#maximum nine points i

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LIONHEART (2/3) – LN4

summary : lando's journey as a dad.

wc : 12k

an : lionheart was supposed to be a 2-parter but i hit the maximum wc for a post so i guess it's gonna have one more part 😭 not the most linear progression and not beta-read !

It had to be some kind of cosmic joke, you thought to yourself, the more you watched your son grow up.

Nine months of carrying him, swollen feet, back pain, cravings, and sleepless nights, only for him to come out as an exact replica of his father.

Had your genes even tried?

Your son was all Lando.

The wild mop of curls that defied gravity, his sun-kissed skin, that cheeky gap-toothed smile, and those bright aquamarine eyes that twinkled with mischief.

His resemblance to your husband was so uncanny that even Cisca, your mother-in-law, couldn’t stop commenting on it.

“It’s like going back in time,” she said one afternoon, watching your son dart around her garden, pretending to race with his toy car. “He’s exactly how Lando was at his age.”

She paused to chuckle. “And just as much of a handful.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” you replied, sipping your tea with a tired smile. “I think the universe decided one Lando wasn’t enough, so now I’ve got two.”

Cisca patted your hand, laughing softly. “Well, you’re doing a wonderful job. Raising a mini Lando is no small feat, trust me.”

"Speaking of small," you quipped, watching your son determinedly try to drift his bulky toy car, tongue sticking out as he put his weight onto the steering wheel. "He’s just as tiny as his dad was, isn’t he?"

Cisca laughed, the sound warm and familiar as she watched her grandson’s antics. “Oh, absolutely. Lando was always the smallest in his class. It drove him mad. He’d come home every week asking me to measure him, convinced he’d finally grown an inch overnight.”

You snorted, imagining a pint-sized, gap-toothed Lando standing against a wall, demanding to see the ruler. “That sounds about right. Let me guess, he overcompensated by being the loudest kid in the room?”

Cisca nodded with a fond smile. “Loudest and most dramatic,” she added, her eyes twinkling. “He had this knack for turning every little scrape or fall into an Oscar-worthy performance.”

As if on cue, your son’s car lost its balance, and he tumbled to the ground, landing on his side but throwing his arms out dramatically.

“I crashed!” he wailed, flopping onto his back for full effect. “Someone call my pit crew!”

You buried your face in your hands with a groan, trying not to laugh, while Cisca chuckled beside you.

“And there it is. Just like his father.”

Lando chose that exact moment to walk into the garden, a drink in hand, eyebrows raised as he surveyed the scene. “What’s going on here?”

“Your mini-me just reenacted your entire childhood,” you replied, nodding toward your son, who was now lying in the grass, muttering something about needing new tires.

Your son immediately perked up, pointing at his completely intact toy car. “The wheel came off, and the engine’s making weird noises!”

Lando grinned, sauntering over and crouching down next to his son. “Alright, mate, what’s the damage?”

“Hm, sounds serious,” Lando said, nodding solemnly. “We’ll have to get you back in the garage. Can you make it?”

Your son nodded fiercely, throwing his arms around Lando’s neck as he scooped him up effortlessly. Watching them, you couldn’t help but smile.

—

Raising Lando Norris’s mini-me had been a chaotic blend of exhaustion, love, and endless laughter. From the moment your son came into the world, Lando had been there, fumbling his way into fatherhood with all the charm and clumsiness that only he could manage.

The first night at home was chaos.

Your son cried nonstop, his tiny lungs working overtime as the sound echoed through the house.

You were sprawled on the couch, clutching a pillow like it was the only thing tethering you to sanity. Every muscle in your body ached from exhaustion, and you could barely lift your head to look at Lando, who was pacing the living room.

“I’ve got this,” Lando announced confidently, his voice momentarily louder than the wails of your newborn.

He cradled your son in his arms, gently swaying back and forth. “Alright, buddy, what’s wrong? You hungry? Tired? Bored? Yeah, same, honestly.”

“Lando,” you groaned, muffled by the pillow, “he’s a baby, not a pit crew member.”

He ignored you, crouching slightly as he made exaggerated eye contact with your son. “Okay, listen, mate. I need some feedback here. Blink twice if you’re hungry. Cry louder if you’re overtired. Just... give me something to work with.”

Your son, predictably, kept crying, his tiny fists flailing in the air. Lando sighed dramatically. “Tough crowd. Alright, plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked, lifting the pillow just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

Without answering, Lando started bouncing lightly on his heels, his voice dropping into a soft hum.

At first, you couldn’t place the tune, but after a moment it hit you- he was humming the McLaren theme tune.

The one he used to play in the car after races, the one that made its way into every highlight reel.

“Are you seriously singing a racing anthem to our newborn?” you asked, your voice half-incredulous, half-amused.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he replied, a teasing grin on his face. “Besides, it’s working.”

You blinked and realized, to your absolute shock, that Leo's cries were starting to fade. His tiny body relaxed slightly in Lando’s arms, the relentless wailing softening into hiccupping sobs.

“No way,” you muttered, sitting up straighter. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer now?”

Lando smirked, still swaying as he hummed softly to Leo. “What can I say? I’ve got a gift,” he said, casting a quick glance your way. “Or maybe it’s destiny. He’s clearly a McLaren fan already. Chip off the old block, huh?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you leaned against the doorframe. “Destiny? You hummed one tune, and now you think he’s a fan for life?”

Lando shot you a playful grin, looking down at Leo, whose cries had softened into sleepy hiccups.

“See this? He’s calm now. That’s McLaren magic, love.” He paused, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “That’s right, little man. Team McLaren all the way. We’re a family of winners.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Don’t let your Uncle Carlos hear you say that. He’ll be over here with Ferrari onesies faster than you can say pit stop.”

Lando laughed, rocking Leo gently as the baby’s eyelids fluttered. “Nah, no way. Right, Leo?” He leaned down, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t let Uncle Carlos fool you. Red’s not your color, mate. Papaya suits you better.”

“Lando,” you groaned, trying not to laugh. “He’s a baby, not a brand ambassador. He doesn’t even know what colors are yet!”

Lando shrugged, grinning as he paced the room. “Doesn’t matter. He’s got taste. I mean, look at him- calm, collected, already understanding the importance of good engineering.”

You finally let out a laugh, unable to keep a straight face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he shot back, shifting his grip to hold the baby closer to his chest. “Seriously, though. I think I’ve found my secret weapon. Next time he cries, I’ll just sing him some F1 radio clips. Maybe a little ‘box, box, box’ to calm him down.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe this. Our baby is going to grow up thinking pit stops are a lullaby.”

“Could be worse,” Lando said with a shrug. “He could think Formula 1 isn’t the best sport in the world. Now that would be tragic.”

“Lando,” you deadpanned, “please don’t turn our child into a walking race encyclopedia before he can even walk.”

“No promises,” he replied cheekily, pressing a kiss to the baby’s forehead as he finally, miraculously, drifted off to sleep. “But for now, I’ll settle for a good night’s sleep. For all of us.”

You leaned back against the couch, watching Lando as he gently carried your son to the bassinet. He moved carefully, like he was holding the most precious thing in the world—and, of course, he was. As he laid the baby down and tiptoed back to you, his goofy grin made your heart swell.

“See?” he whispered, sliding onto the couch beside you. “I told you I’ve got this.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Alright, Dad of the Year. Just don’t forget to get me some water next time.”

He winked. “Coming right up, love. Anything else? Snack? Back massage? Pit crew?”

You threw the pillow at him, but you were laughing too hard to aim properly.

—-

The next night wasn’t much better, Leo seemed to have developed a personal vendetta against sleep, and you were convinced he had some kind of sixth sense that detected the exact moment you closed your eyes. The instant your head hit the pillow, his cries filled the room, pulling you out of the haze of near-sleep.

You groaned, rolling over to see Lando already sitting up in bed, his hair sticking up in all directions like he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel. He rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a pit crew strategy.

“I’ll get him,” he mumbled, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Stay here.”

But you were already sitting up, determined to share the burden. “No, I’ll go. You did the heavy lifting last night.”

Lando turned, his expression softening despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Love, you carried Leo for nine months. I’ve got this.”

“You said that last night,” you countered, though your voice lacked the strength to argue properly.

“And I delivered, didn’t I?” he shot back with a teasing grin, standing and heading toward the bassinet before you could protest further.

You flopped back onto the mattress, listening to the soft sounds from nursery next door as Lando picked up your son and began his now-signature routine: the light bouncing, the exaggerated baby talk, and, of course, the humming. This time, the tune wasn’t the McLaren theme, it was his radio message after his first win.

“Let’s gooooo,” he whispered dramatically, his voice soft and playful. “Who’s a little legend? You are. That’s right. Just like Dad, huh? Winning every battle, even the ones against sleep.”

From your spot on the bed, you couldn’t help but smile. His ridiculousness was oddly endearing, and somehow, it worked. The cries began to fade again, replaced by soft hiccups and the occasional sniffle.

Lando returned a few minutes later, cradling your now-snoozing baby with a triumphant expression. “Another successful pit stop,” he declared, easing onto the bed beside you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“Thank you,” he replied, deadpan, as if you’d just complimented his driving skills.

You sat up, peeking over his shoulder at the peaceful little face nestled against his chest. “You know, if this whole racing thing doesn’t pan out, you might have a future as a baby whisperer.”

He snorted. “Racing will always pan out. But if not, maybe I’ll open a sleep training clinic for newborns. ‘Lando’s Lullabies,’ what do you think?”

You smacked his arm lightly, though you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “I think you’re delusional from lack of sleep.”

“Probably,” he agreed, leaning his head against yours. “But hey, we’re surviving, right? That’s the real victory.”

You sighed, letting the warmth of his presence wrap around you. “Yeah. We’re surviving.”

“And thriving,” he added, glancing down at the baby. “Well, he’s thriving. We’re hanging by a thread, but that’s what parents do, right?”

“Right,” you murmured, the exhaustion temporarily eclipsed by a deep sense of gratitude. “We’ve got this.”

He grinned, his free arm pulling you close. “That’s the spirit, love. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll stay up a little longer, just in case.”

—-

(A few months later)

The weekend had finally arrived, and with it came a rare sense of relief as Lando’s parents pulled up to the house.

You were sitting on the couch with Leo cradled in your arms, his tiny fists wrapped around your finger.

Lando was sprawled next to you, his head resting on your shoulder, looking just as exhausted as you felt.

The door opened, and Lando's dad, Adam, stepped in first, his face lighting up the moment he saw Leo. “There’s my grandson! Hand him over, I’ve got this,” he said, already reaching out with eager arms.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not even a hello for us, Adam?”

