a ‘82. Better year in his opinion.

You pace back to the kitchen, pour a second glass, and bring it back to Jack with a thick swallow. “To what do I owe the visit?” If it were actually your house, or even a hotel room, you would feel so much more comfortable and be more at ease as you motion for him to sit. As it is, you just feel like you’re trespassing in somebody else’s home.

“Wanted to see if you liked the place.” Small talk is a good place to start, he guesses. Taking the glass with a nod of appreciation, he looks around. “Not just the cabin but Statesman itself. The whole shebang.”

"Honestly?" Sitting on the edge of the sofa isn't exactly relaxed, but you perch there with your glass in your hands. "I kind of love it. I mean I'm trying not to get too attached until I know what's going to happen with the job, but...I really like it. Everyone's been so nice and the whole place is so welcoming." It's silly to feel that way, you know that. But even after only a few hours, you can't deny it. "I have kind of an instinct about places, most of the time. And I have a really good feeling about this one."

“That’s good, sugar.” The endearment slips out, not the first time, but he realizes it this time. “Would you accept, if you’re offered it?” He’s curious to know what you are leaving behind, what you might balk at. Maybe you don’t believe in soulmates and have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend.

This isn't the time to get all emotional over manners. Southern men using pet names is normal, not something to get you all flustered. Even though it does - as evidenced by the stack of cowboy themed romance novels on your bookshelf at home. "I think I would," you nod, letting yourself take a steadying sip of your drink. "It's...pretty literally my dream job, if I'm honest."

Jack nods, swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey, enjoying the burn of the liquid. He’s hesitating and it annoys him. “Then I guess that it’s a good thing you’ll get to live out your dreams, sugar.” He tells you with a whimsical smile. “The job is yours for the takin’.”

"Wait." Your eyes dart up to his, going from staring down into your cup to blown wide and hopeful in less than a second. "A–are you serious? Is that why you came?" It would be entirely inappropriate to start crying in front of a complete stranger, but you're instantly so excited you could burst.

“Champ’ll want you to sign papers in the morning, but I’m serious.” He nods and gives a small shrug. “Figured I’d bring you the good news so you didn’t have to worry all night. I always sleep like shit if I’m ponderin’ something.”

"Oh my god." Your heart is pounding and you feel like the blood pounding in your ears is so loud that he can hear it too, but frankly you're just glad that you manage to put your glass down on the side table without spilling it all over yourself. "Oh– oh my god." The way you practically squeak with glee makes you clamp both hands over your mouth in embarrassment despite the excitement glistening in your eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... really? Champ said yes?"

The genuine excitement and happiness that fills your face and eyes has Jack grinning despite himself. Your little squeak was full of joy and he can feel you vibrate with energy from where he’s sitting. “Champ said yes.” He confirms. “Hell, I think he’d be a fool not to say yes.” Maybe a bit of an embellishment on his part, but that’s because he knows you would be offered a chance to stay regardless of your skills. However, you truly are talented and Champ wants to make this tea room a reality.

“That’s so kind of you.” Your hands slip down, resting over your heart as you try to contain your excitement. If this wasn’t a complete stranger in front of you, you would be literally dancing with joy right now. “That’s so unbelievably kind of you Jack and I—” Breathe. Don’t get so breathless that you embarrass yourself. “I swear I won’t let any of you down.”

His heart clenches, knowing you will be saying something far different if you knew what he had done. There wouldn’t be a sort of hero worship he sees in your eyes even though he just delivered the good news. “Sugar, you make sweets.” He jokes. “There’s no way you could let us down. Unless the cake don’t rise.”

You laugh, charmed slightly at the term of endearment that is in almost every one of your cowboy novels but somehow seems even more appropriate now that it’s be used pointedly with you as a baker. “I would never let that happen,” you promise him, crossing one finger over your heart like a solemn oath. “My Grandma Jane would sense it somehow, rise up, and come down from New Hampshire to see me straight.”

Of course you would be from New Hampshire. Jack manages to not react and instead he gives a small chuckle like he was supposed to. “Now you should be able to sleep like a baby.” He considers it for a second and shrugs. “Or not sleep at all because you’re excited. This will be your house by the way. So imagine how you’re going to move things around.”

“I might not sleep because I’ll be rearranging things.” You’re brimming over, practically giggling and tearing up as your heart pounds with excitement. “This is…it’s…” The breath you blow out comes with another barely contained squeak. “I feel like I want to celebrate but I have no idea where to go around here.”

Jack lifts a brow, surprised you don’t want to get back on the phone but he chuckles. “Well, there’s Shootouts, about five miles down the road.” He tilts his head. “It’s a rowdy place most nights. But it’s fun.”

“Rowdy sounds fun.” Most of the time, the dive bar you frequented at home was full of locals having shouting matches and screaming at the hockey game on tv or bitching at each other over a shot at the pool table. Working in kitchens, rowdy is par for the course. Most people just don’t expect that of you when they find out you make dainty little cakes for a living. “Do you…” you tilt your head at him slightly, wondering why your chest clenches at the thought. “Would you want to come with? Or do you have someone to get back to?” That big house of his must be lonely if he lives there all alone.

He shouldn’t but he also can’t leave you on your own at Shootouts. He could see that being a disaster in the making. “Warning.” He cautions. “They sell beer and whiskey, no mixers or cocktails.”

“You say that like you think I’m going to fan myself or be scandalized.” Which is what most people who don’t know you assume, so you can’t blame him. “But whiskey’s always been my favourite flavor.”

Jack smirks, automatically coming up with a dirty come back but he doesn’t say it. Flirting would be wrong, even if you are beautiful. Instead he tilts his head towards the door. “Get your jacket then, sugar.” He tells you. “We’ll take my Bronco.”

Glasses abandoned to side tables, you grab your leather jacket off the rack by the door and pat the pockets to make sure your cash and cards are inside before following him out the door. His house is a mere five minute walk from the – from your house – and you marvel excitedly at the neighborhood around you when you step outside again. This is it. Your new home.

“Don’t eat the bar nuts.” Jack chuckles as he motions you towards the Bronco. “Think they’ve been there since the 40s. Let me grab the keys and we’ll go.”

“Got it.” You chuckle as he heads into his house. It gives you a moment to quickly pull out your phone, tapping out a text to the family text thread to let everyone know you’re going out celebrating your brand new job.

Jack changes from his sports jacket into a black leather one that would be better suited for the bar. Unconsciously matching you slightly with your own leather jacket. He grabs his keys and heads out the door and jogs over the Bronco, showing off by hopping in rather than opening the door.

“So is Shootouts where you usually go to hang out?” Tucking your phone away, you slide into the Bronco’s soft leather seats and buckle up. Now that you know you’re staying here, you want to know absolutely everything.

“It’s been known to be taken over by Statesman personnel.” Jack grins. “The locals can be a bit much but they are half drunk most of the time.”

“I’ve spent years hanging out with line cooks,” you tell him honestly, settling back in the comfortable seat as he pulls out of his driveway. “So that sounds pretty relaxing to me.”

“From what I know about kitchens, that checks out.” Jack laughs as he starts driving down the road to lead out of the Statesman property.

The ride is cordial, and fairly short. You mostly listen to the radio together, comparing notes on mutual favourite classic rock bands and talking about Kentucky in general. Finding out that Jack isn’t actually from here surprises you initially, but it’s a fond reassurance that this is a place that people grow to love and feel at home in. Something that you’re already starting to do after just a few hours.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, Jack throws the Bronco into park and turns towards you. “If it ain’t your style, lemme know and we’ll get outta here.” The jukebox is cranking out a country rock song and the noise from the bar reaches all the way past the shine of the neon light.

“Don’t worry about me.” You assure him. Jack is funny and sweet, you’ve discovered, when he doesn’t have resting sad face. You lend him a grin and point your thumb at the bar. “I like a good country tune and a little line dancing now and then.” It’s an understatement, considering how much you love to dance, but you’re trying not to be overeager or infodump.

“Oh you’re gonna be like a tornado in a trailer park, ain’t cha?” Jack huffs and he hops out of the Bronco and walks around to help you out.

“Maybe.” You grin, tip of your tongue between your teeth and nose wrinkled on a grin when he comes around to the other side of the truck. “Very gentlemanly of you.” It’s simple, and polite, but when you put your hand in Jack’s to accept his help in climbing out of the Bronco you nearly shiver at the contact.

