#and it’s been this way for the last 5 years and it will go on for many many more

[the-offside-rule]

Joe Burrow (Cinccinati Bengals) - Game Day and Grammys

Requested: no but someone asked about NFL imagines and the Pro Bowl and Grammys were on so how could I miss this opportunity?

Prompt: Joe Burrow x singer!girlfriend

Warnings: none other than it being long and full of fluff

Y/n sat in the plush chair of her hotel suite, a stylist curling sections of her hair while another dabbed powder on her already flawless face. The room buzzed with quiet excitement—her team murmuring about last-minute dress fittings, run-throughs, and camera angles. After all, tonight was the biggest night of her career. Five Grammy nominations. Five.

But her attention? Completely divided. On the sleek flatscreen across the room, the Pro Bowl was in full swing. Her boyfriend, Joe Burrow, was out there, tossing passes and leading drives while she got glammed up for music’s biggest stage. She’d wished she could be there, but the Grammys and the game fell on the same night, and there was no way to be in two places at once.

Her phone vibrated in her lap. Another text from Joe.

Joe: This is so much fun. Wish you were here

She grinned, typing back quickly.

Y/n: Wish I was too. But you better be focused, Burrow. No interceptions.

Another buzz.

Joe: No INTs. Just vibes. Also… scored a touchdown. No big deal.

Y/n let out a laugh, her lips quirking as she typed her reply.

Y/n: A touchdown?? Damn, you haven’t scored one of those in a while.

Her stylist stifled a giggle behind her. "Good news?" She smirked. "Joe just ran one in himself." Her phone buzzed again.

Joe: Wow. The slander.

Joe: But fair.

Joe: Good luck tonight, superstar.

Joe: Ja'Marr said if you win two tonight, that makes it 9 grammys you have ever won

Joe: And guess what my number is?

Y/n chuckled at the coincidence. No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, they were always supporting each other.

Y/n: Alright, QB1. Ill get the Grammy's you worry about not getting tagged.

With one last glance at the game, she turned back to the mirror, ready to take on her own championship night.

The flashbulbs were blinding as Y/n posed on the red carpet, her dress hugging her perfectly while she effortlessly smiled at the cameras. The energy was electric; reporters calling out her name, fans screaming behind the barricades. She was used to this, but tonight felt different. Bigger.

As she moved down the carpet, she began her interviews, each asking the same old question that she had rehearsed about a million times. How does it feel to be nominated 5 times? She had been nominated for Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Record of the Year, Pop Vocal Album and Music Video of the Year. She had been to the grammys before but she had only ever been nominated twice each year. Granted, she did win them, racking up an astonishing 7 grammys in just 4 years, but her once edgey music had shifted to softer love songs, all thanks to a certain quarter back.

She smiled as she moved on down the carpet to her last interviewer, a little kid who she had seen on tik tok time and time again. "Oh my gosh, hello!" She smiled as she did her best to get down onto the kid's level. Her calf were killing her from the heels standing, nevermind squatting down. "You look beautiful. I love the dress." She said. "Thank you! And you look so beautiful too." The child replied. "I have a few questions for you if thats okay?"

"Of course! I would love to hear them." Y/n said warmly as she held her own microphone. "So, obviously this is your record for the most amount of Gammys that you have been nominated for. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that this would be happening, what would you say?" Finally a way to answer the question of how she felt about being nominated that didn't involve her rehearsed answer. "I think I would tell my younger self to keep going, to believe in myself and don't put the guitar down because it's gotten me this far." Y/n replied. "Your album Nine Sunday Mornings was a very abrupt change in your music. It was more edgey and angsty the last time you were here-" Y/n laughed at the very blunt question. "Why do you think this change happened or is it because you just got bored of that genre?" Now that was a good question.

"I mean, as you said it was a big change. I mean any love song I wrote before was scrapped because I thought it was too sappy so I stuck to breakup songs or rage songs. I think the change came in meeting Joe. From the songs right down to the title it's all him. I remember the very night I met him I stayed up nearly all night writing about the like 5 minute encounter we had and now it's nominated tonight so. I have to give credit where credit is due." She answered. "Have you been keeping up with the Pro Bowl?" Y/n laughed, adjusting the Grammy-branded microphone in her hand. "Of course! I have it on in my hotel room. Joe keeps texting me updates, so I think I might have a better play-by-play than some of the commentators."

Her manager tapped her shoulder to tell her to make her way inside, so she bid the mini-reporter farewell and walked in to the packed venue.

Once inside, Y/n glanced around, trying to spot her team. The Grammys were always a production, but tonight, the room felt even bigger. Row after row of tables and glowing stage lights. She turned in circles, scanning the room. Where were they? Her manager, her producer, anyone?

"Y/n?"

She spun around to see Jack approaching, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. "Hey, are you okay?" She let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, I just… I can’t find my seat. I have no idea where my team is." Before Jack could respond, a familiar voice chimed in.

"She can sit with us!"

Y/n turned to see Taylor Swift standing a few feet away, a warm smile on her face. Taylor, dressed in an elegant yet edgy ensemble, motioned toward her table. "If you don’t mind sitting with us, of course." Y/n hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to intrude- Taylor was with her own crew, and this was a huge night for her, too. "Are you sure?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course! Come on." Taylor said, looping an arm around her gently as they started walking toward the table. "Besides, we have a lot to talk about. I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting." Y/n chuckled, relaxing a little as she took a seat beside her. "Are you going to the Super Bowl?" Taylor asked after a moment.

Y/n shook her head. "No, I’ve never actually been. I told myself I wouldn’t go until Joe is the one playing in it." Taylor’s brows lifted in amusement. "Oh that is goals."

"Plus, I’m heading to his family’s house to watch it with them." She added. "I think it’ll be more special that way." Taylor smiled knowingly. "There’s nothing like watching a game with the people who love him most. Honestly, I think you guys are gonna be there next year." Y/n nodded, already picturing herself in the Burrow family’s living room, wearing one of Joe’s sweatshirts, surrounded by his parents and siblings. It felt right. "Honestly, I don't wanna be too picky but I want a Bengals and 49ers Superbowl. That would cure the world, I think."

"That would be a good one."

Just then, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Y/n took a deep breath, ready to take on the night—Grammys, football updates, and all.

Joe stretched his arms over his head as he stepped into the hotel lobby, still buzzing from the Pro Bowl. The game had been fun, a rare chance to play a little looser, joke around with the guys, and even run in a touchdown himself—something Y/n was sure to remind him about later. His teammates followed behind him, still hyped up from the day. "Alright." Ja’Marr announced, clapping his hands. "Let’s turn on the Grammys. Gotta see Y/n win some trophies since Joe isn’t bringing any silverwear home."

Joe grinned as he nudged Ja'Marr for that dig, leading the way to the suite where they all piled onto the couches, flipping the TV on just in time to catch the ceremony in full swing. The room filled with snacks, drinks, and casual conversation, but anytime Y/n appeared on the screen, the guys would nudge Joe, who was watching intently, phone in hand, ready to text her.

Then came Best Pop-Vocal Album of the Year.

Joe sat forward, hands clasped as they listed the nominees. He knew how much work Y/n had put into this album—how many late nights, how many times she’d called him exhausted but excited, how much of her heart was poured into every track.

"And the Grammy goes to…"

Not her.

Joe exhaled, lips pressing together as he watched her smile and clap for the winner. She was graceful as ever, but he knew her well enough to see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "She said she was gonna be surprised if she got that one. She like, knew Sabrina was winning that hands down."

Then came Record of the Year.

Not her again.

"She got robbed." Russell Wilson muttered. "Bro, you're gonna be the first one singing Not Like Us at the halftime show next weekend." Lamar Jackson replied. "She's in like the toughest categories." James Cook added. Joe didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He hated seeing her not get what she deserved, but he knew Y/n. Knew she’d keep smiling, keep pushing forward. And damn it, he’d keep cheering her on, just like she always did for him.

It didn't matter. 2 down, 3 to go. Music Video of the Year.

Joe sat up straight. He knew this one mattered to her, too. Her video had been a passion project, something she’d fought to bring to life exactly the way she envisioned it. The competition was stacked—the other nominees had incredible visuals, and any of them could take it. Y/n sat at her table, her hands clasped in her lap, holding her breath. Joe could practically feel her nerves through the screen.

"She’s got this." He murmured. "She’s got this, she’s got this, she’s got this, come on, baby."

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n!"

Y/n gasped, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Taylor pulled her into a tight hug as the entire table erupted into cheers. Joe leapt off the couch, throwing his hands in the air. "Let's go! Yes! Wooh!" The suite exploded with excitement- Ja’Marr was shouting, some of the guys were recording Joe’s reaction, and others were laughing as Joe jumped up, singing along to the snippet of Y/n’s song that played as she made her way to the stage.

On the screen, Y/n’s smile was blinding, eyes slightly glossy as she accepted her award. Joe grinned, pride swelling in his chest. She’d done it. Just like she always did. "Oh my god, wow." She began. "I’ll be honest, I did not expect Music Video of the Year. There had been some amazing Music Videos so I just wanted to congratulate my fellow nominees and their directors." Joe clapped as he listened to her. "I want to thank my team, the fans, my family and all of you who voted for the video. My boyfriend Joe of course, who may or may not be still playing his game of tag football but I'm gonna thank him anyway." His face grew red. "I think that's all I have to say to be honest. Maybe I'll see you up here again pretty soon."

Joe lounged back on the couch, finally feeling like he could relax a little after all the emotional whiplash of the night ao far and he was still buzzing from it. "She’s performing next." Ja’Marr pointed out, nodding toward the TV. Joe sat up again, straightening his hoodie as the camera panned to the stage. The lights dimmed, and then—there she was.

His girl.

Y/n stood center stage, bathed in golden light, singing a balld version of her nominated song. She wore the most stunning outfit—a gold sparkling, elegant number that hugged her perfectly. She looked ethereal. "Jesus Christ." Joe muttered under his breath before saying a little louder, "Her outfit is so pretty." Some of the guys laughed. "Yeah, it is." Ja'Marr teased with a smirk. "You good over there, Burrow?" Russell asked, causing all the other guys to take notice of his blushing face and tease him further.

Joe just waved them off, eyes locked on the screen. Then, just as the song picked up, she reached down, grabbed the edges of her outfit, and-

Riiiipppp

The elegant gown was gone, revealing a bold, dazzling second outfit underneath—sleek, fun, and perfect for dancing. "Oh my God." Joe groaned, immediately hiding his face in his hands as the entire room exploded. The guys were shouting, laughing, some recording his reaction as they all clapped and cheered. "Ayyy! Okay, Y/n!" Ja'Marr called.

Joe shook his head, chuckling as his ears burned. He peeked through his fingers just in time to see her seamlessly transition into the next part of the performance, moving with ease, completely in her element. She was dancing, smiling, engaging the crowd like she was born for this moment. "I didn't know she could move like that! Damn!" Trey said.

Joe dropped his hands, watching as Y/n held the mic out, getting the entire crowd to sing along with her. She looked so happy, completely in control of the stage, like she was having the time of her life. Joe smiled. His teammates might have been teasing him, but he didn’t care. He was just so damn proud of her. As the song ended,she looked aroukd for the camera that would be zooming in on her. She spotted it and winked, before blowing a kiss right to it. Joe reached for the imaginaru kiss and put it to his heart as the guys teased him even further for it.

Joe sat back against the couch, his arm draped over the back as the next category came up—Song of the Year.

"Alright, this one’s huge." Ja’Marr said, leaning forward. Joe nodded, eyes locked on the screen. Y/n had poured everything into this song and she loved it the most for reason unknown to him, and even though she’d already won Music Video of the Year, he wanted this for her. Badly.

The nominees were stacked— some of the biggest songs of the year, including Y/n’s. The room quieted as the presenter opened the envelope.

"nd the Grammy goes to… Kendrick Lamar, Not Like Us!"

Joe exhaled, shaking his head, but before he could react, he spotted Y/n on screen, grinning and dancing along to the snippet of Not Like Us that played through the venue speakers. Joe burst out laughing. "She doesn’t seem too bothered." Trey snickered. "Bro, she looks kinda tipsy."

The whole room chuckled as they watched Y/n dancing up out of her seat singing along as Kendrick made his way to the stage. She was still clapping and smiling, showing nothing but love for the win, and Joe couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool she was about it. "She’s just vibin'." Joe said with a smirk, shaking his head.

And then finally came Album of the Year.

Her final nomination.

Joe sat up one last time, his heart pounding a little harder. He could see Y/n on screen, hands clasped together, her lips pressed tight as she waited. The tension in the room was thick, even through the television.

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n, Nine Sunday Mornings!"

She didn’t move.

She didn’t react at first—just sat there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Joe felt like the air had been sucked out of the room before he erupted. "Yes! Let's go baby!" He jumped up again, fists in the air as his teammates laughed, recording his reaction for the second time that night. "That’s my girl! That’s my girl!" He cheered, pacing the room as the suite filled with whoops and applause.

Back on the screen, Y/n finally stood, still in complete shock. As she made her way up to the stage, she kept shaking her head, her mouth open as if she still couldn’t believe it. She took the award in her hands, staring down at it, blinking before looking around. The crowd chuckled. She looked up at the mic, then back at the award. "What?" She squeaked.

Laughter rippled through the audience. Joe grinned, shaking his head. He could practically hear her thoughts—How? Against all those incredible albums? She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, still looking down at the trophy. "I—I don’t even know what to say, honestly I'm a little drunk so-" Joe smiled proudly, watching her collect herself and begin her speech. She had done it. Two Grammys in one night. And even though he wasn’t there in person, he cheered for her just as loudly as she did for him on Sundays.

"I want to thank the incredible Jack Antanoff for helping me produce this album first and foremost, my team also. But there is one person in particular who I will ramble on about because he was the inspiration for every single song I wrote since the 9th of December 2023, when we first met." Joe felt his eyes watering upon hearing it. He didn’t lile seeing her cry, it often meant he would cry too. "The album itself is a hommage to the fact that it took just nine sunday mornings for us to decide we wanted to become a couple and honestly, those 9 Sunday mornings were the best I could have ever lived through because I got to fall in love with the love of my life." Joe wiped his eyes, lookong down as Ja'Marr patted his back in support. "Joe, wherever you are, I wanted you to know that this award is for you, you can put it right next to the Heisman and my other 8 Grammy's."

Joe chuckled lightly as her little dig. "And just in case this wasnt a clincidence enough already- I'm going to shout out Ja'Marr Chase for this information- this is my ninth Grammy, and its for Cinccinati's number 9." The microphone cut out, singalling that her time for speaking was up. She mouthed a very animated 'I love you' to the camera before smiling and heading off the stage.

As soon as Y/n sat back down at her table, she reached for her phone. Her hands were slightly shaking—part adrenaline, part sheer excitement. The night had been a whirlwind, and there was only one person she needed to talk to right now. She hit Joe’s contact, pressing the phone to her ear as the Grammys continued around her. The line barely rang once before he picked up.

"Baby!" She let out a breathless laugh. "Joe!"

"Oh my God!" He said, and she could hear the pure excitement in his voice. "You were insane. I mean first of all, two Grammys? And then that performance? What was that outfit change? You’re trying to kill me?" Y/n giggled, running a hand through her hair. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Babe, I almost had a heart attack. These guys aren't gonna let me live it down." She laughed again, picturing Joe hiding his face in his hands while all his guys teased him. "I was just thinking about you the whole time." She admitted, voice a little softer now. "I figured you were watching."

"Of course I was watching." He said immediately. "Are you kidding? We had the Grammys on as soon as we got back. I was cheering for you all night." Y/n smiled, glancing down at her awards sitting in front of her. "It still doesn’t feel real. I mean…Album of the Year? What?"

"You earned that, Y/n. No one deserved it more." She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. "I mean, Billie should have won it." She replied. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cry again."

"No, don't cry." He said quickly. "Not unless it’s happy tears." She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "How was the Pro Bowl? I feel like I barely got to ask you." Joe chuckled. "It was fun. I mean we lost, but it was fun."

"What was the score?" She asked. "Like 76 to 63 or somethin' like that?" He looked around for nods of approval. "Did I mention I scored?" Y/n chuckled. "Yeah and as I said before I haven’t seen you do that in a while."

"Okay, woah." He deadpanned, and she could hear his teammates laughing in the background. "I’m kidding." She teased. "I’m proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, baby." Y/n exhaled, her whole body finally starting to relax after the chaos of the night. "I just wish you were here."

"Yeah, I know." Joe said softly. "But I’ll see you tomorrow. And then we can celebrate properly." She grinned. "Deal."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too, Shiesty "

As she hung up, she clutched her phone to her chest, still smiling. It had been a night to remember— and she couldn’t wait to get home to him.

[dreamingdormouse]

Back when Mr. Dormouse was in the Navy, he was for a couple years assigned to Pearl Harbor, as a nuclear mechanic on the submarine engines. (My husband is one of the most brilliant people I know, by the way, that's a very difficult job to get. But also it's hard work, long hours, lots of stress, and not very good pay.)

Shortly before I arrived to join him, his gross-motor twitches became more pronounced. They'd started when he was in training, and gotten stronger over time. He would be thinking about something or working on something, and abruptly his arm would flail out to the side, or his leg would kick like you'd found the right spot to tap with the little reflex hammer.

This was not as dangerous as Gallus's Dad without his glasses and with a gun, but still rather hazardous, as Mr. Dormouse quite often had a wrench in his hand, which was wont to go flying if his arm jerked!

His coworkers teased him about it in the friendly/mean way that is common in the military. He began the process of getting it checked out - the military, for all its flaws, has/had an amazing health care system.