“Hi, darling,” Adam replied quickly, flashing you a grin before focusing entirely on Leo. “Alright, little man. Granddad’s here. Let’s give your mum and dad a break, yeah?”

Lando’s mom, Cisca, followed closely behind, holding a casserole dish and a tote bag filled with who-knows-what. “And I’m here to make sure this house doesn’t fall apart. You two look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“We haven’t,” Lando said dramatically, sitting up and stretching. “Leo’s been practicing his lung capacity every night. Future Norris athlete in the making.”

“Alright, you two,” Cisca said, setting the bag down and clapping her hands. “You’re officially off duty. Go take a nap, watch a movie, do whatever it is you haven’t had the time to do. We’ve got this.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction. The idea of a nap, an uninterrupted nap, was already making your body ache in anticipation.

“Sweetheart,” Cisca said, her voice softening as she placed a hand on your arm. “This is what family is for. You’re doing an amazing job, but even superheroes need a break. Let us help.”

Cicsa moved away with a smile, already pulling on a pair of cleaning gloves. “Anyway, I’ve raised two boys and managed Adam. This is a piece of cake.”

“Hey!” Adam called over, bouncing Leo gently. “I resent that.”

“You love it,” Cisca shot back with a wink before turning to you. “Now, shoo. “

You hesitated, glancing at Lando. “Are you sure? The house is a mess, and Leo’s been fussy all morning. I don’t want to dump everything on you two.”

“Nonsense,” Adam said, already bouncing Leo gently. “We’ve raised kids before, remember? This is nothing. Go.”

Lando grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You heard them. Free babysitters. Let’s not waste this golden opportunity.”

Cisca rolled her eyes fondly as she started tidying the living room, picking up stray baby toys and discarded blankets. “You two deserve a break. Parenting isn’t easy, and you’ve been doing a wonderful job. But everyone needs help sometimes.”

Reluctantly, you let Lando pull you off the couch, your body protesting every movement. “Okay, but if he gets hungry-”

“I know how to warm a bottle,” Cisca interrupted gently, her voice filled with warmth. “We’ll call you if we need anything. Now go.”

As Lando grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs, you couldn’t help but glance back. Adam was rocking Leo, humming softly, while Cisca was already organizing the clutter in the kitchen.

“They’ve got it,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And we’ve got each other.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I still feel a little guilty.”

“Don’t,” Lando said firmly, steering you toward the bedroom. “They want to help. And we need this. Just a couple of hours to recharge, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the past few sleepless nights begin to fade. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The bedroom was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the sun, the kind of light that made everything feel just a little bit more peaceful.

For once, there was no crying, no laundry to fold, no bottles to sterilize. Downstairs, the gentle hum of Lando’s parents chatting with Leo filled the air, but up here, it was quiet. Blissfully quiet.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your limbs heavy with exhaustion but your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Lando lay beside you, his head propped up on his hand, watching you with a small, soft smile that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in days.

“What?” you asked, your voice a low murmur, too tired to even tease.

He shook his head, his curls falling into his eyes. “Nothing. Just looking at you.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shifting closer so he could rest his hand lightly on your waist. “But I’m serious. I’ve missed this. Missed you.”

“I’m right here, Lando,” you said softly, though the words felt heavier than you meant them to. You knew what he meant. The chaos of parenthood had left little time for anything else, especially for moments like this.

“No, I mean…” He paused, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric of your shirt, tracing absent patterns. “I’ve missed us. The way we used to just… be, you know? Before all the crying and nappies and figuring out how to keep a tiny human alive.”

Your throat tightened a little at his words, the weight of guilt creeping in again. “I know. I’ve been so caught up in being a mom that I…” You trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“That you forgot to just be you?” Lando offered, his voice gentle, no trace of judgment.

You nodded, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. “Yeah. That.”

He let out a soft sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek, tilting your face so you were looking at him. His eyes were earnest, filled with that boundless affection that you didn't know what to do with most of the time.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You’re an amazing mom. The best. But before you were Leo’s mom, you were you. The woman I fell in love with. The woman who lights up every room she walks into. And I don’t want you to lose her.”

“I don’t know how to do that, Lando,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel like all I am right now is tired and messy and just… not enough.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a lingering kiss. “You are more than enough. You always have been, and you always will be.”

You tried to look away, the intensity of his words clawing at your throat, but he didn’t let you, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “And you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” he added, his voice taking on that familiar playful lilt. “Even with the spit-up stains and the messy bun.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Flatterer.”

“Not flattery. Just facts,” he insisted, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. Each kiss was soft and slow, like he was trying to make you believe every word he said.

“Lando…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finally finding yours. The kiss was gentle, filled with a warmth that made your chest ache. It was a reminder, a promise, and a thank you all wrapped into one.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Thank you for Leo. For everything. For letting me do this life with you.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, but this time they were the good kind. “You don’t have to thank me, Lando. We’re in this together, remember?”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. “But I’m going to thank you anyway. Because you deserve it. And because I don’t say it enough.”

He pulled you closer then, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from every ounce of exhaustion and doubt you carried. For a moment, you let yourself melt into him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against your hair. “And I love Leo. But I don’t ever want you to forget- you’re more than just a mom, yeah?”

—

The morning light streamed through the curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in a peaceful glow. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you woke up feeling truly rested.

No cries echoing through the baby monitor, no bleary-eyed stumbles in the middle of the night. Just the warmth of the bed, the sound of birds chirping outside, and the gentle rise and fall of Lando’s chest as he lay beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you turned your head to find him already awake, his curls messy and his face relaxed in a way that made him look impossibly boyish. His eyes met yours, and a slow, lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Did we really just sleep through the night?”

Lando stretched, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. "Looks like it," he whispered. "Feels illegal, honestly. Like we’re breaking some kind of parental code."

You let out a soft laugh, your hand instinctively resting on his chest. “I forgot what it feels like to be this… alive.”

“Same,” he said, his grin turning cheeky. “Although, I don’t think we should waste this newfound energy.”

Before you could reply, Lando leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was warm and slow at first, but quickly deepened into something more heated. His hand slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as his other hand tangled in your hair.

“Lando…” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he trailed kisses down your jaw and back to your mouth. “I’ve just missed kissing you like this. No interruptions, no spit-up, no baby monitor beeping at us..”

His lips captured yours again, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the world narrowing down to the warmth of his body and the way his hand slid up your side. But then reality came crashing back, and you pulled away just enough to mumble, “Lando, my body’s… not ready for anything. You know that, right?”

He pulled back, raising an eyebrow and looking at you like you’d just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “Well, obviously. Don’t doubt my research, babe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, smacking his chest lightly. “Your research?”

“Yes, my research,” he said with mock seriousness, leaning back down to kiss you again. “I’m well-informed, thank you very much. And I know exactly what you need right now- just this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, his hand cupping your cheek as if to prove his point.

“Just kissing,” he murmured between kisses. “No pressure, no expectations. I just want you.”

You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his messy curls. It had been so long since you’d felt this close to him, and it was intoxicating. The way he kissed you made you feel like you were the center of his universe, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he said, his voice rough.

“Me too,” you admitted, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, he spoke again, his voice lighter now. “So… what do you think about getting a cleaner?”

You blinked, pulling back slightly to look at him. “A cleaner?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week. Give us a little breathing room with the chores. Time to, you know…” He smirked, leaning in to steal another quick kiss. “Do this more often.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible but practical,” he corrected, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at you properly. “Not full-time or anything. Just someone to help out a few days a week.“

You bit your lip, considering it. The idea of having some extra help was tempting, but you weren’t sure how you felt about leaving Leo with someone else, even for a few hours.

You hesitated, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know, Lando. I mean, I love being with Leo. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“And you won’t,” he reassured you, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I feel like I should be able to handle everything. Like... isn’t that what moms are supposed to do?" you admitted.

"Hey," he said, tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You’re already handling everything. And you’re doing it brilliantly. But there’s no rule that says you have to do it all alone. Asking for help doesn’t make you any less of an amazing mom. It just means you’re human."

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump form in your throat. "You really think it’s a good idea?"

"I do," he said firmly. "But only if it’s what you want. We’ll make it work either way. I just want to make sure you’re okay, love. That we’re okay.”

“Just think about it. No rush. No pressure. But if it means more mornings like this… it might be worth it.”

He kissed you again, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, your worries momentarily forgotten. For now, all that mattered was this moment, the two of you, together, with nothing else in the world but the warmth of his touch and the way he made you feel like you were still the most important thing in his life.

—

After some thought and plenty of conversations, you and Lando finally decided to hire someone.

It wasn’t a full-time helper, just someone to help around the house, take care of the cleaning, and keep things a little more organized.

You still handled all of Leo’s needs together, but the weight of the mess hanging around, making everything feel just a little more overwhelming, was finally lifted.

A few days of the cleaner settling in, things felt noticeably smoother. The house no longer looked like a war zone, and the chaos of being first-time parents seemed a little less overwhelming with the clutter finally under control.

One evening, after you’d finally gotten Leo to sleep and both of you had managed to survive a particularly difficult round of diaper duty, you and Lando flopped onto the couch.

He stretched out dramatically, groaning like he’d just completed a marathon.

“Okay, I don’t care what anyone says. Getting Leo to bed is like running a 5K.” Lando let out a deep sigh, making a show of rubbing his temples as if he’d just solved world peace.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement. “Oh, please. You’re a Formula 1 driver. Getting a baby to sleep should be a walk in the park compared to dodging crashes and tight corners.”

Lando shot you a side-eye, his lips quirking into a teasing grin. “Pfft. Formula 1 doesn't prepare you for a baby that won’t stop crying. No amount of pit stops will save you from that chaos.”

“True,” you said with a chuckle, snuggling up against him. “But at least we’re not cleaning up a whole pit crew’s worth of mess every two hours anymore.”

Lando kissed the top of your head and sighed in contentment. “Thank God for that.”

—

Lando was sitting on the floor, his legs crossed as he gently held Leo in his arms. The baby’s little hands gripped onto his fingers, his tiny face still a little scrunched in concentration.

You were watching from the couch, feeling a quiet sense of joy as you observed the two of them, when it happened.

Leo, with a little puff of air, let out the tiniest, most uncoordinated gummy smile. It wasn’t much, just a small curve of his lips, but to Lando, it was everything.

Lando froze, eyes wide as his gaze locked onto Leo’s face. He blinked, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“Did… did he just-” His voice cracked, and before he could finish, tears welled up in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He smiled at me. He smiled.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, watching as Lando’s expression shifted from disbelief to pure adoration. He looked down at Leo, his hand trembling as he brushed a lock of hair away from the baby’s face.