Jack’s mouth is suddenly dry and he needs a drink. The tingling of your skin against his is subtle, so much that he swears he’s imagining it. “Right,” he clears his throat and closes the door behind you. “Let’s celebrate.”

It’s loud inside, raucous patrons and well-placed speakers blasting country rock as a few people dance and some play pool; but most are gathered in booths and around tables talking and laughing and having a good time. “I like it,” you declare unequivocally, sensing immediately that this place is full of the best kind of fun.

Jack smirks, appreciating that you can enjoy the lack of fussiness. It’s a rustic place and some, especially the women who came here from big cities, didn’t care for its appeal. “Then let’s get a drink.”

You’re not an unrealistic person, and no matter how often Jack or the crew from Statesman might come here, almost nothing gets a bartender’s attention faster than being flirted with, so you pull on the front of your blouse just enough to deepen the vee of the neck and sidle up to the bar. The man behind the bar makes the expected beeline for the unknown pretty woman batting her eyelashes at him. “Statesman Red Label for me, and a glass of whatever my friend wants,” you tell him, motioning to Jack just beside you.

Snorting in amusement at how fast the bartender’s eyes drop down to your cleavage before even giving him a second look, Jack raises his brow. “Just gimme a beer.” He tells him, knowing that he should pace himself, especially given how rowdy the place will work itself up to as the night goes on.

“What kind of beer do you drink down here?” Even as you all the question, you’re checking out the tap handles to see if there’s any you don’t recognize. After all, local beers change region to region. You’re not exactly betting they’ll have Sam Adam’s Summer Ale here when the weather gets warmer.

“They have all the domestic.” Jack tells you as he nods towards the draft handles. “But they also keep the Kentucky Bourbon Ale on draft.” He chuckles, knowing that it’s a bit of a cliche. “Best damn beer you’ll ever have.”

"That will have to be drink number two," you tell him, taking the recommendation seriously considering he - and you now - work for a distillery. You'll pace yourself, of course, but you're celebrating and can drink most line cooks you've known under the table. Two drinks is nothing. "The Red Label is always my celebratory drink. Well...normally it's a Red Label Manhattan, but you said they don't mix drinks here."

“We’ll have to make sure you have a bottle of Red Label then.” Jack leans against the bar and decides that it’s only polite to ask a question. “So Statesman isn’t a new whiskey to you, huh? Do you drink it often?”

"It's my dad's favourite. And became mine, too." He smells clean and woodsy and there's something musky like surprisingly high end cologne coming from him that makes you want to just curl into him and sigh in comfort - but that's a goddamn weird thing to think, so you just enjoy the sort of halo around him. "Today is definitely not the first day I've used Statesman in my baking. I just never knew much about the company before." You shrug slightly, trying to seem relaxed instead of like a damn cavewoman with goosebumps from being so close to him. "I guess that's going to change pretty quickly."

“Considering you can go into the distillery and draw some straight from the barrel to put into your cakes and pies, I’d say so.” Jack groans as he imagines it. “If you make bourbon soaked peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon cream, I’d sit up and beg.”

"That sounds like a hell of a twist to my peach cobbler. Bourbon soaked grilled peach cobbler with vanilla bourbon ice cream that also uses Bourbon vanilla." You hum a little, digging for your credit card when the bartender reappears with your drinks.

“Now you really expect to pay?” Jack might have his moments, but he’s a gentleman. “Put that away. Drinks are on me.” He tells you, turning to the bartender. “Put them on my tab.”

"As long as you let me pay next time we go out." You shouldn't get a little thrill at the idea, but Jack is the spitting image of every single cowboy love interest in every one of your books - or at least the way you picture them. Even if he's just a friendly face you see from time to time, you're damn well going to enjoy it.

He frowns but doesn’t say no. It’s hard to let someone else pay, especially when it was a woman. Not because he was sexist or some shit, but because his daddy would roll out of his grave and whoop his ass for letting a woman pay while she was out with him. Instead of making it a thing, he picks up his beer. “To new jobs and delicious sweets.” He toasts. “Cheers, sugar.”

"Cheers." The rim of your glass taps the neck of his beer bottle and you smile before taking your first sip, loving the familiar burn and cherry-caramel tones of this particular bourbon. There's a reason it's your favourite. "So tell me about Statesman," you ask, turning and leaning against the bar to face Jack. "How long have you worked there?"

Jack hums, thinking about it. “Since ‘99.” Champ had come around the year after Abigail had…. “So you can say I’ve been there awhile.” He interrupts his sad train of thought and quickly takes another swallow of his beer. “It’s turned from a two bit operation into what it is now.”

Since ‘99? You blanch a little thinking about how young you were then but decide not to say anything since it hardly matters anymore. Grown ass adults are grown ass adults. "Tex said you used to work security?"

He can't answer that. Or, doesn't want to so he merely grunts and gives a quasi nod. Delving into his background would reveal too much that he doesn't want you to see. Champ still hasn't told him what kind of security clearance you will have, if any, and it wouldn't be right to start unfolding how Jack had been recruited to the agency.

Okay…maybe not talking about work, then? He seems reticent and you don’t want to accidentally upset the man you came out with - for various reasons. Not the least of which is that you do not like being the reason people are upset. “He, uh– Tex speaks very highly of you,” you try again, steering it in a slightly different direction.

Snorting, Jack sends you a look of amusement and lifts his beer up before taking another sip. "He should, I got him the job." He tells you, remember the skirmish that he had gotten into and been surprised when the rodeo clown had been very cool under pressure.

“Yeah?” That would definitely account for some of the way Tex talked about his older coworker, and you have to wonder if more people at Statesman have close working relationships or if these two men are outliers. “That must be a good story.”

"Not much of one." Jack hums, giving another slight shrug. "Way he tells it is that I was having my ass handed to me and he had to come save the day. But I was holding my own. It was eight to one." He smirks and sends you a small, cocky wink.

It is extremely cavewoman of you to find that so sexy, you tell yourself, burying the way you have to bite your lip behind your glass to keep from saying something suggestive, and taking a sip. “What did you do piss off eight guys?” You ask instead, trying to look only mildly curious instead of on the edge of your seat.

He can't tell you that he was running down a human trafficking ring so he just sends you a small smirk. "They were pissed off that I hit on one of their girlfriends." He boasts, figuring it was as good of a story as any. The real story was that he had managed to get one of the women out and they hadn't been happy when they stumbled upon them leaving.

“Scoundrel.” It’s just teasing, and you don’t hear how much like flirting it really sounds as you shake your head at him in amusement. “I hope she was worth fighting over.” It occurs to you for the first time that he might have somebody waiting for him in that house on the edge of Statesman grounds and your stomach twists unpleasantly.

"Comes with the territory." He looks around for a moment, trying to ignore how your lopsided grin makes his pulse tick up. "You bringin' someone special with you?" He asks, telling himself he's just asking so he can assuage this guilt over killing your soulmate.

“Oh, sure.” You know what he means, but it isn’t the case. There hasn’t been much time for dating lately and with the disappearance of your soulmate’s marks, you’ve been processing the disappointment in knowing that true love is officially off the table - which might make you feel dumb sometimes but at least you’re honest with yourself about being disappointed to have to live without it. “I think my goldfish is really going to like the new house.”

Not sure if he’s relieved or even more guilty, Jack nods. “Sure think Goldy would like the eastern window, huh?” He asks, chuckling to himself as you take a sip of your drink. You’re easy to get along with and if it weren’t for who you are, he can’t even deny he’d be doing his damndest to take you back to his bed tonight.

“Yes, the Doormouse will love the eastern window,” you over-exaggerate, laughing as you think of walking your little fish tank around the house presenting the goldfish with multiple options for a view. “He’ll insist on a stroll around the garden each day, I’m sure.”

“You should build him an outdoor swimming hole.” He chuckles, leaning into the idea. “Maybe a stream so he can pretend he’s free.”

“I think the backyard of the house is too small.” It’s not something that bothers you at all, since you hadn’t even thought of it yet, but you hum over the image and let yourself indulge in the fantasy. “A pond with a little stream and a garden of flowers and herbs. That’s what he’ll get to adventure through one day. But maybe not yet.”

“Hell, that sounds like a good little adventure to me.” Jack muses, an amused little smile on his face.

“Should I call you the Doormouse, too?” You tease, even though you have a feeling that grin of his makes him more like a troublesome Cheshire Cat.