The docs on base ended up deciding that

1) It's not Tourette's (which can manifest physically as well as the more well-known version of accidental cussing)

2) It's very similar, though, but, uh... not actually any of the things in our textbook?

3) Stress makes it worse

4) Sorry, Chief Petty Officer Dormouse, there's nothing else we can do for you

5) But you really shouldn't be in the military anymore

Well that was helpful.

Worse, commanding officers didn't care. Wouldn't hear of discharging him early. On the plus side, the submarine he was assigned to was in drydock for a year or more of preventative maintenance (if it was a car, it would've had an oil change, tires rotated, rust inspection, emissions test, the works), so at least he wasn't underwater like that, on multi-week trips, in a crowded environment 24/7.

The other engineer/mechanics around him knew he wanted to get a medical discharge. They began to joke that they should assign him to stand close to the officers, carrying a knife. Not in a threatening manner, oh no! Just as a tool. It wouldn't be anyone's fault if he just... twitched. And maybe then the officers would get the idea that this guy shouldn't be in the military?

Eventually somebody with some ability to sign papers decided to do so, and Mr. Dormouse was assigned to the equivalent of garden duty - a stint in the quartermaster's office. It took another 6-9 months before he got his discharge, because there wasn't a form for "IDK, I think it's Tourette's-adjacent, should we do another brain scan?" like there is for myopia or a heart murmur.

But at last he got out of the Navy and went to college for nuclear engineering, and it's been more than a decade. Not being in the military took away a lot of the stress, so these days he barely twitches at all. Sometimes it just looks like a full body shiver, and it happens a lot less frequently.

He does tell me that it is quite traditional to get stuck with the pin when a medal is being awarded, so it's possible that Captain Redacted lightly stabbed Gallus's Dad on purpose and as per custom. But it also might've been the whiskey. 🥴

The Hummingbird

The Story of my Father’s Very Brief military career.

Content Warnings: Military, guns, hummingbirds, Profanity, Lots of Profanity, spectacular incompotence, catholicism mention, alcohol mention.

As usual, all names have been changed or redacted to protect people’s privacy.

In the fall of 1969, my Dad was hit by a car and suffered a serious concussion, causing him to miss midterms and put his grade in a hole he wouldn’t be able to recover from, as this was the days before a lot of professorial accountability.  Like a sensible person, he decided to Withdraw for the semester and focus on recovering and maybe take a part-time job to pay for spring tuition, because you could do that back then.

“Son,” My grandfather asked, sitting on the couch with Dad shortly after he was discharged from the hospital. “What about your college deferment? I’m worried about you getting drafted.”

“Dad,” Dad said, filling in job applications. “I’m legally blind without my glasses!  I’d be a danger to anyone around me with a gun.  Even if I get drafted there’s no way in hell I’d pass the medical exam.”

“Don’t swear in my house.” Said Grandpa, under the entirely mistaken impression that the US Military was run with any sort of competence.

Literally a week later my Dad’s draft papers came in, and he reported to his local draft board, driver’s license and doctor’s note in hand to prove He Is Legally Blind Without His Glasses, only to be waved through without so much as a sideways glance by anyone resembling a doctor.

“They must be desperate.”  My dad concluded when he got home that night to pack.

The news was devastating to the family, as both his parents had siblings to WWII.  Grandpa was ready to beg, bribe and otherwise compromise his intensely catholic morals to get Dad out, and Grandma prayed to any available saint that would save her son from the fate of her brothers.  She had quite the collection of saints in her sewing room, some forty figurines and dozens more candles and images, along with some stained glass she’d made herself of saints, landscapes and animals, including a large hummingbird that lived on the sewing room window since they’d moved into the house.

Dad pleaded with them to not do anything they’d regret, and returned to the base for basic training.

Dad’s drill sergeant was a man whose real name was “Ross” but insisted on being called “Bulldog” or “SIR!” by everyone depending on rank.  Dad supposed this might have been a defense mechanism as Bulldog had an intensely jowled and acne-scarred face that did greatly resemble a fighting dog well past their prime.  The image was not helped by the fact that he was constantly smoking rose-flavored tobacco in a pipe that had seen better centuries, and consequently smelled like a terrible combination of trailer park and the women’s perfume counter at Macy’s.

Bulldog was also… not great about following protocol, which is a terrible failing in a Drill sergeant, but Dad supposed at that point in the war Bulldog had become horribly depressed by the sheer numbers of young men he was sending to their deaths and had kind of stopped giving a fuck about their safety and his own.

Which lead to an incident about three weeks into Dad’s training camp when in the middle of a Weapons Qualification lesson, Bulldog pulled Dad’s glasses off and bellowed “YOU WON’T HAVE THOSE COKE BOTTLES WHEN THOSE [incorrect slurs, because there’s no such thing as an informed bigot] BLAST YOUR ASS TO KINGDOM COME.” before stomping off to go change the paper targets, leaving Dad standing there with an M-1, squinting in what he hoped was the general direction of the targets.

To give you an idea of HOW bad my dad’s vision is, I once asked him at what distance things got blurry, and he responded by taking off his glasses, putting his hand up to his face, and slowly moving it back.  He stopped about eight inches from his face and nodded.  

“So I can see my hand from here but I can’t distinguish my fingers.  I think that green blob over there is your mother.”

“I’m in the living room.” called mom. “You’re looking at the blender.”

So it should come as no surprise that as soon as Dad heard someone shouting “Ready! Aim! Fire!” He did precisely that.

Hummingbirds are often mistakenly characterized as Delicate Little Rainbows that are a gift Direct from Heaven when the truth is they’re really Vicious Little Bastards thrown out of Hell for being too Nasty.  

You would be too if you could eat nothing but frappuccinos and the occasional chicken nugget, everything around you was at least the size of a pickup truck and regarded you as a tasty snack, and you were forced to defend your fridge from not only equally vicious rivals but goddamn insects that are bigger than you are.  

Being a hummingbird is awful under normal circumstances, and now there are maniacs with loud machines and projecties as big as you are stomping around and yelling and well-

At that exact moment, one of the nesting hummingbirds, having grown progressively more exasperated with the activity on the base, dive-bombed my father, hurling it’s tiny body directly into his ear and slicing the lobe up, and making him jerk slightly as he fired.

He missed Sergeant Bulldog by mere inches. Dad still isn’t sure if the Hummingbird caused him to miss or put him closer to accidental manslaughter, but it mattered little as Bulldog grabbed him by the head, shrieking in spittle-flying fury-

“ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?”  He roared.

“YES!!” screamed my father, also hysterical. “SIR THAT’S WHAT THOSE ‘COKE BOTTLES’ ARE FOR SIR!”

Bulldog stopped, suddenly and uncomfortably confronted with the nature of causality.  He only let it stymie him for a moment.  “GET YOUR IDIOT ASS TO THE MEDIC, I’LL DEAL WITH YOU LATER!”

At the medical center, an extremely befuddled doctor dilated Dad’s eyes, took pictures because Dad had the worst case of myopia he’d ever seen and wanted to put him in a medical journal, and asked him:

“What the HELL are you doing here?”

“Very nearly shooting people sir.”

“Well, we can’t have you shooting people while you’re in the army!  I’ll get your medical discharge started.”

Dad decided not to comment on that statement, thanked the doctor, and wandered blindly back to his bunk.

It took them a full thirty days to process Dad’s discharge, perhaps largely due to the fact that actually FINDING the captain was a task for hercules- The man had an almost phobic aversion to his office and a tremendous love of whiskey so actually locating the man and early enough in the day that he was still sober enough to sign anything was a race against time and a battle against the wits of a man determined to get out of work, which is when humanity is at its peak intelligence.

In the meantime, it simply wouldn’t do to let dad bike the five miles back to his home and come back for the paperwork, nor let him sit quietly and not accidentally maim anyone, so he was put on garden duty.  

Supervised by recently-suspended-from-instruction Sergeant “Bulldog” Ross.

By the second day Bulldog had mostly run out of steam, perhaps out of a sense of really, whose fault was that? So He would mostly stand in Dad’s general vicinity, waxing philosophical on the nature of war, government and whatever else he could be crotchety about that day while continuously smoking his rose-flavored tobacco in his pipe.  Dad planted a frankly absurd number of flowers, trying to make a planted display that would spell out the name of the base in eight-foot letters, just in case someone has managed to miss all 824,594,359 signs beforehand.

On day five, perhaps attracted by the bright colors or the stench of artificial rose, the Hummingbirds found the new garden.

At first, it was timid little trips to the edge farthest from Dad and Bulldog, testing this new territory for both risk and bounty, but upon finding it full of sugary goodness, they became bold, getting closer and closer to Dad, zipping in as soon as he got up to get the next flat of flowers, then not waiting for him to finish planting them before they were up in his face, squeaking angrily for him to get out of the way of their lunch.

One male objected to Dad and Bulldog’s presence particularly strongly, dive-bombing and buzzing angrily at them, an ounce and a half of glittery impotent rage.  After a month, he’d gotten quite aggressive, and one day flew directly up to Bulldog’s face to chitter curses at him eye-to-eye, only for Bulldog to take out his pipe and blow a cloud of smoke at him, laughing as the bird tumbled over backwards in midair.

Agitated with the sudden noxious cloud, or perhaps merely a violent psychopath in its own right, the bird flew back, then straight up into the air for a good fifty feet before going into a dive, aimed directly at Bulldog’s face.

Dad doesn’t recall actually moving, only a sense that he ought to do something, and launched himself out of the dirt, arms outstretched to clap and force it off course-

“SHIT! What the hell was that for?”  Demanded Bulldog.

“Well, the hummingbird looked like it was going to attack you, Sir.  So I stopped it.”

“How noble.  What are you standing there like an idiot for?”

“…I think I caught it sir.”  Said Dad, staring at the tiny bill poking out from between his gloves.  The two of them leaned in close as dad very slowly opened his gloves and peered inside.

The hummingbird immediately forced it’s tiny head out to peep furious profanities at them both.

“How is it,”  Bulldog wondered aloud as the hummer continued to curse the both of them for the next seven generations. “That you can’t see to hit the broad side of a barn but can pull a shitty little bird right out of the air?”

“I’m wearing my glasses, Sir.”

Bulldog looked up at him, glaring with such intensity his face ceased to be a face at all and transformed into a dali-esque collection of wrinkles.

“Fuck you. Now go take that damn thing to the other side of the base so it doesn’t come back.”

“Yes sir.”  Dad nodded, nearly saluting out of reflex before remembering that he was holding a live and very angry bird.  It took him several hours to get to the other side of the base, with literally everyone stopping to ask him what the hell he was doing, well I have this bird sir and I was told to release it on the other side of the base- how in hell did your blind ass catch a hummingbird, well I had my glasses on- Fuck you, go ditch that thing already.

At three o'clock on the dot the very next morning, two MPs woke up my dad and told him he needed to report to the front office right away, no time to get dressed, right away right now.

They marched him directly to the main office, barefoot and in his Pajamas to be greeted by not only Sergeant “Bulldog” ross, but nearly every officer on the base, including the lieutenant and the Captain, all of whom were… attempting to stand at attention with varying degrees of success, most weaving slightly, some snorting with poorly-concealed laughter, and the entire room reeking of booze.

“GENTLEMEN!”  hiccuped the lieutenant, before shaking himself and continuing, “WE ARE GATHERED HERE TODAY TO HONOR OUR ‘COMRADE’ -snort, giggle- IN ARMS -louder derisive laughter- FOR HIS BRAVERY AND SERVICE IN THE FACE OF EXTREME DANGER-”

“IN THE BEAK OF EXTREME DANGER!” Howled one of the assembled officers.  

“-AND FOR HIS SERVICE IN DEFENDING AN OFFICER OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY.  I AM ~SO~ PLEASED THAT WE HAVE CAPTAIN [REDACTED] HERE WITH US TO PRESENT THIS MEDAL.”

He turned to the Captain, who took out a small box and motioned Dad forward.  Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be a chocolate box from See’s Candies.

“[REDACTED], in honor of your brave and frankly improbable service in the defense of Euge- sorry, Sergeant Ross, and the capture of a dangerous wild animal, we award you this medal-  The Flying Purple Bastard.”

He opened the chocolate box to reveal this*:

(Image Description: A piece of cardboard cut out approximately in the silhouette of a hummingbird, by someone with only a passing familiarity with what hummingbirds look like.  The cardboard has been haphazardly covered in tinfoil and cartoon eyes drawn on.  It’s attached to a scrap of ribbon and a safety Pin.)

Which was then pinned crookedly to Dad’s nightshirt, after accidentally stabbing him a bit, saluted him as someone attempted to play the bugle but made a rather melodious farting noise instead, then slapped Dad in the face with a manilla folder full of papers and shouted. “DISMISSED!”

“Dismissed, sir?”

“Those are your discharge papers.” Said Bulldog. “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Yes, Sir!”

At which point Dad biked home in the rain, and thus ends my father’s military career.

*Pictured here is actually The Flying Purple Bastard 2.0, as the original was destroyed when partially eaten and fully regurgitated by one of the cats.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Paypal, as due to health concerns, telling funny stories on the internet is my ONLY means of income.  Thank you!

[intheupside]

Crosby to be Canada's 'security blanket' as captain at 4 Nations Face-Off

Indeed, is anyone more deserving of the title of Captain Canada?

“He’s up there,” Tocchet said. “And look, I don’t want to embarrass Sid. But from sitting in the locker room across from Wayne Gretzky, the way Wayne’s demeanor is, the way he acted around his teammates, the way he acted in front of the public, Sid’s got that.

“And then you’ve got the Mark Messier type, not afraid to say things to your teammates if needed at the right time. And I’ve seen Sid do that too, using his voice to let them know something is unacceptable. He’s willing to do that. That to me is a great leader. In all facets. One hundred percent.

“The bottom line: When he puts that jersey on, you can sense the calmness come over the entire country of Canada. It’s almost like he’s our security blanket.”

“From the time I first met him, it’s just the way he always looks to raise the bar,” Bergeron said. “We’ve been teammates and linemates in a lot of these tournaments, and he’s never satisfied. He’s always looking to the next thing. He’s able to enjoy the success but at the same time wanting more. It’s his drive, his determination, there’s a lot of reasons why he’s been so clutch and so important in, what you could say, [is] history.

“He commands respect. I think the country is proud of who he is as a person and how he represents us on the international stage. There’s no missteps. It’s been going on since he’s been 14 years old when they started aiming cameras on him. He’s never had a misstep.”

Bergeron is considered one of the top leaders of his era and won the Mark Messier NHL Leadership Award in 2021, an honor Crosby received in 2010.

“I accomplished a lot in my career,” Bergeron said. “But I have to say, I’m so proud that in my time playing, that Sidney was the face of our league and for Canadian hockey. Well deserved.”

Crosby already had his eyes on the 4 Nations prize five months ago, long before he would officially be given the “C” for Team Canada.

Back in early September, Crosby helped organize an unofficial training camp of sorts under the watchful eye of Andy O’Brien, his longtime trainer, in Vail, Colorado. Among those invited to the event were some of Canada’s top players, including Avalanche center Nathan MacKinnon, who like Crosby is from Cole Harbour; Edmonton Oilers center Connor McDavid; and Toronto Maple Leafs forward Mitch Marner.

Crosby insists it wasn’t an official Canada team-bonding exercise, pointing out that there were players from other countries there as well. At the same time, he admits it was productive for some of the Canadians on hand to get the opportunity to develop chemistry and play together, something that could come in handy at the 4 Nations and the 2026 Olympics.

Marner, for one, was appreciative of the invite extended him by Crosby and O’Brien.

“It was great,” he said. “Getting to know Sid and some of those guys both on and off the ice, well, I was grateful that they asked me to join them.

“You get to know them on and off the ice a bit. Such great guys. And so much talent out there with guys like Sid, MacKinnon and McDavid.”

And, according to Team Canada and Tampa Bay Lightning coach Jon Cooper, it was just another example of Crosby’s leadership ability to bring players together for a common goal.

“It’s what he does,” Cooper said. “It’s who he is.

“Look at what he did [last] month when we were in Pittsburgh.”

Cooper was referring to a postgame scene after his team had defeated Crosby and the Penguins 5-2 on Jan. 12, a game in which Tampa Bay scored three goals in the final 3:03 to break a 2-2 tie. The uber-competitive Crosby was upset that victory had eluded the Penguins, but still took time to see Cooper afterward to chat about the 4 Nations.

At one point, Crosby asked Cooper to bring out Lightning forwards Brayden Point, Brandon Hagel and Anthony Cirelli, his future 4 Nations teammates, to talk about the upcoming tournament.

“He here is, angry that his team had just lost a game, and he put that aside to talk Team Canada with them,” Cooper said. “They sat there for 20 minutes. They were like kids in a candy store.

“That right there is what true leadership is.”

And, according to Tocchet, what Crosby is all about.

“It’s unbelievable,” Tocchet said. “He’s a guy that carries the torch, and is willing to pass the torch on when he’s done.

“That’s what he’s doing with Cirelli, Hagel, those guys. He basically comes in and says, ‘Hey, you guys are my teammates in a month, I just want to get to know you real quick and let you know what’s at stake.’ He’s done it with other players. I just think it goes so far with his teammates. They legitimately badly want to play with him, to be his teammate.”