Leo cooed softly, clearly content, and gave him another gummy smile. That was it. Lando completely lost it.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “My son… my son smiled at me.”

Lando cradled Leo in his arms, his gaze fixed on the baby with a mixture of awe and absolute adoration. He swayed back and forth, humming softly under his breath, as though trying to coax some kind of miracle out of his little son.

"Mama’s turn now," Lando said in a voice full of tenderness, walking toward you with Leo facing you. "Smile at Mama, Leo!"

You leaned forward, your hands resting on your knees as you watched Lando’s every move, heart swelling. “You think he’s really going to smile on cue?”

“Just wait,” Lando said with a grin, gently bouncing Leo. "Look at Mama, little man. Show her your big, gummy smile!"

For a moment, there was only the soft sound of Lando’s voice, and then... it happened. Leo’s face scrunched up as he stared up at you with those big, innocent eyes. And then, like a flash of light, his lips curled up in the tiniest, most precious gummy smile.

You felt your heart explode. Without even thinking, you reached a hand to cover your mouth as a soft sob escaped. "Oh my God," you whispered, tears already brimming. "He smiled at me, Lando."

Both of you stared at Leo, the tiny bundle who had no idea he had just performed the greatest act of cuteness in the history of parenthood. He just blinked up at you both, totally clueless, his little hands batting in the air, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d triggered.

Lando’s voice was shaky as he looked at you, a tear slipping down his cheek. "Look at him. He’s perfect. He’s ours. He smiled, love. He smiled!"

You were laughing and crying at the same time, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can’t. This is... too much."

Lando gently shifted Leo so that he was facing you both, as if presenting him to you like the greatest treasure. "See, buddy?" Lando whispered to Leo, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re gonna break hearts with that smile. Just like your mama."

You wiped away a tear, reaching out a hand to gently touch Leo’s tiny foot. "I can’t believe how much I love you two," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

Lando was full-on crying now, unable to contain the tears as he held Leo to his chest again, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes. “I didn’t know it was possible to love you more every day,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “But then... he does that,” he gestured lazily at Leo, “and suddenly I love you both a thousand times more.”

You reached up to gently wipe a tear from his cheek, your hand trembling just slightly. "I know," you whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "I love you both too."

Leo, completely unaware of the full emotional depth of the moment, simply gurgled in his sleep, his hands curling into fists, still smiling in his own little, clueless way.

You laughed softly, your voice still thick with emotion. "He’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen."

"Yeah," Lando agreed, his voice still a little raw. "He’s perfect. And he’s ours. I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he said, choking on his words, his voice cracking even more. “I’m so proud. I’m just… so proud of him already.”

You got up from the couch, walking over to where Lando was, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. You kneeled beside him, brushing your hand gently against his arm. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

Lando wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, his face flushed with both emotion and embarrassment. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he said, looking at you through misty eyes. “This whole dad thing is gonna kill me. I can’t handle it.”

—

Lando was peacefully asleep on the couch, his arm draped lazily over his face, a soft snore escaping his lips as he lay on his back. Leo was nestled against his chest, his tiny hands swiping aimlessly as he slowly woke up, blinking his big eyes in the morning light.

You sat on the edge of the couch, your heart swelling as you watched the two of them. The sight was adorable- Lando, always so composed, now a soft, unguarded mess with your son lying on top of him. You leaned in to scoop Leo up for a cuddle, ready to give Lando a break from baby duty.

But just as you reached down to lift Leo, you froze. Leo’s tiny hand shot out, and in one swift move, he grabbed onto Lando’s nose with both little fists.

You stifled a laugh as Lando remained blissfully unaware, still deep in his sleep. Leo, on the other hand, was gripping his dad's nose like it was the most important thing in the world, his little fingers digging in as if holding onto a treasure.

You leaned over and tried to carefully pry Leo’s hand off his dad’s face, but Leo wasn't having any of it. His grip tightened, and he let out a soft giggle of his own, clearly delighted by his newfound power.

"No way, Leo," you whispered through your giggles. "Let go of Daddy’s nose."

But Leo just grinned and gave an enthusiastic tug, which only made you laugh harder. Lando, still unaware, snored a little louder, completely oblivious to the tiny assault on his nose.

You tried again to pull Leo away, but it was no use. Leo refused to let go. The more you tried, the more Leo seemed to cling to his dad’s nose with newfound determination.

"You little troublemaker," you giggled, your fingers now gently tickling Leo’s side in an attempt to distract him. "Daddy’s gonna wake up with a nose full of baby drool, and you're gonna be the one to blame."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of baby antics, Lando stirred slightly. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, clearly confused as to why he felt a strange sensation on his nose. He looked down, and his gaze immediately landed on Leo, still gripping his nose like it was the most important thing in the world.

Lando blinked a few times, his lips twitching into a smile. "Leo..." he said groggily, his voice thick with sleep. "What are you doing, buddy?"

You couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, and you let out a full giggle. "He’s got you, Lando. He won’t let go."

Lando’s eyes softened as he looked at Leo, who was grinning back at him, completely unaware of the trouble he’d caused. "Well, guess I’m stuck with this now, huh?" Lando chuckled, gently moving Leo’s tiny hand from his nose. “I guess I should be flattered.”

You leaned in to kiss Lando on the cheek, still giggling. "You should be. I think Leo just claimed you as his personal jungle gym."

Lando smiled, finally fully awake now, and carefully lifted Leo off his chest, giving him a small kiss on the forehead. "Guess he loves me more than I thought."

"Just wait until he starts grabbing your hair," you teased.

Lando laughed, giving Leo a soft, affectionate squeeze. "I’ll take it. It’s just another part of the adventure."

You watched the two of them, your heart full. “Yeah. Another adventure,” you agreed softly, feeling the warmth of your little family wrap around you.

—

It was one of those rare, quiet afternoons. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting a soft glow over the living room where you sat with Leo cradled in your arms. His tiny body was warm against yours, his head nestled just beneath your chin. You were humming softly, tracing little patterns on his back, lost in your own world.

But Leo? Leo was in his own universe and it revolved entirely around you.

He tilted his head back slightly, his wide, curious eyes locking onto your face like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

His little hands reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek. Every time you moved, even slightly, his gaze followed with a level of intensity that would’ve made a detective jealous.

“Hey there, buddy,” you whispered, smiling down at him. “What’s got you so mesmerized?”

Leo didn’t answer, of course. He just blinked at you, his big, gummy smile spreading across his face like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Is it the song?” you teased, tilting your head. “Or are you just checking to see if I’m as tired as I feel?”

Lando walked in from the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand, and froze when he saw the two of you. “Oh my god,” he whispered, his voice laced with awe. “He’s in love with you.”

You looked up, confused but amused. “What are you talking about?”

“Look at him!” Lando exclaimed, setting the glass down and gesturing dramatically toward Leo. “He’s completely starstruck. Like, I’m his dad, but apparently, you’re Beyoncé or something.”

You laughed softly, glancing back down at Leo. “He’s a baby, Lando. Babies just... stare.”

“Not like this,” Lando countered, crouching beside the couch to get a closer look. He waved a hand in front of Leo’s face, trying to catch his attention, but Leo didn’t even blink. His gaze stayed fixed on you, unwavering.

“See?” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “I don’t exist. You’re his whole world.”

“Well,” you said with a sly smile, “can you blame him?”

Lando laughed, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Not even a little bit.”

Leo, as if sensing that his dad was stealing your attention, let out a little coo of protest. His tiny hand reached up again, this time gripping a strand of your hair.

“Oh, you’re possessive now, huh?” you teased, gently prying his fingers loose. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Lando watched the exchange with a grin, shaking his head. “I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Leo giggled at you, a sound so pure and joyful that both you and Lando couldn’t help but laugh along.

“Well,” Lando said, sitting down beside you, “if he’s this obsessed with you now, just wait until he starts talking. First word’s gonna be ‘Mama’ for sure.”

You shrugged, smirking. “I mean, I am pretty great.”

“Understatement of the year,” Lando muttered, leaning in to kiss your temple.

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his voice full of excitement, as if trying to join the conversation. You looked back down at him, your heart swelling.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you said softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, too.”

Leo responded with another gummy smile, and Lando groaned, clutching his chest.

“I’m gonna die,” he said dramatically. “He’s too cute. You’re too cute. I can’t handle this.”

You laughed, leaning into Lando’s side as the three of you basked in the warmth of the moment, your little family feeling more perfect than ever.

A few hours later and you were lounging on the couch, Leo nestled snugly against your chest. His tiny fingers clung to your shirt, his cheek resting against you as he babbled softly. You were exhausted but content, brushing a hand gently over his downy hair.

Lando appeared in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair damp and tousled. He grinned at the sight of the two of you, still where he had left you earlier to go running to get the workout his personal trainer required him. "Alright, mama. Your turn to rest," he said, striding over confidently. "Hand him over."

You chuckled softly, shifting slightly. "I don’t think he’s going to like that."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lando said, reaching for Leo. “Come on, buddy. Let’s give Mama a break. You’ve hogged her long enough.”

But as soon as Lando’s hands gently tried to lift Leo away, your son let out a whiny little wail, clutching at your shirt like his life depended on it. His face scrunched up, and he made a series of dramatic, pitiful noises, burying his head against you.

Lando froze, blinking at Leo in disbelief. “Whoa, whoa, whoa- what’s this?”

You tried to hold back a laugh, rubbing Leo’s back soothingly. “I told you. He’s a mama’s boy right now.”

“Mama’s boy?” Lando repeated, his tone almost offended. “Leo, mate, you’re killing me here. What happened to our father-son bond? Remember? McLaren lullabies? Matching outfits? No?”

Leo let out another whimper and clung tighter, making it abundantly clear that no, he did not care about any of that right now.

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, dropping his hands to his hips. “You’re supposed to be my biggest fan, and you’re ditching me for her?”

“Can you blame him?” you teased, smiling up at Lando. “I mean, I did carry him for nine months. We’ve got history.”

Lando scoffed, sitting on the armrest of the couch, his arms crossed. “Alright, fine. I’ll just sit here and wait until he decides I’m worthy of his time again. No big deal.”

You laughed softly, adjusting Leo slightly so he could peek at his dad. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He loves you. He’s just... clingy today.”

Lando leaned in closer, his face inches from Leo’s. “Hey, buddy,” he said in a mock serious tone. “You’re breaking my heart, you know that? At least give me a smile or something.”

Leo peeked at him, his little mouth forming an ‘O’ as if considering it, but then he tucked his face back into your neck with a happy sigh.

“Wow,” Lando said, throwing his hands up. “Rejected. Completely rejected. I’m never going to recover from this.”