He realizes that you are making a reference to Alice in Wonderland and for a brief second, his mark - your mark - seems to burn. “Like the movie or the book?” He asks casually.

“Well…the Doormouse is in pretty much any adaptation of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or Alice Through the Looking Glass.” The fact that he recognizes the character isn’t exactly niche, but it’s certainly not like you called him a Mad Hatter or something. “They’re…they’re my favorite stories. They have been since I was a kid.” As if to prove it, you pull up your right shirt sleeve and show him the tattoo on your arm. “I guess you can blame my obsession with tea parties on it, too, honestly.”

He learns a little bit about you, probably more than he would have if he guessed. “What’s the appeal?” He asks, curious as to why a child’s story has carried into adulthood.

“Haven’t you ever felt terribly ordinary?” To you, it seems like it must be a universal experience. Everyone, at some point in their life, has felt like the least extraordinary person in the world. “Maybe it’s juvenile, I don’t know. But the idea that Alice feels so entirely ordinary in her existence, and then falls into someplace entirely wonderful…even if it’s scary at first? It seems like that’s something everyone deserves. To find the place and the people that make them feel that life is extraordinary.”

“Have you found your wonderful place yet?” He can’t fault your logic, understanding now the ink that is in his own skin. “Or are you still looking?”

“I’m still looking.” Shifting your sleeve back into place, you shrug half-heartedly. You had thought that finding your soulmate would help you to that extraordinary life, but now that will never happen. If anything, you feel farther from it than ever. Although you’re not the sort to give up hope. “But who knows? Maybe it will be Statesman.”

“Statesman has a way of collecting a ragtag bunch of people.” Jack confides, knowing he is better because of his involvement with the organization. He would have been dead by now if Champ hadn’t come along. “And we have whiskey.” He adds, sending you a wink.

“And now you have crawfish sandwiches and coconut cake, too.” A little wink shouldn’t be anything to fluster over, but you can feel your cheeks heat instantly.

“For someone who said they are a baker, you make a mean crawfish salad.” Jack groans, wishing he had some right now.

“They’re even better when they’re on fresh baked bread.” You tell him, maybe a little smug even though you’re just being honest. “Champ said I get to design my own full menu, so I promise they’ll be on there.”

“I’ll be swinging by everyday for lunch if you’ll let employees eat.” Jack promises, lifting his beer to his lips again. “Have to start running again. Or beat the shit out of Tex in the boxing ring some more.”

That makes you snort - as inelegant a laugh as it is - and you’re just lucky you hadn’t taken another sip of whiskey yet. “What did the poor boy ever do to deserve a beating?” You plead his case for him since he isn’t here to do it himself. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were brothers with that kind of threat.”

For a split second, jealousy rears its ugly head before Jack tamps it down. The defense of the younger man has him puffing up his chest slightly and he exhales on a laugh. “Near as, I guess. But I’m the older, more handsome of the two.”

Well…he isn’t wrong, and you’re not going to contradict him. Instead, you down the last sip of whiskey in your glass with a tip of your head and hold out your hand. The jukebox is playing good music and you’re feeling bold. “C’mon, older and more handsome.” You put your hand out to him, praying you’re not making a mistake. “Can’t celebrate without dancing a little.”

Jack doesn’t hesitate, but he’s cautious. Sure that he’s going to fumble and reveal something. “Don’t complain if I stomp on your feet.” He teases with a grin.

“I might be a bull in a China shop ” you tease, thrilled that he didn’t turn you down as you step away from the bar together. “Only one way to find out.”

“Only one way.” Jack murmurs, remembering Champ's words about getting to know you as he turns around and walks backwards onto the floor holding your hand. Before he pulls you into his arms, he twirls you around to the beat of the music.

You practically squeal with glee at the surprise of being spun around, expecting that he would be able to dance but not necessarily expecting he could move. Stevie Ray Vaughan is blasting out of the jukebox and you’re suddenly glad that one boyfriend in culinary school had been into swing dancing, because Jack definitely knows what he’s doing on a dance floor. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the room while you’re talking - which they also say about politicians and other charismatic characters - and it’s magnified when he dances. There’s something carefree about him like this, or maybe it’s that he makes you feel carefree. Either way, each time he spins you back into his arms or slides his hand around your back, you swear you hold on just a little bit tighter.

It’s been a long time since Jack has danced for the pure pleasure of it. For a mission, to seduce - he’s put himself out on the dance floor. But he’s not on a mission and he has no intention of seducing you so this is almost carefree. Making him grin when you give a throaty laugh as he swings you around again.

The song changes but the tempo doesn’t, and you’re having so much fun that you barely notice the other couples that have gravitated to the dance floor with the magnetic energy you and Jack are giving off in waves. ’Sharp Dressed Man’ seems like an anthem for the men of Statesman from everything you’ve seen, and you laugh happily at the whooping and hollering from the other patrons of the bar. As long as you’re attached to Jack somehow, everything else in the world just drips away.

There’s a softness in your laugh, the way you toss your head back that makes Jack relax. Right now he’s not thinking about soulmates or his sins. Just the pure pleasure of dancing with you. There are no ulterior motives here, no games. Nothing but joy and exactly what you came here for - celebration. But when Jack spins you back into his body and your arms fall around his shoulders to hold him to you on the last beats of the song, you swear your heart has leapt to your throat.

There’s a two second change from the songs. Suddenly slowing things down and the laughter of the moment gives way as your features settle, making Jack clear his throat. “Um, uh, you want to play some pool?” He asks, knowing that it wouldn’t be a safe bet asking him to slow dance with you. He can’t get pulled into the moment and he feels like that would happen.

“I—um…sure.” Disappointment. That’s what the bitter taste in your mouth is, you realize once you process the complete hundred and eighty degree turn the moment just took. It could not be more loud and clear if he had said it in words: Jack has no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever. Well, fine. If that’s the way he feels about it then you’ll just compartmentalize for now and deal with it later, as your disappointment definitely is a sign that you were on your way to feeling something. You step back, not wanting to crowd him and make him uncomfortable, and nod awkwardly as you wipe your damp hands on your jeans. “Let me just…grab us another round?” You can still be friendly, after all. There’s no harm in that.

“You go pick a table sugar, I told you that you ain’t paying for drinks tonight.” Jack gives you a friendly grin, seeing the disappointment in your eyes. It echoes the same sentiment that is beating in his chest, although he knows you would feel different if you knew the truth. “You want a beer this time?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you nod, assuming he won’t have shitty taste in beer. Not if he works for a distillery.

“Be right back.” He can’t help himself, hand reaching out and squeezing your hip reassuringly before he turns to head towards the bar to get the beers. Maybe have a shot too.

Blowing out a gruff, annoyed-at-yourself breath, you turn in the opposite direction to find a pool table like Jack suggested. There’s a group of a half dozen or so men milling around with cues and drinks and you can’t quite tell which tables they’re occupying, so you figure it’s just easiest to ask. “Either of these tables free, fellas?” You ask, shoulders tipped back with your hands in your back pockets, figuring that tits subtly on display is just an easier way to cut into the conversation. It worked with the bartender, didn’t it?

The self appointed leader of the group, a tall, burly biker complete with leather riding vest and an American flag bandana on his head, looks you up and down and chuckles. “Do you want us to teach you, baby doll?” He asks, the thread of mocking obvious in his tone. Holding up his pool stick, he points to it. “You hit the balls with this. It’s a pool stick.” The other men laugh and snicker along with him.

“I’m sure you boys don’t wanna be bothered with some girl in the way, so I’ll just grab the other table for me and my friend.” It’s not worth explaining to these Neanderthals that you know how to play. That your first cooking job was in a bowling alley and pool hall that served the most amazing burgers and sandwiches of all time. The other line cooks and the chef had all been fans of the games and taught you all their tricks.

Chuckling again, he places his que on the floor and leans in. “How about you play with us, sweetheart?” He asks, grinning. “We’ll only bet small amounts.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. They’re assuming you can’t play and you’re absolutely certain you can hold your own — if not downright wipe the floor with them. But your pride is stinging a little from feeling like Jack rejected you, so you flick your eyes up to the leader of the group and shift your weight into one hip. “How small is small?”

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the group of men seem to crowd around you. The talkative one rubs his chin and pretends to consider for a moment. “We’ll say…hundred bucks a ball?” He offers, like is the deal of a lifetime.