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 5 | l.n

summary: oh damn, never seen that color blue…

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, some more filler (IM SORRY ITS FOR THE PLOT!!!!!), fluff (EEKK!!!!), subtle foreshadowing, unedited as fuck, and hints at a strained family relationship (trauma!!)

message from jordan: hi everyone! long time no see, huh? 😅 i'm so sorry for being mia and for not updating this series in so long, i decided to take a small break from almost all socials. but don't worry, we're back and better than ever <3 as always, thank you for being so patient with me. i hope this chapter is worth the wait!! see you soon, for real this time :) - p.s i hope you enjoy that taylor swift reference in the summary, cause, iykyk 🙂‍↕️

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

“hellloooo earth to oscar!”

it was no use. this was the third time he had unintentionally interrupted your conversation to respond to a text. all while doing so with a giddy smile, one you had never seen light up his face quite like this one did.

you had come over right after class, the two of you agreeing to hang out and catch up. it had been a while since it had just been the two of you hanging out, the inevitable busy schedules really hitting hard during your last semester. you missed your best friend.

missed meaning past tense. because although he was your best friend, right now, you wanted to snap his neck.

"oscar jack piastri!"

"oh- sorry," he mumbled the same apology for the third time this afternoon, "sorry, i was just texting someone. it's nothing, what were we talking about?"

you gave him a blank stare, "were you texting your secret girlfriend?"

you noticed the way his eyes widened a little upon mentioning the word ‘girlfriend’, "okay, one, she's not my girlfriend. and two, no. i was texting max."

and for the four years you've known oscar piastri, you could always tell when he was lying. and this time, he was lying right to your face.

you decided to play along with his game, letting him think he won this time. so you hummed, nodding your head, "okay, fine, if you say so."

"i'm sorry," he apologized again, locking his phone and placing it face down on the kitchen counter, "you have my full attention now, promise. what were you saying?"

"i was telling you about last week."

"right, with lando and the diner thing, right?" he asked and you hummed, taking a piece of popcorn from the bowl in between the two of you, "wait a minute, how'd you go from hating his guts and it being unbearable to be within 5 feet of him to 'oh my god he took me to breakfast'?"

"you know that party lily practically dragged me to?" when he nodded you spoke again, "apparently i really suck at beer pong and he helped me back to the apartment and helped lily take care of me. it was really sweet, actually."

he smiled softly before letting out a quiet snort, "sorry, just never thought i'd hear you say the words 'lando' and 'sweet' in the same sentence."

"i'm serious!" you sighed, pouting ever so slightly.

"no, i know!" he laughed softly, "it's just... you're just now finding out what i've been trying to tell you for the longest time? that he's actually a really good dude?"

you bit down on your lower lip softly, "i didn't really give him a chance, huh?"

"not really, no," he chuckled softly, "but it's okay. he didn't exactly help out his own case either, in all honesty."

you nodded in agreement, the front door to the apartment creaking open. you both turned to see lando kicking off his shoes, placing his keys on the hook by the door.

he smiled at you and oscar, "hey,"

"hey," oscar smiled, answering for you as well as you took in his appearance. messy curls, tight black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, duffel bag on his shoulder and a soft glow on his skin, you could tell he had just gotten back from the gym.

arms. biceps. veins. god, you should probably speak before you embarrass yourself...

it was too late though, he had already seen the way your eyes traveled over his body. he decided to put the mental note in the back of his mind for now, instead checking the watch on his wrist.

"oh shit, i didn't mean to keep you waiting, y/n."

you tapped your phone screen, looking at the time. it was 4:35, just five minutes passed when you said you'd meet up. it really wasn't a big deal. you didn't even know it had gotten that late already.

"no, no, it's fine. didn't even notice, if i'm honest," you smiled and he sent you a smile back. oscar watched the two of you like a tennis match, cheekily grinning at the counter.

"i have some of those papers you had me work on the other day, they're in my room if you wanna..."

"oh- yeah! yeah, sure," you smiled, grabbing your things as oscar silently laughed at the way you acted around his roommate. how you were unintentionally tripping and stumbling over your own feet and your words, how lovestruck you became.

you followed lando to his room, placing your things down and taking a seat on the edge of his bed as he looked through his closet for a change of clothes, "i'm just gonna shower real quick, make yourself at home, though."

you smiled, nodding his way as he closed the door behind him. after all this time, you had never thought you'd see the other side of this door. his room was slightly messy, due to his busy schedule and his active lifestyle. posters of cars and, seemingly, his favorite video games hanging on the walls. the bookshelf that sat in the corner of the room was littered with different textbooks at the bottom and little die cast models of his favorite cars, along with a few formula one cars that you had recognized. the top shelf stood out the most to you, though.

a picture frame of him and who you had assumed to be his family. a family photo taken during christmas, all of them dressed in matching pajamas. a big happy family.

the photo, for whatever reason, brought tears to your eyes. a smile on your face as you sniffled quietly, putting the photo frame back down on it's designated shelf.

the door opened, causing you to turn around as he closed the door behind him, "sorry, i figured you'd prefer if i didn't smell like a guy's locker-room."

you laughed softly, wiping away the small tear that came from your eye, "god, yeah,"

"hey," he said, sitting down on the bed beside you, immediately disregarding the notebook he was grabbing beforehand, "what's wrong? you okay?"

you nodded, waving a hand dismissively, "yeah, yeah, i'm fine. i just- for whatever reason, when i looked at that picture of you and your family it just uhm..."

he patiently waited for you to finish your sentence, "it just brought back some feelings that i wish it hadn't, that's all."

"fuck, i'm so sorry," he said.

"no, no," you shook your head, "you don't have to apologize, if anything i should be the one who's apologizing."

"you don't have to apologize for having emotions."

you smiled softly, feeling another tear fall from the corner of your eye. this time, he gently brought his hand up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he wiped it away.

the action made you breathless, as if the way he was looking into your eyes hadn't already. a mysterious color you couldn't quite put your finger on. it was a mix between blue, green and grey.

whatever it was, it was gorgeous and captivating at the same time.

you cleared your throat, the two of you moving away from the gap that had slowly been closing. your fingers untwisting themselves from his, you growing flushed at the fact that you had, at some point, interlocked your fingers with his unknowingly.

"sorry," you mumbled softly.

"'m sorry," he said at the same time. you both shared a soft and awkward chuckle before he grabbed his notebook from behind him.

"so, i had a few questions about chapter 15."

"go on," you said, studying his side profile as he explained the areas he was having trouble with. pretty tanned skin littered with freckles and moles, curls that perfectly kissed the skin on the back of his neck and his forehead.

the sentence lily had said to you last week repeating itself into your brain:

“...and it’s not like i don’t see the way he looks at you. he definitely is feeling something he doesn’t want to show just yet,”

oh, fuck.

[aethon-recs]

This Month (January) in Tomarrymort (1 – 31 January 2025)

So many wonderful fics and updates were posted in January! The Tomarrymort tag on AO3 is officially at 15,508 fics at the time of this posting — after hitting 15,000 only just in mid-December. That’s so many new fics in the last month and a half — congratulations to all the writers in our (no longer so) little ship on all their hard work! 

This post got a bit long and unwieldy since it’s been a few weeks, so I’ve split it up into two parts (Part 1 - completed fics + one shots; Part 2 - ongoing fics). Be sure to check the reblogs or click here for Part 2 (Ongoing fics). I’m going back to a biweekly update schedule after this, sorry to everyone for the delay 🤍

*

Tomarrymort Completed Fics

friend of the devil (a friend of mine) by @shyinsunlight (E, 28k, complete)

There’s something very unsettling about Tom Riddle. Whether it’s the way he moves, all long limbs and eerie fluidity, the dissecting gaze he follows them with, or the way he speaks, with an accent that doesn’t match his manners. Maybe it’s how he drinks in Harry’s presence like a religious zealot, or how his eyes wander over Harry’s body as if he’s seen the skin and flesh underneath before.

the horror and the wild by @boyneptunee (NR, 21k, complete)

Time travel AU where there's an antique shop that acts like a portal, a ghoul that behaves like a cat and an armchair that could possibly be a puppy. OR: Harry and Tom find themselves in the middle of a string of murders that threaten to pull them under. They must find the culprits before it's too late.

Lovely Bitter Water by @pagesinmylife (T, 30k, complete)

After stabbing the diary, Harry is haunted by the ghost of sixteen year old Tom Riddle. Unfortunately, he seems to be the only one who can see him. OR: Tom Riddle decides to haunt Harry Potter in order to fill his need for attention and validation. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Time Stumbler by @wintumnly (T, 126k, complete)

When the enigma named Harry Potter stumbled into his world, Tom couldn't have been more unimpressed. That’s not about to stop Harry from adopting him and changing both of their lives. Harry's mission to stop a future Dark Lord’s murder spree and return to a better future and Tom’s pursuit to rule the world and achieve immortality inevitably clashes, and they’ll end up changing the world together. Hopefully, in Harry’s favor.

Touch of Death by @moontearpensfic (E, 9k, complete)

"I don't want to die," Tom informs Death. After a particularly harsh winter at Wool's, Tom Riddle wants to live forever. He calls to Death to bargain for immortality.

An Exquisite Tomarrymort Corpse 2024 by @exquisitetomarrymortcorpse (NR, 35k, complete)

A collection of 21 artists’ and writers' works spanning almost a year, seamlessly stitched together to create an exquisite Tomarrymort corpse. An Exquisite Corpse is a game in which each participant adds to a fanfiction in sequence by only being allowed to see the end of what the previous person contributed.

*

Tomarrymort One Shots

One Shot | strong-armed and dangerous by @duplicitywrites

One Shot | Eternal Hunt by @metalomagnetic

One Shot | pruning shears by @boyneptunee

One Shot | Kill his darlings by @sri-verse

One Shot | The Faculty of Sight by @duplicitywrites

One Shot | housewives' club by esotericmuse

One Shot | Tom Riddle And The Case Of The New Eye-Phone by anonymous

One Shot | say my name (and every color illuminates) by lilacscented

One Shot | 1 in 10 people you know may be an eldritch being by @izharmilgram

One Shot | 5 Reverse Tropes + 1 Trope (OR: The time Tom seduced Harry) by epi_tome

One Shot | tomorrow contains tom by @octoir

One Shot | Ravenous for the Ravishing by @bubbleversity

One Shot | all that is conquered (where we revel in our verities) by @inarticulateimbecile

One Shot | Sell the Sinner the Sins by @neurowriter14

One Shot | Stalker with Benefits by @unrealexistence

One Shot | The Pre-Flight Mile High Club by @moontearpensfic @duplicitywrites

One Shot | you chain me, i chain you by RajaMarika

One Shot | The Manor by @se7enriddles

One Shot | sulphur by @cealesti

One Shot | Beloved by @moontearpensfic

One Shot | How to lose your dignity in 4 steps: Tom Riddle edition by Hina_97

One Shot | I was born depraved (hungry) by lovelycatharsis

*

(These following fics updated December 20-31, but I wanted to include these here just in case anyone missed the updates!)

Chapters 66 and 67 of draw me after you (let us run) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

Chapter 4 of Crush by @chiocchi

Chapter 2 of Of a Feather by @officialsporkintheroad

Chapter 2 of Reign by @syntheticsoulmates

Chapter 2 of Time Traveling Tomfoolery by @corpium

Chapters 42 through 53 of Terrible, But Great by @isalisewrites

Chapter 44 of Of Monsters, Of Men by @ca-xan-dra

Chapter 6 of Goodbye Evergreen by @v33r00

Chapter 21 of with eyes like these (who sees anybody else) by @cealesti

Chapter 1 of Anything You Like (Within Reason) by @ramabear

Chapter 65 of Holly & Yew by @lovely-lotus

Chapters 1 and 2 of Igual a morte by Limerencia_Obscura

*

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.3.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut sort of present moving from this chapter forward

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 5,5K

tag: #nothings new

summary: Alright folks, some abrupt decisions are made in this chapter and I am foreshadowing Viktor's self-discovery (I will place a warning in the next chapter, as here it's still not that relevant). I will post some smut in a minute so you all don't get too sad :v

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You’ve spent the entire weekend stewing in your thoughts. Replaying the events over and over, from beginning to end, picking up pieces you might have missed before. It’s been a week since your last interaction with Viktor, and today is the final day for you to collect your things from his apartment.

You’ve been lying in bed, wondering if what happened last week was real or just an odd case of pareidolia—attaching meaning where there was none. Viktor’s anger, his cracking voice, the way he slumped back into the chair after you hurled fragments of conversation at each other. And yet, those fragments were more than anything that had happened between you in the past year.

People do such strange things after breakups. They throw themselves anywhere but into the breakup itself. They drink, get addicted to something, take up an extreme sport—or extreme hookups, which could also count as a sport—start smoking, dive into a new relationship, or become completely hopeless or cruel versions of themselves. And those versions do stupid, strange things.

Like giving your ex the keys to your apartment to pick up their stuff. Or being the said ex and going to your ex’s apartment to pick up your stuff. Utterly deranged. Utterly strange. Cruel on one side, hopeless on the other.

You have waited the entire weekend, sitting on pins. You haven’t seen Paul once, ignoring his texts and phone calls. Then, inevitably, Sunday noon has crept in, and you realise, that you have to go.

The journey is a drag in itself, but once you are in front of his apartment, you pause. You hold your breath as you slide the key into the lock. Getting here was torment. You thought the cursed triple-date restaurant ordeal was horrific, but you knew nothing. This is horrific. This is true terror. The terror of what’s on the other side of the door gnaws at you the whole way here, and now it gnaws harder, your hand frozen on the key, frozen in the lock.

When you hear it click, you release the trapped breath and close your eyes, stepping in. It’s dark. The day is muggy, with rain on and off, as the weather broke earlier in the week. The first licks of autumn hang in the air, and suddenly, you remember how freezing Viktor’s apartment is during the colder months. Your apartment. The apartment you lived in together. Whatever.

You take a timid stroll through the hallway—some pictures have disappeared from the walls. The ones of you and him. It’s expected, no reason to sulk. Moving on.

There it is: the lounge. The space where you’ve spent so much time reading, yapping, playing records, having sex on the couch, on the windowsill. Sleeping in front of the TV. So much time spent there alone, waiting, falling asleep with a book on your face, or staring expectantly at your phone. So many times you were abandoned here.

Viktor’s desk by the window is still covered in books, papers, and notes. He’s taken his computer away for the weekend, leaving behind a sharp square-shaped void outlined in dust where it had been. You draw a sad face in the dust with your finger, then hesitate, wondering if you should wipe it away so Viktor doesn’t notice.

You sit in his chair and spin yourself around, your feet dragging on the floor. No pictures to stare him in the face while he works, no particularly personal notes. No signs of Julia yet. No assprints in the layer of dust on his desk. Check.

You turn to the box he’s left for you in the middle of the room. Your name is scrawled angrily on it, as if Viktor forced himself not to write something like "CUNT" instead. It’s sealed, ready for you to grab and flee. But you want to see what remnants of you he’s collected, the things he so firmly believes need to be returned.

You rush to the kitchen and grab the first knife you see. Back to the box. A strange feeling churns inside you—something close to excitement, but also to dread.

With trembling hands, you slice the tape, reopening the wound. The box is stuffed with paper on top, meticulously packed. You pull the layers out and start digging.

Your books and clothes, mostly. You take them out one by one. Your T-shirt with "ALL MY BOOTS ARE FUCKED UP" written across it in huge letters. You used to sleep in it. You hadn’t realised it was left behind. It smells exactly of nothing—just a piece of cloth that’s been hanging in a closet for months. And yet, it smells faintly of Viktor, though maybe it’s just your imagination.

Books, each of them ones you love. Especially your first edition of The Lord of the Rings. Not the first edition, just the first one you ever got. A couple of notebooks with notes for work and personal scribbling. Your pin that says, “Bono in short legs shock.” Nothing in particular.

A few records are stuffed to the side. You wince at how he’s squeezed them in there and wonder if they’ve already melted and warped in the heat that was killing you not so long ago. And then, your heart sinks. Between the books and the clothes and an odd perfume bottle, lies a small box.

A gift you’d brought him: the tiniest chunk of meteorite you’d bought at the weirdest book convention you’d ever been to. It had been mixed with a natural minerals expo, an esoterica expo, and a reptile expo. Truly terrible. Until you spotted a man selling pieces of stars from his private collection. And you thought to yourself that if anyone on this planet deserved to receive a star for no occasion, it was Viktor.

He was speechless when you gave it to him. “Amazing,” he’d whispered, his eyes glinting as he weighed it in his hand. For something so small, it had felt so heavy. His heart had felt heavy too, with affection and devotion. He kissed you, kept kissing you until you were out of breath. It was wonderful.

And now it sits in your hand, discarded and abandoned. And it feels heavier than ever.

Forcing the tears back where they came from, you take a shaky breath and scramble up from your knees, clutching the box in your hand. You go to return the knife to where you’d taken it from in the kitchen, determined not to leave any sign of your snooping—except for the sad face drawn in the dust.

When you turn from the counter, it hits you violently in the face.

A Post-it note on the fridge. Viktor’s handwriting. Very old-fashioned. Very Viktor. More intimate than text messages. He’d left those for you once, before your intimacy had died. But this one isn’t for you.

“Miláčku, if you could grab my notebook on your way to work, I will be eternally grateful. V.”

In an instant, you forget your intention to leave no trace. You snap it from the fridge door, twisting it violently in your fingers. Something roars in your chest, and you can feel yourself spiralling. The need to go somewhere safe is overwhelming. So you go to the bedroom.

And there you are, confronted with another square-shaped void. The outline of where the bed used to be screams at you with the darker shade of wooden floor compared to the rest of the room. The empty space—what you remembered as small and cramped—now feels massive and vast.

You crumble onto the floor, squeezing the box with Viktor’s star in one hand and the wretched note in the other. There is no force that could stop your tears. Your lungs burn as you release a pathetic wail of a sob, granting yourself one of the ugliest cries you’ve had in months. The sun sets at some point.