You reached out with your free hand, tugging playfully at Lando’s arm. “Oh, stop. You’ll get your turn when he’s in a dad mood.”

“When’s that gonna be? Next year?” Lando quipped, though his grin gave away that he wasn’t really upset.

You tilted your head, resting it against the couch. “Maybe when he starts talking. He might surprise you and say ‘Dada’ first.”

Lando’s face lit up at the idea, his competitive streak kicking in. “Oh, he better say ‘Dada’ first. Otherwise, I’m taking him to every Grand Prix until he changes his mind.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. Then, after a beat, he pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s, earning himself a tiny, curious glance.

“See, Leo?” Lando said, grinning at his son. “I’m not so bad. Maybe next time, you’ll pick Dad, huh?”

Leo cooed softly, his tiny hand reaching out toward Lando’s face as if to placate him, and Lando laughed.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up. “You win this round, little guy. But don’t get too comfortable. Dad’s coming for you.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to Leo’s head as he settled contentedly against you. “I think we’re both lucky to have you, Lando. Even if he’s playing favorites today.”

Lando shot you a cheeky grin. “Damn right you’re lucky. Just wait until tomorrow. I’ll bring out the big guns- he won’t be able to resist.”

“Big guns?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” Lando said cryptically, heading toward the kitchen. “Just you wait, Mama’s boy.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, as Leo cooed happily in your arms, blissfully unaware of the competition brewing between his parents.

—

The house was unusually quiet that evening, save for the faint hum of the baby monitor on the kitchen counter.

You were finishing up the dishes when you noticed Lando sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it, something he only did when he was stressed.

You dried your hands and walked over, sitting beside him.

Leo was already asleep in his crib, giving you both a rare moment of peace, but Lando’s usual lighthearted demeanor was absent.

"Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. "What’s on your mind?"

He sighed heavily, sitting back and looking at you with tired eyes. "Season’s starting back up soon."

You nodded. "I know. It’s what you love, though. You’ve been itching to get back out there."

"Yeah, I have," he admitted, but his voice was far from excited. "It’s just... different this time."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to continue.

"I don’t want to miss anything," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Leo’s growing so fast already, and what if I miss his first word? Or the first time he crawls? What if he forgets me when I’m gone too much? He’s so little, and I just... I don’t want him to feel like I’m not around."

Your heart broke a little at his words.

Lando was always so confident, but being a dad had softened him in ways you didn’t expect.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "You’re not going to miss everything, Lando. We’re coming with you, remember?"

"I know," he said, wrapping an arm around you instinctively. "But it’s not the same. You’ll be in the hotel most of the time. I’ll be at the track all day. And then there’s the traveling, the media, the briefings... It’s not like I can just pop in whenever I want."

"You’re doing your best," you reassured him. "And that’s all that matters. Leo’s not going to forget you just because you’re working. He’s going to grow up knowing his dad is chasing his dreams."

"But he’s my dream too," Lando whispered, his voice cracking. "I love racing, but I love you and Leo more. And I don’t want either of you to feel like you’re second to anything."

You sat up and cupped his face in your hands, making him look at you. "Lando Norris, you are an amazing dad and an amazing partner. Racing doesn’t take away from that. If anything, it adds to it. You’re showing Leo what it means to work hard for something you’re passionate about. And no matter how busy things get, you always come back to us. That’s what he’ll remember."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as he let out another sigh. "You’re way too good at this pep talk thing, you know."

You smiled. "Comes with the territory. Now, instead of worrying, why don’t you focus on the things you can do? Like making sure you get as much time with Leo as possible before you leave for Bahrain."

Lando nodded, his resolve strengthening. "You’re right. I’ll make every second count."

"We’ll be cheering you on," you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Always."

"Love you," he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

"We love you too," you whispered back, knowing that no matter how challenging the season ahead would be, you’d face it together.

—

The door to the hotel room creaked open, and you looked up from the couch where you sat with Leo perched on your lap.

The tension in Lando’s shoulders was evident as he stepped inside, his eyes shadowed with the weight of a race that hadn’t gone his way.

His hair was still damp from a quick post-race shower at the track, hoodie lazily thrown on.

He dropped his bag by the door and leaned against the wall for a moment, rubbing a hand down his face. You could see the frustration in every line of his posture, and your heart ached for him.

“Hey,” you called softly, trying not to wake Leo, who was already babbling quietly as he played with your fingers.

Lando’s eyes found yours, and just like that, some of the tension began to melt away. His gaze shifted to Leo, whose bright aquamarine eyes lit up the moment he saw his dad. Tiny hands waved enthusiastically, and Lando couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, mate,” he murmured, crossing the room to kneel beside you both. “You’ve been good for your mum?”

Leo giggled in response, his baby talk filling the room. Lando reached out to gently tickle his son’s belly, his earlier frustration slowly dissolving into soft chuckles as Leo squirmed and cooed.

“I missed you two,” Lando said quietly, his eyes meeting yours. He leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then pressed a soft kiss to Leo’s chubby cheek. “Needed this more than I thought.”

Leo’s babbling grew more excited, and he suddenly clapped his hands before blurting out, “Buh! Buh! Buh! Booooox!”

Both you and Lando froze for a second, staring at each other in disbelief.

“Did he just-”

“Did he just say box box box?” you finished, already starting to laugh.

Lando’s jaw dropped before he burst into a mix of laughter and disbelief. “No way. His first words are box box box! Are you kidding me?!”

You were laughing so hard tears were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Oh my God, Lando. All that time spent listening to the race engineers is paying off! He’s already a little racer!”

Lando gently scooped Leo up, holding him high in the air as the baby giggled uncontrollably.

“Leo, mate, you’ve got the timing of a legend! First words straight out of a pit wall broadcast. Unbelievable!”

Leo’s babbling continued, his gummy smile stretching wide as he seemed to revel in the attention.

Lando pressed his forehead to Leo’s, his voice filled with affection. “You’re perfect, you know that? Absolute perfection. Even if you’ve cursed me to never hear the end of this from Uncle Max.”

You leaned over to kiss Lando’s cheek, your laughter settling into a warm smile. “Well, at least we know he’s paying attention during the races.”

Lando turned to look at you, his eyes soft and full of love. “You two make everything better, you know that? Worst race of my life, and here I am, happier than ever because of this little guy and his genius first words.”

“Buh-buh-buh!” Leo squealed again, reaching out to grab Lando’s nose.

“Yeah, yeah, box box box, I hear you, mate,” Lando said, his voice thick with laughter and adoration.

—

The moment came out of nowhere, as so many milestones do.

You were finishing up your nighttime skincare routine while Lando sat on the floor, trying to coax Leo to take a step.

Leo stood wobbling on his chubby little legs, his hands stretched out in front of him for balance.

“Come on, mate,” Lando encouraged, holding his arms out. “One step. Just one! You’ve got this.”

You looked up, a soft smile playing on your lips. “He’s been teasing you with this for weeks, hasn’t he?”

“Don’t jinx it!” Lando shot back with a grin, his eyes glued to Leo.

Leo’s face was scrunched in determination, his tongue poking out as if it helped his balance. Then, with the tiniest of shuffles, he lifted one foot and took a step.

“YES!” Lando’s shout nearly startled the poor baby into toppling over, but Leo took another step toward his dad, and then another, his arms swinging wildly for balance.

You gasped, nearly dropping the serum you were holding. “Oh my God, he’s doing it!”

Leo stumbled into Lando’s arms, laughing triumphantly as his dad scooped him up and spun him around. “That’s my boy! First steps! Did you see that, babe? He’s a natural.”

You were on your feet in an instant, rushing over to join them. “I saw it! Our little walker!”

Leo’s giggles turned into a proud little babble as Lando kissed the top of his head, his own grin so wide it looked like it might split his face.

Over the next few days, Leo was unstoppable. His clumsy little walk turned into a full-on mission to copy everything you and Lando did. If Lando was stretching, Leo mimicked him, though his version mostly involved falling over. When you bent down to pick something up, Leo would squat and then sit on his bottom like it was the same thing.

“Look at him!” Lando said one afternoon, watching as Leo tried to copy his dad tying his sneakers. “He’s like a little shadow. A very uncoordinated, very adorable shadow.”

Leo looked up at his dad with wide eyes, then toddled over and wrapped his arms around Lando’s leg, babbling nonsense.

“Aw, buddy, you’re killing me here,” Lando said, scooping him up. “You’re too cute. I can’t handle it.”

—

The sound of the private jet’s engines starting up hummed softly beneath your feet as you held Leo in your arms, walking down the narrow aisle towards the seats.

You could feel his tiny hand gripping your finger as you set him down on his feet, his little body still a bit unsteady as he tried to mimic your movements.

It was one of those moments that felt like time slowed down, as Leo tried to take a few wobbly steps toward Lando, who was already settled in his seat, grinning widely at his son.

“Come on, little man,” Lando called out, his voice light with amusement. “You can do it. Show mama how it’s done.”

You smiled at him, your heart swelling as you watched Leo try to imitate Lando’s movements, his knees wobbling slightly as he took another hesitant step forward.

The jet's gentle swaying seemed to make it harder, but Leo was determined. With every step he took, his little face lit up with the biggest grin, his wide eyes sparkling like he was proud of himself for trying.

“You’re a natural, Leo,” you said softly, helping him balance with your hand on his back. “Just like your dad.”

Leo looked up at you then, his smile widening before he reached for you.

He babbled excitedly, his voice higher-pitched and full of joy, and you laughed as you scooped him up, feeling his small arms wrap around your neck in a tight hug.

He was practically vibrating with happiness. You couldn’t help but melt into the feeling, his love so pure and contagious that it left you breathless.

“He really loves you,” Lando said with a grin, watching as Leo snuggled into your arms. “I think you might be his favorite.”

“Of course, I am,” you teased, pressing a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “He knows who takes care of him when he needs snacks, cuddles, and all the kisses.”

Leo giggled, his baby talk coming out in a string of adorable babbles as he snuggled closer to you. “Mama!” he squealed, his little voice bouncing off the walls of the plane, and you couldn’t help but smile in return.

“That’s right, buddy,” you whispered, looking at Lando with a playful smirk. “Mama’s got you.”

Lando laughed softly, clearly charmed by the scene.

You gently bounced Leo on your hip as you made your way to the seats. “It’s alright, babe. You’re still my number one, even if Leo’s stealing all the attention.”

Leo, sensing that he was the center of it all, let out a cheerful little giggle, reaching for Lando as if asking for his dad to hold him too.

“Okay, okay,” Lando laughed, scooting over and extending his arms. “You’ve made your point, little man.”