It's too good. They're too cocky and too blinded by their own ridiculous posturing to see that you have given them absolutely no reason to think you can't play. But hey - you started the morning playing patty cake with your niece, punctuated it by flying on a private jet and being offered your dream job, and now you're about to end it by whooping these idiots' asses. What does it matter that one handsome brand-new acquaintance didn't want to slow dance with you? This isn't middle school. Shaking off the urge to smirk, you put out your hand with full confidence. "You got yourself a deal."

Jack whistles to himself when he comes over, two beers and two shots in hand to see that you are around a table with the Broncos Bike Club. Assholes when they get beat and sore winners when they don’t. “Well sugar, I see we are in for some fun tonight.” He drawls as he sets the beers down on the side of the table and hands you a shot. “You know what you’re doin’?” He asks quietly.

"I wouldn't get sucked in on a hundred bucks a ball if I didn't," you whisper back, tapping your shot glass against his before downing the liquor and sighing happily at the burn. That definitely wasn't Red Label, but it was good. You'll have to remember to ask Jack what it was later.

Jack grins and gives you a small chuckle. “Lemme guess, they think you don’t know what a pool cue is? Did they call it a stick?”

"A pool stick." Nodding solemnly to keep from giggling, you pick up the beer that Jack brought you and take a sip. The choice earns a happy hum from you, and you reach for a cue and chalk from the rack on the wall. "All I did was ask if one of the tables was free."

“Morons.” Jack huffs before he moves closer and leans down towards your ear. He knows what the outcome will be but he encourages you anyway. “Kick their asses, sugar.”

"Oh, I will." Playful instinct tells you to smack a kiss to his cheek but you don't, figuring that there's no use in anything affectionate like that if he has no interest. And though you might be playful or casually flirtatious with your friends most of the time, you don't yet know if he is - so it's better to just not. Instead you chalk up your cue and turn to face the table. At a hundred dollars a ball, this is going to be a hell of a game.

“Well boys.” Jack puts his hands on his hips and chuckles. “Rack ‘em up.”

They make a big show of it, condescendingly pointing out the order of the numbers on the balls and laughing amongst themselves, and you swear it just makes you wish you were wearing heels so you could grind them into the floor with the spikes. "Are you gonna keep running your mouth or do you actually want to play?" You ask, leaning against the pool table with your beer in one hand and the cue in the other. At this point they're bordering on pissing you off.

Buster, the leader of the group, sends you a condescending smile and motions to the table. “Lady’s first.” He chuckles and looks back at his buddies. “Bet she can’t even break properly.”

Jack huffs, watching as you take a large swallow of your beer and set it down on the edge. Leaning over the table as you line up your cue, he can’t help but glance at your ass. Lord have mercy, you have a nice one. You set up on the right of the Baulk line and look up at him right before you take your shot. “Stripes.” You call before the cue ball even strikes the group and Jack watches as the 9 and 11 balls drop into the corner pocket.

“Damn.” Jack whistles, grinning at the sour looks on the boy’s faces. “Lucky break.”

"Beginner's luck," grumbles one of the other men, leaning back on a nearby table with his beer in one hand and several empty glasses nearby.

"No givin' her pointers," demands another, pointing at Jack threateningly. He saw the dandy checking you out when you bent over to break and dancing together before that. And he ain't an idiot.

Jack holds his hands up and makes a face of compliance. He’s not going to try to sway the outcome of this game, although he knows how it’s going to end up. Luckily, the bartenders and bouncers are used to Statesman agents quelling bar fights, or starting them only to finish them, so they never interfered. “Lady’s game.” He promises, watching as you walk around the table, analyzing your next shot before deciding that you would bank the cue ball off the left corner of the table to drop it into the right pocket. Jack sips his beer as you do exactly that.

Buster shifts the way he's standing with affected laziness, seeming as though he is barely paying you any attention while he actually watches to make sure you're not cheating. "At least do us the favour of bendin' further over the table when you shoot, babydoll." He chuckles, not giving a single goddamn ounce of care for manners. He takes what he wants, and right now he wants a view. You roll your eyes subtly at Jack, letting him know that you're not bothered, and intentionally squat at the table instead of bending as you check out the angle for your next shot.

Jack huffs in amusement, a small smirk on his face when he watches you sink the next two striped balls without so much as brushing by the solids.

One after the next, the striped balls drop into the pockets on command, and the men around you grow more and more flustered with every shot. By the time only the 8 ball remains, there is practically steam pouring out of their ears and one of them has all but literally thrown his hat on the ground, but you remain placid. No gloating or teasing that will make their moods worse is due here. The satisfaction of proving them wrong by winning is all you're aiming for.

“Now, if I ain’t mistaken things….” Jack drawls, rubbing his chin and staring at the table. “She sinks this, she wins. Right? Or are you wantin’ her to clear the table?”

The deliberation happens in grunts and glances, as Buster's minions decide that the best way to teach you a lesson is to have you do more of what you have amply proven that you're good at. They only need you to fuck up once for them to run you off the table with insults and heckling. "Clear it." Buster insists, somehow managing to follow the string of unintelligible sounds that the men around him made.

The smirk Jack gives you is smug and he nods. “You heard ‘em sugar.” He chortles. “You gotta clear the board to win. 15 balls.” It’s obvious that the numbskulls didn’t think about the fact that they would have to pay you an additional $700 for that, but Jack did. He sends you a small wink and an encouraging nod.

If, one day many years in the future, you're ever a famous enough chef for there to be a film of your life, you're going to insist that this pool game be a part of it. Each ball is its own geometric problem to solve, but you do it carefully, and you do it well. The expressions of sheer and utter dismay on each man's face turn to ruddy anger as you call “Eight ball, corner pocket” and sink the very last ball with a tiny tap, sending it spinning into the corner pocket that it was sitting next to. "Well, boys," you lean against the table with a satisfied grin and rest one hand on your cue. "Looks to me like this empty table is going to end up emptying some wallets."

Jack finishes the rest of his beer with a sigh, draining the mug and setting it down on the high top table a few steps from the pool tables. He knows what’s about to happen and his lasso and whip are tucked away behind his jacket, ready to go.

“You tricked us, you bitch!” Buster growls, backed up by the agreeing ‘yeah’s from the motley crew behind him. “You said you couldn’t play pool.”

“Did I?” Sure you’ve hustled a few times in your life, but you definitely didn’t tonight. Your head ticks to one side and you lean against the table easily. “Or did you just assume, because I’m a girl?”

From the way his face blanks for a moment, buddy boy knows that’s the truth but when it passes, there’s a decidedly mean look on his face. “I’m not payin’ a fucking hustling whore a fucking dime unless she’s sucking my dick.” He growls, making Jack’s jaw instantly tighten.

“Now Buster,” Jack slowly drawls out, turning their attention from you to where he is standing with his hand on his hip as he shakes his head. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?” He asks. “You owe the lady an apology and fifteen hundred dollars. Fair is fair.”

“She ain’t play fair!” The scrawniest of the group points at you like he’s about to accuse you of witchcraft. “Schemin’ cunt don’t deserve anythin’ but a lesson.”

There’s a lot of talk that Jack will let slide, especially in a rough and tumble place like this, but the boys don’t know they just fucked up. His eyes darken and go flat, the edge of a smirk on his lips has no humor in it. “You might want to take that back, Junior.” He spits, fingers itching to grab his whip. “No need for that or I’ll be teachin’ the lesson.”

“Jack…” Glancing back at the man you came here with, you can feel the change in the air here without hesitation. While it would not in any way be your first bar fight, you’re not sure that these are the kind of fellas you ever want to throw the first punch against. Not because you’re afraid of getting your ass handed to you, but because you don’t like the prospect of spending your first night in Louisville getting arrested.

“What the fuck are you gonna do about it, pretty boy?” The scrawny one - the one Jack called Junior - drawls as he reaches into his pocket. Out comes his hand again a second later, now adorned with brass knuckles. “Only thing you oughtta even be considerin’ is gettin’ this dried up cunt bitch out of our sight before we make her regret lyin’ to us.”

His chuckle is low, rusty and his own hand reaches behind his back to pull out the butt of his retractable whip. “Manners maketh man, Junior.” Jack hums. “That’s the lesson today.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Scoffs another man in the group - the broadest of all of them - as he cracks his knuckles in your direction.