Your chest and shoulders shake in spasms as your tears fall onto the piece of yellow paper, distorting the handwriting into blurred stains. This is the worst you have felt since the beginning. This is the bottom, surely. Crying in your ex’s apartment, on the spot where your bed used to be, clutching a word in your fist as if you refused to give it away to another woman. You refuse to give Viktor away to another woman. You refuse to give yourself to another man.

When you’ve run out of tears, you just stare at the note. For about ten minutes. No, for around twelve hours. You have no idea how much time has passed. You sit there curled up where the bed used to be, unable to move, unable to cry. The remnants of whatever composure you had when you stepped in are all gone.

You don’t even flinch when the door unlocks, and you hear footsteps and a sigh from the hallway. You are completely content to die here in your ignominy.

“Why are you still here?” Viktor’s voice echoes through the corridor, making him sound like an annoyed ghost. Hearing no response, he sighs again, louder this time, to emphasise how distressing your presence is to him. A caricature of a sigh, almost as if mocking someone else’s.

“I asked, why are you still—” He pauses when he sees you. “Are you alright?” The way his voice is laced with genuine concern makes you sick. It is the truest thing he has said to you in such a long time. One of the very few true things he has said in a year.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice utterly sad and so small. You open your shaking fists, and Viktor crouches awkwardly to make sense of what you are showing him. Once he sees the box and the wet, yellow paper, he understands.

“This,” he says calmly, “is something I no longer want. And this is a note to my girlfriend, Julia.”

His tone is devoid of emotion—quiet, calm, calculated. Inside, he is a storm. He left those two things intentionally, to stab you back. He had no idea the stabbing would work so well.

He planted them to stop feeling so fucking sodden. The rush of adrenaline at the thought of you finding those items was a momentary relief because he wasn’t able to tell you how stumbling upon your things jabbed at his heart. He wasn’t able to tell you that he actually played your records and read your books. Or that, when he found your T-shirt hanging in the wardrobe, hidden under his sweater—the one you stole all the time in winter—he died, just a little. How he hadn’t realised until he put the sweater on and discovered there was another skin underneath the wool. And that it still smelled of you after all this time. He wouldn’t tell you that he’d rather eat drywall than smell it again.

“Why is it saying what it’s saying?” you ask, your voice a sharp, trembling whisper, disbelief written all over your face. It’s so undignified to ask this. But dignity is a luxury you have to shed to get through this.

“Because I forgot my notebook for work the other day,” Viktor replies, his tone dispassionate, his eyes studying you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. This has truly backfired. Or rather, it has worked too well. In his wildest dreams, Viktor wouldn’t have dared to think he would find you curled up on the floor, your face swollen and defeated, exposing yourself to another blow.

“Do I have to wipe your face with it, so you answer my question?” you hiss, though the answer isn’t unexpected. The tiny dent made the last time you saw each other was, in the end, only a dent.

You wouldn’t even call it a crack—something you could peel off and peek inside. So, of course, you have to keep hitting.

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains cool, measured. “It is a pet name. A word you use for someone you are in love with.” He is hitting back. Your anger makes him angry. The fact that you are so angry and broken means that nothing has ended, nothing has resolved. And it boils the fear within him, and he attacks when he is afraid. Normally, it wouldn’t be a phrase to play with. But now, he is afraid.

The paper in your hand crunches loudly as you snap your fist shut. “It belongs to me,” you say in a dark tone, your voice brimming with equal parts defiance and anguish.

Viktor scoffs. “That’s rich. Nothing in here belongs to you, save for the trash you refuse to take out.” He stands up to accentuate his disgust. “Are you honestly being jealous right now?”

“No!” You shake your head and pick yourself up to level with him. “But this is just… cruel,” you shoot back, your voice rising, cracking under the weight of his dismissal.

“You will forgive me,” Viktor says with a bitter smile, “but I don’t follow. Which part of me doing the exact same thing that you are doing—moving on—is cruel?” He hasn’t moved on. He is standing stuck in one place. Julia is a distraction, and he knows it. And he knows it’s wrong to use someone like that, but he is only human. And there is no comfort in the idea of being eternally broken.

“You know exactly what I am talking about! Did you leave it here intentionally? Did you do this to hurt me?” Low. You are so low right now, the sound of you hitting this new bottom is echoing across your skull.

“You are so fucking full of yourself,” he spits, his voice dripping venom. “This is my house. It was on my fridge. As far as I remember, there was nothing in my fridge that you might possibly need to take with you.” Except for this exact note that I left there for you to see. That I left there to hurt you, and you are absolutely right about me because you know me better than I know myself.

“Why did you make me come here?” you demand, your voice trembling with rage and heartbreak.

“Do I look like a delivery man to you?” Another cold scoff. Fast, so fast, he’s afraid you are going to see.

“Viktor. This—this is not going to work the way you think it will. You can’t just get rid of me. I will be in your life. I—”

“No!” he roars, the crack in his composure finally showing. “I want you gone. You—you fucking abandoned me! You ran, as if I were some abusive bastard. You do not get the right to demand anything from me!”

You are actually being screamed at by Viktor. Your brain short-circuits, and you blink a couple of times.

“What about Jayce and Mel?” you counter, clutching at straws, desperate to find a thread that could keep you tethered to him. Why, though? Were you really going to be friends again?

“I don’t give a fuck about Mel. And if I can live without you, I can live without Jayce,” he snaps, his voice teetering between fury and despair.

“Viktor, you cannot be serious right now. Jayce is—”

“I would rip off my leg to rid myself of you,” he cuts you off, his voice raw and unfiltered, his accent thickening under the weight of his emotions. “The good one. There is nowhere I wouldn’t go to rid myself of you. I regret—”

“I could slap you for that,” you interrupt, your voice low and trembling with fury.

“I wish you would,” he shoots back, stepping closer, his face a mask of tortured defiance. “I wish you would do fucking anything other than run. I wish you had waited for me that evening and talked to me. I wish you didn’t wipe your face with a note. I wish you’d picked up the phone instead of turning it off. You ruined me. You stole so many months of my life. And you dare to be surprised that I have found someone.”

“You abandoned me first,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but the words hit him like a blow.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice tight, his eyes closing as if to shield himself from the truth. He knows. He knows. But for once, when he needed you to be strong, you were weak, and he couldn’t forgive that. Just once, when he crumbled under the pressure of stress, under the pressure of investors gnawing at him and Jayce, he just wanted you to stay put. To just be the person he came back to, day after day, until it passed. And when you crumbled, he hated you because you made him hate himself for being weak as well.

“You abandoned me first,” you repeat, louder this time, the words escaping your lips like a confession. “I loved you so much.” There are so many bottoms yet to be discovered by you, you realise. Stacked in layers, only for you to be painfully peeled off, like the paper skin on shoulders burned in the sun.

“Stop,” he says again, his voice faltering, the dent cracking as you keep hitting. As you keep scratching and clawing your nails at it.

“I tried to stay, but I couldn’t,” you continue, tears spilling over your cheeks, your voice alien even to you.

“Stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer. His hand reaches out, hesitating in mid-air before brushing against your face. His touch is tentative, trembling. His thumb sweeps the tear running down your cheek. His face, morphing in anguish, rage, something you can’t read—hesitation, resignation—all of those things watercolour across his eyes, his eyebrows, his lopsided mouth, transforming from one into another second after second.

“It ripped me apart,” you whisper, and his hand drops, his head bowing under the leaden weight of it all.

You feel the fear of the moment escalating or fading—both wrong—as now this is the most real thing that has transpired between you in almost a year. Your breath hitches when Viktor steps closer. And then.

He rubs his face against yours, his breath trapped in his throat as his composure fades. You freeze. The feeling of his skin on yours—so familiar. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple jumping, and finally, his golden eyes meet yours. And then. And then.

And then.

The featherlight brush of his lips—not yet a kiss. A strangled movement, hesitant and unsure. Your face cupped in his hands, the pull of gravity still stronger than the pull of his arms. And you stay, fixed in your place, breathing in his scent.

The last time you kissed was a long time ago, save for the absent pecks you gave each other when coming and going. And before that, you kissed many times. But never like this. Never so uncertain, so afraid.

He holds the back of your head as if you were water. It isn’t just one kiss. It’s plenty of lingering, sad kisses—no tongue, just his soft lips gently pressing against yours, making tiny smacking sounds each time he retreats to start again.

The outside of him is calm, but his heart flutters in his chest, and you can feel it under your hands, fisting his sweater. You kiss him back with equal, fleeting tenderness. Your hands travel to his neck, to his cheeks, ghosting over the beauty marks on his face. In the deafening silence of this space, all you can hear is his shuddery breath.

So this is how it used to feel. You remember. The one tremendous feeling that was missing, that you had forgotten about. Belonging. It crawls back into the periphery of your nerves—the sensation of being taken and kept, falling from his mouth to yours. But this time, you take him back; you keep him back.

He closes his eyes and kisses you deeper, pulls you closer. The familiarity of it erases all his careful plans to kick you out of his life. It clouds his judgment as he does the unthinkable. His fingernails scrape faintly against your cheeks, and you open your mouth fully for him, allowing him to swallow you. Your tongues touch, and Viktor groans. Because it feels different than with other people, and he can’t deny it.

His cane clatters against the wood as he leans on you, pushing you toward the windowsill. His fingers now dig into your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You hop up, open your legs, and he is between them immediately. Leaning on you, squeezing the back of your neck, his hands all over you, under your clothes, and you gasp for air, rutting your hips against him to feel more of him—all of him.

Your hands fumble with his shirt and sweater so you can touch the flat plane of his stomach. His belly button glues itself back to his spine as you slide your palms underneath. Your breaths grow heavy as his hands fist your hair and press you further into his face until you can’t breathe. He gropes you so hungrily it almost hurts; all the clothes you are wearing hurt your skin, and only Viktor’s skin can soothe this pain.

You desperately pull the layers between you up and press your stomach to his. His hips buck into yours, his cock straining in his pants, and he wants—he wants, he wants you so much he whimpers, rutting into your core, the pang of lust and need twisting in his lower belly.

It all falls back into place when he suddenly remembers what it’s like to be just blissfully fucking you, what it feels like to be inside you, and he is aching. He thrusts against you hysterically, cursing his clothes, his hands grabbing fistfuls of your flesh, and you wrap your legs around his hips, digging your thumbs into the hollow of his cheeks.

And it’s only when you moan out his name that he remembers something else—how hard it was to breathe when you left. How bad he felt under Mel’s worried gaze. And he knows he wouldn’t survive it if it were to happen again.

So he pauses, breathing heavily, resting his forehead against yours. He snarls and pulls away, and you feel something hooked out of your chest violently, leaving a gaping hole behind. He disappears from your space so fast you can only register him moving further between your blinks.

When you open your eyes again, you see him in the far corner of the room, hunched on his cane, chest heaving, turned so that he wouldn’t face you.

“Get out.” His voice is flat and rotten, as if someone has made him eat poison.

Wordlessly, you take the box with the star chunk from your pocket and place it on the windowsill before leaving the room. You drop your belongings back into the previously gutted box, not bothering to seal it back up, drop the keys into the bowl by the door, and leave with a loud thud echoing all the way back to the bedroom.

Viktor stands by the window, waiting to see you out on the street. His hand clasps against his mouth, trying to suppress a sob, his eyes fixed on you down there, so tiny, waving in a cab. It swallows you and takes you away, alongside your things.

It’s getting late, but he still calls Julia. He gives her the worst, most generic talk he can muster. He gives her a weak “It’s not you, it’s me,” which is, of course, a lie. Because it’s about her—not being you. And he can’t bear another woman crying in his apartment on that day, but he braces through it. He doesn’t tell her about the kiss. She cries a lot, but they part in peace. She’s understanding like that. And he feels about one stone lighter when she leaves.

But it’s not enough. One stone lighter, that’s all he feels after. His apartment is still heavy, still weighed down by the absence of you. He locks the door, leans against it for a moment, trying to breathe. The quiet settles over him, a suffocating silence that makes his chest tight. It’s not like he thought it would be. He should be relieved, shouldn’t he? He doesn’t have to juggle anyone’s emotions anymore, doesn’t have to pretend to be something he’s not. But all he can think about is you. How you left, how he watched you go, how he felt that piece of him break off and disappear when the door shut behind you.

He makes his way to the couch, sits down heavily, his hand finding its way to his lips. His fingers press against the spot where you kissed him, still lingering with the faint taste of you, the memory of your warmth. He mumbles a quiet apology, but it feels hollow, empty, like he’s talking to the walls.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, the words breaking him. “I love you. God, I love you...”

His breath catches on the last confession, as if saying it aloud will somehow make it real, but it only makes the absence feel sharper. It’s almost unbearable. The pain of not having you here, the pain of knowing he pushed you away. He presses his palm harder against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something that’s already slipping through his fingers. He feels completely gutted.

And you come back to Paul with your gutted box of things. He lets you in, no words said. He makes you tea and sits you on the couch. And you feel... so rotten, so evil for doing this. He cradles your head on his lap and makes quiet, soothing shushing sounds. When it starts to feel worse and worse, you snort up your sniffle and sit up.

“I have to talk to you,” you say in a cracked voice, Paul still smiling, still not realizing, because he would never expect you to do something so horrible.

He cocks his eyebrows and hums. “Oh-oh.”

“Paul, I’m serious,” you say, your voice trembling. The tea in your hands cools as the weight of what you’re about to tell him crushes you into the couch.

“You sure you want to do this now? Seems like you had a hard day already,” Paul replies, his tone gentle, though his gaze searches yours cautiously, as if bracing for something heavy. He’s ready for many things. He understands breakups are complicated. He knows how fresh this is when you started. And he’s told himself he’s ready for this kind of moment as well. Yet. Yet.

“I need to tell you something,” you insist, setting the tea down and folding your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“Let me guess. Things are not as over between you and Viktor as you thought they were,” Paul says, leaning back, his face unreadable but his voice still gentle, knowing.

“I—” you stammer, feeling a lump rise in your throat. Were you this obvious?

“You don’t need a genius to know that. It was pretty fast… you and me. I am aware,” he continues, his voice soft but tinged with resignation, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. He’s actually hoping to be wrong, but well.

“We kissed,” you admit, the words spilling out like a confession you can’t hold back any longer. And then you wince as the memory somehow becomes real once you speak it out loud. But you can’t tell him what kind of kiss it was. That you’ve betrayed Paul about a million times today, with each tender and longing kiss Viktor gave you—and you gave back to him. Let him think it was just a kiss.

“Oh.” Paul freezes, his expression shifting ever so slightly, though you can’t tell if it’s surprise or hurt—or both.

“Oh?” you echo, your own voice quivering with uncertainty, afraid of what will follow.

“Well, I… I didn’t exactly expect you to say that,” he admits, running a hand through his hair, his movements deliberate, as if giving himself time to think.

“What did you think I was going to say?” you ask, your voice cracking, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest like a vice. The bottoms just keep coming.

“Oh, I don’t know. That you’re not ready to move in yet? I don’t know what I was thinking, really,” he says with a bitter laugh, his shoulders sagging as he looks away from you for the first time.

“Paul—” you start, but he cuts you off with a raised hand.

“Do you want to get back together with him?” he asks, his tone measured, though the tension in his jaw betrays him.

“No,” you say quickly, but the certainty in your voice wavers under his gaze. No. No, you don’t want to. You’re sure you don’t want to. And yet.

“Do you want to move in with me?” he asks, his voice quieter this time, almost cautious, as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

“I… don’t know,” you admit, your hands clenching into fists against your thighs, wishing you had an answer that would hurt less. No. You don’t want to.

“Do you still love him?” Paul’s question lingers in the air like a storm cloud. You swallow hard, your silence speaking louder than any words could. And you hate yourself for it. This poor, kind man. And what you did to him. Almost the exact same thing Viktor did to you.

Paul sighs, the sound heavy with understanding and pain. “Do you love me?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whisper, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes under the pressure of his scrutiny.

“Well,” Paul says, forcing a weak smile that makes his lines more prominent. “I guess that concludes it.”

“Paul—” you try again, desperate to say something, anything, to fix this.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice breaking slightly. “I guess I should’ve known. Jesus, how have I been so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid. I am. I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, your chest aching with regret. He looks so hurt. And it aches to be so broken that you can’t love a nice, beautiful, boring man. It would be so easy if it weren’t so hard.

“Is that all it was? Just a wait up before you can get back with him?”

“Paul, I’m not getting back with him. And no, it wasn’t. I just… don’t think it’s fair. To be with you, when I’m not…” anything in particular. Not in the relationship, not outside of it. Just complacent.

“Do you have any idea… what it feels like to be with someone who is in love with someone else, all the time?” He looks at you and the answer is written all over your face, then takes a long sigh. “I’ll call you a cab.”

You sit in silence for a while. You drink your cold tea. You stand up, pick up your box for it to be taken from your hands and carried by Paul to a cab. He slumps it onto your knees and closes the door before you can say ‘thank you.’ Then he pats the cab’s roof and sends you away. He will make you his own box, soon.

And you come back home, to your dark place, with one box, and another already anticipated, to stack one on top of the other. Thoughts clattering in your head. Viktor, the mess you’ve made, the confusion—all so harrowing.

You should feel something, shouldn’t you? Relief, maybe? But it’s just emptiness, the kind that fills every corner of your flat, each inch of it reminding you of what you’ve lost. You try to focus but your thoughts slip back to Viktor, to the kiss, to the way he touched you, like he still cared, like he still wanted you.

Sitting down on the bed, you press your fingers to your lips, the memory of his kiss burning there, so vivid, so real. You can almost feel him again. The warmth of his hands, the way his lips fit against yours like they were made to. Your chest tightens, the ache deepening. You close your eyes, leaning into the pillow, whispering, “I love you. I miss you so much,” to the fabric, as if hoping that saying it aloud will somehow help you to repent.

