#Nice Life Brands + Consultancy

[bucketbueckers]

LAYUPS & LAYOVERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 2.9k content warnings: language, fluff, author is southern and doesn't understand how snow or marketing works, plot where there doesn’t need to be plot synopsis: It’s Christmas Eve and you’re in Connecticut, exhausted and just trying to get to Minnesota for a work conference. You could cry when it’s announced that all flights are being halted due to the incoming blizzard. Irritated, tired, and overworked, you pray for a miracle, although it takes an unnatural shape in the form of a six foot blonde athlete who’s just trying to make it home, too. Late night airport conversations lead to something more. notes: merry christmas eve from my delusions to yours! the last chapter of irp was super heavy so here's my apology and christmas gift (do i drop another one tmr...i really dont wanna write chapter 8 😩). i hope you all enjoy this short n sweet lil ramble i threw together and happy holidays 🫶

This can not be your life right now.

It’s actually kind of impressive how all of the stars aligned on this one particular night to fuck you over. You’re not a terrible person. You hold the doors for everyone, give up your seat on the bus for sweet old ladies, and you always allocate a portion of your paychecks to donate to Wikipedia. By all accounts, you should be overwhelmed with good karma, although it seems your luck has depleted on this night and this night alone.

It all started on the 20th when you flew out to Connecticut. You work a cushy job as a marketing consultant for the WNBA, which means you spend a lot of time in the air and across the country trying to unfuck – sorry, trying to optimize and rejuvenate – the state of the league and its teams. It’s a task easier said than done. Nobody seems to want to listen to you until they realize that your master’s degrees in marketing and business analytics actually mean something and aren’t just really expensive pieces of paper that you hang in your office. You spend a couple of days in Uncasville talking strategies to boost ticket sales and to gain more traction; they’re the only professional team the state has – it should not be hard to get people to show up if you can market it right, but here you are.

Connecticut is nearly a bust. It’s cold and you spend two full days in meetings getting talked over by men who think they understand numbers and branding. Then, on the third day, the front office suddenly realizes what you’ve been talking about (this shit was covered in your sophomore year intro to marketing class, but hey, the less people know, the more you get paid, so who’s really complaining?) and the trajectory of your trip makes a sudden turnaround. On the 23rd and early on the 24th, you help the Sun roll out the new optimizations, and what do you know? Ticket sales surge by 17%, including some season tickets, all is well in the world and it’s a goddamn Christmas miracle.

Then, all is suddenly not well and you remember that Christmas miracles are for people not surrounded by idiots. Your boss emails you just before you leave for the airport: The Lynx need your help. I’ve sent you tickets for the first flight out of Connecticut. Meet with them on the 26th. Said “flight” departs from Connecticut at 8:30pm on Christmas Eve, which means you’re not even in Minnesota until 12am if you’re lucky, which means you have to figure out hotel arrangements so you can take a nap because you’ve barely slept in five days, which means you have to figure out how to be nice to people again because the Sun front office has you pissed all the way the fuck off.

So, you’re tired, overworked, extremely irritated, and hungry, although that last problem is solved by airport Subway. You just hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, either – you firmly believed that you were better off betting all of your money on black rather than taking the chance on airport food, but you didn’t have much of a choice and your stomach was growling. You eat, settling in a chair at your gate, and patiently await for your plane to arrive.

Then, the overhead PA clicks on with some static noise, announcing, “Flight 932 to Minneapolis and all other flights exiting Hartford will be delayed due to inclement weather. I repeat–”

The blood rushes to your head. Your eye twitches. There’s a crying baby somewhere in the airport and you can’t take it anymore. Honestly, what’s stopping you? Flying a plane cannot be that difficult. You’re pretty persuasive. You can tell TSA you’re just young for a pilot and you’re not wearing a pilot’s uniform because it’s Christmas Eve and what are you, the feds? All you’re really asking for at this point is a nap but there’s no way in hell you’re making it to a hotel in these conditions and the chances of you sleeping in an airport with all of your belongings out for someone to grab are even lower.

A commotion towards the check in counter commands your attention. You turn, dreading the eventual crash out of an airport Karen, but it’s better than the crying baby who still hasn’t shut the fuck up.

“Please, there’s gotta be something else you can do,” a tall, broad-shouldered blonde is begging, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail. “It’s Christmas Eve, I have to get home.”

The lady at the check in counter sounds sympathetic when she responds. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but our hands are tied. We can’t send our planes out in this weather, but if it eases up, the next flight out should have you arriving in Minneapolis by tomorrow afternoon.”

You hear the blonde groan, her tone sounding something like, I can’t fucking believe this is my life, which is a sentiment you whole-heartedly agree with. “Can you please lemme know if there’s anything earlier?” she pleads. “Like, if by the grace of God this weather clears and we can leave sooner.”

“Of course, ma’am. All updates will be announced.”

The response is almost robotical, but you can tell the receptionist is trying her best, too, and the last place she wants to be is hanging out at the airport on Christmas Eve. The blonde sighs, thanking her, and from the corner of your eye, you watch her hike her bag up over her shoulder and she moves to sit directly in front of you. That’s when you truly get a good look at her, at the dejected blue of her eyes, the chisel of her jaw, the logo on her hoodie. Paige Bueckers is no stranger to you. You grew up watching ball, so obviously you’re familiar with her game – any self-respecting basketball fan is. But by virtue of your job, Paige Bueckers is a name that makes your marketing heart beat just a little faster. Ever since Dallas won the lottery, you’ve been all over their marketing team. Paige’s entire existence and the chance she gets drafted to Dallas is the sole reason the Wings’ tickets are flying off the shelves. She’s the most marketable college athlete there is right now, one of the top rookie prospects for the league, but one look at her face in person and you’re forgetting all about your job. Her jaw is tight with a simmering anger, and honestly, you feel terrible for her – she already spends so much time away from her family and here she is trying to get out of Bumfuck, Connecticut, so she can be home in time for Christmas.

You find a little bit of bravery when you raise your voice slightly to ask her, “No luck?”

She looks up, glancing at you and taking in your features, and laughing slightly when she realizes you’re genuinely just trying to make conversation and not trying to get a soundbite out of her. “You heard that?” she asks sheepishly, sinking a little in her seat to get comfortable. You pretend to not notice her manspread.

“Well,” you begin, glancing over at the receptionist. “The desk is like, ten feet away.” She laughs again and nods, murmuring touche under her breath. “932 Minneapolis?” you ask, referring to your flight.

Paige nods again, quirking a smile. “You stalking me or sum’?”

You shrug your shoulders, a coy smile on your face. “Just observant,” you quip.

Paige grins fully. “What about you?” she asks. “You work for the league?”

At that, you can’t help your surprise, raising a brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Just observant,” she throws your words back at you. You laugh. “Kidding. I see your ID pokin’ out of your bag. You from here, or they got you workin’ on the holidays?”

“Work,” you respond. Paige whistles lowly. “I’m a marketing consultant. Been up here for a few days working with the Sun, then I’m heading to Minnesota to fix the Lynx’s bullshit.” You blink, registering your words, blushing as Paige laughs. “You did not hear that. I’m usually nicer to my employers.”

“They got you workin’ and flyin’ out on Christmas Eve,” Paige points out. “You should be meaner.”

You incline your head in a nod, huffing. “All of this for office potlucks and dental coverage,” you joke. “Don’t quit basketball.” Paige grins again and you’re suddenly reminded of your manners. “Sorry, I didn’t even introduce myself.” You do as such, only mildly surprised when she stands to shake your hand and introduces herself, too, which is honestly kind of endearing. Then, she plops into the empty seat next to yours, smiling widely.

“So, marketing consultant,” she says, her tone nonchalant as she gets comfortable next to you, extending her long legs across her suitcase. “How often will I get to see you?”

You glance at her, raising a wry eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?” you ask.

Paige shrugs a shoulder, smirking. “A little. Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit. You can see the pride that shines in her eyes. You roll your eyes in amusement, still in slight disbelief, but you redirect back to her question. “Honestly, probably a lot. The league is super messy from a business perspective and their actual marketing sphere isn’t that great, either. As soon as you get drafted I’ll probably have to fly down to whichever poverty team you land at and teach them how to market you.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and despite the tease in her tone, she does seem interested. “How would you market me?”

“How much time do you have?”

“Well…” Paige glances down to her watch, then out the windows where snow falls in heavy sheets. “Looks like a lot.”

You snicker. “Alright. Bear with me, okay?” Paige nods in earnest, her attention fully on you as you begin to ramble. Truthfully, you did like your job when you were able to do it. The issue is and always will be the idiots you have to work with who overlook your credentials. “So, I’m not thinking about your personal brand at all. Like, that one’s already incredible. Your PR team did their big one with you. But the issue with athletes like you, wide-eyed and fresh out of college with an insane resume of endorsements, followers, deals, whatever – the issue is that whatever team you get drafted to is gonna want to rebuild their entire image around you. Think Clark, Brink, Reese, Jackson, Cardoso. It’s textbook – you advertise the person who’s gonna get you the most clicks, the most sales. So, how can we use that to actually grow the game, the league? I’m talking about longevity. There’s so many people tuning in for you that don’t know shit about basketball, and honestly, they’re gonna be scared to ask questions.

“So we push something corny. Social media segments with a catchy name like Ball With Bueckers or some shit where you break down basketball plays, rules, the stuff you’re gonna see and hear when you watch a game. What’s a pick and roll? A screen? Why is she getting fouled for blocking that shot, isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Education, interest, loyalty, and competition sells. Stories sell, too, which is why the league is still trying to push the Clark/Reese rivalry. That’s old news, though. A more compelling story would have been the Fever/Sun rivalry, especially after the Sun beat the Fever and the Fever hired their coach. Or Fever/Wings, for reasons I’m not gonna ruin your night with.” Paige laughs at that, and you smile, clearing your throat and trying to find your train of thought. “So, when I’m undoubtedly called in to fix your team’s mess, that’s what I’d be suggesting. People already love you. Using that connection to get them to love ball, too, is my goal.”

“You’re really passionate about this,” Paige comments, her lips quirking into a slight smile. You can’t help but preen a little, flushing. “Like, about basketball. You really care about the sport. Feels like that’s harder to find lately.”

“Well, I was too short to play it, so gotta settle for something, right?” you joke.

Paige looks you up and down. You’re wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt from college, but her gaze is shameless, appreciative despite your casual airport wear. She chuckles, a disbelieving noise building in the back of her throat. “Nah. You’re what, 6’5?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Try a foot less. But I appreciate you for believing in me.”

Paige smiles, nudging you a little. “I was serious, though. You’re super passionate. I like that.”

“Still flirting?”

“S’not everyday you get snowed in at the airport with a pretty girl,” Paige says, her gaze warm, and you can’t help but blush again. “Gotta shoot my shot, you know?” She mimes throwing a ball, her wrist bent, and you shake your head fondly. Admittedly, she did have you – hook, line, and sinker. You enjoyed the conversation, her company. There were certainly worse people to be stuck with, but you’re glad it was with her.

You shrug your shoulders. “Shoot away,” you say. Her subsequent grin is wide and you find yourself drawn in just a little further.

She asks you virtually everything under the sun – where you grew up, where you went to college, the team you were rooting for, and you answer. You tell her you’re an Atlanta native, born and raised, although you moved up north to study at Columbia. You were 8 when the Dream was founded and that was your team, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. At 10, you watched them win the eastern conference finals on your birthday and that was easily the moment your life changed. Basketball was your future and that much was certain. She asks how you landed the league job (connections, a thick resume, and lots of persuading), how you adjusted to the constant traveling (lots of caffeine and really good concealer), and the hard-hitting question of, are you satisfied?

For that, you really had no answer. Sure, you’re always busy, and that’s better than the alternative of sitting in your office and watching the seconds tick by. You’re good at what you do and your job makes a positive impact on the league. Your colleagues will be who they are; your work speaks for itself and that’s what you pride yourself on. But there’s always going to be a small part of you that yearns for something more, like someone else to share your life with. Someone who sits, and listens, and engages with you; someone who loves basketball just as much as you do (even if it’s a different type of love), someone who’s steady and spontaneous and adaptable.

Then Paige is smiling at you, her gaze warm and soft despite the below freezing temperatures outside; she’s listening, and engaging, steady, spontaneous, adaptable, and probably the only person in the world whose love for basketball could rival your own. You’ve known Paige for all of three hours and it’s nearing midnight in an airport in Connecticut, but it’s Christmas Eve and she feels so right. You would really like to see where this goes, and judging by the way her fingertips brush your knuckles, you think she might like to see that, too.

The two of you talk all through the night, waiting for the weather to ease up. The conversation never slows and you’re certain you’ve never smiled or laughed this much in a long time. It takes you twelve hours of delirious conversation to realize that your luck never depleted. Paige was your overwhelming karma, sent by some sort of Christmas miracle to answer all of the wishes you’d kept to yourself for years. The stars aligned not to fuck you over, but to trap you in an airport with Paige Bueckers, and you find that she’s possibly the best Christmas gift you could have ever gotten.

When the weather finally clears and your plane arrives, you find that your seats are right next to each other – and, well, fate works in funny ways, doesn’t it? You’re both exhausted, but when she lowers the armrest and wraps her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into your side, you can’t help your relieved sigh, leaning into her chest. You and Paige sleep through the entire flight. You dream of soft blue eyes, the lingering scent of her cologne, the promise of how this could last.

You land in Minneapolis and you eventually have to go your separate ways. The two of you exchange numbers, saying your goodbyes, although Paige doesn’t let you get anymore than three feet away from her before she’s catching you by the wrist and pulling you into her. Her hands are cold against your cheeks as she kisses you gently, something deep and lingering and a confirmation that tastes like ‘you and I aren’t done here.’ The falling snow lands gently on your cheeks, melting under the heat of your blush, and you can’t help your smile, interrupting your kiss as the both of you dissolve into laughter. Paige kisses you again, something softer that leaves you feeling warm all over despite the chill, and you thank your Christmas miracle for leading you here.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Hike of a Lifetime

Author’s Note: Set in the 2022 offseason after Justin’s labrum surgery in January 2023. Rewriting my first Justin fic is a full circle moment for me so I hope you like this one!

The last two hours of your life had been spent going over orders of Gatorade protein shakes, protein pack quick bites that usually contained some sort of cheese and sausage, various brands of Greek yogurt, apples, bananas, blueberries, granola bars and anything else you could think of to stock the weight room with while you were on vacation. You had been the head nutritionist for the UCLA men's basketball team for the last year, making customized, ever changing meal plans and consulting with the health care staff to enhance your athlete's performance to the best of your ability.

After the team's loss to Gonzaga in the NCAA tournament known as March Madness, you ran to Eugene, Oregon at the first opportunity you had to go see your sister Chloe. March up until this point was one busy day after another, truly living up to the name. Most days you didn't even feel like you got to sit down for more than 10 minutes at a time due to the constant travel and meetings you had to attend. So you took a week off and as soon as you closed your laptop today, you were going to enjoy being one with nature.

Chloe had moved to Eugene two years before you got your LA job, working as a team photographer for the University of Oregon's football team, allowing the two of you to see each other during conference play more often, which had done wonders for your relationship. It's one thing to be siblings but you could genuinely call her a friend now, which was both weird to say aloud, and nice.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?" Chloe steps into the living room, breaking you out of your vigorous typing. You look up and groan at the guilty look on her face. That was definitely an I have a work emergency and I’m going to be leaving you, look.