“It means a Kentucky ass-whooping.” Jack declares, right before Junior decides to launch himself at Jack. With the single press of a button, the whip spirals out from the handle of the whip and Jack wastes no time cracking it through the air to wrap around the man’s throat as he yanks back on it to send the burly biker careening past him and into the table right behind Jack.

It all happens in a split second, and you’re smart enough and quick enough to dive behind Jack right before it does. You can defend yourself. You absolutely can, and have on multiple occasions. But fuck if seeing Jack step in for your honor isn’t one of the goddamn sexiest things you’ve ever experienced. Two of the bikers throw themselves at him on command, with just a glance from Buster, as Junior’s face comes into collision with the flat of the table.

A fight is like a well coordinated dance. Timing and footwork are everything. Jack flicks his wrist and the whip unwinds from around Junior’s neck to slash around and strike one of the two across the cheek, slicing open the skin as neatly as any knife. Causing the man to howl in pain and stop in his tracks as he grabs his face. The other keeps coming, making Jack smirk as he pulls back the whip and tucks it away before pulling out his lasso. He might be showing off as he twirls the rope, but he doesn’t look over for your reaction as the man charges towards him.

A barfight it’s not supposed to be sexy, you lecture yourself sternly, finding that you’re too mesmerized to even hide. The men clearly don’t feel the need to fight you, only Jack, so you’re left standing with your back to the nearest wall in awe of how fucking agile he is. But where did he—? Is that a lasso? What in the hell…

When Jack ropes the man, he drags him towards him. His fist coming out as he strikes him directly in the nose with one, two, three rapid punches.

“Fuckin pretty boy city slicker and your hustlin’ whore!” Buster’s patience has worn thin, watching his minions drop around Jack like so many fruit flies. He charges at the two of you like a bull, and for a second you’re certain he’s aiming to ram his head right into your stomach against the wall.

Jack looks over, whirling his lasso over his head now that the other man has crumpled to the floor at his feet. Snagging the table, Jack rocks back on his heel and heaves, the momentum dragging the lightweight table up and hurling it through the air towards Buster.

Ducking to your right, you dive out of the way just a second before the table connects with Buster’s side. It sends him in the other direction, propelling him into the wall and crumpling in a heap on his side as he clutches his bleeding head and howls in pain - bandana’d skull connecting with the sturdy wooden walls instead of with your abdomen and compounded with the force of splintering wood on his back.

There are two more that had decided that the better part of valor was staying out of it and Jack raises a brow at them to ask if they wanted to try their hand at him.

The older of the two remaining men clears his throat and straightens his back, knowing he doesn’t have a dog in this fight to begin with. “Pay the lady,” he orders his friend, a little under his breath.

Jack watches warily, coiling his lasso up as the other one begrudgingly pulls out a stack of bills. “Lay the bills out on the table and then get your friends out of here. They’re done for the night.” He tells them sternly. He doesn’t trust them not to try to cheat you out of the full amount and it’s also a lesson in humility.

The younger man bristles at having to be the one to pay, but he begrudgingly does as he’s ordered. Fifteen hundred dollar bills all lined up on the felt would be a big enough adrenaline rush even without everything that had just happened, and you watch him count them out carefully. Once the total you’re owed is sitting in plain sight you reach for the bills, tucking them into the front pocket of your jeans. “Well?” You nod your head toward the crumpled, groaning masses of their friends. “Pick ‘em up.”

Only when they turn to their friends and the atmosphere of the bar has turned friendlier as other patrons return to their drinks or conversations does Jack grin at you. “Weeeewh.” He huffs, reaching up and readjusting his cowboy hat with a cocky jaunt. “Kinda feelin’ like a tornado in a trailer park.” He jokes before he cocks his head towards the bar. “Want another round?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoyed that.” One eyebrow ticks up at Jack as you look around at the mess you made. One broken chair and one smashed table, with other things out of place - it could be much worse. You can’t help the way his sheepish smirk makes you smile, relieved laughter bubbling out of you. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling the pulse of excitement and attraction. Even if he’s not into you, you absolutely can’t deny being into him after that Purebred Cowboy display. “Let’s get another round. And I can give some of that cash to the bartender to pay for what we broke.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “It’ll go on the bill to Statesman.” He promises. “This ain’t the first rodeo in this place.”

“Hell of a first impression to make on my new employers,” you grumble ruefully, although you’re still grinning. “Or was that some kind of rite of passage I didn’t know about?”

Jack considers it for a moment and chuckles. “I guess it could be.” He shakes his head and leans against the bar again, lifting his hand to the bartender.

“You causin’ trouble again, Jack?” The bartender eyes him suspiciously. “Or did they deserve it?” He knows damn well those bikers are always trouble, but they drink their body weight and always pay, so he usually doesn’t fuss.

“They wanted to call the lady four dollar words and didn’t want to pay when they got beat at their own game.” He tells him, giving him a small shrug. “So I taught them some manners.”

“Long as they deserved it.” The bartender brushes it off. “Another round?”

Jack looks over at you for confirmation and when you nod he does as well as he turns back to the bartender. "Let's do another round of shots and beers." He tells him. "She worked up a thirst beating their asses at pool and I worked one up beating their asses."

The feel of being very pleased with yourself rolls down your spine like a drop of sweat and you sit up just a little bit taller on your barstool. Jack’s smug expression says that he’s just as proud of himself as he is of you, and you raise your shot glass to him in salute when it’s set down in front of you. “I am definitely going to like it here.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan

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[ptoodle]

Very rarely do I see people ship Fern and Huntress Wizard but when I do I can’t help but feel like they have a fundamental misunderstanding of both Huntress Wizard and Fern’s nature. Like on the surface it’s “haha!!! Plant boy and plant girl!!!! Huntress Wizard likes Finn and Fern is Finn but a plant so they’re perfect for each other!!!!” which just like, completely ignores everything core to Fern’s existence and Huntress Wizard’s complicated feelings toward love.

Fern is just more than just “Finn but plant”. He is LITERALLY Finn, but tainted with a curse. He is built out of fucked up evil twisted magic. Fern spends his entire existence finding his own identity and trying to reconcile Finn’s natural desire to do good with the corrupting nature of the grass curse. Fern’s struggle is internal, and he don’t have the emotional capacity for romance until he sorts his own shit out (which unfortunately due to the curse, he’ll never be able to do).

There's also the matter of the huge gap in emotional maturity between Finn and Fern. The Finn inside the Finnsword missed key moments of emotional development that our Finn experienced from season 6 to 8. Fern wasn't molded by key experiences like The Visitor, Crossover, Hall of Egress, Flute Spell, Don't Look, or The Music Hole. In particular, the massive emotional growth Finn underwent in Flute Spell is what allowed him to start a functional relationship with Huntress Wizard, and Fern lacks that growth. Fern is essentially a version of Finn stuck in season 6, and lacks the emotional intelligence to properly handle a relationship with anyone, let alone somebody as emotionally sensitive as Huntress Wizard.

But enough about Fern. I’m not a Fern expert, and this is only my B-rate interpretation of his character. The REAL egregious mischaracterizations of a Fern x Huntress Wizard ship lay in people just not understanding Huntress Wizard properly. For starters, you have to understand that both Fern and Huntress Wizard are two very magical beings, but their magics come from different sources. Huntress Wizard is a wizard (surprising, I know) and Fern is a CURSE. Fern is an unnatural, malicious magical force. Huntress Wizard would be off-put by Fern’s existence because he is a perversion of the natural world that she ties herself deeply to. Huntress Wizard assumes the role of a sort of “keeper of nature” in the forests of Ooo (as seen in her quest to slay the Grumbo for being invasive in The Wild Hunt), and Fern is a disruption to that natural order. A relationship between the two would never work because Huntress Wizard would be uncomfortable with Fern’s very existence.

There’s also the matter of why Huntress Wizard is attracted to Finn, and how Fern lacks many of the qualities Huntress Wizard likes Finn for. For starters, there’s the matter of emotional development I talked about before. Finn is extremely well-put together during the time he spends with Huntress Wizard in Flute Spell, and it’s easy to see how deeply he respects Huntress Wizard and her objectives. Finn isn’t determined to help Huntress Wizard with her mission to talk to the Spirit of the Forest out of a blind infatuation for her, but out of his natural drive to help people. Finn is very in-tune with his emotions (and can handle rejection like a champ), and Huntress Wizard can see that in him. This emotional in-tuneness is part of why Huntress Wizard so deeply respects Finn. Huntress Wizard seems to value her ability to stay true to her feelings (which even she struggles with; see my Flute Spell megareview for more) is drawn to his honesty and selflessness. Unfortunately for Fern, whether it is because of his lack of emotional development or because of his curse, cannot handle all his conflicting feelings inside him and doesn’t have the same kind of emotional stability that Huntress Wizard is attracted to Finn for.