And in that quiet moment, when the dust settles down, the truth you've been running from finally breaks through. It was always there, under the surface, but now you admit it. Now, you let yourself feel it, how much indeed you love him and miss him.

[nameless-jamie]

Can we get some PA and Jamie’s mum and Simon interaction? 💙💙💙

The Tartt's

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing

A/N: Sure, I love this idea. Guys keep sending me more ideas, love your requests. Ready for some pushy loving parent moments?

As his personal assistant, Y/N had gotten used to handling all aspects of Jamie Tartt’s life—from scheduling his training sessions to making sure he actually showed up to interviews on time. But coordinating a surprise visit from his mum and Simon? That was a new challenge entirely.

The last few weeks Jamie was very well-behaved. He was still annoying, but he worked hard to show up on time and make Y/N's life as his assistant and friend way easier. He was also very hard-working and trained his ass off. That paid off because he scored 5 goals in the last three matches!

As a little treat Y/N wanted to surprise him with his favourite people in the world. His mum and step-dad Simon. They live 3 hours away from Richmond in Jamie's hometown Manchester. He doesn't have time to visit them much, so any updates Georgie, Jamie's mum gets, are from Y/N.

Y/N and Georgie text and call often, not only to keep her updated on Jamie's life... Georgie and Simon had always been a fan of Y/N, calling her love and darlin’ whenever they met or talked. Asking Jamie where Y/N is at, whenever he FaceTimed them. Georgie would gush about how lucky Jamie was to have Y/N keeping his life in order, while Simon, in his usual dry humor, would mutter something about her being the real MVP of the family.

Georgie is also sure that Y/N is going to be her daughter-in-law... But she wouldn't rush those kids. She just knew.

And now? Well, now, they were showing up at Nelson Road to surprise Jamie at training.

Y/N stood outside the training ground, scrolling through her phone when she spotted the familiar couple heading toward her. Georgie’s face lit up the second she saw her.

“Y/N, my love!” Georgie beamed, pulling her into a warm hug before Simon wrapped an arm around her shoulders in greeting. “Oh, it’s been too long! Jamie giving you any trouble? Bet you’ve got your hands full. Love that boy to pieces, but he's a bunch of work sometimes.”

Y/N laughed. “You have no idea. But he's been good the last few weeks. I missed you guys so much and I know he's missed you too. So let's go surprise him!”

They started the walk to the pitch. Simon snorted wrapping an arm around Y/N and Georgie. “Reckon you’re the only reason he’s not showin’ up to training in his bloody dressing gown, right Y/N? By the way I brought your favorite shortcakes.”

"You guys spoil me and I'm not even your daughter!"

Georgie linked arms with Y/N as they headed toward the facility. “Who says you're not our daughter! Honestly, love, I don’t know how you do it. If Jamie were my boss, I’d have quit ages ago. Does he still sleep bottomless?”

Y/N blushed after hearing Georgie call her, her daughter. “Oh, believe me, Georgie, I've considered quitting like every day,” Y/N joked. “But then who else is going to make sure he eats actual food instead of just protein shakes and gummy bears?”

Georgie shook her head fondly. “That boy. Honestly. You are a saint, Y/N. And you know you’re basically family at this point, right? He should just marry you already...”

Y/N smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Well, I—”

Before she could finish, a voice interrupted from across the pitch.

“Mum? What the fuck?”

Jamie stood a few feet away, brows raised in confusion as he took in the sight of his mum, Simon, and Y/N looking very chummy.

Y/N grinned. “Surprise.”

"Language, Jamie!" Georgie shouted, angry at Jamie's fruity outburst.

Jamie blinked. “Why—how—”

"Surprise, baby!" Georgie squealed, throwing her arms wide, and before Y/N could even register it, Jamie was bolting across the grass, launching himself at her like a six-year-old.

She oofed at the impact, but Jamie just clung to her, his head buried in her shoulder.

“Mum,” he muttered, voice muffled but so full of love. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Y/N folded her arms, grinning as Simon walked up beside her. “He’s such a mumma’s boy.”

Simon chuckled. “The biggest. Watch this.”

Georgie’s face lit up. “Oh, Jamie, look at you. You’ve been eating well, right? Getting enough sleep? Moisturizing?”

Jamie sighed, leaning into her touch like an overgrown golden retriever. “Mum, yes. I’m fine.”

Georgie turned to Y/N. “Is he lyin’ to me?”

Y/N smirked. “You know what? He has been skipping breakfast.”

“Mum, no I haven’t—”

Georgie gasped dramatically, smacking his arm. “Jamie! That’s awful for your metabolism! You need to eat in the mornings, baby, I told you this!”

He turned to Y/N, slightly betrayed that she told on him, but happy. “You did this, huh? Brought them 'ere” he gestured towards his parents.

“Obviously.” She crossed her arms. “You haven’t seen them in ages, and I figured you could use some family time instead of annoying me all day.”

Georgie beamed, patting Jamie’s cheek. “She’s right, you know. You’re lucky she puts up with you.”

Jamie scoffed, blushing a little. “Yeah, yeah. Everyone loves tellin’ me how lucky I am to have her.”

Simon clapped a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Well, mate, you are.” Then, with a smirk, he turned to Y/N. “Tell me, love, how long you plannin’ to put up with him before you make it official?”

Y/N choked on air. “Wait, what?”

Jamie turned bright red. “Simon, mate, shut up.”

Simon ignored him, grinning. “Oh, come on. We all know it’s gonna happen eventually.”

Georgie nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I’ve already decided Y/N’s my daughter-in-law, whether you two want it or not.”

Y/N laughed nervously. “Jesus Christ.”

Jamie groaned even louder, now totally embarrassed. “Bloody hell.”

“Oh, don’t act like it’s a bad thing,” Georgie said, waving him off. “You love her.”

Jamie scoffed, folding his arms, but there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “Mum! I do not. Don't say stuff like that.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Really? So why’d you spend all last Christmas on FaceTime with us, complainin’ that she wouldn’t answer your texts?”

Jamie’s face flamed. “I did not—” He turned to Y/N. “I didn’t, okay?”

Y/N grinned. “Mhm. Sure.”

Georgie nudged her playfully. “You should’ve heard him, love. Walkin’ around all moody, muttering, ‘Dunno why she’s ignorin’ me, I’ve been proper nice to her this year.’”

Simon snorted. “Proper sad, it was.”

Jamie groaned. “I hate both of you.”

Y/N, thriving off of his suffering, smirked. “Aw, Jamie, you missed me?”

He huffed. “You know I did.”

The way he said it—low, almost begrudging, but completely honest—made Y/N’s stomach flip.

Georgie waggled her eyebrows. “See? You do adore her.”

Jamie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Right, well, this has been proper fun for everyone except me. I need to shower.”

He turned to Y/N, eyes flicking over her with something way too mischievous.

“Fancy helpin’ me pick out my clothes, love?” he teased. “Heard my mum...You are my future wife, after all.”

Y/N scoffed, trying to ignore the heat crawling up her neck. “You’re impossible.”

Jamie winked. “You love it.”

Georgie sighed dreamily. “God, you two are ridiculous.”

Simon nodded. “Just date already.”

Jamie and Y/N groaned at the same time.

“No one asked you!”

[pomefioredove]

I kinda wanted to be a little different with this one—

May I request a sugar cookie #5 with dried fruit and chestnuts please? Thank you very much!

this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever written /positive I hope you guys enjoy

order #5, sugar with dry fruit, chestnuts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ sickness and kisses

summary: kalim wants to be a part of everything- including your cold. what better way to share germs than getting close? tropes: sick fic, first kiss characters: kalim additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, a little gross

"It should have been me!"

Jamil winces and takes a step away from the bed. You hold out a hand to him, as if to say "take me with you."

"Kalim, they're not dying. It's nothing but a cold,"

The boy peels himself off bed at your feet, which he's been attached to all afternoon.

"You don't get it, Jamil! They're going to miss my birthday party- the desserts, the music, the games! Who knows if the Prefect will be here for my birthday next year!"

"Kalim," you pat his head to comfort him, though, if anyone needs comfort, it's you. "I'll be fine. We can have another party when I'm better."

He sighs, leaning into your touch. "It's not the same..."

Jamil looks more sick than you now.

"Ahem. I've brought soup and tea, and there are extra blankets in the foyer. Kalim, we should be going,"

Kalim pouts and clings to your blankets. "Just a moment..."

"I'll be waiting outside,"

Jamil doesn't need to be excused twice, leaving the room and closing the door on his way out.

Kalim sighs. "I just hate when my friends are sick... I wish there was a way I could share some of your pain,"

"That's nice, but you don't have to- ack," you cough into your fist.

Kalim's sympathetic pat would be comforting, if not for that look. You can tell he's thinking something.

He waits for you to finish hacking and coughing, at least. Then:

"I have an idea," he says. "You can get me sick. That way, we can still spend my birthday together, and you won't be alone!"

Thinking something, alright. You're surprised Jamil couldn't feel that on his "Kalim's bad ideas" radar and come running before anything more happened.

"I appreciate that, Kalim, but this kinda sucks," you smile. "I wouldn't wish this upon my worst enemy."

He smiles back and sits beside you on the bed, closer now.

"But you and Jamil said it's just a cold! I've been poisoned, you know- I think I could handle it!"

You blink. "Well... yeah, but it's still sucky,"

"But we'll be together!" he insists. "Now, how should we do this? I've never gotten sick on purpose before, so I don't- oh, I know!"

"Huh?"

He comes a little closer, leaning over you. "I'll kiss you!"

Your eyes widen, and again, you're surprised Jamil didn't feel that and burst through the door like the room was on fire.

"Like... seriously?"

"Why not? It's the fastest way. But I could figure something else out if you don't want to," he eyes your hands. "Maybe you could-"

"Alright! I concede! Just... one kiss,"

Kalim beams. "One is all I need!"

With no further warning, questioning, or thought, he dips in and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips. It doesn't last for more than a second, but it still leaves you a little flustered.

He hums, licks his lips, and then hops off the bed. "Thanks, Prefect! I'll be back in no time, don't worry!"

He leaves the door open behind him. You're honestly the last person he should worry about, now.

You wonder, for a moment, what he was thinking- Kalim is ditzy, not dense. He had to have known what he was...

Your eyes widen as you remember something else. Oh, crap.

If this works, Jamil is going to kill you.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

hi - do you have any fics with scenes like the one in "but the world won't stop turning" where derek time travels and meets his mom? in this one she knows it him by scent (in her time he's 7-ish) and they just have lunch and talk bit. it's very bittersweet. i was hoping there might be more like it?

Hi anon. Let's see.

But The World Won't Stop Turning by thepsychicclam

(1/1 I 19,906 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek glances at Stiles, who is watching him with a curious expression.

“Oh shit,” Stiles exclaims as comprehension dawns on him. “Everything makes sense now. Derek, I know what the witch did, she cursed you with – “

But before Stiles is able to finish his sentence, everything fades away and Derek is surrounded by darkness.

***

A Chance Worth Taking by ash_mcj

(1/1 I 1,885 I General i Sterek)

When Derek woke up, he thought he was in a dream.

There were posters littering the familiar forest green walls that he hadn’t seen in years—Star Trek, Black Eyed Peas, even a Destiny’s Child one he had completely forgotten was on the back of his bedroom door that he’d stolen from Laura’s wall when she’d left for college. A burgundy and white letterman jacket was slung over his desk chair, bold letters spelling his surname and his basketball number across the back with Beacon Hills Cyclones Basketball on the lower half.

This wasn’t possible—this room had burned to ash years ago, and his nightmares almost never featured such simple scenes as this one. There were no foreboding feelings, no sharp smell of smoke, no guilt-inducing screams. 

And just as he was about to dig his clawed hand into his thigh in an attempt to wake himself from this maybe-dream, he remembered. ___

[or: with the help of some magic, Derek and Stiles go back in time—giving them the opportunity to save not only their future pack, but also the first one Derek lost]

Days Like These. by Missy_Moo

(6/23 I 8,801 I General I Sterek)

Derek and Stiles mated right after Stiles finished highschool, they had been trying for a baby ever since. Unfortunatly nature was against them and everything they tried had failed. Until their third and final round of IVF, they were pregnant! Deaten finds the spell to send Derek back to stop the fire on the very same day that they find oout about their pup. Now its Dereks choice, his new family or his old one.

-

Or where Derek goes back in time stops the fire, forgets about Stiles and has to find his mate all over again. While Stiles pouts his way through a virgin mary style pregnancy.

Blood of my Veins, Bone of my Body by DaoOfGay

(4/? I 10,679 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale was a stupid and very proud teen. He always regretted the words he told the one that was his Soulmate... That day was the day he threw away his chance at happiness while pushing someone down a path of no return.

He regretted it so much...

Now, at such old age, he lived a lonely life. His friends, family, and others he loved- he pushed them away slowly, and he didn't even notice it. So, as he died alone, all he wanted was to go back...

"-rek, tell me this freak is lying and that you two aren't Soulmates-"

He hadn't even come to his senses- everything was so weird, but when he heard those words, his entire being screamed and he opened his mouth to say: "Of course we're Soulmates-"

There was only silence in the school cafeteria.

Back to the Beginning by erraticallyinspired

(7/? I 18,532 I Teen I Sterek)

"The last thing he can remember is turning his back to Jennifer-Julia. It was stupid, of course, because she was the Darach and knew perfectly well how to handle werewolves. [...] He has to be dead."

Jennifer knocks Derek out in the elevator, but he doesn't wake up there.

A Simple Wish by monkeyihihji

(5/5 I 23,022 I Teen I Sterek)

In less than seven days, his girlfriend had randomly broken up with him and kicked him out. He was forced to move back home to a family that seemed to not really want him. His bed was too small. And his former childhood best friend--who he just figured out he was in love with--was with someone else. Happy Birthday, Derek. It was a great week, really. The candle flickers and seems to mock him. He takes a deep breath and blows.

"I wish I could go back and fix this whole mess."

Time To Say Goodbye by matildajones

(1/1 I 34,323 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek finds an older version of himself at his front door, along with Stiles, a boy from the future.

[sanjisleggy]

the siren and the sun (portgas d. ace x reader) [pt6]

a/n: this was truly a test in writing fear and grief :D do let me know if i succeeded or failed

contents: graphic descriptions of bodily wounds and assault bc good times never last :’)

wc. 1.5k

wanna be on my taglist?

part 5

drip.

drip.

drip.

thump.

you aren’t initially alerted by the noise, still bleary-eyed from sleep as you leave your room, on the move to the galley solely due to the dryness of your throat. Ace had been stirred awake by you wriggling yourself free from underneath him just a minute ago.

“don’t go…” he’d slurred, long fingers grasping weaky at your shorts. you told him you were too thirsty to fall back asleep and that you’d be back before he knew it. now, as you make your way to the open deck, you wish you’d listened to him.

on the ground lays a limp body surrounded by a pool of thick, red blood. the life-sustaining substance seeping into the very grooves of the same wooden planks you’ve stepped on every day for nearly three years now. your blood runs cold when you recognise that signature hairstyle.

Thatch…?

his skin is deathly pale and his body completely unmoving as he lays face-up on the floor. even through the darkness of the night, you can see faint bruises forming on the exposed parts of his skin and the countless gaping wounds decorating his torso. the one in his chest is so large you swear you catch a glimpse of his ribs. his cold lifeless eyes are blasted wide open as a lone knife lays near his feet, drenched in blood.

“Thatch…?” you murmur, the name slips past your lips but you’re suddenly so breathless it barely comes out as a sound. “Thatch?”

he doesn’t respond.

a handful of seconds stretch into an infinite number of years as an unimaginably cold feeling washes over your entire body and goosebumps ripple over every inch of skin. you feel yourself begin to sweat in spite of the frigid night air as your lips part to make way for a cry for help.

but before any sound comes out, a loud bang reverberates through your head just a split second before you feel something hard collide with the back of your skull. the impact knocks the wind straight out of your lungs as you fall to your knees. unable to get your bearings in time, you feel yourself get flipped over as effortlessly as one would do with a ragdoll before your assailant slams your head against the deck as one large hand covers your mouth while the other clutches your throat.

you flail your arms and legs as panic sinks into your very bones, your eyes burning with tears not only from grief but also fear. your vision begins to blur at the edges as the grip around your esophagus tightens slowly but surely and though you try your best to make out the face of your attacker, it’s only when he speaks do you fully realise who it is.

“it’s nothin’ personal, kid,” Teach whispers as he pins you underneath him. “yer just at the wrong place at the wrong time… but now that i think about it… we wouldn’t be ‘ere if ya just gave me the Fruit, would we?”

it was during a recon mission with Ace when you found the Devil Fruit. it had been sitting so innocently on the ground–partially hidden by blades of grass–that you nearly missed it entirely had it not been for its distinct colour.

word that you’d found a new Devil Fruit spread across the Moby Dick like a hungry blaze the moment you stepped foot on deck with it cradled in your arms. while many either congratulated you or joked lightheartedly about how unfair it was that you’d found two, others were inclined to give bartering a shot, seeing as you “couldn’t eat this one anyway.”

as much as you were tempted by their offers of taking up your night shift for the rest of your life or being your personal bodyguard–Ace in particular had a big problem with that one–you quickly decided it would simply be a gift.

“i can’t just give it to anyone,” you replied with a laugh when Teach asked if you could perhaps give it to him. “it’ll have to be for someone special. it could potentially be so life-changing, y’know?”

he agreed and didn’t push any further.

Teach grins down at you when he catches how your eyes widen at the revelation.