"No. You're not canceling on me. I got here two days ago and I have yet to really be outside. How am I supposed to enjoy some of the most beautiful scenery of my life if I'm stuck at the house the whole time? Does spring ball even matter anyway?"

Chloe laughs, heading into the kitchen to grab a snack. You'd recently lectured her about how although cereal is a grain, she can't consider it a food group and she needs to introduce more of a balanced variety in her diet. Unless she enjoys her daily 4pm sugar crash. She surprises you by pulling out a bowl of overnight oats from the fridge, with strawberries on top. After giving her your nod of approval, she gets back to the issue at hand. "Yes, spring ball matters. But I promise you it will not take me that long, I'll be back before you know it."

You huff out a breath, trying to come up with a solution. "What if you have one of your interns do it? Mine are really holding down the fort this week, I'm obviously working from home to help them out a little and I think you should do the same."

"Well our jobs are a little different. I can give them things to edit and post but I don't want to have to approve every single one of their photos and make sure they're featuring the right position groups and players based on a schedule that I created in my head. It'll just be easier if I'm there to walk them through it and then I can come home and we'll have a relaxing week until you have to be back in messy Hollywood."

"It's just Los Angeles, not Hollywood, genius. I still work at a university just like you do," you laugh at her exaggerated version of the place you now call home.

She rolls her eyes, stepping away from her food to grab her keys. "Same difference. It's all polluted air and earthquakes anyway."

Finally finished with your task, you stand up to snatch the keys out of her hand and lead the way to the garage. "Whatever, I'm in clean air now and would really like to be able to experience it. So I'll be dropping you off and getting to my hike."

You get out of the car and the sun immediately hits your skin, not in a way that’s intense but rejuvenating, bringing you back to life. The scent of early spring, mixed in with the sweet smell of freshly bloomed rhododendron sparks a further revival. The air really is different here. Life is more…undisturbed.

Families are getting out of their vehicles without a crushing sense of urgency that you’re used to, people are laughing and enjoying each other’s company and you’ve been to this park before so you feel somewhat comfortable navigating the terrain on your own, opting to quiet the sounds of the world by listening to a podcast during your leisurely stroll. Without even making it a mile on the trail, you spot a friendly black dog making his way over to you, nudging your leg with his wet nose, essentially demanding that you pet him. You usually probably wouldn’t have but the serene energy of the space you’re in brings it out of you.

“Well hello there, buddy. Who do you belong to?” You bent down to search for a name on his collar. “Dylan, that’s a cute name. Should we go find who you came here with before someone has a heart attack?” You laughed softly as the dog happily panted away and let you grab onto the leash. Before you could even take a step, you heard a booming voice calling out the dog’s name.

The distressed figure comes into view and lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh my gosh, thank you so much for grabbing him. I’m so sorry if he’s bothering you, I bent down to tie my shoe and this guy decided to make a break for it.”

“He’s taking advantage of the fact that you only have one good arm.” You point out, remembering the shoulder surgery announcement you saw in the LA Times. The man was probably getting used to having both arms again. “No worries, he’s sweet. And super friendly.” You handed him the leash and he thanked you again.

“I seriously owe you, my mom would’ve killed me if I lost our dog when I just got home.” He chuckles nervously. God his laugh was cute. “I’m sorry, I never got your name. I’m Justin.”

“I know.” You smile. “It’s nice to meet you though, I’m y/n. Hope you enjoy the rest of your hike.” You grabbed your AirPods and went to place them back in your ears to finish getting lost in your own little world once again before he stops you.

“Wait—maybe we could finish out the hike…together? You know, just so Dylan doesn’t take advantage of me again.” Maybe he was just being cautious because there was no way he was flirting with you…right?

Those green eyes were going to get you in trouble and you knew it. But you were on a beautiful scenic getaway and hiking with Justin Herbert wasn’t going to come around every single day.

“Let’s do it. Wouldn’t want you to hurt your shoulder even more chasing after Dylan. Bolt nation might collectively collapse if anything happens to you so I’m calling this a public service.”

He unsuccessfully tries to stifle a laugh. “What a Good Samaritan you are.”

Justin was funny. And sweet. And the most fun company you’ve had in a while. You talked about your job, the entire NCAA tournament and what you both thought about being in LA. Even though you both lived very different lives, it was filled with sports and schedules and meetings and practices and there were a lot of things to bond over. Before you knew it you’d been out there for three hours and Rachel texted you to let you know she was done and ready to resume your sisterly activities. He took a look at your deflated expression.

“Do you need to head out?”

“Yeah, unfortunately.” You whispered. “This was fun though.”

He readjusts the hat on his head. “Yeah this was great. Um, I meant what I said earlier though. I owe you.” He gestures towards the phone in your hands and you hand it to him watching him type in his number, texting himself immediately so he has yours.

“Maybe we could grab dinner or something before you head back to LA?” He states pensively, holding his breath a bit until you answer.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

The two of you head back to the parking lot and you give Dylan one more pat on the head. You look up to meet Justin’s gaze, shy smiles painting both of your faces. He walked you all the way to your car and waved goodbye as you drove away to meet Rachel.

While you waited all you could do was stare at your phone, Justin had given you his number and you had his. He’d put his actual contact information in your phone AND had asked you to go to dinner. None of this felt like real life, what kind of person stumbles upon an NFL quarterback on a normal hike?

“Why are you smiling like that? It scares me.” Chloe interrupts your thoughts. You hadn’t even realized she opened the door and got in the car. “Did that hike change your life or something?” She finished with a dry laugh.

“I’m not sure, but I think it may have…”

Rachel nods her head slowly, desperately hoping to understand what’s going on. “Yeah okay whatever. Let’s get some lunch because I am absolutely starving.”

You put the car in drive, your phone notifying you of a text from its spot on the dashboard car mount. Rachel grabs it and asks, “who the hell is Justin and why is he asking if you’re free tomorrow night?”

“Just some guy I met while hiking, no big deal,” you tried and failed to be nonchalant. She knew you way better than that.

“If it’s really no big deal then tell that to the gigantic smile on your face. You’re going on that date. I’m texting him back to let him know you’ll be free.”

All that Chloe knows is his name. The rest of it you decide to keep to yourself not only to respect his privacy but you want to keep this special thing for you and only you. In case this doesn’t go anywhere, you’ll always have the memory of today and whatever happens on Friday to look back on fondly. And by telling your sister you’re putting a little bit more pressure on it, like this has to become something. You don’t really know this guy yet, only the small tidbits that he shared on the walk and that his family dog’s name is Dylan, who would run away with any stranger if enough treats were offered.

There are so many things going through your mind as you change your outfit for the fourth time tonight. What if he thinks you’re boring? Or he’s boring? What happens if the two of you run out of things to say and you’re just sitting in the restaurant in awkward silence until someone decides to call it a night? Even worse, what if this is the best date you ever go on, you fall for him and then never hear from him again because he’s an NFL quarterback and you sometimes spend three hours a day planning out breakfast options for 18-22 year old basketball players.

You glanced in the mirror, slinging a tiny black purse over your shoulder with a subtle smirk on the way out the door at your final clothing choice. Chloe mentioned that the car outside being a super nice Porsche and you made something up about thinking that he worked in finance or a job closely related to that so she wouldn't keep digging for more information. All she followed up with was "have fun and be safe."

Ambrosia's staff walked you and Justin into the restaurant by the back entrance into a private room, which was the most abnormal part of the night. The rest of the evening was spent consuming seafood stuffed mushrooms, pasta and sharing a classic tiramisu, the best one you'd ever had in your life.

The nerves that once seeped through every pore were quickly replaced with what a vacation was supposed to feel like. Conversation flowed easily, there was no pressure to be perfect or funny or overly sexy. Justin was so…normal. He was pretty, not in a way that was intimidating because you really weren’t sure he realized how attractive he actually is. But pretty in a sense that everything about him made him more attractive. His ability to actively listen to the words you say and bring them back up when it’s relevant. The way his dimples are more pronounced when he laughs. The way he stops mid conversation to say thank you to the service staff every time they refill his water. There wasn’t a bone in his body that wasn’t filled with humility and kindness. Everything he did was gentle. And on top of all of that he paid without hesitation.This date truly had been a breath of fresh air.

“Thank you for tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

His lips curl into a smile, “this was probably the best first date I’ve had.” He doesn’t know why he’s just admitted that to you, but he’s glad it’s out there now.

“Me too,” you stand up out of your chair after he does, a collection of butterflies appearing in your stomach when he places a hand on the small of your back, before encasing his hand with yours to lead you out of the restaurant.

“When are you heading back to LA?” He asks. You only know that because you’re reading his lips and not listening to a word he’s saying. You really want to kiss him.

You hesitate to lean in, bringing your focus back to his eyes, meeting his soft gaze. “I’ll be here for a couple more days, then it’s back to work. What about you?”

“Tomorrow…” he begins, slowly losing his train of thought when a little bit of the light goes out in your eyes. Should he kiss you before he leaves in the morning or wait until you’re both back in California with busy schedules and no clue if and when you’ll see each other again? “…I don’t want to leave now due to some unforeseen circumstances,” he laughs, “unfortunately I’ve got some stuff to take care of. But I’ll call you and we can maybe do this again?”

“Yeah. Definitely. I’ll see you around.” He gave you a warm hug on the way out and you watched him walk away to his car, smiling to yourself at the thought of a second date. You couldn’t wait for that phone call.

Two weeks later...he still hasn’t called. You would’ve been surprised had you not prepared yourself for this very scenario. Even with all of this so-called “preparation,” the radio silence from him still stung. Who would’ve thought this would happen? The NFL quarterback is busy with his offseason recovery while the girl he went on one singular date with continues to replay minute by minute interactions they had. No one could’ve seen this coming. The thought of that date feels like so long ago and the fact that you can remember it in vivid detail is a feels a little humiliating. You can’t even look at an Apple Watch without your stomach ending up in knots.

You've closed your office door today, taking a few hours to yourself in between meetings. Earlier in the day you and the rest of the staff had to sit through a Tyr presentation, listening to the representatives of the brand try to sell you their endurance sports drink and leaving you with some samples. Then you had CLIF come in with some new energy chew flavor samples for the guys to try. All of the boxes of products now sat in your office and you really hoped to spend the rest of the day going through the food budget, managing receipts and preparing for your first year presentations for when the new freshman arrived sometime in June. You were glancing back and forth between Whole Foods receipts and Amazon orders when your phone rang. Too busy and in the middle of crunching numbers, you ignored the call. Then it started ringing again. You stop what you're doing, assuming that if someone is calling you twice in a row, it must be urgent. The contact name flashing on the screen has you frozen in time.

It was Justin.

Even though you've been alone in your office for a while, you look around to make sure you're not making this up and this is actually happening. He's calling you. Finally.

"Hello? Who is this?" You can hear him shuffling around, probably walking around in a circle aimlessly just like you are. Despite your best efforts to seem unfazed.

"I deserve that," he cringes. "I'm so sorry for not calling you sooner."

"What—what made you call me now?"

He can tell your voice is softer than when you first answered, and he missed hearing it. "Um...life got a little ahead of me and that's not an excuse. I just—didn't want you to think that I wasn't ever going to call," he pauses, "can I make you dinner? Tonight? If you're free. And we can talk in person."

You look at the door with a sigh, contemplating your entire existence. And then you think...fuck it. "Yeah sure, I'm free tonight. Text me your address and I'll be there around 7?"

"Seven works, I'll see you tonight."

His house is perfectly spotless. There is just no way that a single adult man in his 20s is naturally this organized and clean. Even the cat, who he introduces to you as Nova, a gorgeous Bengal walks around like she owns the place, greeting you briefly (sizing you up) before trotting away without a second glance. Justin walks you into the kitchen where he's in the middle of plating the meal. He just looked good doing normal things, filling glasses of water, opening and closing the fridge, taking off his apron. You really needed to get a grip. "It smells great in here chef, what's on the menu?"

He laughs a little, presenting his dish like he's the star of a Food Network show. "Tonight I've made for you a Traeger filet mignon seasoned with the Traeger seasoning and chimichurri sauce with a side of roasted garlic mashed potatoes and asparagus."

You happily clap for his A+ presentation and he gives you a bow. "Justin, this looks amazing! I can't wait to dig in."

The man leads you to the table, setting the plate down in front of you before grabbing a seat right next to you. "So...let me explain."

Taking a bite of your food, you shake your head. "You really don't have to explain yourself, we went on one date. There's nothing to explain I mean—”

"Yeah there is. I want you to know that I wanted to call sooner, I really did. But I came back and had to meet with doctors to make sure my recovery was on track and then the draft happened and then I had to talk about the future of my contract and I didn't want the craziness of my life to overshadow what we have going on. The last thing I wanted was for you to feel like you're being put on the backburner."

Unbeknownst to you, he had also been replaying that date...more often that he'd like to admit. Anytime he had a minute to himself he thought about calling, seeing what you're doing. And then there was a meeting, or a draft party or someone needing him to be somewhere. But you were always on his mind and he was glad to now have life slow down a little bit to show you he really did care.

"I get it. Definitely thought you forgot about me there for a second. A few seconds," you correct yourself. "But I knew you were busy and we're here now so you're forgiven. Especially because this steak is incredible."

"Well thank you," he smiles sheepishly.

He begged you not to help him clean up but you insisted. After everything was put away he gave you a tour of the place and then you sat on the couch looking for a movie to watch until the stack of puzzles on the shelf caught your eye.

"You haven't unwrapped this one. Is it new?" You note the plastic wrap lining the box on the shelf meeting you at eye level. The flowers look familiar but you can't exactly remember where you've seen them before.

“There's a lot of flowers at the park we met. Any rhododendron I see now," he nods at the box in your hand, "makes me think of you. So I bought this. Figured we could do it together.” The way he's looking at you when you turn around makes you feel warm and tingly inside.

Something about being with him is addicting. You feel physically drawn to him, this pull, an invisible hold that he has on your heart that soon makes you want to run for the hills. But you know that the second you’re away from him it’ll feel like an important new part of your life has been ripped away. It almost felt like the universe had sent Justin to you as an apology for all men. Even doing something as simple as a puzzle feels like the most romantic thing in the world. All of the pieces are laid out on the table and you tackle the corners first, working from the outside in. You're sitting so close to each other that your arms are touching, reaching and grabbing at the puzzle pieces in sync like a well oiled machine. He pulls you into his lap toward the end when there's a few pieces left, giving you a high five when all 300 pieces are in their rightful place. Your hand is in his once again, like it belongs there, holding you close and steady.

He lets you go momentarily to cup your face, a look of adoration adorning his that makes your chest clench. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for the last 22 days," Justin whispers, his face so close to yours you can feel his breath on your lips.

"Then why are you still waiting?" You whisper back, barely able to finish your sentence because he's nipping at your bottom lip, teasing you slightly as he runs his thumb across your jaw. You're a puddle in his hands, his lips on yours kissing you with his heart pounding against his chest like he's never kissed anyone before. The kiss is so simple yet the most intense experience either of you have been a part of and you want more. Both of you are fighting for dominance, a somewhat rough dance of tongues and a little bit of teeth increasing in intensity the longer the kiss lasts. You moan into his mouth, feeling him begin to stand at attention underneath you, deepening the kiss by pulling him in even closer by his hair. The other hand is wrapped around his thigh, squeezing his leg and producing goosebumps across his entire body. He had to take a few moments to recover, slightly out of breath at the kiss that he was convinced had just changed his life. "Was that worth the 22 day wait?" You ask with a laugh, holding his head in your hands.

He nods, still incapable of speech, blowing out a breath of relief when the tightness in his pants continues to go down. You lazily make out throughout the entirety of whatever movie he puts on, more than making up for lost time.