I could go on and on and list even more reasons to why Fern x Huntress Wizard wouldn’t work, but those stray further into the “headcanon-ey”school of thought and I’m trying to be more objective with my character analysis as possible. I know being complexly objective is impossible and you have to leave a little room for individual interpretation but overall the entire ship is built on a very flimsy basis of “what if the two plant people liked eachother” and that’s it. There’s way more to these characters that make them special, and reducing them to just their visual similarities does a disservice to their character depth and creative potential.

[blarefordaglare]

day 8 - Snoots the bear

Based off of my friend @kikker-oma’s Snoots the Bear artwork! Go check her out :D

——

The air was cool and crisp as Wild walked through the forest. Don’t get him wrong, joining the chain was one of the best things that happened to him (even if it was worst case scenario.) but sometimes, it was nice to be Link again. 

He literally is titled “Hero of the Wild”. It’s fitting he feels best when nothing stands between you and the earth around you. The rustling of bushes, the chirps of birds, or the tall branches that surround you. 

All of a sudden a loud rustle came from behind him. The blonde whipped his head back to find a large lump of fur. 

“Sweet Hylia,” Wild slowly tensed as he walked closer to the bear, “You’re absolutely stunning.” The champion reached out to touch a lump of his fur. The bear in return nuzzled into Wild, his head perfectly fitting between his chest and arms.  

“You have a big nose… so I’m gonna name you Snoots.” Wild smiled, “I can’t wait to show you to the others!” The blonde wrapped his arms around the bear. His soft fur providing a pillow like cushion before he began to climb up. 

It took a while to not slip off, but eventually, it was pretty similar to riding a horse. Except the horse was a huge ball of fluff, and wasn’t even a horse. 

The boy rode the bear until sunset came around, and his energy depleted. Exploring was not an easy task, especially since he hadn’t got the chance to in so long. The bear’s soft fur provided a comforting surface as Wild dozed off.

However, the next day proved to be not as comforting as the last. The hero slowly blinked awake to the sun as it filtered through the mountains. That wasn’t the reason he woke up though, he felt a faint tapping on his shoulder. 

“Wild, wake up.” Time’s whispering was softer than the gentle wind, but still enough to wake up the sleeping champion, “We need you to guide us to Hateno. Remember?” Right, the whole save-the-world thing. How could I forget? Wild most certainly did not want to deal with Time right now. He just met the bear, and he’s soft and adorable and-

“Champ, we need you awake.” Time nudged again. Wild wasn’t the guy to have patience. He wasn’t the guy to give patience. Now I know how Sky feels.

“Lay off old man, I’m busy.” Wild grumbled as he nestled into Snoots. In return, the bear gave an approving huff. In the Champion’s defence, he is the hero of the Wild, of course out of all people you’d expect to befriend a bear, it would be him.

Warriors stepped over to Time, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The hero tried to protest but the captain cut him off, “Just let him, we have time.” 

Time groaned and slowly reached out to pet the bear, “You’re lucky he likes you.” The man grumbled, “And you’re lucky I’m a good father figure.” 

Snoots just gave a grunt in response and went back to letting the champion snuggle with him. Wild simply gave him a big hug and continued to pet his fur. 

“But you are not letting him to camp. Four will freak, he’s already afraid of cats.” 

“Come on!”

[stormoflina]

Happy New Year's Eve to everyone! 😁🎉🍷

I saw the tiktok boys doing this trend in the international break, and the idea stayed with me, and it's fitting rn anyway. If it's lame I will just blame my friends for giving me bad experiences 😸

Rating how a night-out with lfc players would go (this is for the girlies, do mind that):

Virg: You would feel the most safe and relaxed on a night-out in your whole entire life. Virg would literally scare all unwanted comments and wandering hands just with his aura. He would buy you whisky, trying to be fancy, but by the end of the night you would be on your 4th beer together, doing karaoke. He would leave by like 1 am tho. 9/10

Tsimi: he drinks one vodka-redbull and it's over. And by that I mean it's not really over, quite the opposite actually. Not leaving the club until they literally close. He would be bouncing up the walls, dancing with everyone, chatting up to strangers while waiting for drinks, running around, making new best friends every bathroom break, falling in love at least 3 times just that night. A nice, eventful night, but by the end, you would probably be exhausted. 7/10

Joey: Ngl, you would probably be kinda worried about partying with him, thinking he's a bit dull or the atmosphere will be awkward... Only to be completely wrong and for you to have the best night of your life? He takes shots like a champ, smooth dance moves,a great wingman and has the best drunk advice to your drunk first world problems. He also knows the best place to get kebab place after the club and walks you home. 10/10

Ibou: Go out with him and you will have the time of your life. Takes the best pictures and tags you, likes and comments, just to get the guy you like all hot and bothered. Pretends he doesn't understand English and starts cursing out people in French, just because. Outfit on point. -1 point for making your stomach hurt from laughing too much. 9/10

Robbo: It's either a heartfelt hug and temple kisses while pouring your heart out kind of night or trying to use the street lamps as a strip pole while laughing like the two of you have lost your minds kind of night. Brings his own alcohol for pre gaming, because "it's much better, trust me." He's never a quiet person, both with each drink he has, the volume of his voice just increases. He tries to guess the dick size of random guys who try to chat you up. You will need 2-3 days to recover from this night, but it's all worth it. 10/10

Darwin: Unlike Kostas, Darwin is NOT allowed to drink redbull-vodkas, not under any circumstances. Instead he drinks literally anything else. He especially likes those colourful cocktails. When they start to hit, he picks up the straws and pretends he is a walrus. Who cares about the language barrier, you can communicate just fine by dancing together. Darwin is a really good dancer, alright, all eyes glued to him. Somehow he gets into a fight and gets thrown out. He claims he is innocent, but who actually knows. There are always other clubs! 8/10

Joel: When you ask him out he just glares at you with raised eyebrows. Still, he shows up, with an unimpressed expression glued to his face all night until they start playing Timberland. Suddenly the coconut man is all arms up and legs moving. He leaves randomly before midnight without telling you tho. 5/10

Trent: The night kinda takes a wrong route before it can even start, when he makes a bet about which one of you can take more shots without stopping. Trent wins, his eyes sparkling and a relaxed, loop-sided smile already plastered on his face. He pays for the taxi and is extremely smug about the girls he claims he will get. Tries to make another bet with you on who can pull the most. Ends up sulking after he gets rejected (nevermind that literally everyone else wants a piece of him). He doesn't dance, just stands like a stick, licking his lips and holding his drink. Starts asking horny questions after 2 am. 8.5/10

Macca: Takes forever to pee, because he starts making friends with everyone in the bathrooms. Brings his own personalized maté cup, but God knows what’s inside. Judging by how red-faced he gets as the night goes on, it must be something strong tho. Good dancer, if only he would stop doing googly eyes at people while he promised it was a friends only night… 6/10 

Domi: The pre-gaming might be more fun than the actual party. Takes forever to get ready, because he keeps talking too much, showing you his favourite songs and offering his grandpa’s pálinka. Puts in way too much hair product. By the time you get to the club, both of you are comfortably drunk. Not the best dancer, but enthusiasm makes up for it.  He starts eyefucking random hot people. It gets annoying by 3 am, when you are ready to go home and sleep and he still has way too much energy. 8/10

Jota: Keeps complaining that he didn’t want to go, then drinks everyone under the table. Like it’s actually annoying how unfazed he seems. Takes good care of you, looking after you, bringing you water, but still, when you are tipsy, dizzy and feels like you are going to throw up, you would rather have him shut up about FIFA for a sec. 6.5/10

Ali: Says he will not drink, because he has stuff to do early in the morning, but still comes and has a great time. Funny, kind and polite, and very good looking, which turns out to be a bit of a problem, after people just won’t stop asking him out. Gives you great advice when you start talking about the guy you like. His dancing is cute, but a bit old fashioned. 8/10

[ruthlesscore]

SF6 OC - FAYLYN RANA

This is Faylyn! She's my oc who I based off my JP headcanons. Faylyn is 25 years old as of 2008 :D

Her style of fighting is a mix between bellydancing and taekwondo.