“that’s right, girly,” he sneers almost gleefully, “you got Thatch killed, didn’t ya? ya wanted so badly to make it some sentimental present but instead ya doomed him the moment you gave him the Fruit.” 

you try to shake your head as the sheer overwhelming grief at the accusation wracks your brain while your lungs continue to fight for air that’s so painfully out of reach. fresh, hot tears gather at your eyes even faster than before as you fight to stay awake against all odds.

“if ya just gave it to me like i asked,” Teach leans down closer to your face, pinning you even harder against the cold wooden floor, “i wouldn’t even have thought of killin’ ‘im.”

“are you sure, (Y/N)?” the head chef asked, eyes widened almost comically at the sight of the Fruit sitting in your hands as you offered it to him. “i don’t feel like i deserve something so special,” he admitted as he scratched the back of his head.

“don’t be silly,” you replied, shoving it into his hands. “you take such good care of all of Pops and all of us. i know you’ve always been interested in having Devil Fruit powers yourself so here’s your chance.”

“thank you, (Y/N). truly.” Thatch pulled you into a tight hug, nearly squishing the Fruit in between your bodies. “i’m touched you think so highly of me.”

“of course i do… and now you won’t have to be jealous of Marco, Ace and me anymore either!”

“hey now.” he pulled away with a smile on his face before he reached out to pinch your nose lightly–a gesture he adopted soon after you first joined the crew. “don’t say the truth so loud.”

“take one last look, (Y/N).” Teach jerks your head abruptly to the right so that Thatch’s body is in plain view. “this is my farewell gift to ya before i go.” although your vision is blurred by the never ending stream of tears, his bloodied face flashes across your eyes as clear as day. 

Thatch… i’m so, so sorry.

“tell Whitebeard this is what’ll happen to his precious family if anyone comes after me, got it? that’s if ya live, ‘course.” Teach lifts your head off the ground just to slam it back down against the deck.

once. 

twice.

after the third time, you feel something warm seeping into your hair. it’s only when he lets you go do you realise you’re not lying in a pool of your own blood.

gasping desperately for air, you choke and writhe as every breath sends an unbearably sharp pain down your throat and through your skull. your vision blurs in and out of focus as you feel as if the world is spinning on its axis. you slump onto your side, the warm wetness of your blood staining your cheek as you stare straight ahead at your friend’s body.

a fresh wave of anguish washes over your entire being and, against all common sense, you begin to inch closer to Thatch, your bruised muscles screaming at you to stop. broken sobs force their way out of your crushed esophagus and you nearly pass out from the physical agony alone.

“please…” you croak, “please, Thatch… wake up.” unable to move any more, your body slumps uselessly as you lay on your side, just an arm’s length away from Thatch’s body.

“wake up…” you babble repeatedly as the realisation that he’s truly, actually dead because of you begins to fully sink in. “wake up. wake up. wake up.”

in midst of your grief, you fail to notice the familiar numbing, tingling sensation from your Devil Fruit ability blooms across your tongue.

“wake up… please, you can’t be dead… wake up!” you raise your volume with every syllable, as if death was simply something you can startle someone awake from. 

before you know it, you start screaming.

“wake up w̸a̷k̴e̶ ̵u̶p̵ ̸ẁ̸̧a̷̙̓k̶̹̓e̴͎̎ ̴̢̅u̸̡̕p̷͍̊ ̴̰̀W̸̬̾͑A̶͜͝Ḵ̷̯̌͆Ę̶̺̊͠ ̶͙̪̀Ṷ̵̀͗P̶̦̓͝ NOW”

a searing pain rips through your throat as you begin to cough up blood. a loud ringing noise reverberates through your brain and you nearly begin to choke on air from how sudden the sensation hits you. you’re used to your Devil Fruit ability wearing down your throat but never like this.

thump.

Thatch’s dead body jolts for a split second before it contorts almost violently as he sucks in desperate sips of air through gritted teeth, pausing only when his head turns and his bloodshot eyes meet yours.

“Thatch…?” you whisper hoarsely as a deathly chill runs down your spine. 

tears begin to well up in his eyes as he struggles to move his arm, barely shifting it enough so that his cold hand brushes against the tip of your nose. Thatch attempts to say something, his bloodstained lips shivering as they open and close. “... (Y/N)...” is all he manages before the light leaves his eyes once more.

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16

series taglist: @captainportgasdace @mitskisaveme @graveyardsweethearts @vaniiiavengeance @stuckinmymind22

[cautotelic]

Chapter 6: Last Piece of the Puzzle

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Synopsis: When you get taken away from your home land and thrown into the palace of the infamous warlord, will things be as bad as they first seem?

CW: PURE FLUFF, alluding to sexual acts

A/N: last part, let’s go out with some love

~5 years later~

“Come on, the kids I teach could do better than you, Rictus,” I say as I circle the commander.

Rictus laughs. “Your lucky I’m pulling my punches. The General would not be happy if I actually hurt you.”

“How about you let me deal with Ambessa and you fight. Deal? Deal.” I say as I go to attack him head on.

I’ve switched my regular staff for a more traditional Noxian dual sword staff. I jab it in his direction and he goes to block it. I flick my wrist and summon a shadow reaper that comes at him from the side, distracting him enough so that I can sweep my staff at his feet, having him land on his back.

He’s quick enough and disperses the reaper before swinging his blade over to me. I drift my hand in front of my stomach, erecting a force field, his blade pinging off of it. He looks at me with a mix of relief and anxiety as the blade deflects.

I rein in my breathing as Rictus comes at me with an attack. Using my staff I counter his attacks but I’m not able to get back on the offensive so I stick to blocking. In no time I can tell my motions are getting slower, my body being wracked with fatigue.

Rictus stops his attacks and looks at me concerned. “That’s enough for today, little lady,” he orders.

I roll my eyes at him and catch my breath. “You’re no fun anymore Rictus,” I protest but silently I’m agreeing with him.

“I thought I told you no more sparring,” an ever so familiar voice booms from behind me.

Rictus bows his head in Ambessa’s direction before leaving the arena. I turn around to my ever so brooding wife.

“You’re no fun these days either,” I chide as I watch her stalk over to me with her hands behind her back.

When she’s close enough she hums and pulls me closer to her by the waist. “How is my little one doing?” She asks, concern lacing her voice.

I bring my hands to run over my enlarged stomach. “She’s fine. Restless, but fine,” I say my voice tinged with exhaustion. Ambessa’s large hands come to press against my stomach, her cold hands a nice contrast to my warm skin as she looks at my pregnant belly.

“I’m not talking about the baby, dear,” she clarifies as she looks at me expectedly.

I huff and bring my hand to cradle her cheek. “I’m just fine, you worry too much.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “Obviously I’m not worrying enough. Going behind my back and sparring with my most trusted commander? I should punish you for it…” she says

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh please do General,” I egg on sarcastically.

She chuckles and lays her head into my neck. I pull her head away from me and give her a good once over. “You look exhausted. How many times have I told you not to be staying up so late to do paperwork?” I ask, noting the stress lines etched on her face.

She nuzzles her cheek into my palm and turns her head to kiss the band of my wedding ring. “Don’t worry about me, it’s not good for the baby. Plus that's my job.”

“I told you I hate when you say that…” I huff as my hand makes its way to her hair where it sits in a low military style bun, clearly having been like that for multiple days. “Come on, you're in deep need of a good bath and some T.L.C, my love,” I command as I kiss her cheek.

•••

I sit on the edge of the tub, my legs in the water. My hands work on lathering and detangling the hair of the woman sitting between my legs. I take the last section of her hair and take some cream in my hand, spread it on the section before taking a comb and brushing her hair out, bottom to top. I’m gentle with brushing out her hair not wanting to pull too hard.

Her hand comes up out of the water to tenderly squeeze my calf beside her. “Dear im not made of glass, you don’t need to be so gentle,” she chuckles.

I move my hand to the base of her scalp and give the hair there a firm tug, earning a groan. “Better?” I ask teasingly.

“Always trying my patience little one.”

I make a small sound and shrug and go back to brushing her hair before starting to braid her hair into a protective style. Weaving the strands of her hair over and under each other. It’s taken a long time but now I’m the only person other than herself who she will let do her hair, and I carry that badge with pride.

One of my newts floats around in the water by my leg, since my pregnancy I’ve found comfort in having them around more often than not.

I take the bottle of oil beside me and apply it in between each of the braids. Ambessa lets out satisfied sighs as I massage the oil into her scalp.

Once I’m finished touching her hair, Ambessa’s hand reaches back and pulls my head down towards hers as she presses a loving, tender kiss on my lips.

“Always so good to me, hm?” I smirk as I pull away to go put her hair care products away. From behind me I hear her rise from the tub and dry herself off.

I exit the bathroom and into our shared bedroom, going to sit on my couch in front of the fireplace as I pull out my stethoscope and notebook. Placing the earpieces in my ear I press the cool metal to my stomach and quiet my breathing as I move it around, only stopping when I hear the familiar sound of a heartbeat.

I wait and count how many beats per minute before writing it down in my notebook. I do this 5 times. While I’m busy, I don’t hear Ambessa come out of the bathroom dressed in nothing but her silk robe. She places the newt on the couch next to me, the small shadow spinning around before settling down beside my leg. She removes the ear pieces from my ears and places them in hers.

A small, proud smile appears on her face. “She will be strong, just like her mother,” she reassures. “Again, stop worrying, the physician said that everything is going as it should," she adds trying to quell my worries.

I sigh as I take the stethoscope and place it on the couch beside me. “I know, I know. I just feel like something is going to go wrong, something always goes wrong,” I admit as I run my hands anxiously over my swollen stomach as I’m reminded of my own childhood.

Ambessa reaches out and steadies my hands, holding them in hers. “Nothing is going to happen to you or our child, dear. I assure you. Now,” she says as she stands from her kneeling position, pulling me up with her. “I think you need some T.L.C too, don’t you think?” She asks, her tone hinting at more than the usual foot massage.

She backs me up and I fall back to sit on the edge of the bed. I quirk an eyebrow. “While I do enjoy your enthusiasm, is what you have in mind also ‘not good for the baby’?” I ask, throwing her words back at her.

She kneels down again in front of me and starts gently kissing up my bump and I chuckle at the tickling sensation. She trails her way up my chest to my collarbone and neck where she starts focusing her attention. She hums with disagreement as she shakes her head. “Nope, not at all. Actually it’s completely beneficial… for you.”

I roll my eyes with a sigh as I tilt my head to give her more access. “Yeah? What book did you read that in?”

She acts as if she is thinking. “Hm? Mine, it’s called Tough Love and will you very respectfully shut up so I can get on with helping my dear, darling wife relax?” She asks, her hands hooked and resting in the waistband of the flowy pants I was wearing, waiting for my go ahead.

I think a little about it. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt…” At that she presses her lips to mine as she pulls my pants off.

My hand reaches out to her and pulls the tie of her robe loose before opening it and letting it slide off her shoulders, leaving her bare in front of me. She pushes me back to lay on the plush silk sheets of the bed.

•••

The white of my dress is contrasted to the greenery around me

The woman I once hated, who I thought would harm me

A life I once was accustomed to

Is the same woman who now stands before me in a white dress with pieces of her battle armor on

Of course.

A ceremony just for us, vows said in hushed whispers so that they are truly our own

An everlasting promise between two souls

Forged in blood and tenderness

Sealed with a kiss.

•••

I would never admit it but I have grown to be very fond of and love this cold, ruthless, warlord of mine.

[iguana-eyanna]

From The Bird's Eye View Chapter 5

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Summary: Although you achieved your dream of being a designer, you never considered meeting a man who's also a father.

a/n: This story line has been about 4 years in the making as "The Blood Within Us" was my favorite fic to write. I really wanted to finish the Bruce Wayne saga but I have been facing a lot of writer's block now a days. This current series will have two chapters that will be published in a few months. In the mean time, thank you for reading.

“Tim! You’re going to be late to school!” You yelled, knocking on his door once again. 

As if on cue, Tim was rushing towards his bag and trying to knot a tie for his uniform, murmuring sorry under his breath. 

You paused his power walk to the dining room and did his tie for him.

“I know your nervous about your debate competition tonight, but you don’t need to pull all nighters. Especially since you asked for time off on night patrol.”

“I know, I know. I was just reviewing my notes last night and slept on my desk. Didn’t hear my third alarm.” He said, seeing how you were done with his tie. 

“There. You know, I can teach you how to do it.” You said, walking with him to the table to eat a quick breakfast. Tim grabs a toast and some eggs on his plate.

“Mom, you’re a fashion designer, you’re a literal pro. Besides, you do it better than Bruce.”

“Thanks for the kind words.” Bruce replied, making Tim chuckle nervously. He presses a kiss on your head as he sat down next to you with his fixed plate. 

You look at your son who looked a bit distant as he rushed his breakfast. Call it mother’s intuition but you felt something was wrong.

“It’s time to head to head to school, Master Tim.” Alfred announced as he made his way to the car.

“Bye guys!” Tim yelled out before making his way out before kissing your cheek.

You look over to your son as he rushed his way out from the dining room.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You ask Bruce as he was about to drink from his mug. 

Bruce knows what you meant. About almost four months ago, Tim was captured by the Joker. That monster tormented him, trying to create a replicate of the conniving villain using unspeakable methods. When Bruce and Barbra Gordon saved Tim, the damage was already done. 

Tim went through extensive therapy and had night tremors. Both you and Bruce said to take his time before going back to school, but Tim pressed on, saying he’d be behind on all his school work and the new friends he’s made. But deep down, he just wanted to feel somewhat normal again.

“He’s keeping busy with school. Tim just needs an outlet to just feel like a teenager again. I thought I had to face every struggle when I was his age, I don’t want him to feel like that.” He said, taking a sip.

“I can’t imagine. At least he has you to guide him.”

“He has the both of us.” Bruce reached out for your hand, squeezing it.

You then left Bruce at home so you could go in the office. You were more busy than ever, especially when you were opening a Japan branch in the coming year.

Later on, you got a ping of your phone alerting you it was time for lunch so you left work and traveled farther away from the city.

You walked over in the uneven path. The sun didn’t glare too much and the breeze was soft. You had a small bouquet of flowers in your hands. They were small yellow flowers that had hints of dandelions. You then got off the path to a small patch of grass, now only a few steps away from where you’ve been visiting for sometime.

“Hi, Jason.”

Your son turns around, a bit in a daze as he heard his name. 

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” He said, turning around. He was about to give you a hug but paused, unsure if the embrace was welcomed. You give him a sympathetic smile and closed the gap between you two, feeling his arms tighten around you.

“Sorry, not been used to this in awhile… also, not really sure what I’m doing here.” He said, looking back at the cemetery, staring at his name on the tombstone.

Jason Todd: Friend, Brother, & Son.

Son.

That word felt foreign to him. 

It’s almost been a month since he’s reunited with the family. After days of constant fighting with Bruce under his alias of The Red Hood, it was time to end this never-ending battle of his anger and come back home. 

“I usually come here to clear my head and talk to you.” You said, dusting away the leaves that were on top of the gravestone. 

He knew since his death that you took it the hardest. Even when you took in Tim, that hurt never left your heart. And now that he’s here, you’ve been healing day by day. 

The world knew of Jason’s death. It was featured in every news channel and tabloid. You and Bruce never cleared how he passed and you all decided as a family to have an interview with Lois Lane, who was the only person you trust for the most fragile time in your family. 

And people bought that he was in a protection detail of some sort, but for some reason… it didn’t sit right with you. It was like no one cared that he was gone for so long and could magically appear like nothing has happened. 

You try to have him open up, but he didn’t want to have you bear all his pain for him.

But isn’t that’s what a mother should do for her child?

“You know your room is always there for you, right?” You ask Jason as you turned to him. He’s been crashing most nights with Roy Harper, as they had a scuffle the first time they met again, but had a tearful reunion with each other.

“I know, but I think it’s time if I found a place for myself. Dick is helping me find some apartments in Blüdhaven. But I’ll pop in time to time to be with you guys.”

You smile at him, giving him a comforting side hug. 

“You always have a home with us.”

He smiles as he kisses the top of your head as he was now much taller than you.

“C’mon, let’s go get some food.”

+

Bruce looks down at his desk in his study room, looking down in his hands that held a small leather box. 

“Master Bruce?” 

Bruce looks up and sees Alfred alone, and Bruce released the breath he was holding onto nervously.

“Has the package arrive yet?” Alfred asks, locking the door before heading towards him.

Bruce softly smiles as he shakes his head yes, giving Alfred the small box.

“Just came after she left, I’ve been anxious for weeks.” 

“Well, it’s not every day Gotham’s most famous bachelor would one day be off the market.” Alfred teased as Bruce opens the box, revealing the engagement ring for you. 

“That’s why I bought out the restaurant where we had our fifth date.”

“Fifth date?” Alfred asks, sitting down opposite of Bruce.

“Well, first date wasn’t an official date, second one we had Dick join us to go to that ice cream parlor, third I had to cancel halfway due to Clayface III, fourth we had movie night at her place and fifth… it was when I realized that things can be different.” 

Bruce admits that starting a relationship with you, he didn’t have the right intentions. He could never deserve the love you give him. He swore that he’ll make it his life’s mission to make up every mistake that has affected you.

And almost after 8 1/2 years later, he’s finally decided to ask you to marry him. Yes, Bruce could have asked you many times before hand but there has been so many set backs and memories you both wish to forget, but he feels now is the most perfect time to start a new chapter with you.

“Where is she now?” Alfred asks.

“Getting lunch with Jason, he just sent me a message just now.”

“So you and Master Todd are talking again?” Alfred asks, knowing things haven’t been easy with son and father.

“We’re uh, slowly getting there. He even asked if he could spar with Tim tonight.”

“I don’t think that’ll be such a good idea.” Alfred warned.