You have to be at the facility early for morning workouts so Justin walks you out to your car, pulling you in for one more kiss. "Text me when you get home so I know you made it safe?"

"I will."

Justin lays in bed that night looking at your goodnight text, already planning the third date in his head because he needs to somehow make it better than tonight was. He doesn't have any ideas yet, he just knows he can't get enough of you.

One year later...

You were back in Eugene at your favorite park, ready to get back to your favorite scenery.

"Are you excited?" You ask Dylan, who barks excitedly as you hold onto his leash. That must mean yes.

Justin laughs beside you, grabbing onto your hand. "You ready?" He gives you a kiss on the forehead before the three of you begin your hike.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Asking out of curiosity since you HC König as a man in his late thirties to early forties, what interests do you headcanon König to have? Like music taste, fashion, movies, shows etc? Interested to know! :)

His fashion is whatever shop he can into without a flock of consultants watching his every move. He has outgrown the stutter and excessive anxiety in social/retail settings, but he still finds the small talk that most retail workers are engaging in annoying. Besides, he hates the stares and whispers that always follow his imposing figure...he would shop online, but it's very hard with his body, so he usually finds himself stuck in some semi-sport brands like Under Armor, because they cater to the muscular giants like him and he doesn't really care all that much about fashion. He has money, so he usually buys stuff in bulk - he can wander into some fancy store sometimes, but he can't, for the sake of his life, understand why he would need a belt made out of virgin crocodile leather if he can just wear his gear in a civilian setting. He doesn't like shops for younger people, like H&M, because he saw slim pants here once, and his nuts immediately started to feel the phantom pain. I headcanon Konig as a Loser(TM), so this man still watched Shounen anime at his grown age. I actually wrote about him watching Kakegurui in Lovefool, but I feel like he would be really uncomfortable about fan service with school girls, so he usually watched battle animes and shows with action that don't relate to real-life military. He likes escapist shows with fantasy, often reads books, and watches isekai shows - even though most of them are really stupid if you're not 16 years old, so he watches them just for the sake of nice graphics. He doesn't like to watch movies about military, even though he is a huge history of war nerd. He specially doesn't like movies about most recent wars because there is a big chance he fought in one of those, so it brings back bad memories. He can be a sucker for a really flimsy comedy with dirty humor and barely any plot - he likes to just turn off his brain while he is on leave. His anxiety and the requirements of working as a leader fries his brain bit by bit, so when he is at home, he likes to just stare at the wall sometimes. It all changes drastically when a woman appears in his life though - he will literally consume any of your interests, from silly romcoms to shops like Zara, he spend so much time being alone that he is ready to mold his personality for his wife.

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (4)

Summary:  Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: Can you actually fall in love fast? or is Tilly just fortunate enough to catch Toto's attention and gain his respect and determination in span of a day? As of this point, she might as well host a slumber party as Daniel and Lewis continue to pester her with the most important topics of her life right now: her family and the hypothetical ones she'd make with Toto.

Content warning: Age gap, brief use of explicit language, discusses the 2014 austrian gp, flirtatious banter, mutual pining kind of romance, platonic relationship with Lewis Hamilton and Daniel Ricciardo, fictional family and business involved (Hearth family and Hearth Automotives Group). NO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS INVOLVED SORRY

Note: Thank you all so much for the 50 followers! I honestly have been writing these just because I didn't have anything occupy my time and it's a good idea that I posted them up here. knowing that you're enjoying my brain's ideas, it fuels me even more into writing. As of this point I'm currently writing a spin-off for Rush and this series so keep an eye out, I suppose. I hope you all enjoyed today's race because I certainly did (Albon was way too fucking good this weekend, I shit you not). And I hope Alonso's 2nd place makes up for the Father's Day that I'll never get to spend with him. Enjoy xx

masterlist

iv. fast lane but not the race weekend kind

“Regards,

Tilly Marie F. Hearth…”

That should be okay, I tell myself silently as I put away my laptop. It’s only 6 pm, and I already wish to retire to my bed early. 

I can be doing a lot, but instead I’m moping inside my hotel room while I’m waiting for Lewis. Being on a paid vacation is nice; I don’t have to do anything and deal with people. But at the same time, I’m craving more tasks to occupy my time because truthfully, I do NOT want to be stuck in a hotel in Silverstone with nothing to do. I spent my early 20’s being away from people, but now I’m entering my early 30’s, I’m slowly thinking that I probably should’ve done more than attend festivals by myself or with my sisters.

None of the people I was around with earlier had looked my way until after they'd been told that I was working in communications and was a boss’ child. The staff from the other teams also did the same—but some of them knew who I was already and had already made themselves comfortable. Just how I wanted.

But then again, this is my first day. And Sunday would probably be my last considering that I’ll be back to my stuffy office the next week. 

I can take up the role as a consultant for communications. My father did offer me that role for Ferrari, Red Bull and McLaren—telling me that I can do so much more in Formula One than my no-good employers. 

Bunch of bullshit, I curse out. He wouldn’t let go of his legacy like that. 

I already told him about writing for magazines or simply writing in general, but he still placed these executive positions in front of me as if he knew I’d give in. Sad fact is that he actually is right; I’m close to giving up on my job. If The Devil Wears Prada didn’t warn me the first time, Lauren Weisberger should have at least taken both of my shoulders and shaken them. 

It didn’t hurt to think about balancing Formula One and journalism out. After all, it’s what I can do as a journalist—know enough about racing and engines and ensure that my knowledge is being shared through my writing and published works. 

I try my best to relax in my bed, lying flat on the mattress with my hands resting on my stomach. The silence is deafening and I can hear my steady breathing. My eyes are growing tired as they continue to look up at the ceiling of my room. 

For a moment, I debated whether or not I should come downstairs for dinner with Lewis. If there’s anything that I know about him, he takes his dear time to get ready—and I have an endless closet at home. That’s telling you a lot. 

A knock on my door makes me stand fast and rush to open it. Daniel Ricciardo stands there with a grin.

“Oh you,” I blurt out.

Displeased with my response, Daniel cries out, “I’m not terrible all the time, Tils.” 

“Sorry,” I shake my head as I correct myself, “I meant that I thought you were Lewis.”

“He phoned me and said we should head down instead of waiting for him,” he shrugs as he sticks his arm out and offers, “let’s go?” 

I nod and head to where my flats are, slipping them on with ease as I grab my keycard and wallet. 

Daniel only pulled his arm back when I wrapped my arm around it. We descend to the ground floor where the restaurant is located. 

A host takes us to a four table seat at a corner. Seeing familiar faces from the venue, I nod at them as a greeting before I find myself sitting across Daniel. 

Soon enough, Lewis arrives and we begin to talk about today’s events. Forty five minutes had passed, and we found ourselves conversing in front of our already empty plates. 

Daniel asks about my family and all I can tell him has something to do with my mother’s side of the family. I guess out of the wealthy people in my family, I can understand my mother’s connections to the automobile industry. My toxic trait is that I despise my father but love my mother.

The difference is that my mother loves us more than anything and cares for our half-sister more than he does. 

But it seems Daniel has focused on a different matter.

“Your mother is— you’re a Ford, Tils,” his eyes widen like an owl as his mouth gapes open. I can practically see a fly entering his mouth. 

“My mum is,” I laugh, looking at Lewis as he, too, laughs at Daniel’s shocked expression. 

“Mate, she’s a Ford,” Daniel reaches out to nudge at Lewis and gestures at me. “You carry that information around just like that?” 

“She’s not really putting it out there for everyone to know,” Lewis chuckles, sipping on his water as he puts it down. “Besides, if you were really into racing you probably have heard about her dad or mum’s family one way or another.”

“I don’t really go digging for information about old money families,” Daniel rolls his eyes as he looks at me again, “you don’t look like you’re happy to be here. For someone who came from families who are into cars.”

“My father insisted on having me work for his teams,” I tell him, “I’m not exactly the brightest for motorsport. I prefer the media more than what my father wishes me to pursue.”

“Have you raced before?” 

“I had a karting career at some point,” I shrug, “or at least I started at the age 4. Mum didn’t agree with it and I should’ve started at 7, but my father insisted. I was already competing by 7. My sisters were too, but some preferred equestrian over racing.”

“If my dad was a twat, I’d stop it just to spite him too,” Daniel says as I raise my brows at the statement. He then corrects himself, “What I mean is I’d pursue the karting career for me, not for him.”

“Gotcha.”

Lewis pipes up, “Blanche is a pretty decent woman. You should see her, mate.” He turns to look at me and asks, “Is she coming this weekend?” 

“With Aimee and Sylvie,” I nod in confirmation, “I’m not quite sure about Stevie yet but she wouldn’t want to miss out on your home race.” Not elaborating any further, I return to the topic, “My father is absolutely baffled when I quit karting but he can’t do much because Poppy, my mum’s dad, was still alive. So between him and Poppy, he chose not to interfere.” 

“But you’re still here on behalf of your father though,” Daniel points out.

“It’s to secure my position and family’s future,” I tell him with a sigh. I look at him then back at Lewis before I say, “Whether I like it or not, I still need to do my part regardless of how much I hate the surname. It’s an obligation that I can’t avoid but it’s alright. It’s not just for me— it’s for my sisters and my future children.” Wow, I’ve only been friends with Daniel for a month and I’m already airing out my dirty laundry to him. Is this what happens when your friends are your sisters and just Lewis?

“You’re taking your elder sister role way too seriously. You can’t even catch a break,” Daniel says incredulously. 

I can only nod as I agree; my mother’s capable enough of worrying about them and I should just be doing whatever I want. She cares for my sisters as much as I do but being cut off from my father’s side of the family isn’t something that I’d allow. 

It’s not as if my sisters don’t want to join me at the trackside; they want to keep an eye on one of each team in fact. They want to be able to know what kind of thing our father brags about. But much like me, they don’t want to be on the track itself—they’re better off being models because that's what they wanted to be. They’ll join me soon enough, they just need to make a career out of modelling and come to work for the driving teams whenever they’re ready. 

“They’ll be in a lot of magazines soon enough,” I shrug nonchalantly. “I’d like them to do that first unless they feel like carrying a headache coming from either Brown or Horner.”

“There are three of them,” Lewis chuckles, “if anything, those three would outnumber your team principals. With you alone I got scared, could you imagine Sylvie? She’s feisty.” 

“It’s not just to keep them sane,” I roll my eyes, my foot underneath the table kicking Lewis in the leg. The table shakes lightly. “I just started working in this kind of industry. What kind of a big sister would I be if I’m just as clueless? I need to know more, especially if I want to be able to teach my potential kids about it.”

Lewis, the piece of shit, decides that this is the right time to joke about it and say, “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about a future with my boss, Tilly.” 

I snap my head to Lewis’ direction too much that I’m thinking I just got a whiplash. My glare hardens when Danny and Lewis’ faces turn red from laughing too much. 

“You ought to quiet down, boys,” I hiss, not wanting to look at the people who are giving us the unnecessary attention being gathered by their laughter.

“You have to admit,” Lewis breathes deeply to refrain from laughing again, “you two got along well. Was it because of Dubai?” 

“I told you that in confidence,” reaching down in his thigh, I pinch it as he whines quietly. He slaps my hand away as I say, “You’re a shit secret keeper.”

“Wai— what about Dubai?” Daniel, clearly not understanding what’s going on, asks as he looks at me while he expects a context. 

I muttered to him, “Met Toto Wolff in 2006. Spoke to him and all that.” 

Lewis nearly cries in laughter as he speaks, “She told me about it years ago. She never knew his name–or she refused to tell me who. She said he was attractive alright but—ow, stop it, Tils.”

I pull myself away from Lewis and sit back straight on my seat as I claim, “He doesn’t remember nor think of me like that, Lew. He’s just a silly crush.” 

“Is he?” 

“He was,” I correct him even if I’m wrong. It’s like Toto Wolff got an on-and-off button in my life. One moment he’s there making me blush the next thing he’s already gone. 

“You’ve been single for as long as I know,” Lewis huffs out, “why don’t you try dating again anyways?”

“With your boss?” I raise a brow, “Are you that obtuse?”

“What? He isn’t bad,” Lewis shrugs, returning to his usual composure as he crosses his arms, “the opportunity’s right there. Why are you adamant on not taking it?”

“Because she doesn’t want to get on Christian’s bad side for fraternizing with the enemy,” Daniel jokes. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Daniel,” I threaten him emptily, making him giggle again. 

“I’m repeating what you said!” He cries out, still laughing as he laughs obnoxiously. Men! Seriously.

“He’s quite interested you know,” Lewis states, his arms now crossing as he leaned against his seat. “He’s playing 20 questions with me whenever you leave. I’m not sure if he’s interested in me winning or you.” 

“He’s not interested like that,” I insist, “I’m sure he means well because I just popped up all of the sudden today. Nobody likes to step on the wrong foot of a newcomer. You’ll just make an enemy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel scoffs haughtily, “the guy who’s been asking Christian questions about you left and right— the same person who doesn’t like Christian— isn’t interested.” 

“I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since 2004,” I scowl, trying to keep my voice quiet as I say, “What makes you think I’ll be able to have an interesting relationship with him?” 

“He isn’t subtle about wanting to spend time with you,” Lewis answers, “what did he say again? You’re welcome to be in our paddock anytime? Does that ring a bell?”

Of course I do, I almost huff out, it’s one of the things that I intend to do. Be able to spend enough time admiring his team…

“I know men,” Daniel adds, “and with the way of how he’s looking down at you during the interview? With the heart eyes making contact with another pair of heart eyes? Yeah, that man is in loooove~”

“Like it’s a fast lane.”

Now I can’t deny it. 

I like being around Toto Wolff, more than anything. Speaking to him is like a breath of fresh air after stepping out of a cigar lounge. He’s a gentleman; I’ve always wondered how he’s not married. Women deserve him. Yet he’s here, being the most eligible bachelor in the grid following Fernando Alonso. God, I will snatch him up if I can even meet his level. I doubt he likes his women like me… trashy trying to be classy.

But it turns out, my cynicism is unnecessary. I find myself thinking a lot about the things that could be. In an empty elevator, I wait as it slowly closes. But the call from outside forces me to keep the door open until the person catches up. 

The man makes it inside as he stands tall, trying to catch his breath. There’s no way in hell—

“Tilly,” oh my god. I’m seeing too much of him today. 

I turn to my left as I dumbly ask, “Bonjour, what floor?” 

Toto looks at me with confusion in his face, probably wondering if I’m playing stupid or just stupid in general as he looks past me and says, “You’ve got it.” 

Wow, not only am I seeing too much of him, I’m also on the same floor as him. 

I nod and look back at the front, I can see him through the reflection from the doors. His polo remains unbuttoned and his hair unruly after running his fingers through it. I can see traces of sweat dripping down his forehead. I probably shouldn’t do a physical examination on him.

I look at him and ask politely, “Have you had dinner yet?” It’s a polite thing to ask, right? Like I’m not coming off as desperate to speak to him?

“Ah,” he keeps his mouth shut for a second and answers, “it is something to take up in my room, unfortunately.”

“Is it?” I ask out of curiosity, “You could have joined others for dinner?” 

“Busy, as always,” he smiles sadly, “it’s an endless battle.”

“Quite a shame,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “Do people know time zones or just business hours or is it just something written on papers?” I ask no one in particular.

“My brain doesn’t shut off the moment 7 pm hits,” he tells me with a rueful smile. “It calls for work all the time. So, no. I don’t follow my own business hours policy.” God, I feel sorry for him. 