You handed Leo to Lando, watching as the two of them shared a moment. Leo rested his tiny head against his dad’s chest as Lando sat back in his seat, humming a soft tune to calm him down.

—

When Leo was still barely a year old, you and Lando found yourselves having the same conversation over and over.

You didn’t know if Leo would end up following in Lando’s footsteps or if he’d develop his own passions, but you both agreed that it was important to plan for his future- just in case.

Sitting together in the living room, watching Leo take wobbly steps across the floor, Lando turned to you with a smile. “I know we’re still a long way off, but... have you thought about what kind of school we want for Leo?”

You shrugged, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair from Leo’s forehead.

“It’s hard to say, isn’t it? He’s barely one, but I’ve been thinking about it too. I guess we can’t decide now, but I think it’s smart to start planning. I mean, who knows what his interests will be?”

Lando nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. He might not be into racing, or even sports. But I can’t help but think about the possibility of him wanting to do something like I did. I don’t want to push him, but...” His voice trailed off as he watched Leo take another shaky step.

“I know,” you said softly, smiling as Leo giggled and reached for you. “It’s hard not to think about it. I just want him to have the freedom to choose what he loves, even if that’s not racing.”

Lando’s expression softened. “Of course. But what if he does? I want to make sure he has options, you know? Like, if he’s into it, I’d love for him to have that foundation. But if he’s not... then I don’t want him to feel forced into it.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing how much racing meant to him. “I get it. It’s not just about racing, though. It’s about having choices. I think we should focus on giving him a well-rounded education, one that could adapt to whatever he wants to do. But I also think it’s important to keep in mind how we’ll handle it if he does decide to race, just in case.”

Lando sighed, watching Leo playfully crawl towards his toy car. “Yeah. Maybe we should start looking into schools that would allow for flexibility. That way, if he does want to race, it won’t interfere too much with his education.”

“Yeah,” you said, watching Leo’s face light up as he grabbed his toy and started pushing it across the floor. “And if he doesn’t want to race, we’ll make sure he has every opportunity to explore whatever else he’s passionate about.”

Lando grinned. “Whatever he ends up doing, I’ll be proud. Just... as long as he doesn’t bring me another toy car to fix. That’s my job.”

You laughed, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “I think he might just follow in your footsteps on that one.”

“Maybe. But for now, we’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.” Lando took your hand and squeezed it.

—

As you stepped into the paddock, Leo securely tucked in Lando’s arms, you couldn’t help but notice how everyone’s attention turned to your little boy.

His bright orange McLaren headphones looked comically large on his head, his curls bouncing with every slight movement.

Despite the overwhelming sights and sounds, Leo’s aquamarine eyes darted around, wide with curiosity.

“Alright, little man,” Lando murmured, adjusting Leo’s jacket, complete with a tiny McLaren logo stitched on the chest. “This is where Dad works. Cool, right? Your dad’s a bit of a big deal here.”

You smirked as you walked beside them. “He’s modest too. Make sure you learn that, Leo.”

Lando turned to you, raising a brow. “What can I say? He should know the truth.” Then, looking at Leo, he grinned. “We’ll save the really cool stuff for when you can talk.”

One of the engineers wandered over, grinning. “Well, well, if it isn’t our new recruit. Welcome, Leo. Hope you’re ready to carry the team.”

Leo giggled at the commotion, clumsily reaching out toward the engineer’s shiny name badge.

“Watch out,” you warned, leaning away. “If it’s shiny, he’s going to grab it.”

“Just like his dad and a trophy,” the engineer quipped, dodging Leo’s little hands.

Leo’s delighted squeals made the whole team stop and stare for a moment, their smiles softening as he wriggled excitedly, his tiny hands grabbing at the air as if trying to reach for the brightly colored McLaren car parked nearby.

One of the mechanics leaned in with a smile, handing Leo a miniature wrench.

“For the next pit stop,” the mechanic joked. “Gotta train ‘em young!”

Leo grabbed the wrench with a look of awe, his gummy smile lighting up the entire garage.

“Careful,” Lando said, laughing. “You give him that, and he’s going to think he’s part of the crew.”

“Isn’t he already?” the team’s PR manager chimed in, snapping a photo of Lando and Leo. “This might be our cutest team member yet.”

“I’m telling you,” Lando said, looking around. “This kid’s already got star power. I give it, what, two years before Zak offers him a contract?”

“Let’s aim for potty training first,” you teased, running a hand through Leo’s curls. “Then he can talk strategy.”

Zak wandered over at that moment, his gaze flicking from Leo to Lando. “He’s stealing the show already, isn’t he?”

“Obviously,” Lando said, grinning. “Look at him! He’s got the McLaren spirit.”

Leo babbled loudly, throwing his arms in the air as if he were agreeing. Everyone laughed, and Lando looked at you, his expression softening for just a moment.

“You sure he’s not overwhelmed?” he asked quietly, his voice just for you.

You smiled, resting a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. He’s curious, just like someone else I know.”

Leo, now grabbing at the zipper on Lando’s race suit, interrupted the moment with a loud, joyful squeal.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, laughing as he adjusted Leo. “You’re the boss, mate.”

After Lando handed Leo back to you, his bright orange headphones still perched comically on his tiny head, he knelt to Leo’s level one last time before heading to the car.

“Alright, buddy,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to Leo’s curls. “Daddy’s going to go really fast now, okay? Cheer for me.”

Leo babbled something incomprehensible, his little hands reaching out to pat Lando’s face. Lando chuckled, leaning into the touch as if it were the best encouragement he could get.

“See? He already knows I’m winning,” Lando joked, standing and giving you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Take care of my little number one fan.”

“We’ll be cheering from the best seats in the house,” you assured him, adjusting Leo on your hip. “Go make us proud.”

As Lando disappeared into the chaos of the garage, you carried Leo to the viewing area, a private box where you could watch the race without overwhelming him. The hum of engines roaring to life filled the air, and Leo’s eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of the cars pulling out onto the track.

“Look, Leo,” you cooed, pointing toward the screen showing Lando’s car. “There’s Daddy. See the orange car? That’s him.”

Leo squirmed excitedly in your arms, babbling in response as if he understood. His tiny fists waved in the air, his gaze locked on the screen.

As the race began, you couldn’t help but glance between the screen and your son. His fascination was evident, his aquamarine eyes following the cars as they sped around the track.

Occasionally, he’d let out a squeal, clapping his hands together, and it made your heart swell.

“Is Daddy fast?” you asked playfully.

Leo responded with a delighted giggle, his curls bouncing as he nodded. Whether it was intentional or just random excitement, you weren’t sure, but it made you laugh anyway.

When Lando pulled off a daring overtake, you clapped softly, careful not to startle Leo. “See that, little man? That’s Daddy being awesome.”

Leo responded by slapping his chubby hands against your chest and squealing, his energy contagious.

By the time the race ended, Lando had finished in a respectable position—maybe not a podium, but enough to make you proud. As he approached the garage for post-race celebrations and interviews, you and Leo made your way down to meet him.

The moment Lando stepped into view, sweaty and slightly disheveled but glowing with the post-race adrenaline, Leo practically launched himself toward him, wiggling in your arms and reaching out.

“Alright, alright, mate!” Lando said, laughing as he took Leo from you, holding him close. “You watched me, huh? Did you see how cool I was?”

Leo responded with a string of babbles, his hands patting Lando’s cheeks and tugging at his race suit zipper again.

“He was your biggest fan,” you said, smiling at the sight of the two of them.

“Best fan I’ll ever have,” Lando said, pressing a kiss to Leo’s forehead before looking at you. “And my second best fan is pretty great, too.”

“Oh, I’m second now?” you teased, arching a brow.

“Technically tied,” Lando corrected with a grin, leaning in to kiss you briefly. “Best race ever. Thanks to you two.”

—

It was a sunny afternoon when Adam and Cisca arrived for their visit, the house buzzing with excitement as Leo toddled around, his tiny feet barely keeping up with his boundless energy.

You had been waiting for this moment, knowing how much both Lando’s parents were eager to hear their grandson say his first words to them.

“Cisca, Adam, we’ve been working on something special with Leo,” you said, a playful grin on your face. “I think he’s finally ready to impress you both.”

Cisca, who was sitting on the couch with Adam, leaned forward eagerly. “Oh, don’t tease us. What’s he going to do?”

You gave a small nod toward Leo, who was currently playing with his favorite toy car, completely oblivious to the attention he was about to receive.

Lando was beside him, giving a little encouragement.

“Leo,” Lando said softly, “can you say ‘Grandma’?”

For a moment, Leo just looked up at him, his big aquamarine eyes blinking as if he was deciding whether to humor his dad. Then, in a clear, albeit babyish voice, he uttered, “G-g-gra-ma!”

The room fell silent for a split second, before Cisca gasped and clapped her hands.

“He said it! He really said it!” Her eyes were wide with excitement, and she immediately reached for Leo, pulling him into her arms as she showered him with kisses.

Adam laughed, his arms crossed as he watched Cisca fawn over Leo. “Well, it looks like we have a new favorite around here.”

Cisca, still holding Leo, smiled warmly. “He’s a natural,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Lando grinned, clearly proud, but there was a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Alright, buddy. Let’s see if you can do ‘Grandpa’ now.”

Leo’s face lit up at the challenge, and he looked up at Lando with a wide grin. “G-g-pa!” he said, a little clearer this time, as though he’d been practicing in secret.

Cisca and Adam both looked at each other in amazement before bursting into laughter. “He did it!”

You couldn’t help but smile, watching your son, so small yet already full of surprises.

Lando, beaming, scooped Leo into his arms, lifting him high in the air. “Good job, mate! You’re already a hit with the grandparents.”

As you all laughed and celebrated, you felt a warm sense of joy, knowing that these small moments were just the beginning.

Leo was growing up so quickly, and every new word was another step toward the amazing little person he was becoming.

And if there was any doubt that he was Lando’s son, it was quickly erased with that second, clearer “Grandpa.”

—

It was Lando’s home race, and the atmosphere was electric. The streets around the circuit buzzed with excitement as fans poured in to cheer on their favorite driver.

You, Lando, and Leo were all geared up for a day of racing, but there was an undeniable sense of extra energy in the air today.

It was Lando's moment to shine in front of his hometown crowd.

You had decided to bring Leo along for his first true race day experience, and the little one couldn’t contain his excitement.

He had been bouncing around the house all morning, his energy matching the anticipation in the air

“Ready for the madness?” Lando asked, his fingers tapping on the wheel as he drove toward the circuit.

“Is there ever a dull moment at one of your races?” you teased, glancing at Leo, who was already staring out the window, wide-eyed at the massive crowds beginning to form outside.