Alfred has seen how Tim’s been reacting lately since Jason’s arrival. Tim has been questioning what’s his place would be now that the prodigal son has returned, and better yet, what his status is in this family.

“We’ll all have a talk afterwards. Everything is going to change tonight.” Bruce said, with hope in his eyes.

Alfred gave a small smile and got up, heading out of the office. 

“Indeed it will, sir.”

Meanwhile, you and Jason just came back to the manor as you mentioned that Bruce was taking you out for dinner tonight. It’s been awhile since it’s been the two of you, so you were very excited. 

Jason, for some reason, became silent once you arrived back home. Before you go up on the steps, you look over at Jason who was staring down in his lap.

“You’ve awfully been quiet recently.” You said, looking at your son.

Jason purses his lips and looks at you with uncertainty. 

“I know I’ve been keeping some stuff about what’s happened to me in the last few years. I just, don’t know how to tell you without breaking your heart again.”

You raise your hand up to his and squeeze his hand.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Jay. Ever since you’ve been back, I feel like something is going to rip the carpet under me and I’ll lose you again. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

Jason sniffles and wipes away his watery eyes. 

“Thank you.” Jason replied.

You smile at him gently and hug him.

“I uh, heard you’re gonna be hanging out with Tim tonight. I think that’s great that the two of you can talk for real this time, maybe having a big brother would help him move forward.” You stated.

Jason just nods his head, knowing what you meant.

He then followed you inside and headed straight to the bat cave, awaiting for Tim. In ten minutes, the young Drake boy looked uneasy, like he was about to meet his creator. 

“H-Hey.” Tim said, shifting on his bare feet as he entered the bottom of the bat cave.

Tim has been dreading this day.

Sparring with Bruce and Dick benefited Tim’s fighting skills. Bruce taught him calculation and timing. Dick supported encouragement and using your instincts. 

But Jason? In his time as Red Hood, he has killed men, mercenaries, you name it. And now that Jason was here ready to fight, Tim was scared that maybe Jason would use all his anger on him.

Jason bandaged his hands and took off his shirts. Every inch of his skin was etched with faded scars and bullet wounds. Tim gulped loudly as he prepped his stance.

In an instant, Jason charged first, taking Tim off guard.

“Hey! We didn’t start yet!” Tim yelled out, being knocked down on the ground.

“Lesson one, Drake: A fight can happen any time, any place. Never lose your guard.” Jason offered his hand. As Tim received it, Jason lifted him off the ground and body slammed him opposite of where he laid.

“Lesson two: never trust if your opponent has mercy. Always protect yourself.” 

Tim huffed out loud before jumping on his feet, wiping away the sweat and the cut on his brow. 

Jason looked too calm for this spar. Not an inch of his hair was out of place, even his white streak by his widow’s peak shown brightly in the dark cave.

Tim ran forward, striking with his right fist. Out of nowhere, Jason took out a small ninja star and flicked it towards Tim’s face. Just in time, Tim ducked it and body rolled on the mat, looking at Jason like a mad man.

“Are you out of your mind?” Tim screamed out loud.

“Lesson three: Be resourceful. Take anything in reach to your advantage. Bruce didn’t teach you these things?” Jason asked, circling Tim like a vulture flying around its prey.

“Bruce taught me how to sharpen my hacking skills, how to control my body in duress.” 

Jason scoffed as he looked at Tim. 

“I thought you had something in you, but I was wrong. What kind of Robin are you?”

That statement broke Tim as he tightened his fists and struck Jason in the chest. Jason staggered a little and looked at Tim, smirking.

“There he is!” Jason yelled out, almost mechanically.

Tim furrowed his brow and took a punch again to Jason’s shoulder. Jason looked like he was enjoying this little fight and took another punch from Tim.

“Why aren’t you fighting back?” Tim asked, getting frustrated.

“I wanna see what you can do, surprise me.” Jason smiled wickedly, raising his fist.

The two of them began to strike again, wanting to know who the last man will stand.

+

“It’s been awhile since we had a date night.” You said, holding Bruce’s hand as you two were being driven by Alfred to your mystery date. 

“I know, a lot has happened and I thought the two of us deserve some time together.” Bruce said, rubbing his thumb across your thigh from the slit of your dress.

“And what would our time be spent on tonight?” You ask, gleaming.

“A night of your favorite cuisine, soft music in the background, and a melted chocolate soufflé.” Bruce replied, leaning in for a kiss.

You smiled as you kissed Bruce, losing your hand in his dark ravenous hair. You could feel his hands in the back of your dress, trying to find the zipper by your spine.

“Bruce…” You warned as you felt his lips by your neck.

“We have until 15 minutes till we get to the restaurant. I just want you to myself for just a little bit.” He whispers, feeling his hot breath by your ear.

“I bet you won’t last for 8 minutes.” You dared.

“Make it 6”  Bruce remarked, seeing a sly look in his hand.

You two smiled as you both couldn’t help but take your hands off each other.

A knock is heard from the driver’s cabin, alerting that Alfred could possibly hear every word you’re saying. 

You cover your mouth in embarrassment as Bruce couldn’t help but laugh out loud. 

“Why don’t we wait after tonight?” You ask Bruce, straightening up in your seat.

“Of course, I’ll behave just for you.” Bruce reaches out for your hand, kissing it as you blushed.

Your fingers intertwined with each other as you look lovingly in each other’s eyes.

+

The two sons were getting tired. Jason was heaving his chest, as Tim may have bruised ribs from being kicked a few times too many.

Tim, now sporting a deeper cut by his temple, tries to wipe the trickling blood from his forehead with his arm. Tim refuses to back down, especially to Jason. An idea pops in his head and he slowly circles around Jason, taunting him.

“What makes you think you could be capable of teaching me to fight?” Tim asks.

Jason huffs and gives a wicked smirk. “If you’ve forgotten already, I have a reputation. Nothing gets past me.”

“You sure about that? Heard when you were Robin, you had no control, no conscience. Just chaos at every turn you made.”

Tim caught a glimpse of Jason’s tough exterior slowly cracking. Jason resumed in silencing, alerting Tim that his tactic might work. So, he took his chance and punched Jason by his left cheekbone.

“Did I strike a nerve?” Tim asks.

Jason was silent, but his eyes grown darker from their natural color. 

Tim almost felt worried, but he knew Jason would never do anything that could hurt him seriously.

Right?

“If we’re striking nerves, I wanted to clarify that I’m only here cause Ma asked me to come. Said she’s worried about you. But I see it in Bruce’s face. He thinks you’ll never be ready to go out on the field again. And frankly, I don’t think you’re able to.”

“Who says you have the final say? You just showed up to Gotham out of the blue just to prove that you’re what, the prodigal son? Please, I survived the Joker. You were overpowered by a man with no powers or strength. He was smart enough to end the job quick with you.”

A ripple soared through the air as Tim found himself on the ground as he held his left jaw as Jason was huffing his chest, breathing heavily.

Jason could only be described like a raging animal, as his dark past was catching up to him.

He grabbed Tim by the collar and raised him high as his feet dangled in the air. 

Right when Jason was about to make the first strike, he suddenly hears maniacal laughter.

‘Show him who you truly are…’ the voice sneered.

Jason staggered away as he dropped Tim, feeling his head pound. 

“Get out…” Jason held onto the sparring mat as he grit his teeth.

“J-Jason, are you alright?” Tim asks as he holds his side.

Jason whipped his head fiercely as he bear his teeth. 

“I SAID GET OUT!”

Tim took an immediate step back with fear in his eyes. Jason can see it to you as he forced his eye sight downward as he was crouched on the floor.

“You don’t know what it’s like… to have everything you ever wanted taken away in a single second. I tried protecting my birth mom by taking every beating that demon gave to me. I tried saving her from that bomb. I felt myself dying at an instant. Then I come back with half a mind of my own, still hearing that psychotic man’s voice in my head.”

Tim can see Jason almost crying as his shoulders were slumped.

Tim treaded lightly towards Jason as he slowly got on his knees, then slowly placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. The older brother almost flinched with physical contact, but it was when he looked up to Tim who’s eyes weren’t full of fear but with sympathy. 

The two brothers get up from the sparring mat as Jason gave a heartfelt hug. Tim was shocked at first, but accepted the embrace.

“Amateurs, all of you.” A young voice said out loud.

Jason and Tim looked around their surroundings, searching for the voice.

Tim picked up a sparring bo staff and defended his ground.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” 

A quiet whip like sound pierced the wind as a small shadow lands a couple of feet by them. 

The figure wore dark ancient clothing, asian descent if Tim could describe it. The stranger lifted their mask off and revealed a boy, much younger than both the brothers.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked harshly as he shoved past Tim.

“Mother is on an important mission. I wished to join her but she told me to come here and meet father.”

“Wait wait wait, you know this kid?” Tim asks, lowering his staff. 

The young figure sneered from the last statement.

“I am to be respected and feared, my age does not limit my lethal skills, Tim Drake.” 

Tim had enough and tries striking his opponent but he swiftly moved out of his way and swept Tim off his balance, just like Jason has performed before.

“And he calls himself the smart one.” The child comments.

“Look demon spawn, no one picks on Drake unless me, okay? And you have shown up on the worst night possible. Bruce isn’t here.”

“I have waited for almost 10 years to meet him, what’s another hour?” 

Tim rises up from the mat as he looks at the child.

“Why do you want to meet Bruce?” 

“Because he’s my father.” The child crosses his arms

Silence filled the cave. Not even a gust of wind dare to make a whistling sound. 

Tim looks at Jason for confirmation as the elder brother bows his head.

“Then who’s your mom?” Tim dares to ask.

Damien beams with pride as he steps closer to Tim.

“Someone you should be very afraid of.”

+

After you and Bruce finished your very intimate dinner, your heart began to flutter.

"Bruce, you know that you didn't have to reserve all of the restaurant just so we could have dinner alone?"

You said, sipping your wine.

"Of course not, that's why I bought the restaurant from the owner."

"Bruce!"

You two started laughing out loud as you knew that Bruce wasn't serious. If you just met Bruce now, you'd think he's this pompous rich guy. You told him first on that he didn't need to impress you with grand gestures or money. As long as you two worked as a team who gave back to their community and their family, then you never had to question his love for you.

Those were all the things Bruce was thinking of saying to you tonight.

"What's in that mysterious mind of yours?" You ask.

He smiles to himself as he softly held your hand in his, feeling his chest tighten with slight anxiousness.

"There's been something I've been wanting to say to you for some time..."

He was about to get out of his chair until his phone buzzed. He looks at the caller and sees that it's Tim.

Bruce powers his phone off, thinking it wouldn't be important.

"Everything alright?" You ask.

"Yeah, absolutely. Where was I?"

"You wanted to tell me something." You said, trying to suppress a smile of your sudden excitement.

Bruce reaches for your hand and kisses your palm, giving you the most genuine gaze you haven't seen in a while.

"I have been wanting to do this for the longest time. Love, I-"

A sudden ring is heard from your phone as you reach towards your purse.

"It's Jason. I think the kids have been trying to reach us."

"They're fine, trust me." Bruce tries to change the subject but you shake your head.

"I don't know Bruce, something feels wrong."

You answer your phone as you place it towards your ear.

"Hi honey, we just finished eating dinner. What - J - You want to talk to Bruce?"

Bruce face turns shocked as you offer your phone to him.

"Jason, now's not a good time." Bruce says.

"Bruce, I wouldn't have called you unless it was important. You need to come back to the manor now." Jason said.

"Did you tell him yet?" Tim asks from afar but then his two sons started bickering.

"Guys, what are you two trying to say? Hold on." Bruce taps the screen and places it on speaker as he stood up facing away from your nervous state.

Tim takes over the conversation as he steals the phone from Jason.

"Bruce, some kid broke into the cave while we were sparring saying he's-"

"Wait, a kid broke into the cave? Why are you and Jason fighting?" You ask, raising form your chair.

"It's fine, I told them it's alright."

"Uh, I don't think so. Tim's still recovering from the last fight he's had and you left them both unsupervised!"

"They're fine, but can we handle the situation at hand? You're the one that wanted to call them back."

"And now you're blaming me for caring? Well excuse me for-"

"I tire of this nonsense." An unfamiliar voice said as they possibly took the phone away from the bickering siblings.

"Bruce Wayne, my name is Damian al Ghul, son of Talia al Ghul and grandson of the powerful Ra's al Ghul. I am your rightful heir, your true blood son, conceived from 8 years ago when you were on a mission with my mother."

Silence filled both rooms.

"Perhaps the connection disconnected?" Damian asks the brothers.

"Nope, he heard." Jason said as the call suddenly ended.

Bruce looks at the phone, then back at you as your eyes filled with tears of betrayal.

Bruce tries to go up to you, feeling his throat tighten.

"Love, I-"

"Stop, please." You said, moving backwards as your voice lowers.

"I think its best we go back to the manor. Let's just talk later, okay?"

You try to smile but it failed as your eyesight was lost in more tears.

You leave Bruce standing there alone as you walked to the limo that was waiting outside.

"Hello Madame, I guess a congratulations are in order?" Alfred asks cheerfully as he turned back to you.

His face fell as he saw you trying to cover your tears with your left hand that had no ring. You couldn't even muster a sentence to the one person that has your one interest at heart for this night.

Alfred bowed his head in silence until Bruce came inside and sat far from you as you couldn't even look at him.

"Where to, Master Bruce?" Alfred asks.

"Home, there's someone expecting to see me."

"Who sir?"

Bruce felt hesitant to answer, but then he locked his gaze to the window.

"My son, Damian."

Taglist:

@thisnameistaken1234

@linora09

[artbyblastweave]

I do like the ending to the TF2 comics, but it feels so evident that it was heading toward a different ending that I'm dying to hear theories on what it might have been. Penny for your thoughts?

So, this is kind of a difficult one to answer because the sheer amount of time over which the comics were produced means that "the original ending" could have changed way closer to the beginning of the project than the end. But, generally, I think the point at which you can sort of see the pivot towards the comics team realizing that they were going to have to resolve the story unaided was around issue 4 or 5.

I do believe them that something akin to the reveal about the Administrator was always the plan; it's simply too thematically aligned with the game as a whole. But I do think that the original plan probably tied into the space race, references to which have been threaded through TF2 since at least the pyromania update.

This is from the blog post for TF comics 3, which also featured discussion of the team's development of the now-shelved map Asteroid- A map set on some kind of moon base, released in a partially-completed state for testing and feedback purposes. The game mode consisted of hunting and destroying the enemies teams swarm of maintenance robots to charge a reactor to... do something. Speculations on what the lore underpinning this setup would be abounded; I recall people assuming for the sake of simplicity that Grey probably had something to do with the robots. No concrete lore ever materialized because the map dematerialized several years ago, but the effort on display indicates they were planning something with this.

Around this time, multiple assets were added to the game gesturing at some kind of conspiratorial project; The blue Mann co poster in particular has a space-related aesthetic.

Powerhouse, released in 2015, had a couple similar hint assets, again released at a point in the game's lifespan where the devs putting something in the game might actually hint at a future plan;

This is on top of on the existing lore about the Mann Co./TF Industries space program- Doomsday and the sabotaged Poopy Joe launch (later revealed to be the result of Helen swindling the U.S government out of their Australium for at-the-time unknown reasons,) all of which was still a comparatively recent addition to the lore when issue 3 and these posters came out. And, on top of all that, we have the climax of issue 4- the last cache of australium on earth being taken to space by Sniper's birth mother:

In the story as written the New Zealand excursion is pretty weird- it contributes to Sniper's characterization, but otherwise this amounts to an Australium cache introduced and lost in the span of the same issue; fundamentally an odd use of page space if they didn't intend to do something with this.

So, all things considered, the original plan would probably have involved an excursion to, and final showdown in, space. Either The Administrator or Grey Mann might have had a long term goal that was dependent on access to space, necessitating extensive australium access for reasons besides their life extenders; alternatively, they might have all just pursued Sniper's mom up there, the joke ultimately being that everyone wound up stranded in outer space in order to scrape a few more months of pointless life extension off the side of a rocket. The split difference might have been that Grey's grand evil plan involved space-born domination, which Helen wanted to prevent not on moral grounds, but because letting Grey succeed would ruin her plan to torture Zephaniah; this would rhyme with what happens in the story as written, where Grey really did have a conventional evil plan to kill everyone in Australia that got headed off mainly by accident than due to heroic intervention. RD_Asteroid would have released as the centerpiece of a tie-in update, a gameplay tie-in to the story arc.

Can't even begin to guess how Charles Darling and Oliva were supposed to play into all of this. They likely were, though; Charles has a connection to the tangled Mann Family web through Bette Darling, and the whole Saxton Mags resolution felt pinched as hell.

Standing disclaimer that a lot of this is from memory of being in the fandom as all of this was developing- there's likely stuff I've missed or forgotten.

[necarion]

I've never quite understood why Avatar didn't have more cultural staying power. I recently went and rewatched it when it came back to theaters, and it was as amazing as I'd remembered it. The plot remained kinda dumb, but way less so than I'd remembered given the fucking endless discourse on the subject. The white savior narrative was still slightly fucked up. But, again, compared to the shit coming out of Marvel or DC, it wasn't anything to write home about. Really, it was like every single plot point was nitpicked to death, in a standard basically no other contemporary film was.

@jadagul pointed out once that he had been judging the story of Avatar on a "real movie" curve, when really it should have been considered on a "superhero movie" curve. Like, seriously, is it any dumber or more poorly written than like 2/3 of the Marvel movies in that same time period?