“It’s like a wire, Toto,” I nibble on my bottom lip, not knowing how to express my empathy without looking like an arse, “you can’t plug it back in if you’ve something to prevent it from happening. Like a baby proof.” 

“You’re right,” he laughs. “What do you suggest I should do? The baby proof, I mean.”

I watch him as the door slides open, thanking him as he gestures for me to walk out of the lift first. Then my mouth does not stop speaking, “Have a dinner away from your work, for instance. Never hurts to isolate your work once in a while,” he laughs at that, “read a book? I love reading novels— I am currently skimming through Das Parfum. You can even time your break before going back to work because I can assure you that habit isn't good.” 

“Do you understand the German language?” He asks me. Mentioning Das Parfum clearly piqued his curiosity. 

It was smart of me to bring it up. When he told me earlier that he came from Austria, I knew I could talk to him in so many languages. Like I knew what I should say next. Like a mastermind.

I'm such a fucking mastermind.

My mouth quirks up and I answer, “Wir haben schließlich viele deutsche fahrer.” We have a lot of German drivers, after all.

He nods at me like he listens to everything I tell him. As if he’s following an order or he’s rather impressed with my pronunciations. Nice. 

Our conversation leads us in front of my hotel room. 

I look at him and gestures to the door, “This is my bat lair.”

“Bat lair?” He chuckles.

“My little humble abode,” I joke. “I can unfortunately hear my bed calling for me. I have to go.” 

“Right,” he nods as I open my door and step inside my room. Telling myself to get my shit together, I turn around to see him still waiting for me to head in. That was a surprise. 

I suggest, “One way to turn your stressful work day around would be breakfast. If you’d like, you can have one with me tomorrow?” 

“Are you asking me on a breakfast date?” He teases, watching me fall apart with my face flushing red. He stops eventually and answers, “I would be more than happy to accompany you before we head out.” 

“Okay good,” I laugh nervously, “I’ve no one else with me anyways so there’s that… does seven sound okay?” 

“You can ask me for anything I think I’ll say yes, liebling,” boom. There goes my heart once more. He grins gleefully as he says, “I know a place nearby. Would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?” 

“As far as I know I’m the one who asked you first,” I roll my eyes in a joking manner, smile escaping my lips. 

“I’d love to have you pick me up but I know the place,” he tells me with a shrug. “Besides, it’s by the tracks. We can head down there together before they start piling up for the day.” 

Not wanting to fluster myself anymore, I nod almost eagerly and he exclaims, “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Have a good night, bello. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, schatz. Sweet dreams.”

Oh I really am going to have the sweetest dreams ever. Trust me. 

[gardenwalrus]

Malcolm MacAlister Hall interview with Jane Asher, 'Forget Cakes… Jane Asher Talks about being Lazy, Leopard-Skin Boots and Learning to Live with the Darker Side of Life', Good Housekeeping (1 Feb. 2003)

Full article

When you think Jane Asher, you think cool, auburn, alabaster. You also think nice cake-lady. But, as is the case with anyone who has a spotless media record, there’s a great deal more going on. She is deeper, darker, lazier, more passionate than you would ever imagine. The perfect image that she’s acquired obscures this other Jane Asher, who knocks off The Times crossword for relaxation, describes herself as ‘left-leaning’ and discusses the idiocies of politicians with her husband, the cartoonist Gerald Scarfe, as he works on his drawings. ‘If you’re dealing with politics all the time you’ve got to be cynical, haven’t you?’ she says. When we meet, it’s the day after the Commons vote on extending adoption rights to gay and unmarried couples, and Jane is fizzing.

‘The debacle of Duncan Smith telling Tory MPs they had to take the three-line whip [meaning that every member must attend and vote according to the party line] - from a man who must be reasonably intelligent, it’s the stupidity that’s so mind-blowing,’ she says angrily. She speaks with a passion you wouldn’t begin to glean from reading between the lines of her biography: stage and film actress; astoundingly prolific author (18 books on cake design, home entertaining and childcare, plus three well-received novels); shrewd businesswoman (she has her own cake shop in Chelsea and Jane Asher branded goods are sold in Debenhams and supermarkets); mother of three children (Katie, 28, Alexander, 20, and Rory, 18); and wife of 30 years. At 56, she looks mesmerisingly beautiful to a jealousy-inducing degree: slim as a teenager and with an English-rose complexion, she genuinely appears 20 years younger than she really is. So, Jane: lucky genes, cosmetic miracle, or savage health and beauty regime? ‘I put it down to a combination of stress and stairs,’ she says. ‘There’s such an obsession now with reducing stress, but stress is just a natural part of living. And I grew up in a very tall house, and I still live in one now. I’ve had to run up and down stairs all my life.’ The tall house she grew up in was Wimpole Street in central London. Her father was an eminent consultant endocrinologist who identified Munchausen’s syndrome - where the patient feigns an illness to get admitted to hospital - and but for his modesty, it would have been labelled Asher’s syndrome. Her mother was a professor of music and an oboe teacher at the Royal Academy of Music. It was a happy, middle-class childhood. She and her sister Clare, now an Ofsted inspector, learned to curtsey at Miss Lambert’s School in Paddington. At 17, when she was working for the Radio Times, she was sent to cover a pop concert at the Albert Hall and met Paul McCartney in a corridor. He reportedly described her as a ‘rave London bird’. And the heavy-fringed Jane became the most famous girlfriend in Britain. It lasted five years, until she came home unexpectedly one day to find him with another girl. She walked out, and although he wrote And I Love Her and We Can Work It Out for her, she never returned. McCartney was said to be devastated. To this day, she has never spoken about it publicly. She has never spoken, either, about the death of her adored father who, struck by a terminal illness, committed suicide when she was in her early 20s. She has always politely insisted that these two events should not become just more public property. Her novels, surprisingly to some, have addressed serious issues - the traumas of infertility, betrayal and obsession. ‘Everyone gasps: “They’re so dark!”�� she says, ‘but life’s bleak and disturbing, isn’t it, really? We all float along pretending it isn’t, but when you stop to think about what’s going on at any moment, there’s probably a child screaming in pain within 10 miles of wherever you are. I don’t want to sound like a pessimist, but it’s bloody awful.

‘I don’t know why, but my fiction does tend to look at the blacker side. But hopefully with humour as well - as in life. In fiction, although it’s all invented, you probably are letting out more of yourself: your beliefs, your feelings, your attitude to things. I think when I’m writing fiction it’s almost like a bit of the real Jane is speaking to the reader.’ At weekends, the ‘real Jane’ likes to gather the family around her at their large house overlooking the Thames. ‘That’s when I do enjoy cooking for them all,’ she says. ‘Weekday cooking gets a bit boring when you’ve just got to feed everyone every day, but at weekends when I’ve got a bit more time I like experimenting with new things. It’s relaxing.’ Her family and her marriage to Gerald are clearly her foundation. ‘He’s just lovely and funny and we think the same way about things,’ she says. ‘Not that a 30-year marriage is all easy and wonderful, of course. But I’m very lucky I picked such a lovely man. It’s wonderful to have someone who loves you whatever you look like and whatever you do - I always think about that when he sees me in my bath cap, the most unattractive object in the world,’ she says, amid gales of laughter. ‘If you can pass the bath-cap test, I think you’ve got a very strong marriage.’ On most other subjects, she dismisses her achievements. ‘I’ve never been clever enough to plan a career for myself. I just sort of lurch from one thing to another,’ she says. ‘As a writer I have to have a deadline or I would never do it. It’s a combination of being lazy but also not being able to say no to things. But I’m just as happy lying on a sofa watching an old film and doing nothing. I don’t find it difficult to switch off and ignore piles of things I should have done. ‘Obviously I wrote all the books and did all the cake things because of the children. I didn’t want to leave them when they were young, and I could do those things from home.’ She made a conscious decision to put her children before her acting career, and turned down countless roles. ‘It wasn’t always easy. There were things I would have really liked to do, mostly plays. But I don’t regret it for a second. I think it’s made a huge difference, hopefully, to all of them being as happy as they are, that Gerald and I were around all through their childhood.’ And now that her children are grown, she has taken a role so far removed from anything else she’s done that it almost beggars belief. But it’s precisely because her children are now more independent and she fancies doing ‘something that’s terrific fun and in mainstream television again’ that she’s taking the unlikely role of the new proprietor of Crossroads Hotel. The revamped soap, set in a Birmingham hotel, is not in its third incarnation, and Jane will be playing Angel Samson, owner and queen bee of this buzzing hive of sex, intrigue, high-voltage frocks and clashing personalities. The word around the studio corridors is that the new, and hopefully improved, soap is going to be like Dynasty in the Midlands. Angel is described as being a superbitch, but what’s Jane Asher doing in the middle of this cat-fight? Can she even do bitchy?

‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘We’ve just done a scene where I’m absolutely horrible to Kate, the hotel manager, who’s played by Jane Gurnett. There’s nothing more fun than having a fight with someone you get one with. And,’ she adds, ‘we’ve got lots of wonderful frocks.’ She jumps up to riffle through her stage wardrobe, pulling out sequinned dresses and sky-high stiletto leopard print boots. ‘These are so tottery,’ she exclaims. ‘They make me feel like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.’ Despite her girlish enthusiasm for the role - and its frocks - she admits that this is the sort of part she might have once turned down. ‘If I’m honest, 20 years ago I probably wouldn’t have wanted to go into a soap, but they’ve changed so much. Now you get every kind of actor popping up in them, and they’re such a big part of our culture. When this came up, I really didn’t hesitate.’ The time was just right, it seems, for Jane Asher to mess with our perception of her again.

[wizisbored]

wip wednesday sentences for 30/10

content warning for implied slavery in netherborne

nimona centaur au @twyrewolf, @allofthebeanz, @stonemaskedtaliesin

“I was afraid you’d say something like that. Saints help that poor man.” And with that, she opens the door.

Regardless of her feelings on the centaur, Nimona can’t deny that seeing Ballister Boldheart in real life for the first time is strange. He’s pixels in the shape of another dickhead on TV, he’s ink on a propaganda poster, he’s a name on her squireship paperwork. And also, apparently, he’s an actual flesh-and-blood seal brown warmblood standing in the doorway, looking right at her as they breathe the same air.

Not that she’d in a thousand years admit that. She holds his gaze, stone-faced, and does not stand.

“Sir Boldheart,” the Matron greets, moving to the side as she holds the door open.

netherborne @hurricanebreeze, @quietly-sleeping, @lizhly @tamsinswriting, @sourb0i

“A…Arrhythmia,” Skye whimpers.

“So she’d be cheap, that’s something.” He turns to address the room at large. “Any reason the rest of you would be?”

Prudence and Bertha glance at each other. “Uh- Jock said…”

“Her heart’s defective, I’m down an arm, and they’re untrained teenagers,” Jock rattles off. “Sir.”

“And I’ve got something else for you to hold against Takta,” Lydia says bitterly.

“Yeah? Spill.”

“Well- I saw him bringing those three in, and I tried to get him to help, so they asked if he knew me. He said I was a stray.”

The receding red rushes back. “Oh, that fucking- which one did he have?”

Lydia takes another step away from him. “Prudence and Bertha.”

“Yeah, cause I know their names!”

rabies time @enigma-the-mysterious, @zyrafowe-sny, @violet-prism-creatively, @circus-complex @somefishycat, @shelfthe-reader, @asha10100101010, @whimsicalmeerkat

“Stop- stop looking at me like that, leave me alone!”

Ballister steps back, his hand raised. “Okay, Okay, sorry. I’m not gonna touch you, kid.”

“Back. Off.”

“I’m backing off, I’m backing off.”

She watches him, eyes locked on as he goes to join Ambrosius on the other side of the room. Again, he’s unnerved. Nimona has never been something he’d call predictable, but she is understandable, with practice. He can feel that understanding slipping.

Big white eyes watch him from across the room. Predator or prey, he can’t tell.

He supposes he and Ambrosius will just have to figure out how to go about breakfast with a rabid otter in the sink.

///

That night, it's Ballister’s turn.

He's woken by some sort of commotion from the direction of the bathroom, and blearily clambers out of bed. Nimona didn’t seem too bad when he turned in for the night, he could get within a foot of her at least, get more than one-word responses. Hopefully she’s just tripped, and she’ll be enough in her right mind when he finds her to easily settle.

What he finds is a little pink fawn sprawled on the bathroom floor, the room stinking of vomit.

“Oh, Nim,” he mumbles as he kneels beside her. “You with me, kid?”

Her eyes snap open, hazy for a moment, and then she locks onto him and immediately she’s scrambling to get her gangly fawn legs under her on the tiles.

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay. It’s just me, you’re safe.”

She scrambles to the far wall, staring, legs splayed. Her mouth is hanging open, her breathing ragged, a small sliver of drool hanging from her lip.

blood red @enigma-the-mysterious, @loyal-house-of-lupin, @oriharaizayadividesintoslytherin, @kallisto-k

It’s nice, he finds, to be able to consult the horse - too tight, too loose, too forward or back? Though, he could do without the teasing.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, with mock sympathy. “Don’t know how to fit a saddle, cowboy?”

“I’m still not a cowboy,” Ballister says, as he fastens her breast collar. He finds his eye drawn to the four-pointed star on her shoulder as he does. He’d assumed it was a compass when he first saw it, with the N standing for North, but now he’s not so sure.

“Is this a real brand?” he asks.

“Am I a real horse?”

“I don’t know why I bother.”

He walks a circle around her, giving the saddle fit one last look over, before he stops at her side. Only now does he appreciate how much his sheer panic helped him get on her back earlier - how on earth did he get his foot all the way up to the stirrup with the other still on the ground?

bugebroph @eriquin, @auburnlaughter, @kalira, @post-and-out

Behind the mask, she beams. “I always made Beej tell me about his jobs when he got back, so I picked stuff up from him. But that’s just his methods, I’ve done my own research too, and that wasn’t easy. The librarian’s filing system is actively hostile.”

“There’s an afterlife library?” Adam says, practically lighting up at the thought.

“Yeah, it’s great! Would be better if the librarian didn’t hate me.”

“Oh no, did something happen?” Barbab asks gently.

Lydia shrugs. “Well, since his system is so dogshit I just keep books I like ‘cause I’d never see them again if I returned them. We’ve both got our reasons.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

She grimaces. “He’s way too fond of bringing up my bloodline for any decent conversations to happen.”

[teeth-cable]

I love how Vivziepop is a big fan of Kesha and made the self insert based on a time in Kesha's life that she regrets. I didn't know that until 5 mins ago because like I'm not a huge fan of Kesha, not because i dislike her I just didn't happen to latch onto her like I did with Taylor Swift.

But like Vivziepop literally didn't do any research about Kesha's wants and desires. Even if she is a celebrity Kesha is still a human being like I don't know exactly what happened but if it were me and I took a job for whatever reason where my self insert that was made without consulting me... Especially since the character is a demon of gluttony and is based off the era of my life I actively despise.. Like wtf.

I can understand Kesha changing her mind completely and delaying the ep like I doubt Bee's design was made with her consent or input because of what it represents. She probably took the job because some people were making an indie project and could afford her so maybe she was being nice.

Also the party girl era from the early 2000s for Kesha's brand is gone so Helluva Boss could probably damage her newer version of herself and make her go back to it or cause confusion from a marketing perspective.

I feel like if Bee wasnt a Kesha self insert from a bygone era the ep wouldn't have been delayed as much.