“Look, Daddy!” Leo exclaimed, his voice full of wonder. “People!”

Lando chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s hair. “Yeah, buddy, those people are here to watch a race. They love the sport almost as much as we do.”

Lando slowed a little to let Leo get a better look at the fans, many of whom had spotted him by now.

A small wave of recognition rippled through the crowd, and people began holding up signs, taking photos, and cheering even louder.

Lando chuckled, glancing at Leo. “Look at him, he’s already soaking it all in. He’s going to be waving at people the whole time.”

Sure enough, as you drove past the crowds lining the track, Leo pressed his face against the window and started waving enthusiastically at the fans.

“Hi! Hi, people!” he called out, his little arm flailing in the air like he was trying to reach everyone at once.

Lando laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Just like me when I was his age, huh?”

You smiled, watching Leo’s excitement grow as the car neared the grid.

“He’s got your energy, that’s for sure,” you agreed, though Leo’s cheeky smile had hints of you, too.

Leo, still oblivious to the significance of the day, continued to wave back happily, as if the attention was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment was adorable, and it didn’t take long for the whole world to start catching on.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Curiosity piqued, you pulled it out quickly, only to be greeted with a flood of notifications.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the messages from friends and family, all the while still hearing Leo’s happy babbling in the back seat.

The trending hashtag was unmistakable: #LeoNorrisOnTheGrid.

It seemed that most fans, spotting Leo, immediately started recording, posting videos of the excited toddler waving at everyone. Within minutes, the clips had gone viral.

On Twitter, hashtags like #LeoNorris and #MiniLando had started trending in minutes.

Fans were going crazy over how much Leo looked like his father, and how adorable he was interacting with the crowd. Some even joked about how Leo was stealing the spotlight from Lando.

"I swear, this kid's got his own fan club already," you said, laughing as you scrolled through the posts and videos that were rapidly gaining likes and retweets.

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing at the screen before shaking his head, amused. “Well, I’m not surprised. He’s got that Norris charm.”

As you all made your way to the grid, the excitement continued to build. Leo, blissfully unaware of the frenzy he’d caused online, continued to wave at the fans, his little face lit up with pure joy. You leaned over to Lando, whispering, “He’s definitely got your spirit, that’s for sure.”

“Guess he’s a natural,” Lando said with a grin, his tone light but his pride obvious. “But I’m not sure how I feel about all those people already talking about him taking my seat one day.”

You laughed, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Don’t worry, Lando. He’s still got a lot of growing to do before that happens.”

Leo’s excited voice interrupted the moment. “Daddy race now! Go, go, go!” He was bouncing in his seat, eager for his dad to get to the track.

As you made your way toward the grid, Lando leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Thanks for being here with me today,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “It means the world to have you both here, especially today.”

With Leo tugging on his hand, eager to explore, you smiled, feeling the love and joy that filled the air.

“We wouldn’t be anywhere else,” you replied, knowing that this day, this moment, was something you’d all treasure forever.

[ultimate-shipper-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[gremlins-hotel]

From the notes of Capt. Alfred Jones: "Davie was a bus and the 'Flying Fortress' moniker seemed to pass her by, but it was a ship with a brave crew. The trudge of getting back to England from enemy territory is a story for another day. I miss her and sometimes I miss the boys we lost that day."

-✪- -✪- -✪-

B-17F "Dear Davie": *U.S. Army Model B-17F-65-BO Air Corps Serial No. 42-29670 Delivered Cheyenne 31/1/43; Pueblo 18/2/43; Salina 15/2/43; Brookley 19/3/43; Smoky Hill 23/3/43; Dow Field 18/4/43. Assigned to the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group [TS-L] "DEAR DAVIE" 22/4/43; Missing in Action near Hamburg 25/7/43 with Alfred "Comet" Jones, **Co-Pilot: Daryl "Speed" Reed, Navigator: Richard Reed, Bombardier: Charlie Marstaller; Radio Operator: Johnathan Graves, Flight Engineer/Top Turret Gunner: Clyde "Pepsi" Ray, Ball Turret Gunner: William Ortlieb, Waist Gunner: Leslie Lipsey, Waist Gunner: Paul Rapoport, Tail Gunner: Thomas Pugh (6 Killed in Action); "DEAR DAVIE" lost to flak/anti-aircraft fire, crashing near Uetersen, 15 miles NW of Hamburg, Germany.

-✪- -✪- -✪-

[nerd things & acknowledgements below cut]

Notes on the B-17F... The B-17F was an upgrade of the previous E model, with several notable changes: A one- or two-piece plexiglas nose cone, as opposed to the ten-paneled cone of previous versions. Reinforced landing gear allowed for a greater maximum payload, from 4,200 lb (1,900 kg) of ordnance to 8,000 lb (3,600 kg). Flight and combat range of the F model was improved by 900 mi (1,400 km) with the addition of nine self-sealing rubber fuel cells in the wing root, aka, "Tokyo tanks". The F model was generally characterized by being tail-heavy - which lead to part failure - and woefully undefended from the front; the early F models had no front-facing armament, leaving a 60° blind spot to the direct front of the aircraft - a flaw which was exploited by German pilots, who held air superiority. Later F models would see a list of possible available modifications (factory and field) such as inserting two .50 caliber machine guns into the nose cone to solve the blind spot. Other modifications to later F models were bulged cheek turrets, as opposed to the window-mounted guns of earlier iterations, and the available addition of the iconic "Bendix" chin turret. The chin turret is far more common on the subsequent G "gunship" variant. ("Dear Davie" is an early F model without the nose mount, bulged cheeks, or chin turret.)

*This model production block, serial no., and fate are borrowed from real-life B-17F #42-29670, "Thundermug." "Thundermug" was an aircraft that originally served in the 333rd Bomb Squadron/94th Bomb Group alongside my great-grandfather and his usual steed, "The Gremlins Hotel." It was transferred to the 544th BS/384th BG, at which point it went Missing in Action over Hamburg from flak/aa-fire; 8 of its crew became POWs while 2 were KIA. I have had the honor to speak to descendants of both of its crews and help them research "Thundermug"; I wish to voice a mere glimpse of their stories in a unique way.

**All names of Alfred's crew are either cobbled-together family names throughout our history here or entirely fictitious - though some were inspired by real people whom I grew up with stories of. All inspirations were individuals that lived good lives post-war.

[ofoutrageousfortune]

ok. i think i've calculated the left hand of darkness characters' ages. a fair bit of this is me headcanoning but WHATEVER

(under the cut is sorve, genly, estraven, arek, ashe, and estraven & ashe's kids' ages)

sorve harth rem ir estraven: so we'll start with the only character we're given something adjacent to a canon age for: sorve. except the canon age is wrong. genly says he looks around 19-20, but this basically can't be the case because of ~textual inferences~ that can be made. we know that siblings are allowed to be kemmering partners until someone gets pregnant, and then they have to stop. we also know that vowing kemmering after said pregnancy is what gets you exiled. we don't know exact dates, but we can guess that estraven was exiled shortly after sorve's birth because of this (or maybe even during the pregnancy if you think arek is the one who carried him), and while we don't know the exact cause of arek's death, we can assume it was shortly after estraven's exile from estre because of how he always talks about the events together. so we can infer that arek died pretty much right after sorve was born, and we know arek died fourteen years before the events of the story. that puts sorve at roughly fourteen years old, and knowing genly, he probably overestimated because sorve was tall or something

genly ai: we know he's under thirty, at least as per estraven's assessment. estraven could be wrong about this, because genly definitely was for sorve, but i also trust estraven's judgement a little more here (and it helps that genly's the one translating the journal entries, so he could've just added a footnote if estraven was wrong but he didn't). now, estraven specifically says "not thirty", which typically means twenty-nine in formal english (think any of the austen novels, where "not two and twenty" means twenty-one). technically, he could be anywhere from like, 18-30, but at the very least, not thirty means he's in his 20s, and i think 29 works perfectly fine.

therem harth rem ir estraven: estraven's age is a tad bit more complicated to calculate, but still doable. we're given the ages of his mom, esvans (who's 70+), and his son, sorve (who, as i've explained, is roughly 14). this is complicated because it's said that gethenians generally stop having kids and start using contraceptives at about twenty-four, and have all their kids young. if you calculate back from esvans's age, that puts estraven at roughly 46, but if you calculate back from sorve's age, that puts estraven at thirty-eight MAX. you could use either of these calculations and you'd have enough textual support to do so, but i'm going to choose to use sorve's age for a few reasons: - it's more plausible to me that genly's data point about gethenians mostly choosing not to reproduce past twenty-four is based on recent data and not esvans's generation (especially because this choice is facilitated by contraceptives, and it would make sense for that to be a more recent scientific development) - estraven has two kids with ashe (more on that later) who are ten at oldest, and if he is 46, he would've had to father them at 36. if gethenians generally stop reproducing after 24, this is a bit too much of a stretch for me. so, like i said, that puts estraven at a maximum of 38 years old, but i actually think he's even younger than that. as mentioned earlier, estraven has two other kids with ashe. he and ashe vowed kemmering ten years before the beginning of the story (they were partners for seven years and have been separated for three), and although it's possible that they had their children before that, i doubt it just because of how estraven talks about it ("we were kemmerings for seven years and had two sons" at least kind of implies that the sons were born during the duration of that seven years). so with all that, if gethenian reproduction doesn't tend to happen past ~24 and estraven's kids with ashe are ten or younger, he'd be around 34, and would've had sorve around 20 (which is very plausible to me). hell, if his kids with ashe aren't the same age, the math probably means estraven is EVEN YOUNGER and sorve was a teen pregnancy baby, which also tracks imo.

arek harth rem ir estraven: this one is easy, arek is canonically a year older than estraven, which puts him at roughly 21 at the time of his death (potentially younger).

ashe foreth rem ir osboth: again, by assuming ashe's kids are ten or younger, ashe is 34 max, likely younger.

estraven & ashe's kids: all we know is that there's two of them, and they both could be anywhere from 3-10 years old (realistically, 5-10 years old, because the youngest kid being 3 or 4 would mean that estraven had sorve at thirteen or fourteen, which is very implausible even for a "sorve was a teen pregnancy" headcanon). we don't know if the kids are the same age or not either

ok there you have it, thank you for coming to my TED talk

[tavs-tressym]

Delicious Denial - Chapter Nine

(AO3 Link) | Master List | Ko-Fi

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Tav (You)

Word Count: 3770 (approx)

Tags: Fluff, eventual smut, domestic fluff, camp life, slow burn romance, sexual tension (A LOT).