As for her backstory, it's a bit different than my JP headcanons. Her mother, who was obsessed with JP to the point she would destroy herself for him if he asked, ends up raising her alone in the lowlands of Nayshall because she knew JP didn't want children. During her time living with her mother, Faylyn was sheltered and told to stay inside at all times. At the age of 8, Faylyn is forced to run away from home because the Secret Society seized her mother. Why was her mother taken from her? It's because her mother was a very successful spirit medium. She could contact spirits and control them.

Faylyn ends up in Metro City at the age of 8. She was adopted by a very wealthy explorer names Heidi Vilian. Heidi raised Faylyn on the North side of the Metro. Faylyn grew up to be very ladylike and compassionate. She even opened up to Heidi about a power her biological mother claimed she inherited from her father.

Faylyn was also taught the way of the spirit medium from her bio mother. In addition to Faylyn knowing how to contact spirits and control them, she can also bring forth a spirit and have them fight for her. Charlie Nash is a spirit she frequently calls upon in a battle she can't win. After all, you can't kill something that is already dead.

Eventually, she enrolls under Luke and starts her journey.

How does she meet JP? When trying to tamper with the Champ Belt in Nayshall, Johan uttered the name of her mother, and Faylyn began questioning him. He gave her vague answers but opened up in the final battle after he bombed the tournament.

In my world, Bosch is alive and not well😭 Faylyn ends up quickly taking his spirit from his body before the bomb detonated and put it back after repairing his internal organs with her psycho power. Don't ask me how does that work logically. It's the world of street fighter. Anything is possible if you put your mind to it.

Below is a drawing I made of JP and Faylyn. It contains spoilers😋

My instagram where I post my art is @/ruthless.core

[celuloideycarbono]

top ten remarkable moments in cycling history (i would like to updated it)

I like history, I like lists, and, of course, I like cycling.

In 2019, I proposed creating a collaborative list on Twitter to select the 10 most remarkable moments the history of cycling (yes, ambitious, I know). People chose their 10 moments, and in the end, after counting all the lists (about 40), these were the results:

Merano - Aprica, Giro d'Italia 1994. Battle between Pantani, Berzin and Indurain in Passo dello Stelvio, Valico di Santa Cristina, Mortirolo and Aprica.

Saint-Gervais - Sestrières, Tour de France 1992. Epic ride by Claudio Chiappucci in the Alps, through Iseran, Mont Cenis and Sestrières, in a brutal stage of 254 km.

San Lorenzo de El Escorial - Ávila, Vuelta a España 1999. Frank Vandenbroucke's mad attack on the Ávila walls, after destroy the concurrence in Navalmoral.

Venaria Reale - Bardonecchia/Jafferau, Giro d'Italia 2018. Chris Froome took the maglia rosa after a 80 km solo ride, with a powerful attack on Colle delle Finestre.

Versailles - Paris / Champs Elysées, Tour de France 1989. Dramatic time trial with Greg LeMond tacking the maillot jaune to Laurent Fignon by only 8 seconds.

Grenoble - Les Deux Alpes, Tour de France 1998. In the Tour of doping scandals, Marco Pantani took the maillot jaune to Jan Ullrich after an attack on Col de Galibier.

Charleroi - Liège, Tour de France 1995. Miguel Indurain attacks in the Ardennes with Johan Bruyneel on his wheel.

Saint-Jeanne-de-Maurienne - Morzine, Tour de France 2006. Floyd Landis did a Landis through the Alps. Saisies, Aravis, Colombière and Joux Plane were in the menu. In a few days after the Tour, Landis tested positive in testosterone.

Luxembourg, ITT, Tour de France 1992. Maybe the most brutal ITT performance in Tour history, done by Miguel Indurain (perhaps now is Combloux 2022...).

Road World Championships in Duitama, Colombia, 1995. Abraham Olano wins the rainbow jersey in the most hilly world championship ever. He arrives at the finish line with a flat tyre.

As you can see, the list was dominated by events from the 1990s, as many people who participate had lived those times in their childhood or adolescence. It was also a list in which Spanish or Spanish-speaking moments predominated, since most of the people who participated were from those backgrounds.

Now, I would like to update that list and give it a more 'international' view, with your colaboration. I believe many things have happened since 2020, don't you think? La Planche 2020, Granon 2022, Combloux 2023, some Lièges by Remco or Strades by Pogi, the duel between van der Poel and van Aert in Ronde 2020, the Pogi's Ronde...

So, here is my proposal: feel free to choose the 10 moments in the history of cycling that you consider to be the best—10 epic battles, 10 close sprints, 10 cute moments, 10 controversial moments, whatever. Whether it's women's or men's cycling, road, cross, or track, it doesn't matter. Moments you have experienced firsthand, or not, perhaps you have watched it on tv or even you read about it because they happened before you were born.

You can share this post by adding your list, or even include it in the tags. In a month, I will compile the results and I will also publish them here and on my blog (in Spanish). Thank you for your collaboration.

[onboardsorasora]

Not sure if I like it, but this not about me😅 so here we are Tennis AU;

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Part 4!

Daniel collapsed onto his back, star fishing on the court in the shade. His white shorts rode up to show off his pulsing sweaty thighs. His leg hairs were pressed down and slick. His tattoos glistened.

He'd been running drills for too long, if you asked Micheal (don't), he'd say it wasn't long enough. They'd been at it all day, running through their program steadily.

His phone went off in his duffle.

"Is that the power rangers theme?" Micheal paused and raised a brow.

"Kim Possible actually, rude." Daniel pointed his racquet limply in Michael's general direction.

"They're the same tone." Blake called out, chin tucked to his chest, typing away on his phone in the shade. "Doesn't explain why you've gone back to it though."

"It's Max's tone." Daniel was grinning, all teeth. "When my phone's like off silent anyway."

"We allow you on one extracurricular and you come back with a boyfriend." Michael teased throwing a tennis ball at him.

"hey!" Daniel cried out and shifted his hips, turning onto his side to avoid it. Micheal threw another and Daniel lifted the racquet to lob it away with a cheer.

The phone went off again and Daniel scrambled up to get it but was blocked by a new barrage from Michael. He ran off laughingly in the opposite direction to 'safety'.

"Nope." Micheal popped the p with his lips, a cheeky grin present. "We're not done yet, you can check your sexts after."

Daniel whined, pouting his lips and batting his eyes at his trainer.

"Save the pretty eyes for Max, now on mark let's go asshole."

"you can send him a pic of your legs after." Blake looked up quickly with a smirk before going back to his phone.

Daniel grumbled but prepared himself for work anyway. The quicker he got through this, the quicker he could see what Max sent him.

They'd been texting since the night of the beach party. They had spent the rest of the afternoon together, chatting away at a table mostly in their own world.

Max had introduced him to a few people on his team and a couple other drivers who had passed through. It was a great time getting to know Max the man outside of the paddock and around people he felt comfortable with. He was very funny, he made Daniel laugh breathlessly the whole afternoon. They bantered relentlessly, creating and extending jokes about everything.

That was two days ago, Max had escorted him back to the flat he and his team were renting and they exchanged numbers. Daniel kissed him at the door and ducked into the apartment quickly to hide his blush. Not the suavest move, but Max made his brain stop working.

Since then, they've been texting when Daniel wasn't getting his ass kicked by his best friend slash trainer. Max appreciated his training camp and he tried to avoid texting during the day knowing Daniel was busy and needed to focus.

They had dinner plans tonight, so realistically the texts could have been confirming their date or rain checking.

That thought stopped him suddenly and he missed an easy volley.

"Focus DR!" Micheal called, calmly sending over another ball. Daniel shook his head physically to dislodge the thought. He'd think of it all after.

They went on until he was gasping for breath, only stopping after Daniel declared a strike, demanded a union and then plopped himself bodily beside Blake who grimaced. He barely dodged the impending wet hug.

Daniel grasped for his phone, swiping away all the calendar notifications and social media messages to find the one he wanted. He was single minded, completely ignoring the freeze pop electrolyte drink that Michael chucked at him. It bounced off of his sweaty face.

He opened the text thread from Max;

Max V 🥵

Are we still on for 8?