Viv was being a creepy fan, there is no better way to put it. She made this fursona to fit her interpretation of a real life human being without their approval, based it off a personality that was pushed on to Kesha by her creepy producer, Dr. Luke, a personality Kesha is trying so hard to remove herself from because it was part of a terrible phase in her life, and the cherry on top is Viv made Kesha's fursona, the Queen of Gluttony when she had an ED. There are so many layers wrong with Bee and it's not surprising, Kesha didn't want her name in Helluva Boss afterwards.

[slothquisitor]

Invisible String: Chapter One

A Baldur's Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: Brand new to Baldur's Gate, without friends or family but with a dream job as an archivist at Baldur's Gate University (that barely pays anything), Liv is introduced by a friend of a friend to Astarion whose social media career seems to be stalling and is therefore willing to rent out his spare bedroom to her.

The roommates mostly avoid one another, and in a burst of loneliness, Liv joins the new app everyone in Baldur's Gate is talking about: The Weave. Who knows, maybe she really will meet someone and fall in love...

Read on AO3.

___________________________________________________________

The music is no longer blaring and the lights are no longer strobing, but they might as well be for the way they continue to echo through Astarion’s mind. He sits at the cleanest of the empty tables in the Elfsong and nurses an end of shift drink. It feels nice to have a solid span of five minutes without anyone needing a damn thing from him, so he finally decides to check his notifications on his smartphone. 

He doesn’t get far. 

“Fangs!” Karlach yells as she approaches. How the red-skinned tiefling manages to have this much energy after working a full shift should almost certainly be studied. “Third time working this week. Everything alright?”

He glances quickly at the notifications waiting for him, but he sets his phone down with a sigh and puts on the same smile he’s worn most of the evening. “But of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

Karlach sets down her own glass of cider and angles her broad body sideways into the booth he’s claimed. Their fellow employees are beginning to clean up the ravages of the evening in the old bar turned club. With the overhead lights on and the music no longer shaking the space, the room looks rather ordinary and a little dingy. He hates it here. 

Karlach doesn’t. She works here full-time, happy to be a bouncer or the life of the party at the bar, she’s equally at home doing either. He only picks up the odd night or two on the weekends when money is tight. He works hospitality for the VIP guests, smiling and pretending he doesn’t hate their guts. But lately, money has been tighter than usual. So to the Elfsong he trudges. 

“Just don’t usually see you working here so much. Not unless you need a new computer or camera or something.”

He sighs. “If you must know, Chirper is taking a much larger cut from creator funds than ever. So…despite my content doing just as well as it has in the past…there’s less cash flow.”

Karlach nods and takes a deep drink. “You know, I told you to get a smaller apartment so that you wouldn’t be in this position.”

He had purchased his very fabulous, very spacious apartment with the first of his suddenly insane income when he’d started going viral for his roastings of men with terrible fashion sense on Chirper. Now he has a whole consulting business remotely helping men dress less terribly, but the bulk of his income still comes from his merciless Chirper threads making fun of men in power with terrible sense of style. He loves that apartment for all it represents: freedom, security, and ownership. Those things just don’t come very cheap these days and neither does his mortgage. 

“I’ve got it handled, Karlach.”

“You hate spending your nights here,” she replies. 

And she isn’t entirely wrong. Karlach loves the press of people, the attention, but she doesn’t have to take shit from anyone and people still love her. He spends his evenings here smiling and mediating and generally hating himself from dusk until the bar closes a few hours before dawn. It’s his choice to be here, but sometimes when a certain song comes on or he catches just a whiff of the right mix of booze and perfume he’s trapped all over again in a very different club. He doesn’t exactly have a lot of other marketable skills though, so the pay here is good when needs it. 

“It’s fine, really.”

“Have you ever considered getting a roommate?”

He tilts his head at her in disdain. “A roommate, really? That’s your solution?”

“Oh come on, it’s not the worst solution. Consistent income every month would give you more freedom, you’d spend fewer nights here.”

“I just need to figure out how to make the side things more profitable. Or get more sponsorships or whatever. It’s just that so many of them want me to wear their clothes and have personal content. Which doesn’t really work for me,” he says. 

Karlach is one of the few people in the city that knows exactly what he is. Who knows what he was before all this and still doesn’t shrink away, doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s grateful, of course, even if he still can’t quite fathom what she’s getting out of the arrangement. 

“They still wanting you to show your face?” she asks. 

Objectively, he has a very good face. He’d love to show it off on social media, but a truly charming byproduct of his condition is his inability to do that. Oh, he’s tried all sorts of things, but the outcome is always the same: a blurred smudge where his face should be. 

He nods. “I keep telling them that my anonymity is part of my charm, but everyone wants ‘get ready with mes’ and peeks into the ‘real life’ behind the influencer. I miss when the internet preferred everyone at arm’s length.”

“I don’t,” Karlach scoffs. “Look, I only bring up the roommate thing because my friend Gale told me to keep a lookout for a friend of his who needs a place and you have an entire extra room and bathroom you don’t use.” 

That is not true, he uses the closet in that bedroom regularly. “Gale who works at the library?” Astarion tries to remember. Karlach has lots of friends, and it would probably be good of him to pay more attention when she talks about them. 

“Yeah. Guess she’s a new archivist or something. If she’s anything like Gale, she’d be steady and dependable. And unlikely to be prone to throwing large parties.”

There’s a slew of reasons why getting a roommate is a terrible idea, but on the other hand…it would be nice to have money coming in through no labor of his own. “I’ll think about it.”

“Well, let me know, and I’ll pass your info along.” 

His phone buzzes on the table; he sips at his drink rather than turning it over to see exactly what it is. 

Karlach glances at it meaningfully. “Is it the Weave?”

He shrugs and grins. “Probably.”

“I still don’t understand how you manage to get so many matches on there. I’ve matched with exactly two people in the last month, the first one ghosted me and the second was great until they started asking for feet pics.”

“Mystra favors me, what can I say?”

“I’m not sure how an AI algorithm for love matching is favoring you over me. You’re not even looking for anything serious. How many people have you met up with from it? I’m betting six or seven.”

His smile turns feline. “Darling, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He hasn’t actually met up with anyone from the app at all. He likes the anonymity, of chatting with someone without having to worry about being himself. He likes having someone’s undivided attention, especially when he can control exactly when he gets it. He enjoys having someone to constantly talk to, to ask about his day, the possibility of building something. But there’s always a point that he cuts it off. It’s easier, cleaner that way. Besides, he rather prefers to be the one to cut things off before it can get too far or too insistent about meeting in person. 

He knows that makes him broken. And he’d rather not admit that to anyone, so letting them believe the lie is far, far easier. 

Karlach sighs. “Maybe I need to go try out some new coffee shops or something. Then maybe Mystra will match me with some new people.”

The whole draw of the app is that it tracks your location and finds others in your life who also use the app, and then matches you with them, anonymously of course. There’s something romantic about the idea that maybe you’ve already met the person you’re conversing with through the app. But all you get is their screen name and pronouns. The rest of it is up to you. 

“Trying to game it? Let me see your profile, maybe I can help.”

Karlach hands over her phone, and the first thing he looks at is her username: HotCliveMama34. “Well there’s your problem,” he says as he hands the phone back. 

“What?”

“You’re matching with people who think you’re a mother!”

Karlach looks offended. “I am a mother.”

“Your dog doesn’t count…besides are you sure he’s a dog? He looked more like a bear in the last picture you posted.”

“Clive is my child. My favorite, best, most wonderful child. If someone can’t handle me at my Mama K, they don’t deserve me otherwise.”

Astarion shrugs. “Fair enough.” He envies her confidence that who she is should be enough for anyone. That it’s someone else’s problem and not hers if they don’t love her just the way she is. 

“I should go, it’s getting late,” he says, draining his glass and standing up. 

She offers him a wave and a smile. “Later, Fangs.”

As he walks away he checks his notifications at last. 

KissMeQuick: I haven’t ever told anyone this before, but it’s really easy talking to you. 

RomanceJunkie: hey hope work is good, wyd after?

Mystra, new match alert: HeartacheHero.

Every last one is a Weave notification, nothing real at all. 

***

Most people have a compulsion towards preservation. It’s why they keep report cards with high grades and hang up their children’s art on fridges. They’re constantly keeping or looking for mementos, magnets from every place they’ve traveled or pictures snapped in front of buildings and structures. Liv Vires has always been interested in what people keep and what they don’t and how to ensure knowledge isn’t lost. But for someone whose entire career is focused on preservation, she has managed to cut herself loose from almost every vestige of her old life in the span of one short month. 

She has to race to keep up with Lae’zel as she strides with a singular purpose through the university campus and toward the large, domed library building. Students and the handful of seemingly ever-present tourists instinctively shift to make way for her, and Liv simply follows in her wake. Baldur’s Gate University sprawls in the oldest part of the city, with hundreds of years of history contained in its old stone architecture. It's not just a place of learning; it is also a pilgrimage of sorts. 

This job is still new enough that every morning Liv cannot help but gaze up at the collection of spires and towers that make up the inner campus of BGU, still a little in awe that this is where she gets to work each day. Liv had left Cormyr in a hurry, in the type of impulsivity borne of nothing but desperation. Her relationship with her family had always been strained, but then the Laughably-Awful-That-We’re-Not-Thinking-About had happened and broken everything irrevocably. And honestly? It had been a relief in some ways to finally have a legitimate reason for cutting off her family completely. But it didn’t leave her feeling any less unmoored. And suddenly, Cormyr had felt too damn small. Her family knew too much of her life, her friends. She’d needed a change so radical, so all-encompassing that it wouldn't leave any space for her family. And so far, she hasn’t once looked back.  

Liv feels lucky for the new job, the new city, the new life. But it is still somewhat overwhelming. When she finally catches up with Lae’zel, she gestures to the bookstore on the corner, the one with the coffee shop on the second floor. “I was going to go grab some coffee, you want something?”

Lae’zel looks rather annoyed, but Liv can’t tell if it’s at the question or if that’s just how Lae’zel generally is. Lae’zel has been generous enough to let her stay at her small, rather spartan apartment, and Liv is just trying to not be too much of an inconvenience until she finds her own place. “Tchk, I do not need coffee, but go if you must.”

“See you in a few,” Liv replies, hurrying away. She still hasn’t quite figured out Lae’zel’s moods or tone or what any of it means. She hates her reliance on other people right now, and all the ways that Lae’zel doesn’t quite allow her to pay her back. She had jumped on a train and left Cormyr like a thief in the night with nothing but the job offer in hand. She was grateful for Gale, who had remembered her from their shared undergrad in Waterdeep, and had recommended her for the archivist position and then promptly promised to help her with the move to a new, unfamiliar city.

It wasn’t that she hated her librarian job at Cormyr’s public library, but she’s an archive conservator. Archivists and librarians are not the same thing, and while they’re both small, interconnected worlds. Liv was sort of tired of wearing a bunch of different hats. This job not only got her away from her family but is exactly the type of work she’d always dreamed of. It would be perfect if she could just find a fucking apartment of her own though…or a roommate where she doesn’t have to sleep on the couch. 

She’s been frequenting this particular coffee shop within this bookstore enough in the last two weeks that the baristas recognize her, and it’s nice to start feeling like she’s becoming part of a place. She grabs her coffee and heads into the library, flashing her work badge to get around the tourists eagerly vying for a view of the old convocation house and its fancy ceilings. She makes her way up the long, steep staircase in the old building before finally arriving on the floor of the archives, where she follows the snaking path of books to her small cubicle. 

These days most of the archival work happens digitally, so they all have their own desks and only work with the rare books in specialized ‘clean rooms’. She’d be more annoyed, but it means that she gets to bring in her coffee. 

“Ah, good morning,” Gale greets her, leaning on the corner part of her cubicle wall. He dresses the exact same way he did nearly ten years ago all thick sweaters and sports coats. He wears the years well though, the only hint of passing time is his longer hair with peeks of gray at the temple and a slight crinkling around his eyes. 

“Morning,” she smiles. “How are you?” She finds it hard to believe that she’d once thought him arrogant during their studies in Waterdeep. It’s only been a few weeks since they reconnected, but Gale has turned out to be her most steadfast friend through the upheaval of her life. 

“I’m doing wonderfully, and I have some rather good news for you.”

“I love good news in the morning.”

“A friend of mine knows someone in need of a roommate,” Gale grins. 

“Thank the gods,” she says, and then promptly lowers her voice. “I think Lae’zel is getting very annoyed having me around.”

“It’s a small space, it’s to be expected,” Gale says with a bit of a wince. Gale had also offered to allow her to stay with him, but she has a mild allergy to cats. The allergy doesn’t stop her from spending a few hours in his place, properly medicated of course, but it would be impossible to live there for any length of time.  

“Who is this friend?” 

“It’s a friend of a friend, but Karlach wouldn’t send me his information unless she believed it would work out. His name is Astarion. I’ll text you his info. I’ve never met him, but Karlach says he’s some sort of fashion consultant, and sometimes works hospitality at a nightclub?”

“In my price range?” Liv asks. That’s been the biggest hurdle of this whole move. Archivists are highly specialized so naturally they make hardly any money. Unfortunately, finding a place that’s affordable and isn’t student housing has been an absolute nightmare. And while she could live next to a bunch of rowdy undergrads, she’d really love to not do that in her thirties.

“Yes, and much nicer than any of the places you’ve been looking at. Karlach says it has its own room and bathroom.”

“Damn. I’d live with almost anyone if it means that kind of privacy. I’ll shoot him a text. Thank you.”

Gale shrugs. “What am I here for? Oh, did you see that we got that Karsus manuscript yesterday evening? I’ve been dying to get my hands on it. Want to help me with the page scanning?”

“Hell yeah. I’ve got some requisition requests to respond to first, and I’m hoping I’ve got a lead on an earlier copy of the Baldur’s Gate charter. So give me an hour?” 

“It’s a plan.” As he walks away, he texts her Astarion Ancunin’s contact information and she promptly sits and spends far too long crafting an introductory text. 

Liv: Hi there this is Liv Vires, Gale Dekarios gave me your contact information. I hear you’re looking for a roommate? 

She rereads the text at least three times after sending it, hoping that it sounds friendly enough before giving up on staring at it in hopes of a reply. There is no immediate reply anyway, but then ten minutes later her phone buzzes. 

Astarion: Hello. That depends entirely on how ugly the furniture is that you propose to bring in. 

Oh good, he’s got a sense of humor. What a relief. She stares at his reply while she thinks through her response. 

Liv: In that case, I’ve got great news: I don’t have any furniture at the moment. I suppose we could negotiate your input on future purchases. Otherwise, I’ll just promise to do my best not to clash with the curtains.

Astarion: If we keep my input on the table, then I suppose I do have a room available. I assume you’d like some pictures of the place? 

Liv: We can certainly negotiate. And sure, I’d love to see the place. 

A few moments later she receives several pictures of a very nice apartment. It’s a hells of an upgrade compared to the rundown and downright falling apart places she’s been looking at. Something tells her that this is too good to be true, but the more she looks at the immaculately clean kitchen, the living room with large windows, and the empty and waiting bedroom it becomes very hard to care. But she can’t shake a sinking feeling in her stomach: there’s no way she can afford this. 

Liv: Your place looks amazing, but I’m worried that our friends may have misunderstood what I can actually afford. I can’t go over two grand. 

Astarion: That’s what I was told. This is a little bit different since I own the apartment, your contribution helps me afford my mortgage in the capitalistic hellscape we inhabit. 