I think there were a couple problems here. One was that there was this really surprising anti-Cameron group that was already declaring the movie to be a failure before it came out. It was going to be environmentalist propaganda (kinda true). Or it was going to be a "chick flick" like Titanic. There was still a sizeable contingent of people who seemed to be mad at themselves for liking Titanic, despite there being a romance with Leonardo DiCaprio in it. James Cameron had made a whole bunch of amazing movies that everybody loved, but his last one had been 12 years ago, and there had been a backlash to the fact that it was as popular as it was, so many of the folks who you'd have expected to be fervent fans of the guy who made Aliens or Terminator 2 just weren't defending it.

So, the tone of discourse for the movie was "this movie is visually spectacular" and "also kinda dumb". But the community for "kinda dumb" was insanely vocal, and I remember feeling intensely peer-pressured to admit that it was "dances with smurfs" or whatever. Liking it was actually kind of uncool, even among the nerds I went to school with (even though almost everybody came out of the theater in awe). And part of the problem was, indeed, that the movie was kind of dumb. So you couldn't really defend it on those grounds, and there wasn't a pre-built constituency of Cameron fans. (For comparison, there were (and still are) rabid defenders of Snyder's much dumber, and much more offensive movies.)

So there's this dynamic already pushing the tone of coverage against the films.

But combine that with the fact that the story was basically entirely serviceable for what it was trying to do, but nothing particularly interesting to discuss. I've seen much more interesting stories, and also far worse ones, that people love to talk about. So the only thing you can really say about it is "yeah, the movie was awesome" and "holy shit this was the most beautiful movie I've ever seen.

And then you take it home and watch it on your 2D screen and it's...kind of flat and lifeless. It lost an astounding amount in that transition. So there's the DVD sales gone. Avatar was basically the leading reason in the push for 3D TVs, but those just weren't ready for primetime.

And then comes the 3D movie mini-explosion, and these mostly fell flat. Avatar had worked as well as it had because Cameron planned for it to be in 3D from the very beginning, and pushed the technology as hard as it would go. In comparison, 3D up-conversion was neat, but it really wasn't using the technology as anything other than a way to sell more expensive tickets. And this got blamed on Avatar.

And then Cameron doesn't release anything else in the Avatar universe for over a decade, so there's nothing to build on. We heard all the jokes of Avatar 2-5 (or whatever) but there wasn't really anything. Not even any bad stories that could re-ignite investment in that world.

So, through a combination of

having a story that was well-suited to show what Cameron wanted,

that was kind of dumb,

with nobody who really wanted to defend the story because it was boring and kind of dumb

a very vocal cadre of anti-Cameron fans

and then no follow-ups for over a decade

then yeah, it makes sense that not a lot of people talked about Avatar.

Of course, then Cameron decides to finally release Avatar 2, and it's way dumber. He went all-in making it a magical alien planet documentary, and seemed to totally forget to, like, have someone read through that godawful, boring script. Maybe that validates what folks have been saying about Avatar 1, but that standard can be used to invalidate a whole lot of solid films by a lot of solid directors. I think the lesson is that auteur film directors should have a competent writer on-hand who they actually listen to, and who will tell them know. But we've known that for forever.

I know very little about this film except the trans subject matter, and that it has truly appalling songs, but it's hilarious it has all those Oscar nominations when it is this disliked by the audience of the country in which it is set, and is guaranteed to be forgotten by everyone a year from now.

It made me think of that "gay, black" film Moonlight, that won Best Picture 9 years ago, and how I haven't heard a single person mention it online or offline since that year. I even had to look up "best picture winners" on Wikipedia to remember the name. But according to the academy, that was the greatest motion picture of its time. Entirely forgotten today.

Whereas, if I go back through the list another decade, there are films like The Departed and No Country For Old Men winning that award, that millions of people still love and esteem and regularly talk about and recommend to others.

Another decade earlier, it's The Silence of The Lambs, Unforgiven, Schindler's List, Forrest Gump, Braveheart, The English Patient and Titanic - again: films literally everyone still know and love today, 30 years on.

The Oscars used to be a benchmark for timeless excellence in the cinematic arts, but now The Oscars are just a measuring stick for how far Hollywood has fallen into virtue signaling, ideological propaganda, incompetence and mediocrity.

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #5

{masterlist}

Aaron: Did you sleep well?

Aaron: Are you mad at me?

Aaron: Look, I don’t know what I did, but this silent treatment is pretty childish. Talk to me.

Aaron: Come on, I know you read these messages.

You: Stop. Please.

Aaron: Okay, what have I done?

You: Nothing.

Aaron: Then?

You: It has nothing to do with you.

Aaron: Is it related to your boyfriend?

You: My what?

Aaron: The guy who left your apartment this morning.

You: Oh, that guy.

Aaron: “That guy”? Who is he?

You: It’s none of your business.

Aaron: You went out some time after you left my apartment. Where did you go?

You: Who the hell do you think you are?

You: Where I go is none of your business.

You: Thank you for the dinner, but that’s all it was about.

Aaron: Why are you so hostile all of a sudden?

You: I don’t want to be interrogated. I have plans for tonight, don’t disturb me.

You hate to be mean, you don’t want to hurt him, but this is what needs to be done. To be honest, you don’t know why you’re like this all of a sudden, but you have this gut feeling that you can’t let him get closer. Was that kiss the best one in your life so far? Absolutely. But you weren’t ready to deal with their family dynamics.

It’s not that he didn’t talk about what made Jack upset, it’s more the fact you had no idea how to react, how to comfort him. You are not girlfriend material, never have been, maybe you shouldn’t start with a man who’s a good twenty years older than you with a son he raises alone.

Last night you felt like being locked in a cage after you returned to your apartment, and in the end you asked a friend to go to a club with you. Leo is a friend with benefits, although he’s not really a close friend of yours. A fuck buddy? Yeah, maybe that’s a better way to describe your relationship with him.

You’re not proud of yourself, not proud of your always partying lifestyle, but you’re an adult with a good job and a decent salary, you’re doing your best to be nice to people–that should be enough. Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself, that’s why deep down you’re building a distance between you and Aaron. Before calling Leo last night, you realized that your life isn’t compatible with Aaron’s, you two are too different to be able to make this work.

Yes, this must be the answer you’ve been looking for. You’re scared of not being good enough. You’ve always had a problem with that. Your parents loved you, but they were so very proud of you that you developed this need to be outstanding in whatever you were doing. Sometimes it happened, sometimes it didn’t. There were more failures, which probably guided you toward parties and one-night stands that helped you get away from reality temporarily.

When you wrote to Aaron that you have plans for tonight, you meant it, but not in the way he probably thought. You were going to watch a movie with a girl you know from college, then you probably go to some fast food restaurant where you can talk freely. She’s the closest thing you have to a best friend, which is probably pretty sad from the outside.

Just when you turn the key in the lock of your front door upon leaving, you hear the familiar creaking sound from next to you, followed by confident footsteps that get louder with each second. You know who it is. You don’t have to guess or look, because his presence is overwhelming from the moment he stops next to you.

“Does it have anything to do with me not telling you about Jack’s nightmare?”

He sounds exhausted, exasperated, and maybe there’s a hint of uncertainty too. His eyes are fixed on your face, carefully watching your reactions to see if he can find out something you’re not telling him. At this very moment you hate that he reads people for a living, because it’s simply not fair. There’s a power imbalance in a way–he knows everything, you know nothing.

In the end, you shake your head to assure him it’s something else. “I have to go,” you tell him, your tone being timid, sounding nothing like it should based on your messages.

“I thought it meant something, you know,” he notes as he crosses his arms over his chest. “That kiss yesterday, it was… I want more. I want you, all of you. I know, maybe there’s an age gap that can cause problems, but we should give it a shot, just to see where it leads us.”

What are you supposed to say? That he should choose someone better than you? That this age gap might be a problem? That you’re not sure you could take care of Jack in the way he would like you to? It’s hard to say, because the thought of hurting his feelings causes physical pain.

So, you shake your head and draw in a shallow breath. “Aaron, I like you, but why me? We’re so different, you should pick someone who’s more like you. Someone with a successful career, someone more mature than me,” you tell him.

He smiles. That damn smile and those dimples. God, why is it so hard to think clearly around him? And why can’t you just wave goodbye and walk away? Why are you torturing yourself by staying in his gravitational field?

Before you know it, he leans down to place a kiss on your temple, and he stays there, maybe a little too close to your liking. “Those short dresses and stilettos of yours are my biggest weaknesses,” he begins, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “But putting that aside, you’re down-to-earth, kind, beautiful, and the way you talk about your job tells me you’re good for a reason. You are perfect for me, never doubt that.”

You look at him wide-eyed, taken aback by all the things he told you. It feels surreal, to be taken so seriously by him–or anyone for that matter, but that’s a different issue. Right now you have to focus on not fainting on the spot. You can’t help but wonder if he knows what he’s doing to you, what numbing effect he has on you, as if he was a drug that can give you a delicious high with a single look.

“Don’t go anywhere, just come over,” he tells you, looking into your eyes to be more convincing.

And damn it, it works like a charm.

[loopstagirl]

Walk in the Park

For @febuwhump day 3: Pinned Down

Jeff paused and took a moment to look around. He smiled. It was a rare weekend where a) he wasn’t called into work, b) none of the boys had activities, c) none of the children were unwell, and d) the sun was shining. As soon as they’d seen the forecast that morning, both he and Lucy had known what they’d do today. 

A picnic in the park, with all five of their boys. 

It had been months since circumstances had let them do something like this. Between an unseasonably wet spring and various clubs, not to mention emergency meetings as Jeff’s fledgling business sprouted wings, there was always something on. 

Now, though... Now, everything was perfect. They’d eaten with minimal squabbles over who got the last sausage roll and which flavour drink they wanted. Alan had started to get tired and Scott had declared he was taking his baby brother for a walk. Ten minutes later, a smug 13-year-old had returned with Alan asleep in the stroller. The toddler wouldn’t sleep for much longer, but it had stopped any meltdowns. 

Virgil had seen some friends from school and run off to the play equipment with them. Thankfully, they’d picked a spot where both parents could see him without having to move. John was sprawled on the blanket, legs swinging in the air as he read, and Scott and Gordon were playing a version of catch the 5-year-old could keep up with. 

Jeff caught Lucy’s eye. She was sitting next to John, leaning back on her palms, keeping an eye on Virgil but with a satisfied smile on her face. It only widened when she looked over at her husband. This was what their family was all about. 

He grabbed a drink from the cooler, intending to sit next to her. All their children were entertaining themselves, which was a wonderful and rare experience. Before he could do so, however, a shout came from the playground. Jeff shielded his eyes with a hand as he looked that way, aware that Lucy had also straightened up. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening to begin with. Perhaps a child had misjudged the monkey bars? There were plenty of parents milling around there. Then there was another shout – and it was a voice he recognised. 

Lucy was already on her feet. 

“Virgil.” 

Jeff took a few steps closer, trying to see what was going on. Then he cursed under his breath, hoping that John didn’t hear him. 

Some older boys, maybe Scott’s age, were trying to take over the playground. They were ignoring the little kids, but focused on the other boys there without their parents: Virgil and his friends. As Jeff watched, one of the older kids shoved a younger one, causing him to stumble into the other teenagers. They didn’t let him regain his balance though, pushing him again. 

Lucy recognised the red tee before Jeff did. She took off, not quite a run, but a fast, angry walk that would get her there quicker than if Jeff sprinted. He took a step, then glanced at his remaining children. Scott was responsible, but he couldn’t leave him with John, Gordon and Alan. Still, he stayed on his feet, a few steps towards the playground, watching. 

“Dad? Where’s Mom-,” Scott trailed off, standing next to him. He too squinted in the direction of the playground, just as Virgil hit the ground. “Virgil!” 

Jeff only had time to grab Scott’s arm as the boy made to hurtle off.  

“Your mom has got this, Scott.” 

“That’s Tommy Higgins and his friends,” Scott snarled. “I warned them if they ever went near my brothers again...” His gaze flickered to John before back to the playground, and Jeff knew there was an untold story there for sure. 

Scott tried to pull out of his dad’s hold and Jeff found himself tightening his grip to hold the boy back.  

“I need you here, Flyboy.” 

“No! I told him! If he dares-,” 

“Your mom is almost there, Scotty. Virgil is okay.” 

Indeed, the boy was getting back up. Lucy was almost at the gate now and Jeff knew the older teens were going to be fools if they tried anything now. 

“Where’s Mama?” Gordon asked, appearing out of nowhere. 

“She’s gone to help your brother.” 

“I can help too!” Gordon looked as if he was all set to go dashing after Lucy. 

“John? A hand, please?” 

John looked up from his book and caught Gordon round the middle, pulling the suddenly-giggling child down to the blanket with him.  

“Scott, calm down.” 

“I’m not calming down! I told him he’d get what was coming to him if he ever went near them again.” 

“Scott!”  

Jeff couldn’t hold him. He wasn’t sure when Scott had suddenly sprouted but his little boy wasn’t so little anymore. In the type of move he hadn’t used since his Air Force days, he hooked his arms under Scott’s shoulders, pulling the boy back into him. Scott struggled, but even his new-found height was no match for this grip. 

“Calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. “I know you’re upset; I know you’re mad. But your mom is handling it. It won’t help Virgil, or any of your brothers, if they see you answer violence with violence.” 

Indeed, Jeff wasn’t entirely sure where this had come from. Scott had always been protective, but it appeared that all the emotions that came with being a young teenager meant he was trying to find a different outlet for those emotions. Jeff loved Scott’s protective nature, but he couldn’t let this continue. 

Scott snarled. One day, that was going to be an impressive sound. But his voice hadn’t yet broken and it didn’t have the depth to it to be truly chilling. Jeff winced as a foot collided with his shin. While he didn’t necessarily remember being 13, he did remember being a teenager and the feeling that the world was out to get him.  

He walked back a few steps, dragging Scott with him so that he was further away from his brothers. Carefully, he shifted their centre of gravity until he could drop to his knees, pulling Scott down with him. Then it was just a case of extending his legs, unhooking his arms and wrapping his son in a bear hug, keeping Scott’s arms trapped within his own. 

“You need to calm down,” Jeff said in his ear. Scott twisted in the hold but his father’s grip was too strong. 

“I have to help Virgil.” 

“This is not the way, and you know it. You’ll only get yourself into trouble and either you or your brother could be hurt if you react like this. Is this what you want?” 

Scott, mercifully, stopped struggling. He was still tense though and Jeff didn’t dare relax his grip. 

“What about Gordon? Do you think this is any example to set your younger brother?” 

He didn’t need to worry about John. He hadn’t copied Scott the way the others did for a while now and had his own way of handling things. Jeff knew his second born had a bad habit of trying to be invisible when the attention was on him, but he had an acid tongue if anyone tried to pick on his brothers – whether that was another child or a grownup. Jeff had been forced to apologise while trying not to laugh more than once. 

“He’ll know that I’ll always defend him.” 

“By getting into trouble yourself? That’s making the situation worse, and you know it.” 

Jeff dared risk a glance at the playground. Lucy was heading back their way, their 8-year-old clutching her hand. Jeff couldn’t read Virgil’s expression from this distance, but he was walking fine, so at least he wasn’t physically hurt. 

“Let me go!” 

“Not a chance, kiddo.” 

Jeff knew that Scott was fighting the hold, but he could barely feel his boy’s struggles as he held him down. It was only when Lucy came closer and they could see for themselves that although there were tear tracks down Virgil’s face, he’d already stopped crying and was smiling at something his mother had just said. 

Jeff sighed in relief. Then Scott went limp. The father suddenly wondered how much Scott had been feeding off his own tension and grimaced. He could keep calm in a business meeting but apparently not so much when it came to someone hurting his children. 

“Everything okay?” He called. He relaxed his grip but didn’t dare let Scott go. Not just yet.  

“All handled,” Lucy said. She had a hand on Virgil’s shoulder but ruffled his hair and nudged him towards his brothers. Virgil didn’t hesitate, dropping down beside John and instantly finding himself with Gordon climbing on him.  

“Get off,” he muttered, but he didn’t push Gordon away like he usually did and there was no conviction in his voice.  

“I was gonna save you,” Gordon told him, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

“I didn’t need saving. Especially not from you.” Virgil wasn’t meeting Gordon’s eye. 

“There’s nothing wrong with a helping hand,” Lucy told him, also sitting down. “Even if it comes in squid-form.” She seized Gordon round the middle and pulled him onto her lap, tickling him. Gordon laughed. 

“Johnny, help!” 

John – for once – joined in without hesitation. After a second, Virgil also piled in and Lucy disappeared under three laughing boys. 

“You okay?” Jeff murmured in Scott’s ear. He softened his grip until he was hugging his boy. Scott didn’t let that happen very often these days and Jeff missed it. 

He heard Scott swallow before the boy nodded. “Yeah.” 

Gently, Jeff let go until Scott could sit up. His son looked at him, and it was a mixture of the man he’d one day be and the little boy he was trying so hard not to be. 

“They know you’ll protect them,” Jeff said quietly. “But there’s a right and a wrong way of doing it. You understand that, right?” 

Scott couldn’t meet his eyes but he nodded again. Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Scotty, I’m proud of you for wanting to look out for them. But no getting into fights, or you’ll be the one in trouble.” 

“Copy that,” Scott said. Jeff properly relaxed at hearing the words. 

“Now, go on, I think your mom needs you right now,” he said. He nudged Scott towards the pile that was his wife and three kids. Scott didn’t need telling twice and charged over, scooping a surprised and delighted Gordon into the air just as Alan woke up. 

Jeff fetched his youngest, keeping the blanket wrapped around him as he balanced the 18-month-old in his arms. Alan’s eyes were wide as he watched the laughing pile of siblings. 

“Maniacs,” Jeff told him. “The lot of them.” 

Alan’s answer giggle told him the smallest Tracy both agreed and approved.