WARNING: References to abuse, graphic descriptions of injury

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A reimagining of the game's events if Tav had zero magical or fighting ability. But she's still pretty fucked up. 👍

(Lots of comforting camp life content)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Did somebody order a random burst of productivity? 🤠

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Nine - Tantrum

“Get up.”

A clank of metal thunks into your bandaged abdomen. Air escapes you and your blurred eyes widen in search of the assailant. You find her. “W-what?”

“Get up.” Demands Lae’zel for a second time, standing proudly above you, paying no mind to your discomfort or exhaustion. You look down and see the weight trapping your legs: A greatsword.

“Why? What’s happening-?” You call out in vain, but she doesn’t waste her precious breath on helping you to understand as she walks away. Are you supposed to follow her? She stops and looks over her shoulder, impatiently waiting for you. You slide the sword off your lap despite the protest of your bruised muscles. “Nnngh!” You sigh with relief and, through great effort, slowly begin to pull yourself up.

“Stop it, you know she shouldn’t be moving, right now.” Shadowheart advises, glaring up at Lae’zel, still hovering her luminescent hand over your wounds. Lae’zel scoffs and rolls her eyes, marching over to pull you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. Hissing with pain, you attempt to push her off, but she holds on strong. To her, you’re nothing but air. Wasted, useless air. She begins to drag you away, picking up the greatsword as she goes. “H-hey!” Shadowheart calls out, reaching out to continue the spell.

Your heels drag in the dirt as you feebly struggle in her grasp. “Nngh-ahh!” The pathetic lump that is your body hits the dirt before her. “What the fuck is wrong with y-ahh!” Another hit to the abdomen from the tossed sword.

“Pick it up.” She glares at you. You glare back.

“If you want to kill me, just do it already.” The forced bravado in your voice wavers slightly.

“Chk...” She responds simply, flicking a stray lock of her hair in the air. She doesn’t ask again. Inspecting her face and the way she grips her own weapon, you realise just how quickly those muscles could tear you apart. And yet, they don’t.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to pick up the damned sword, istik.”

Sighing, you reluctantly stumble to your feet, arms hanging from your bandaged torso. You stand before her, breeches soiled with dirt and blood, bandages corset tight and inhibiting your maximum breath capacity. You heave with the effort it takes to stand and strain to reach the sword below. It’s in your hands, tugging at sinews that scream to your nerves. After you drop it, you glance up at her. She watches you intently, offering no assistance.

“Again.” She commands.

“I-it’s too heavy-” You concede.

“Again.”

You sigh and focus, willing your muscles to push through the pain and eventually, you lift the handle off the ground, the blade scoring the earth below. You grin up at her proudly and you swear, for just a moment, the corner of her lips twitched into the slightest smirk of her own.

The tip of her identical blade points towards you in challenge, her singular, glorious arm outstretched. “Now fight.”

“F-wha-?!”

She charges towards you and attempts a strike, to which you flinch and cower. She stops, inches from your neck. “You have a weapon. Use it.” Peering from behind your bracing hands, you see her making her way back to her starting position. “Again.”

Your eyes widen as her graceful steps seem to dance towards you, beautiful, methodical… Deadly. You struggle with the weight of your weapon, managing to hold it up in time to hear the clank of your connecting metal. She counters with ease, blades screeching as she masterfully choreographs the movement before your eyes. You lose control of it and stumble back as she prepares a new blow. She lunges at you, and hits nothing but the memory of where you used to be.

Looking down at your feet, you almost don’t recognise them as they had worked of their own accord, instinctively dodging her attack. You glance up at her, panting and surprised. She doesn’t praise. She furrows her brow and tries again. Stumbling back, your ass hits the floor, sending a jolt of pain through your aching muscles. Cold, sharp steel grazes your chin and you open your eyes to see the amber fire within hers.

The lines of her blade may as well be the lines of her face, of her body. It isn’t an extension of her. It is her. And you start to think there’s something… Thrilling… About being at her mercy.

“Do not let your guard down. Not even for a moment.” Her fierce glare seeps into your soul. She tilts her head down, allowing strands of her reddened hair to caress her cheeks. She pays them no mind. Her focus is her target. Her focus is you. She lowers her blade and steps back.

“Again.”

------------------------------------------------------

Bruised but somehow not broken, stumbling back to camp never felt so good. Muscles pained but, finally, with purpose.

“What in the hells- Tav?!” Wyll leaps up from his spot around the campfire, rushing towards you to help you stay standing. Looking down at your own legs, inked purple and blue, you wonder how they hold you up, you wonder why you don’t feel it as much as you did before.

Lae’zel, who was following closely behind you, blocks Wyll’s frantic path. Some standing, some sat, all companions turn to face the scene. “Enough coddling. All of you.” She demands, firm and powerfully unyielding.

“Soldier, are you-?!” Karlach moves closer, but is, once again, blocked by Lae’zel’s magnificently crafted form. They stare each other down, neither formidable woman relenting until Karlach flicks her eyes to you, seeking insight.

You nod reassuringly and move to stand beside Lae’zel. “I’m fine, really.”

Your new mentor looks down at you… Approvingly… You think…?

Limping your way to the campfire, you sit beside Shadowheart, whose hand is itching to heal your wounds. But she refrains as you do not ask for aid. You sit there, in pain and loving every sting and pang of it. Astarion finally dares to glance up at you as you close your eyes, lean back on your hands and breathe through your aching. Feeling confident you won’t notice it, his gaze lingers on your neck, the scars he left behind accompanied by new abrasions that are a little too close to them than he’d like. It’s the first time he’s properly seen them since he put them there. They seem to be healing well. He shifts in his seat, unexplainably uncomfortable at the thought of them disappearing into your skin. Your eyes twitch with exhaustion as you begin to pry open. He looks away.

The others take their seats by the fire, occasionally glancing at you with concern. Shadowheart’s seething focus is mainly on Lae’zel though, who is digging into her meal without a care in the world. They lock eyes and you swear you hear a crackle in the air. Gale hasn’t looked up at all. He’s so still… Has he been like this… All day?

“Gale…?” Wyll speaks softly as he sits beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. You watch as Gale slowly lifts his tired head, not daring to look at you.

“Gale?” You give it a try, maybe he’ll speak to you, if you invite him?

“I…” He begins. “Tav… I… I thought… You were…”

“But I wasn’t, was I?” You cut in dismissively, immediately defensive and irritated that he still speaks to you like a gloved hand, handling porcelain.

He sighs and rubs his face before looking up at you. “Tav, you don’t understand, you could have-“

“But I didn’t.”

“I know, but you could have and it would’ve been all my fault and-“

“But I didn’t. Did I?” You state firmly, loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. You look around, locking eyes with everyone individually, even Astarion. “I chose to leave this camp. I chose to take that risk. I merely invited Gale to come with me. What happens to me is on me, and only me.”

“Tav, you were hurt. That’s on all of us.” Chimes in Karlach, who only suffers further heat from your piercing gaze.

“How many times have I cleaned your blood from your clothes, hmm? How many times has Shadowheart casted a healing spell, hmm? You are all injured, all the time. Why is it so different when it’s me?!”

“Because, unlike you, we can handle ourselves!” Shadowheart blurts out, earning a targeted, furious glare from your eyes.

“Well, fuck that!” You stand up abruptly, trying not to wince at the pain. “Look, I’m not a fighter, I know that... But I’m also not stupid. Having me by your side is going to get someone killed eventually.” You make eye contact with Lae’zel and smile proudly, standing up straight. “From now on, I want to train. And anyone who wants to stand in the way of that can go fuck themselves! Does that sound fair to all of you?!” You look around, daring anyone to speak. Lae’zel grins. Astarion’s mouth curls into a smirk, you don’t know why exactly, but you also don’t care. The rest look up at you, speechless. With a defiant huff, you storm off, not interested in what anyone else thinks anymore.

------------------------------------------------------

“Fucking bullshit-Ugh!” You kick your bruised leg into a tree and clutch it as it aches. The pang fuels your roar of anger as your hands turn into fists and your purple knuckles collide with the bark. “Aaargh!”

“Oh, I do hope you’re not pretending that tree is me…”

You turn to the voice with a fury in your eyes that doesn’t lessen, even as you realise who it came from. “Fuck off, Astarion! I’m not in the mood!”

He pauses, a little taken aback, but not by your anger, but by something else. “So you can speak to me, after all…”

“W-what…?” You say, still panting from your punches, hands still clenched into fists.

“Just glad to have finally been acknowledged, is all…” He walks over to you, no, past you, and examines the tree. There’s not much damage aside from smears of blood from your own knuckles. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No I haven’t.” And why not lie? You don’t owe him anything. But then he looks at you with the most ‘seriously?’ of expressions and you sigh in defeat.

“Why?” He asks strangely softly as his gaze flicks back to the reddened bark of the tree. You shrug, avoiding looking at him.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? Hurt you?”

“No… I mean, no more than… Intended…” Your fingertips ghost over his mark on your neck. He swipes his thumb through the blood on the tree and admires the colour against his skin.

“Did you enjoy it?” It’s a simple question, infuriatingly so. But, you haven’t felt anything but anxiety about the whole thing since it happened, so how can you answer him? You want to bite back, avoid the question and forget it ever happened… But you can’t, because, for whatever reason, you know he won’t let you. So, you reluctantly search your memory and open yourself up to whatever feelings you remember.

His cold skin on yours, his fangs in your neck, his breath on your ear, the taste of his spit. You feel it all again. You feel your heart beat faster and the pooling between your legs at the thought. Of course, he never properly touched you… But, you touched him. And you suppose it served it’s purpose-… Okay… You really liked it…

You nod. “Yeah, I did.”

His eyes move to fully focus on you now. “Even though you didn’t…?”

“I still enjoyed it…” You look away.

“You did…” He repeats, in a tone of slight surprise and subtle confusion. But, it’s not a question and you’re not about to give him any more than you have to, so you stay quiet. For a moment, he simply examines you, presumably to glean any further insight into your answer. You feel the weight of his gaze and decide to meet it with your own, determined not to let him in. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat, looking away again.

“Your little tantrum earlier was certainly entertaining...” He states flippantly as the grin you know all too well stretches across his face once again.

You scoff. “It wasn’t a tantrum.”

“Darling, the only thing missing from your dramatic exit was a toddler’s stomp.”

You scowl. “I meant everything I said.”

“I know.” He says quickly, without mockery and with confidence. You open your mouth to retort before you realise he’s being sincere, and nothing comes out. “Tantrum or not, I… Admired you… For what you did back there... You stood up for yourself…” You can tell it was a fight to get the words out and you can’t help but wonder why he’d even go to the trouble.

“Thank you…” You say earnestly. He nods and you mirror his exact expression from before, seeking insight.