That actually makes a lot more sense, and she immediately relaxes. She looks back through the pictures again, trying to get a better sense of it. The bedroom is already semi-furnished with a bed and nightstand and the closet looks rather large. The Liv she was before, the one who hadn’t left Cormyr or her family would be more meticulous about this whole thing. She would ask more questions and track down backup options for her backup options. But it was impulse that got her to Baldur’s Gate, and it’s worked out so far. So, she’s determined not to overthink this one too much either. Besides, the more she texts with Astarion, the better she feels about the whole thing. 

***

Two days after making initial contact, swapping social information, and ironing out a rental agreement he shamelessly stole from the internet, Astarion’s new roommate arrives at his door. This whole thing has only been a mild inconvenience so far, so he’s hopeful it will actually work out for the best. The most annoying part was that he had been using the closet in what will now be her bedroom as his second closet, so finding space for those clothes in his own room had required a fair bit of creativity. Otherwise, she seems exceedingly normal, nice, and boring as all hells. Karlach says that’s a good thing. 

He’s spent the past two days stalking Liv’s social media in an effort to figure out who she actually is. He hasn’t learned much. Her most recent post is from almost two years ago posing at the beach with a woman he can only assume is her sister since they share the same dark hair and green eyes. Otherwise, she’s proven to be an enigma.

But Liv hasn’t arrived alone. When he opens the door he is greeted by her and a small, terrifying githyanki woman dressed in a smart pantsuit and holding a box. “Oh, hello there,” he says, stepping aside at the door. 

“Nice to actually meet you,” Liv says brightly. “This is my friend Lae’zel, she came along to help me with my things.” If he’s not what she expected from their brief text exchanges, there’s not a hint of it in her expression. 

“I’m here to ensure you pass the vibe check,” Lae’zel says without a hint of a smile and strides inside. 

Liv for her part turns a rather shocking shade of pink. She’s also dressed as formally as Lae’zel, wearing a deep purple blazer that’s tailored so well he doesn’t even have a critique of it. Perhaps they’ve both come to move her in straight from work. 

“Vibe check?” He raises a brow in her direction. 

She attempts a smile that’s more of a grimace. “Well, I am moving in with a person I’ve only just met, so I guess you can’t be too careful.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry, I already hid the bodies and had the carpets cleaned of all the blood of my enemies.”

“How thoughtful.”

She’s only carrying one large suitcase and a backpack. Lae’zel had a bag in addition to the box she carried, but still, it’s a rather sparse amount of stuff for moving. “Where are the rest of your things?”

Liv gives him a confused look. “This is all I’ve got. I told you I didn’t have any furniture.” 

Sure, but still. She had said she’d moved here recently, somewhat in a hurry to accept a new job. He just didn’t realize exactly what that might mean. He follows her as she steps into the apartment properly. “This is the kitchen, obviously.”

Lae’zel stands in the living room, eyes sweeping over the large windows covered by thick enchanted curtains. Enough to let the light in, but also offering protection from the sun for him. 

“Are these enchanted?” Lae’zel asks bluntly.  

“Of course, my furniture is expensive, and I won’t have it damaged by the sun’s rays. The curtains are set to open at night, part of the enchantment.” The lie is somewhat less believable than he’d like since he’d bought the apartment fully furnished and hasn’t bothered to change a thing about the generic decor. Including the couches that though nice, are not exactly the pinnacle of luxury. 

Liv and Lae’zel exchange a disbelieving glance. He’d decided rather abruptly that he was not sharing the fact he is a vampire with Liv. Karlach had encouraged him to be honest, but no matter how much Karlach trusts Gale, Liv is a stranger.

“That seems excessive,” Lae’zel replies.  

Liv jumps in looking somewhat awkwardly between him and her friend. “Well, best to protect your investment. I guess that means eating on the couch is out?” 

He stares at her for a moment before he finally catches her meaning. “Oh, yes. Obviously.” He steps around them both. “Your room is this way.”

The apartment is rather open concept. The living room and kitchen are connected, the two bedrooms sit opposite each other flanking the kitchen area. Her room is the smaller of the two, but not by much. It’s sparsely furnished, the same as it was when he moved in. A bed and a dresser with a nightstand and nothing else. 

Liv surveys the room, the emptiness of it. He’s not sure what she’s seeing, but she smiles. “It’s perfect.”

She seems like someone who smiles a lot and who has a perpetually sunny disposition. He finds it annoying, but he really doesn’t want to find someone else now that he’s gone through all the work of getting her here. “It’s an empty room, but it’s yours. Assuming I pass the vibe check, of course.”

Lae’zel glares at him, he thinks. It might just be the way she looks at everyone. Hard to tell. “It’s questionable at best.”

“A glowing review!”

Liv seems to be stifling a laugh as she steps between them. “I think we’re good, assuming I have also passed the vibe check?”

He’s surprised by the question, by the deference to him. As if his comfort also mattered. “Of course.” He holds out the key. “I’ve got a work call, so I’ll get out of your way.” He has nothing of the sort, but he’s done standing here awkwardly with these two. 

“I’ll see you later,” she says with a grin, hand closing around the key. He pulls away immediately, avoiding touching her. 

It’s an effort to keep smiling. “It’ll be unavoidable now, darling.” And then he strides away to the relative safety of his room.

[fanfic-recs-01]

Johnlock Fics

This is a list of John Watson/Sherlock Holmes fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Updated 8/13/23

Relationship Reveal 

Yarders Find Out by MidnightMonster

~How the yarders or more specifically Greg gets to know about Sherlock's soldier husband, John Watson who had been in Afghanistan for a little bit more than two and a half years.~

Can't Be His Boyfriend by sorrowsofyore

~In which Sherlock has himself a doctor and Lestrade is just befuddled by it all.~

Secret acquaintances by whokilledholofernes

~Sherlock rushes from the crime scene after receiving a text. That leaves Detective Inspector Lestrade behind with the question: What is Sherlock hiding?~

(un)remarkable by intrinsicness 

~Basically I want a fic where John is like this nice but seemingly boring guy who you've known for years but never really bothered to get to know much about because it's obvious that nothing interesting ever happens to him. In reality though his life is fascinating.~

A Study In Partners by LonelyThursday 

~Sherlock and John met years before ASiP, but nobody told the Yard that~

The Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers by rhelia

~Alternate Universe where John and Sherlock were flatmates (and boyfriends) even before John enlisted, leading to one very surprised policeman.~

This is my friend, John Watson by SeamsInLine

~where Sherlock is married and the Yard doesn't even notice.~

Outed By a Drugs Bust by Inactive Account (sassybleu)

~Sherlock and John are together-but no one else knows that. The damage is done when Lestrade and his crew break in on a drugs bust.~

I Thank My Lucky Stars (For Every Crack, Scratch, and Scar) by burnedplaylists

~Greg was aware that Sherlock acting a bit out of the ordinary wasn’t unusual. In fact, weird was Sherlock’s own brand of normal. But he had been texting the bloke for a week straight with no reply, not even with the promise of a locked-room murder.~

A Surprise in 221B by lancesface

~Lestrade entered the flat prepared to find a consulting detective sulking on the couch due to the lack of cases but instead found a short blond man, wearing an oatmeal jumper, who was limping down the hallway towards the door.~

Illusory Correlation and Confirmation Bias by VanillaBegonias 

~Looking back, there were a few things that should’ve tipped Greg off long before that night at the pub. A few things Sherlock left fairly obvious, that on reflection, made Greg question how he’d gotten his job in the first place.~

In Which Sherlock Is Hiding Something by Huffordle

~Sherlock is hiding something from Greg although the DI doesn't notice.~

Capt John H Watson, MBBS by anthonyedwardstark

~Sherlock has not been seen or heard from for more than a week. Lestrade decides to begin his search for the man at 221B Baker Street. When Scotland Yard's finest arrive at the flat, what (or rather who) they find is certain to surprise them.~

Sherlock's Secret by Superlocked_25

~Sherlock had a secret, one that he told no one. But people were becoming suspicious.~

Sherlock's "Friend" by Lavander_Clearwater

~Sherlock has been acting strange and Lestrade tries to figure out why.~

"Surprise! I'm gay!" by Awkward_bean_sky

~Sherlock suddenly doesn't answer any of Greg's calls anymore and he's worried to say the least. In the end, things aren't nearly as bad as he'd suspected.~

The Internet Is Not Just For Porn by cyerus

~John is Sherlock's internet boyfriend - from CANADA.No one thinks he's real.~

5687 (Approximately) by prettysailorsoldier

~When John's leave request for Christmas is denied, Sherlock is nothing short of devastated, not that he's letting it show. The holiday season now something he's just waiting to end, Sherlock doesn't think anything can possibly make it worse. That is, until he realizes no one in his life believes his army "boyfriend" is even real, but, luckily, everyone is in for a surprise.~

A Long Time Coming by thestanceyg 

~Sherlock's been acting strangely, and Lestrade isn't sure why. One day he finds a shirtless soldier in Sherlock's flat and things start to make a lot more sense.~

The One Where Greg is Exasperated & Confused, Sally is a Cow and Sherlock is Apparently Married by WhatLocked

~When Greg first met Sherlock he was rude, abrupt, acerbic, strung out and practically homeless, and was most certainly not in any way marriage material. This is probably why, when four years later, Sherlock flippantly mentions that he is married, no one believes him.~

Sherlock's Little Secret by DoctorRainyStardusttheThird (orphan_account)

~Namely...an army doctor boyfriend. During a drugs bust, the Yarders stumble upon something they weren't expecting.~

The Imaginary Boyfriend by Oliver_966

~John and Sherlock met after Johns first leave, and have been in a relationship for years. Sherlock hasn't ever mentioned this to anyone at the Yard, and when he does they turn it into a joke. Sherlock doesn't care though of course, because he knows his John is real.~

Sherlock's Who? by freakypet

~John has been away for Sherlock's entire career and suddenly returns to London unexpectedly from Afghanistan. Injured and tired and in pain, all he wants is to surprise Sherlock and kiss his husband. His search to find and surprise his wayward partner takes him across London and meets him up with those in Sherlock's world he has only heard about until now.~

Misc.

What Meets the Eye by worldaccordingtofangirls

~Amnesia is just another case to solve. Piece together unfamiliar faces, reconstruct the old identity, the lost reality. A challenge that Sherlock could even enjoy. He can read people like books. The man with the silver hair is his boss. The tottering old woman, his landlady. The girl with the worried look in her eyes…infatuated. And as for John Watson? His husband. Obviously.~

The Blind and the Clueless by InTheShadows

~5 times Greg saw John was perfect for Sherlock but didn't say anything and one time he did.~

Division by MrsNoggin

~John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes. Coffee Shop AU.~

Without Knowing How by kinklock

~John grows up reading about a fictional detective named Sherlock Holmes but, after nearly dying in Afghanistan, finds himself in a world where Sherlock Holmes is very much real.~

"finally kiss the bloody idiot" by Salambo06

~"John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not."~

Off on the Wrong Foot by Unloyal_Olio

~John and Sherlock aren't flatmates. Instead, John gets a job in Bart's morgue, and Sherlock attempts to abscond with body parts.Which is just not on.~

He’s Not Paid Enough to Deal with This Shit by janonny

~(Or the one where John returned from the war and ended up working for Mycroft as his personal assistant slash doctor on retainer. Everything was fine, until he was sent to post bail for one Sherlock Holmes.)~

An Officer, A Sociopath and A Soldier Walk Into A Bar by ourdancingdays

~...And the punch line is for their ears only. / When Greg started yet another drugs bust, he expected the decomposing ears and infuriating detective, but not the war hero husband leaning against the kitchen counter.~

Cherry Hearts by harrypotteryaoi

~Lestrade's team is unaware that Sherlock is in a relationship, but an accident on a case leads them to meet someone unexpected.~

The Soldier by Evandar

~Captain John Watson meets Sherlock Holmes in Afghanistan and - after a whirlwind romance involving spies and giant monsters - marries him on the army base there. Months later, he's shipped home to his husband wounded.~

Five Times John Noticed But Didn't Really by ScandalousMinds

~5 times John (thought) he noticed something peculiar about his and Sherlock's relationship but really missed the obvious.~

The Other Kind Of Drugs by Yuval25

~'Flushed, dilated pupils, and that weird text. Clearly, Sherlock's back on drugs, right?' A worried Detective Inspector Lestrade decides a drugs bust is in order. Little did he know, the new drug that Sherlock's got himself addicted to is much more... human. And blond. And a doctor.~

Signs of Life by DefNotForWork 

~The Yarders have a pretty well developed view of Sherlock Holmes. Cold, cruel, dispassionate and robotic. He simply doesn't register as human. As Sherlock and John fall farther and farther in love with one another, however, the proud men and women from NSY find themselves facing irrefutable evidence as to the true existence of a heart in Sherlock Holmes.~

The Imaginary Boyfriend by Oliver_966

~John and Sherlock met after Johns first leave, and have been in a relationship for years. Sherlock hasn't ever mentioned this to anyone at the Yard, and when he does they turn it into a joke. Sherlock doesn't care though of course, because he knows his John is real.~

Homecoming by nbcravenstag

~Greg Lestrade always knows when there's something wrong with Sherlock Holmes. When the detective stops talking, stops eating, doesn't come to crime scenes, and barely moves from the red chair in 221B, Greg starts to worry that he's using again, and this time, he's in too deep to be helped. That is, until a certain soldier shows up at a crime scene.~

[lenniharrisonsims]

Allied Nations War Council Trials

Part X

Stefano & Justine Colona

Moving out of Windenburg for a moment, the once Prince of Newcrest, Prince Consort of Sulani, and Usurper King of his brother's throne, Stefano Colona is up on the stand.

Tsarina Ekaterina: "Mr. Colona, I'm going to yield the floor immediately, because there's someone who's been waiting for this day for a long time. Judge Colona?"

King Cesare Colona: "Hello Little Brother." Mr. Colona: "Cesare..." King Cesare Colona: "Would you like to try to explain yourself to the court?" Mr. Colona: "I have nothing to say to you." King Cesare Colona: "Very well, we will continue with the sentencing right away."

King Cesare Colona: "For the crimes of treason against your sovereign Lord- me, for the usurpation of my throne, for the illegal elevation of your son Damien, born out of wedlock, to the rank of Crown Prince, for the unlawful over taxation of the Newcrest people, for the dismantling of the lawfully elected Newcrest Parliament, for the exile of the Newcrest royal family, and for the attempted murder of Princess Emma Lofton-Strauss of Windenburg, this court finds you Guilty. You are sentenced to life at Imperial Mountain Prison, and- this'll be familiar to you- you are stripped of all titles you hold, have held, or may be entitled to hold by right of inheritance for you and your heirs. Further, you are relieved of the custody of your son, Damien Colona, who will be placed with a trustworthy relative until he comes of age."

Chief Lilah Mahoe: "I know we're supposed to be impartial, but personally, that was very satisfying." Mr. Colona: "How dare you, you bitch-" King Cesare Colona: "That's enough, Stefano! You are dismissed." *gavel bangs*

Looks like the hot headed usurper got what was coming for him, and his wronged brother and ex-wife got to be the ones to hand it to him. Sometimes, vengeange really is sweet, especially when it's really justice in disguise.