Oops, sorry. Tell Michael not to be mean.

"Max says not to be mean to me Mikey, he's a world champ, you should listen to him." Daniel called out, grinning in delight. Micheal snorted a laugh. Daniel texted back

8 is still good for me. Mike's being evil as always. I swear he gets off on suffering😢

Daniel tore open the freeze pop with his teeth and sucked greedily at the cold drink. His phone went off again in his hands.

Max V 🥵

Poor thing. I'll have to take care of you then, I'll pick you up at 7:30.

Daniel tried to ignore the flutter in his chest at the thought of Max taking care of him.

Gonna show me a good time? 👀

Max V 🥵

Do you want to sleep over?

Daniel barely managed to keep from choking, the empty freeze pop plastic feel out of his mouth. He looked around swiftly and shifted in his seat, suddenly full of energy. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest now, a thrumming in his veins that wasn't there before.

He tilted his phone away from Blake's potential gaze, completely regretting sitting so close now. He bit his lip, unable to pinch his grin.

I'd love to.

[kay9leo]

It's hard being the new kid...

Sort of "modern" HL AU

Meet Iñaki "MC" Martinez Cariaga! She's the new transfer student from the United States. She was late for the sorting ceremony so she's currently houseless right now, hence the gray tie. Unfortunately for MC, her ancient magic is a magnet for attracting trouble and getting her into situations she rather not be in, sort of like Percy Jackson.

Fun Facts:

Normally her eyes are brown, but ever since she ended up in the UK, if she's around the presence of high Ancient Magic activity, her own ancient magic activates, turning her eyes a magical blue. They also turn that color when she's using it. At the advice of Prof. Fig, she tries to keep a small flow of it running consciously if she's not at a nearby ancient magical source.

She's also big runes fan! Since her family comes from both Central and South America, she has a big love of studying Mayan glyphs and Incans quipus (they use that instead of runes to conducting their magic). She also knows some indigenous words in Kaqchikel and Quechua; some for fun and some for spell casting. Seeing Norse runes in person was the one thing she was definitely looking forward when going to Hogwarts.

While she doesn't originally goes by MC back in the States, it became her deferred nickname/shorten version of her double surname Martinez Cariaga to use at Hogwarts. She's gotten tired of both professors and peers taking too much time to say it or have them accidently butcher her surnames (or first name even). Her nickname of MC is used so often that it gets to the point that barely anyone remembers that her name is Iñaki 🤣

Ancient Magic & Hogwarts Castle

I headcanon that the Hogwarts Founders were ancient magic users who build Hogwarts and never told anyone about their abilities. Since the place is humming with Ancient Magic, MC's eyes are always a constant magical blue. It's when she leaves Hogwarts grounds that she has to focus on maintaining that magical flow.

The Big Move, Fourth Year & the Reserved New Girl

Unfortunately, Iñaki's dad lost his job during the first layoffs of the Great Recession in early 2008. Thankfully, he had a buddy who hooked him with a new temp job in London, causing the Martinez Cariaga family to move across the pond from New York to London during the end of summer. While she loved the idea of traveling and going to Europe (and maybe even learn more about the different ancient runes used there), she wasn't too pleased at the idea of moving abroad and leaving everything she knows and loves.

Instead of starting her freshman year with her close friend group at Excelsior (NYS magical school system, Ilvermorny is the New England private magical prep school - the most famous, oldest and only school most people know outside the US), Iñaki is starting 4th year at Hogwarts.

Note: The words between "< >" is spoken in Spanish. MC comes from a Spanish-speaking Latino household. If the words are not in between "< >" assume she's speaking English.

6: At the end of MC's first week:

MC:

<¡Hola Mami!>

< I'm fine. ¿And you? >

< Nothing interesting happened this week. >

< ¡NO! ¡It wasn't like I fought a dragon or a troll this week. >

< ¡Just because I faced the Jersey Devil in 6th grade or the Headless Horseman in 7th OR befriended Champ at Lake Champion in 8th doesn't mean weird things always happens to me! >

<¡I'm fine Mami! Nothing happened...>

<¡I had to Mami! ¡He told me he wanted to give me a "proper Hogwarts welcome" before we started! I told him "That's how we say 'Hello' in New York." Made it too easy for me by saying his spells out loud. The prof said I was a great example of how magical duels are different in the New World with our non-verbals...>

<He was cool with losing. ¡Sebastián even gave me a tour of the magical village nearby and introduced me to the "dueling club" the school has! >

< We dueled together…¡It was fun! I almost forgot how much I miss home… >

8:

MC:

< I still want to go home. >

< No Mami. I don't mean visiting you guys back in London. Home as in New York. >

< ¿Why should I make friends if we're only going to be here for a year?>

< ¿It's only a year...right? >

< ¿Right? >

< I gotta go...I promised my classmates I'll study with them for our exam next week. >

< I love you too. >

"Bye."

*Flips phone closed*

*Ends call*

......

MC's trying...but she is rather homesick.

She's now stuck in Hogwarts and isn't too keen on making friends since she has no clue whether she'll be there for a year or not - it all depends whether if they extend her father's work contract and she's isn't keen on making friends if she's only there for a few months in her mind. It gets to the point where Sebastian trying to friend her is like an unstoppable force meeting an unmovable object. (He ends up winning though when she accidently slips up and calls him her friend later on in the year).

For now though, MC is a very angsty teen right now and had her world flipped upside down.

At least she can take out her angst in dueling club 😅

I want to thank @myokk for listening to my ideas about my MC and to my sibling who needed to borrow my laptop for work (leading me to doodle and actually make a digital drawing on my tablet -that I use as a second monitor for work- since I couldn't edit some papers on those days). Without them this drawing wouldn't have happened.

I'm never doing this ever again because I a bit too perfectionist for art and I hated the number of layers I needed. It was supposed to just be a SIMPLE digital doodle!!!! Instead I made this 😭. Never again. I'm sticking to my pen doodles. I was bored out of my mind and I was either reading or doodling while my sis was testing out her new laptop and I was on stand by in case she needed me.

[casebasket]

pokemon journey's wack i'm just trying to enjoy pokemon fun times and every season there's an ep where it's just two eternal and immortal (???) 10 year olds travelling the world and one of them has to fight the other's exes (i'm also loving how every time they go somewhere "new" goh finds out ash knows the local god on a first name basis) (and then finds out he too is a god)

confirmed ash's exes by proxy of who demands to fight goh / who goh gets jealous around:

kiawe

gary

will update as i go. this also confirms the following people are not exes, just friends:

iris (who IS LITERALLY ash's rival, but not an EX, who actually fights Ash himself, as she SHOULD, none of this "I need to test whether you're good enough for him" bullshit LMAO and opt to fight the RESEARCH NERD who is not a BATTLER)

lana, lillie, mallow, sophocles (ahahahahahahahaha)

update 3/june 2024: dawn (obviously)

update 30/june 2024: clement and bonnie (again, clement battles ASH, as he should LOL) (seeing clembot again reminds me of how devastating it was when they offed him. x and y truly slaps)

5 july 2024: gladeon is a friend but he's skirting the line here with all those surreptitious glares. it continues to be hilarious, however, how ash and goh go to the literal ends of the earth arctic nowhere and ash is still like oh hey!! a friend!! and goh's like you KNOW THIS PERSON? shame they didn't turn it into a gag by this point, truly. everyone in alola: the champion!!!! goh: what the FUCK

9 july 2024: paul. good riddance tbh

30 june 2024: oh my god oh my god oh my goooood it's serenaaa!!!! and they only saw each other for 10 seconds. therefore serena is currently in the unknown 3rd category, on account of the pokemon anime clearly trying to avoid the topic. of note: she p much blanked on goh's existence he might as well not have been there at all in her eyes lol

2 july 2024: unrelated but yamper just got suicune to do rain dance. not for goh, this is strictly for yamper, chloe's forgotten child. how can anyone hate this show this is peak hilarity dog controls god through the power of besties :)

5 july 2024: at this point after thousands of episodes from start to finish pokemon has every ammo and callback necessary to make me tear up and ultimate journeys: helping the hometown hero is pulling every single stop rn because yes ash IS their champion and we keep forgetting that because ash hardly remembers it because he's so present focused. it makes so much sense that he becomes alolan champ because unlike the previous regions he truly made a home here, not just endless travelling and he's family here and i TEAR they LOVE their champion and he's in the masters 8!!!