Next up on the stand is his mistress-turned-wife, Justine Colona

King Cesare Colona: "Mrs. Colona, how do you plead?" Mrs. Colona: "Not gulty, duh." King Cesare Colona: "And you believe that, why?" Mrs. Colona: "Because I didn't do anything, obviously. I had an affair with a married man, which, last I checked, wasn't a crime. I lived with him after we were married, it's not my fault that the house he picked happened to be yours. I did nothing illegal." King Cesare Colona: "Well actually, we beg to differ. For the illegal spending of the Newcrest Royal Trust- a fund set up to pay working royals for official duties- on frivolities such as hair appointments, manicures, pedicures, lavish meals, luxury brand clothes, etc, for the verbal and sometimes physical abuse sustained by the New Moon Palace staff at your hands, and for the attempted murder of Princess Emma Lofton-Strauss of Windenburg, this court finds you Guilty. You are sentenced to life at the Evergreen Women's State Penitentiary without possibility of parole, and you forfeit the custody of your son, Damien Colona." Mrs. Colona: "This is ridiculous! I didn't do anything!"

King Cesare Colona: "This court finds that to be untrue. I yield to Judge Pelletier." Queen Genevieve Pelletier: "After consulting a board of social workers and child welfare experts, the court awards custody of Mr. Damien Colona, to his paternal Aunt and Uncle- Queen Misha and King Cesare Colona." Mrs. Colona: "That's biased! You're on the court!" King Cesare Colona: "I abstained from that vote. I accept the court's decree, and swear to dutifully care for my nephew."

(Queen Misha Colona, watching the proceedings as a Member of the Public) Queen Genevieve Pelletier: "Mrs. Colona, you are dismissed." Mrs. Colona: " But- Wait! Don't I get an annulment!?" King Cesare Colona: "You entered into your marriage freely and of your own will. I'm afraid you'll have to follow ordinary divorce proceedings from inside the pententiary. Next!"

Oof... they both had that coming for a long time. And it's nice that Damien will be raised by family, in Newcrest where he grew up, and in a loving home with all of his many cousins nearby.

Stay tuned for more coverage of the trials!

[livinghighmaintenance]

Maintaining Your Highest Self

Welcome to the High Maintenance Lifestyle Blog, your guide to living luxuriously while prioritizing your health and wellness. Here, we delve into the world of holistic experiences, from the soothing benefits of aromatherapy to the rejuvenating effects of spa treatments and the nourishment of natural foods and herbs.

As a woman juggling a career and a bustling business, I know firsthand the challenges of maintaining a healthy balance amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Like many ambitious women, I found myself pushing my body to its limits, neglecting self-care in pursuit of success. It wasn't until I experienced the detrimental effects of neglecting my health that I realized the importance of prioritizing self-care. Maybe, I'll have the courage to share those experiences one day, sometime throughout this journey.

For me, embracing a high maintenance lifestyle isn't about materialism—it's about investing in my mind and body to ensure I'm operating at my highest potential. Granted, I do like nice things and definitely like to live a certain lifestyle lol, and while it fits my "aesthetic," the goal was to redefine what it means and change the narrative regarding self care. The definition of High Maintenance literally means: "needing a lot of work to keep in good condition." Unfortunately for many, we aren't putting in that work.

Over the years, I've made it my mission to take better care of myself, exploring various holistic practices, from indulgent massages, vegan diet (which I learned is not for me lol) to freezing cryotherapy sessions and relaxing hot springs experiences.

I've received numerous inquiries about my lifestyle, prompting me to share my journey with you all. However, it's essential to recognize that everyone's body is unique, and what works for me may not work for you. Therefore, this blog serves as an educational platform, encouraging you to conduct your own research and consult with healthcare professionals before embarking on any new treatments or dietary changes.

At the heart of my wellness journey are my candles—they serve as a companion on my path to self-discovery and healthy living. Many don't know this journey began 6 years ago, in my mother's kitchen. I've perfected my craft over these years and I'm happy to be able to share them now, with everyone. Each candle is hand crafted to create a sense of not just tranquility, but luxury as well, encouraging you to indulge in moments of relaxation with the soothing sound of our wood wicks.

I hope this better explains the story behind the brand. Thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far. It truly means the world.

Now, join me as we explore the intricacies of this High Maintenance Lifestyle and discover how my candles can enhance your wellness routine. Together, let's prioritize self-care and embrace the beauty of living luxuriously while nurturing our minds, bodies, and souls.

If you have one of my candles, light it tonight.

With love, Carlissa

#MaintainingYourHighestSelf #MaintenanceMondays #Livinghighmaintenance #HighMaintenanceLifestyle #LuxuryWellness #LuxuryCandles #NonToxicCandles

Shop now livinghighmaintenance.com

[theretirementstory]

Greetings from a cloudy Troyes in the Aube département of France. It’s 7c, raining and I think we are due 11c and a drier day. Not that it matters to me I am still ensconced in my hospital room 13 days after arriving.

The arrival of my eldest son may well give them the impetus to send me home, as there will be someone with me 24/7, for a few days.

When I came into hospital I brought my usual notebook, pen in bag etc, well the pen only ran out the first Thursday I was here (wish I could have joined it 😂). Now, a week later I asked for a pen and was given a whole brand new one to keep ……. the notebook is filling up nicely now with diary notes, questions etc.

Today is Mother’s Day in the UK, a big greeting to all of the mothers being feted by sons and daughters throughout the Kingdom.

I am going to introduce the music section, this was prompted by a telephone call before I was admitted to hospital. I was talking to a friend in North East England about “back in the day”, as they say, and talking of artists, she recalled going to see the amazing Sylvester in a night club in MIDDLESBROUGH! Yes they brought Soul artists from the States and they performed amongst the Steel workers, dockers etc of the grimy north east. So with this in mind here are two records I love . The first is back to 1974, ( I remember it well 😂) it’s the Isley Brothers with “Summer Breeze”. The second one is from three years earlier 🙈, 1971, and it’s The Four Tops with “Simple Game”. Enjoy, oldies but classics.

Now let’s concentrate on me! I was so “out of it” a couple of days last week, I remembered dreaming of speaking French and then there I was telling myself the phrase isn’t correct! Well I must admit that dream really did do something because I am now speaking more French to the nurses, taxi driver, Uncle Tom Cobley and all. I have even been (dare I utter it) reading the booklet on the next stage of treatment which is all in French, wow, I understand so very much, there are jottings in the margins now in case I lose this new talent!

I had a bit of bad news in the early part of the week. I heard of four people who had passed away! One was Marie-Therese who I visited London with a couple of years ago. Her son rang me and I really had to give in to tears. However, she had had a good life, she would have been 88 years old on the 6 March! A couple were relatives of friends and my kind next door neighbour and another a man I knew from when we were all in our 20’s.

I received a telephone call giving me the date of the next PET scan, 20 March, let’s hope I am at home for a break before then 🤣. Then, I got the appointment at the hospital in Paris, for the consultation on the next steps in my treatment, that was on Friday. Fortunately the doctor spoke excellent English and I had quite pertinent questions to ask. All being well, I will go there for harvesting of leucocytes towards the end of March. After that I think I should be called “The Combined Harvester” as I will have had stem cells and leucocytes harvested 😂.

As I have said my eldest son “The Photographer” is coming to see me. If I ever get out of here, we will do a lot of the jobs I need to be done (mainly computer work) and tidy things up there.

It’s the weekend before “The Reconnect Navigator’s” birthday so celebrations are taking place. A nice evening out last evening, wonderful!

“The Trainee Solicitor” has lots on his mind as in pricing up for new items in the house. It’s not that they are just cosmetic they are actually needed. So investing now could see benefits later.

I had a video call with my gorgeous grandchildren yesterday. My grandson was a bit confused he thought I was taking a bath when in fact I was laid in the hospital bed. Well he is only a young boy so that’s fine.

Now to the newest member of the “clan”, “The Jetsetter”. I am not quite sure of the schedule of “turnarounds” she will be doing over the next few months but after arriving back from Norway, I guess washing is all done and a change of clothes for the change of temperatures. Plus am sure it is going to be warmer in Italy. Not too sure of the region but have a wonderful time indeed.

Well guess you can’t always guarantee good weather, as I had a holiday in the Alto Adige region of Italy (a long time ago). It was August and in Trafoi where I stayed it was rather pleasant weather. Friends and I caught the bus to the top of the Stelvio Pass only to find it snowing and a nice cover there was too (especially for someone wearing sandals 🙈). The bus had to put snow chains on to come back down the hairpin bends. What an adventure that was!

It looks as if we have caught up with all of my news. The beauty of the two hour drive to Paris and back is that being in the Saint-Antoine district there are wonderful sites to see. Last year it was the Gare du Lyon, this time it was “The Bastille”. I was lucky to catch the couple enjoying a stroll and looking towards the monument then further along, on the bridge over the Seine, where we were fortunate to be stuck in traffic for another view.

I wish you all a good week until next week.

[lionguarded]

silas. • bodyclaim. • headcanons. • isms. • memes. • tracker. • silas/dante

Is that PEDRO PASCAL? No, that’s SILAS RIVERA. The 45 year old WERELION OMEGA MALE is a GUARD POLICE OFFICER. If you ask their friends, they’re known to be PROTECTIVE & STRONG-WILLED, but beware, they’re also known to be SHORT-TEMPERED & CALLOUS. Their friends also say that they’re into PRAISE & HAIR PULLING but don’t you dare try SCAT & GORE with them.

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Silas Rivera

Nickname(s): Si, Cariño, Grumpy, Princess

Age: 45

Species: Werelion

Moon Phase: Fire Oak Moon

Secondary Gender: Omega

Occupation (former): Guard in the Blazepelt Pack

Occupation: Police Officer

Pack (born): Marin (dame), unknown royalty (sire)

Pack(former): Sindra (owner), Trenton (sired his cubs except Sam), Taj (oldest cub, 26), Remy (2nd oldest cub, 25), Balis (third cub, 24), Zander (fourth cub, 22) + Vander (fifth cub, 22), Sam (sixth cub, 2)

Mate: Dante Di Cesare (future mate)

Likes: nature, peace, quiet, a good fight, training, spending time with his pups

Dislikes: traditions, alpha arrogance

APPEARANCE

Height: 5'11

Weight: 167 pounds

Build: lean, but muscular

Hair Color: Brown

Eye Color: Brown

Lion Appearance: He is on the smaller side with relatively big paws.

Tattoos, scars: His owner branded him with his insignia. It’s located at the back of his head, under his fluffy mob of hair. He has scars across his body, a few here and there, from training, from abuse, from fights he picked, but none are really impressive. Mental scarring though? Yeah.

SEX

Kinks: Service Tops(like be one for him), Praise, Clothed quickies, Biting, Rimming (receiving), Scenting, Spanking, Pits, Be nice to him and play with his hair pls and thx

Anti-Kinks: Scat, Gore, Vore, Bondage, Restrictions

Note: He’s vers and complicated lol. Due to past experiences and general suspicion towards others (Alphas more than anything), he can go from wanting a soft Alpha to love him to rough, casual quickies with whomever comes by, usually Omegas tho, cause ew Alphas. Though at the end of the day, he wants to be claimed, taken and bred by an Alpha like a good little Omega, only he’s too stubborn/afraid to admit it.

Before Willowshire (tw miscarriages, tw domestic abuse, tw rape, mpreg (duh), abo dynamics)

Silas was born in the Royal City, his dame a royal servant and his sire the King’s brother (so they said, but in truth - the King himself had granted himself a little midnight soiree). A bastard son with blue blood running through his veins was.. in fact, just a bastard son. His dame was blamed for the incident despite her being the victim in the affair, so he was shunned already as a cub, but he never understood why. As a young boy, he was trained in the art of sword fighting and melee combat, should he ever fight in the name of the Crown. The training was hard, strict and would shape Silas in more ways than one. As he grew older, he began to understand the reason he was avoided by most of the people around him and it hardened his heart, but strict training every day kept the young man distracted and in line. He was determined to join the royal guard, if only to die in the name of the Crown and give his life meaning.

When he (unexpectedly) presented as an Omega on his 18th birthday, everything changed. Barely a day later, still in heat, in his most vulnerable state, he was gifted to a very close friend of the King - some Lord he owed a favor. Lord Sindra was in need of a mate for reproduction purposes and Silas was perfect for that. The “problem” that previously was the King’s bastard son would finally be out of the way and they had found a use for him, too.

Silas was not asked, or consulted - nor did he have a choice in the matter. The young man always thought he’d join the guard, get the chance to prove himself and earn the respect he felt he was owed. Or die trying, but Mother Nature took that dream from him.

Instead, he was branded with his owner's mark and escorted to his new home, never to be seen again. Silas was fit, healthy - had a very defined, strong body, he promised healthy cubs, but what nobody knew at the time was that his mate, Sindra, was incapable of siring cubs himself. The Omega before Silas found out the hard way and was discarded after a few years of no success. Now, with such a healthy, blue-blooded mate it had to work, right? It wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Before Silas could find out about that himself, though, someone else pushed himself into his life. His first heat fell on a terrible date for the Lord. He was hosting a party at his house. Silas was escorted to his new home during the party on a late evening. A handful of the finest noblemen were gathered at the Lord’s house. Silas didn’t get to attend as his Lord had been too busy to tend to him, so he was bound to his bed (he had his own room, Sindra didn’t wish to share his own bedchambers with the Omega), gagged so he wouldn’t disturb the festivities and would be dealt with after.

Only… someone else with a very refined sense of smell picked up on his need and paid him a visit in his room. He didn’t know the Alpha, didn’t know if his mate agreed, but Silas was “blessed” for the first time of his life that night. Taken against his will, he was left on his bed for his Lord to find him. Sindra was not pleased - it was Silas’ fault, of course. So his Lord finished what the Alpha had started and let the case rest.

When Silas became pregnant with his first cub afterwards, it was not the news he wanted to hear. His Lord, though - was pleased. While he didn’t like anybody else touching what was his, he knew his secret would be safe once more. The humiliation he would be objected to, if his secret came out.. unthinkable. The cub was born healthy and strong, so his Lord made a decision. A deal was struck involving Silas’ body - his life, but he wasn’t asked. Trenton Coliar, as he later found out, would be invited for tea every time Silas’ cycle struck from then on to ensure more offspring  - and of course his Lord would always claim what was his again when the nobleman was done. Silas knew it was an ego thing, it didn’t matter. The entire ordeal was mentally scarring enough, he didn’t really want to dwell on the why’s.

He bore his so-called mate five healthy cubs over 5 years, but love had no room in their home. He was beaten, humiliated, degraded and raped repeatedly, but every time he tried to run, the guards brought him right back and fighting them had brought him broken ribs, cheekbones and days in the cellar, so he gave up eventually. As did his pseudo-mate after two stillborn cubs and a handful of miscarriages, all of which had been caused by violence during pregnancy, or other outside influences. His first miscarriage would be the most scarring, for sure. 

Before Silas gave life to his twins, he lost their older siblings a few weeks into pregnancy. Sindra had been growing more and more irritated with every cub he bore - the reason? Silas didn’t know. Sindra wanted offspring, he got it. Again, he was quite sure it was an ego thing. Trenton seemed fine with it, but Silas’ heart broke with the loss. Blame was put on him, as per usual. Sindra had explained to Trenton that it was an unfortunate happenstance. Then he had his twins. Sindra had been traveling more than usual, which ensured their safety until birth. When they presented Bear at around six months of age, Silas knew he was in trouble. Sindra - a tiger and Silas - a lion would never create a bear, so those two would tarnish Sindra’s reputation whichever they turned this. 

Frustration grew within the Alpha once again, his anger best let out on his property. Silas.  With no quick, discreet back-up plan, his Lord put the blame back on his Omega, naturally. When Silas turned out to be carrying again, Sindra snapped. He couldn’t sire a single cub, yet Trenton managed to leave a cub in Silas every single time he came around. Anger was, once again, bestowed upon Silas. He lost the next cub, earlier than before, too. Trenton was called over again almost too soon, maybe Sindra had been panicked, maybe he hadn’t thought about it properly, because Silas was still struggling with the loss and healing from the beating that caused the loss in the first place, but there he was again. 

The Omega had never not been on his hands and knees when Trenton came to hold up his end of the deal, but this time something seemed off. Trenton had caught up, had realized Silas shouldn’t be in heat again - couldn’t possibly be, unless.. Whether Silas had given his consent to the deal or not, he loved his cubs from the bottom of his heart and losing one - even before birth, cut deep. A pain that wasn’t easy to hide. Trenton sniffed it out, found his face black and blue, his stomach and torso a painting of purple. Silas would not be bred that night. Instead Sindra would be finding himself getting a glimpse of what Silas’ life had been ever since he presented. Sindra was taken against his will by a ravenous Bear, humiliated and broken …and Silas was allowed to watch. He was his master, his owner, but when Trenton was done, Silas couldn’t have cared less about Sindra’s injuries. 

Sindra, though - once he had recovered, called the deal off. Silas wouldn’t see Trenton again for a long time. And they were back to before Trenton. Sindra would breed him, but nothing came of it, so eventually Silas was deemed infertile, useless, but as the Lord had laid claim upon him officially, Silas was meant to remain in his home to raise his cubs. But that didn’t stop Sindra from exercising cruelty on the trapped Omega, again and again and again.

When his heat struck and Sindra wasn’t in the Royal City, Silas would be bedded by the guards that kept him locked in his golden cage. Possible offspring that came from those couplings were taken care of the same way Trenton’s deceased cubs had been. A good beating and all would be well. When Sindra was in town, he’d fulfill his duty as Alpha.

A little over twenty years had passed since Silas first set foot into this house. His cubs old enough to live their own lives, Silas found an opening - a chance to get away. That was, until he found out he was expecting, again, but he knew it couldn’t possibly be his owner’s. It had to be one of the guards. Sindra hadn’t been home in over a week and wouldn’t be for a few weeks longer. The child was safe. Fleeing while he was pregnant would be risky, so he waited. Patience, he was familiar with it. So he had to wait. Again. And then he had to wait for yet another opening. 

When Sam turned two years old, his eldest cub (all five miraculously had turned out to be Alphas) came through with a plan, a once in a lifetime opportunity to smuggle Silas out of the Royal City with the help of a knight - the knight who trained them. Orion. They trusted him and had convinced the man to help. His cubs had to stand by and watch all their lives, but now they were old enough to help. That one Friday night, he picked up his two year-old cub and his oldest son smuggled him out of the royal city, the guards attended a royal festival in the city, the gate was passed with the help of the knight, so his second oldest brought him to the edge of Willowshire without any trouble, but didn’t dare setting foot in it. They had a good life in the Royal City, they had no reason to leave and Silas never expected them to.

In Willowshire

Silas had grown hard over the years, his heart locked away for protection. He was angry, he was full of rage that he bottled up for most of his life. He’d signed up to be a guard, knowing he’d do anything to protect his cub (and therefore the village) and given that he was trained with the spear, bow and in close combat, he was a good pick for the job, everybody agreed on that.

He never really agreed with the conservative view of Alphas and Omegas in pack Blazepelt, but accepted the pack as it was. All he cared about was keeping his cub safe.

Months passed and Silas had slowly grown more comfortable in his new home. That was when an Alpha he never thought worth his time slowly, but surely, became a vital part of his life. Something he never thought possible, something he never expected, but after a few very long, very frustrating and nerve-wrecking months, Silas found something in that Alpha he thought he could only feel for his cubs.

Maybe life wasn't meant to be pain?

In New Haven

Silas didn't land in New Haven during the time collapse, he spawned halfway across the country, confused and alone - with no idea what happened and no way to even find out where he was, or if his .. family, his loved ones were okay. Had they jumped with him? He'd seen them.. right? After wandering for a week, aimlessly - with fear in his heart, he was found by one of the search parties and escorted to New Haven.

To find his youngest in custody of ... of him.. Silas couldn't have been more relieved.

Life in New Haven was .. different, he was two weeks behind in adjusting, but with his family by his side, had had more than enough reason to try. His work as a guard and his skills prior to the time shift qualify him to work for the law enforcement in New Haven, so that’s what he’s going to do.

Moon Phase

    Silas was born, truly, under the moon of may - the moon of fire. the moon shaping strong, independent characters, who know what they want - who know what they’re worth. A kind soul, so full of potential, the fire in his eyes burnt oh so bright, but it wasn’t meant to last. The day he was born again was also the day his fate was sealed.

His new home - his supposed forever home, was not a home. The tyrant that owned it, was the first to notice that brightness in the young lion and he would also be the one to extinguish it. It wasn’t an easy feat, taming fire never was. It didn’t happen overnight, but as time passed and Silas’ hope dwindled, so did the fire. Beating after beating, heat after heat, cruelty after cruelty bestowed upon him, until there was nothing left but the cold, dead shell of a soul that once burned bright.

These days, Silas knows he’s oak. It’s not even a question, nor is there any doubt Silas has ever been anything else. Born to endure, born to be steadfast and durable - born to survive what only few others could even fathom. The softness in his heart he feels when he sees his pups only confirms it, he’s all they have - he’s their protector, he’s the only thing standing between them and the fate he suffered. Only he knows that the best he can do for them is to endure. It’s nothing special, there’s no fanfare - no glamour in survival, but nevertheless, his moon has kept him alive.

[starstruckpersonballoon]

How to Train Your Dog to Jump Over Small Hurdles

Training your puppy to leap over small hurdles is not nearly the physical act; it can be approximately building a bond and working out your puppy's precise abilities. You must start out via deciding on the excellent gadget, making certain the hurdles are trustworthy and adjustable to fit your dog's capability degree. It's foremost to establish uncomplicated commands like "jump" or "over," as they sort the inspiration of a hit practicing. But what happens while your puppy faces a hurdle for the primary time? The key lies in regular train and high-quality reinforcement. So, how do you're making each lessons consultation effectual and beneficial for the two of you?

Choosing the Right Equipment

When it involves opting for the top machine for guidance your canine to leap over hurdles, you would need to point of interest on defense and suitability. Start via selecting hurdles with adjustable heights. These let you tailor the undertaking to your puppy's recent ability degree, guaranteeing they are neither beaten nor beneath-challenged.

Look for reliable materials that cannot unquestionably tip or holiday—PVC or lightweight steel are giant selections. Make confident the hurdles have rounded edges to preclude accidents.

You'll also want a flat, open area to install your hurdles. Your backyard or a neighborhood park with smooth grass can paintings nicely. Avoid laborious surfaces like concrete, which is usually harsh on your dog's joints.

Consider deciding to buy a non-slip mat once you're practise indoors. It'll furnish a secure footing and keep your dog from slipping.

Don't forget about an excellent, trustworthy leash and collar to sustain control all through initial education periods.

Finally, invest in a few praise-established working towards resources like treats or a clicker to boost high quality conduct. With the top accessories, you're placing your canine up for achievement and making the instruction knowledge interesting for equally of you.

Understanding Your Dog's Abilities

Assess your canine's advantage formerly diving into hurdle lessons. Not all puppies have the equal physical competencies, so or not it's an important to word your puppy's agility, electricity ranges, and total well being.

Start by means of watching how your dog strikes throughout the time of playtime. Does your canine jump evidently at the same time taking part in or chasing toys? If so, this average inclination may well be a good idea for hurdle instructions.

Consider your dog's breed and age as well. Some breeds, like Border Collies and Jack Russells, are clearly more agile and adept at leaping. On the other hand, higher or older puppies may well face extra demanding https://privatebin.net/?675569665d030612#Cg8dSBzT9XPY3QpcMQFQRpeuRjCeSSTP1h5pki9F6K1C situations on account of joint worries.

Always refer to your vet to check your canine is bodily able for brand spanking new occasions.

Pay focus for your puppy's confidence and willingness to be informed. A positive puppy may be extra keen to are trying new issues, even as a extra timid canine could desire greater encouragement. Start with small hurdles to build confidence.

Finally, have a look at your canine's reaction to barriers in on daily basis life. This can present insights into their convenience degree with leaping.

Understanding these sides will aid you tailor the practise to fit your dog's designated abilties, making sure a risk-free and pleasing expertise.

Teaching Basic Co

[serialfirstdater]

London #16: The British Logistics Consultant

Click here for the Podcast Episode of The British Logistics Consultant

As I mentioned in my last entry with the Indian-British Salesman, I had another date on the day I was supposed to have a second date with him.

Introducing the British Logistics Consultant. I gave him a swipe on Hinge and it didn't take too long before we agreed on a date after exchanging a few words.

I scheduled him on Saturday as the first date of the day before the Indian-British Salesman (which later turned out to be my only date). We were set to meet at Covent Garden. At first, it took a bit to find him because he was waiting at a different entrance to the pub we were meeting at.

When we finally saw each other, I was taken aback by how much grey hair he had. It threw me off and made me question how old he was and if I accidentally placed my age limit too high. However upon closer look, he had a more youthful face, but genetics had him graying a lot faster.

He was a chatty person. I learned he used to manage logistics for a couple of fashion brands and was born in a small town outside London (where? I forgot).

He was a decent person to talk to and I did not feel totally drained around him. It felt like a bunch of small talk that was effectively done well, weaving together a cohesive conversation that gave me some insight into his life including family, work, and how he approaches things (to be honest, I do not remember any specifics, if that gives you any indication of where this is heading). For example, he mentioned he was the type of person to speak up and be more confrontational if he was not happy with something. Thus, he was an atypical British man.

I was assessing my feelings throughout the entire date, uncertain if I should give him a second date or not. I mentally hummed and hawed over it for a while as the conversation continued to drone on.

He did have a nice face despite his greying hair. He could be that friendly, chatty slightly older colleague in another team at work if we didn't meet off the apps.

I decided I was open to a second date if he asked. However, would not be too bothered if he didn't. I didn't feel the chemistry but looked at the bigger picture. He seemed decent enough for me to give him another chance.

Would it have gone past the second date? Deep down, I didn't feel so but I was operating under the thoughts of, "You'll never know unless you try." After all, every dating guru's advice is to give someone a second date whenever possible.

I didn't hear from him that night after we parted ways. I was unbothered and did not expect to hear from him again, especially since I did not message him either.

However, the following day I got a message from him. He thanked me for the date and said I probably also felt that there was no spark between us. He said he enjoyed my company and thought I was sweet. He wished me the best of luck living in London and to ask him for any local tips if needed.

In response, I thanked him for his time and the date itself. Kept the message short and pleasant.

I would have been perfectly fine if he had not sent the message, but at least he gave me the courtesy compared to the Indian-British Salesman who flaked on me.

To be frank, I wonder if I should even bother with the advice of giving someone a second date even when I have no real interest in them, aside from them being a pleasant enough date without red flags and having a decent face. I miss having people I am genuinely excited about. However, I will continue on the journey of dating and see where it leads me here in London.

[jaysreekumar]

A Coffee with Jordan Peterson

I run into a lot of important people while having coffee. The other day, I met Jordan Peterson, and we had a nice chat. Below is a faithful transcript of our conversation. LEGAL DISCLAIMER: The below is NOT a faithful transcript of our conversation. This is a work of parody and satire, bucko. I'm imagining that I had a coffee with Jordan Peterson. I actually never had a coffee with Jordan Peterson. I don't even know Jordan Peterson. Any resemblance to actual philosophical meanderings about lobsters, chaos dragons, or the metaphysical significance of breakfast is purely for comedic purposes. It's all fiction, man. No actual archetypes were harmed in the making of this dialogue. I maintain a clean room. I love lobsters. And steak. I wrestle with god on Sundays, too. All metaphysical observations are fictitious and should not be taken as literal translations of Dr. Peterson's views, and THAT'S THAT. This is a parody, protected under fair use, and if Dr. Peterson sues me, I'll be very sad : ( Jay Sreekumar: Oh, Dr. Peterson! Hi, sorry to bother you. How are you today? Jordan Peterson: How am I? See, that's a question that cuts to the very marrow of consciousness itself. You see, the state of "being" fluctuates like the steam rising from this coffee cup—ephemeral, yet deeply meaningful. We exist in a perpetual state of becoming, much like these coffee beans underwent their own transformation through the refinement of heat and pressure. Like Christ. So "how am I?" Well, I suppose I'm in a constant state of metaphysical percolation. A Barista: Sir, did you want some cream? JP: Some cream. Now that's profound. The very notion of cream speaks to the fundamental nature of potential itself. The black coffee represents the darkness of chaos, while the cream—that's order, you see. And the act of pouring, well, that's the individual choosing to literally change the hierarchy of their beverage. No cream, thank you. One must confront the bitterness of reality directly. JS: Careful, sir, it's hot! Did you eat? Can I get you something? Jordan Peterson: I had a croissant. A croissant, young man, is a masterwork of culinary architecture. Layer upon layer of butter and dough, folded and refolded—rather like the human psyche. Every layer represents a stratum of consciousness, you see. The flakiness itself is a reminder of life's fragility. Life is fragile, man . The croissant is a representation of the crescent moon. That's no accident. It's an archetypal symbol of transformation. The ancient Mesopotamians understood this. They would have recognized the croissant as a representation of the eternal cycle of death and rebirth. JS: I see. I don't know. I'm just a branding consultant. What brings you to the cafe here? Are you - JP: Just a café? JUST A CAFE! Ha, is Earth just a planet? No, no! This cafe is a microcosm of Western civilization itself. Look around you. The lineup at the counter is a voluntary hierarchy. The menu is a manifestation of choice and responsibility. The barista calling out names is the social contract in action. I'm here because this space exists at the intersection of order and chaos. It's like the dominance hierarchies of lobsters, but with espresso machines. A child at the next table drops his hot chocolate. Dr. Peterson clicks his tongue. Child: Oops! JP: Ah, yes. There it is. The chaos manifesting itself. That spilled hot chocolate represents the ever-present potential for disorder that lurks beneath our carefully structured world. The child's "oops"—that's the voice of innocent recognition, the moment when consciousness confronts consequence. Like the time I took a painkiller and ended up in a Russian gulagispital . I was saved by my daughter, who eats only meat. Also me, I eat a lot of meat. JS: Um, sorry, could you pass the sugar? JP: The sugar question. Fascinating. You know, this crystalline substance represents our attempt to sweeten the bitter aspects of existence. But should we? That's the real question. These white granules are like the building blocks of meaning itself. Each grain is a potential unit of satisfaction, yet too much leads to decay. It's not unlike how cultural Marxism has attempted to sweeten the harsh realities of… Café Manager: Sir, we're closing in five minutes. Sir, I must ask you to not wear that suit here next time. It's scaring people JP: Closing time. The eternal return of endings. You see, every café must close, must face its own small death each day. It's rather like the dragon of chaos in the Pinocchio story—except here, the dragon is time itself, and we're all wooden boys seeking to become real through the authentic confrontation with our temporal limitations. JS: Dr. Peterson, thank you. This has been… enlightening. Jordan Peterson: Yes, but what does "enlightening" mean? Look at these coffee grounds at the bottom. They form patterns, like the patterns of truth in our lives. Some people see mere sediment, but I see the residue of meaning itself. And isn't that what we all seek in our cups, metaphorically speaking? The grounds for being? It makes a man weep. As I left the cafe, I could see Dr. Peterson, sitting alone in his Sistine Chapel suit, intensely staring at some spilled sugar on the table. An archetype of wasted potential, I suppose. Read the full article