“Although, going out there with nothing but Gale to protect you, wasn’t your brightest idea was it, dear?”

“Oh, shut up.” You fold your arms and roll your eyes.

He huffs with amusement, holding his hands up in playful surrender. “What? I’m just saying… If you intend to ‘carpe diem’ once again, maybe pick someone more like-”

“Let me guess, someone like you?”

“Me? Oh gods no, darling. I’m not going to valiantly lug your unconscious body all the way back to camp.” You scoff, slightly offended, but mostly amused. “No, no… Someone like Wyll or Shadowheart… Maybe even Lae’zel, since I see you two have found an understanding…?” He pries.

You nod, smirking. “Yeah, I think I might have made her smile once.”

He gasps melodramatically, clutching his chest before leaning in closer. “Now that is admirable.” He murmurs to you with a grin. A grin that is merely inches away. You observe it for a moment before speaking again.

“Why did you follow me out here?” You ask, still smiling.

“I… Well, I…” He pauses, grin faltering and standing up straight as he thinks on his answer. “I was wondering if I could, um… ” He glances at the wounds on your neck.

“Ah… And you thought now would be the best time, huh?” You gesture to your beaten form.

He looks at you guiltily and you almost believe it, he shakes his head. “Yes, of course, you’re right… You need to, um… Save your strength. Forget I asked...” Taking a step back, he looks around, hands absentmindedly tapping his outer thighs.

You try to recall the last time you fed him and remember that due to your injuries, you had taken a couple of days off from your responsibilities to recover. He hasn’t fed since. At least, not from you. “Is it bad…? The hunger, I mean…”

“It…” He sighs. “It’s been worse before... Much worse… I’ll live.” He glances at your neck again, but this time, not with longing. He reaches out his hand. “May I…?” Intrigued, if not a little wary, you nod. With your permission, he brushes his cool fingers lightly over the puncture marks along your pulse. “Do they hurt?”

You shake your head. “Not anymore. They just, kind of, itch, now…”

At your words, he allows himself to apply more pressure to your skin. His hand gently cups the side of your neck and traces the shape of the wounds with his thumb. After his moment of appreciation, he takes a deep breath and places his palm over them. The ice that is his skin soothes the inflamed marks as you gaze up at him, watching the way his eyebrows twitch as he touches you. He sees your eyes, the way they’re locked onto him, and offers a slight smile. It could mean a thousand things, it could mean nothing, you don’t know, but you do smile back.

It’s almost comical, the situation you’ve found yourself in. One month ago you were staring at that crack in the ceiling, the same one you’d stared at for years. You noticed how it had gotten bigger, how it had stayed with you. How it had been there when the tears in your eyes had blurred it, and when you couldn’t muster any tears at all. How it had been there when you were desperate to feel something, and when you wanted to never be touched again. Now, you haven’t seen a ceiling in weeks, only stars and clouds. You think it’s certainly prettier than that crack. But you do miss it’s company. You miss how it watched your wounds heal, how it was a witness to the new ones being created. Now you have wounds, they sting and they ache, but you hate the idea of covering them. You want the world to be your new crack in the ceiling, to witness your pain and your revelry in the fact that it did not break you.

Even the ones that Astarion put there, you see no sense in covering them. Unlike many of the others in your life, you feel no shame in wearing them. Because these were your doing, your choice to make. You cherish the proof of that moment. The moment that you shared something, that it wasn’t taken from you.

“Thank you…” It slips out before you can stop it. His brows cock in confusion, shouldn’t he be thanking you?

“Wh-”

“No, don’t… Don’t ask why… Just… Thank you…” You cut him off, he narrows his eyes at you in inspection. But, then he takes a deep breath and nods, utterly perplexed, but respecting your wishes nonetheless. You can’t help but huff in amusement at his bewilderment.

He rubs his thumb against your neck, his fangs protrude ever so slightly over his bottom lip as it stretches into a smile. You acknowledge them, but what really grabs your attention are the others. The blunt, ‘normal’ looking ones. They’re perfectly aligned into perfect rows. Perfect pearly whites. A contrast to your off-kilter, off-colour bite. Must be those high-elven genes, you suppose… You watch them as they gently press into his lower lip. Then, your eyes flick up to see that you’re not alone. He, too, is watching your parted lips as they slowly relax from your earlier smile.

“You know, if you want to kiss me again, you only have to ask…” He says, not breaking his concentration.

“Oh-er, no I wasn’t-” You say, caught off guard and uncharacteristically flustered.

“Oh, you weren’t?” He steps closer, grinning.

“No, I was just-”

“Staring at my lips for a strangely long amount of time?”

…

Shit…

“Look, it wasn’t like that…”

“Oh, of course it wasn’t, my dear… My mistake…” He places his hand on his chest in a feigned apologetic act. You sigh and look up at him with a firm, almost scolding look, to which he only grins at. “Would it help to know that I haven’t been able to get the idea out of my head, since the last time?” 

Okay, that stops you in your tracks. You go to retort whatever tease he was planning next, but yet again, he has rendered you speechless. He chuckles softly, stepping closer again. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, darling. We shared a wonderful little moment together… I only want to show you what you missed out on… What I can really do…”

“Missed out on…? What?” You question, genuinely confused, you know you didn’t leave that tent wanting.

“Well, I just don’t feel that you got to experience my…” He takes a deep breath. “Full portfolio of talents…” His eyes glance back down to your lips. “I’d quite like to show them to you, if you’re willing?”

Only in that moment do you realise just how long the air has been trapped inside your lungs, but you can’t bear the thought of breathing it out, because you know just how shaky it will sound. Instead you swallow, eyes locked on his. But his eyes wander, they wander all over your face, taking in every detail of your deliciously stunned expression. He can’t get enough of this, reducing you to little, if any, words. It’s certainly a rarity. And he adores it.

That… ‘Moment’… Was a moment of desperation. One you hadn’t thought to repeat. Certainly not whilst comfortably present in your body. But, you can’t deny the building heat in your core at the thought. The thought of potentially going even further with him than before. But you also can’t deny the pressure in your chest, the kind that makes you feel naked, and not in a good way…

“I…”

He hears your hesitation and removes his hand from your neck, you almost lean into it, not wanting his touch to end, but you stop yourself. He observes you, your body, black, red and blue. “If it’s pain you’re worried about, I can help with that…” He steps closer. “You won’t have to move. A. Muscle…”

Panic? Lean in? Step back. “I don’t know, I need to think about it…” You hate how uncertain you sound. He doesn’t.

“Hmm… Alright, don’t answer now.” He pauses to think for a moment. “Tonight, I’ll stay up in my tent. Once you’ve realised that resisting my charms is futile, come and find me.”

You take a deep breath. “And if I don’t?”

“Darling, I never refuse an opportunity to enjoy a candlelit book and a cup of wine.” That earns a slight smile from you. “And… I’ll gracefully assume that our last… ‘Encounter’… Was just a blip, a momentary lapse in judgement.” His playful grin falters a little. “We can… Forget it ever happened…”

After a moment of contemplation, you nod in understanding. A new variant of pain hits your chest at the thought of him backing off completely, different from everything else you’ve suffered today. And honestly, you’d rather feel the hilt of a sword in your stomach than whatever this is, right now… You need space to mull this over logically, not emotionally.

“Alright… I’ll… Yeah, okay…”

He grins. “Good…” He takes a moment to appreciate your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes struggle to meet his, before stepping back. He looks towards the dim orange light from your campfire, peeking through the trees. “Well, if I don’t see you… Goodnight, darling…”

You nod. “Yeah… Goodnight…”

He glances back at you and smiles before turning on his heel and sauntering off towards camp. You watch his every step and he knows it, purposefully slowing his steps.

He’s gone.

You are alone.

And you have a choice.

…

Shit…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— HEARTBEATS AND FLATLINES

SUMMARY : dean was so focused on you he’d blocked everything that was going on in the background of his life as it were white noise. he didn’t realise how much that put you in danger until you went out of your date.

PAIRING : vampire!dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : Clayton (OMC) 

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), baker!dean, kidnapping, stalking (it’s only hot if dean does it), angst, unhealthy obsession, yandere!Dean, possessiveness, soft Dean, nerdy/dorky Dean returns, reader isn’t perfect, vague chronic illness, affection, obliviousness, violence, gore?, drugging, and more to come

WORD COUNT : 6.8k

A/N : this will soon fill the square for stockholm syndrome on my @jacklesversebingo card. lmao, it’s like venom/eddie with anne when she got engaged. I listened to MCR's bullets album for the maximum vampire vibes xx

Dean was restless on the days leading up to your date with Clayton. 

He tried not to make it too obvious, his deep disappointment and displeasure with your choice. Well, to him it felt more like heartbreak, an emotion more painful than any of those words could convey. 

He didn’t ever want to avoid you. He didn’t want to push you away by saying something rude about Clayton or doing something that would end up hurting you. He wanted to be near you, always. So he planned ways to avoid the topic instead, but you were entirely indifferent about Clayton and your date with him. He had no idea if you really actually liked the guy, or if you were nervous, or if you thought of him often. 

Dean couldn’t pick up anything from you. Maybe your cheeks heated up a little and your heart raced if you spoke of him, sometimes. But it was almost instantly gone after a few moments, like you just needed to find a baseline. It was not the way a regular person would behave if they ever were attracted to someone in any way. 

He was still a little rattled. Because you hadn’t changed. You still became flustered if he was kind to you. You always spoke to him, spent most of your time with him. It was why he got whiplash from the news of your date. 

Wouldn’t you, now that you considered him a friend, tell him all about Clayton? What would be your reason not to? Why didn’t you gush about the man any chance you had? Why wouldn’t you bring Clayton to the bakery when you came by? Why wasn’t your social media flooded with a few or many posts about him? Why wasn’t it obvious or at least detectable that you liked Clayton?

“Can you believe it?” It was the old guy, Nico, talking to his son Anthony. “Your aunt’s house costs $320 000, I can tell you it’s not what it cost when she bought it.” 

Dean slowly tugged his consciousness out of his reeling head. He focused on the sweet chocolate batter he was whisking at angrily and relaxed his wrist to slowly stop. 

“Do you think he’d be into a single mom? Look at him, he’s so pretty and young.” That was Tamara Stewart. You didn’t like her. So, the answer was no. He was petty like that. 

He picked up the crinkly bag of chocolate chips and dumped a handful into the batter. He tried to distract himself from his devouring thoughts by eavesdropping in on the dozens of conversations his customers were having.

“But Jon sucks, we’re playing ranked and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” 

Dean gently mixed the chocolate chips with the batter, getting lost in their conversations until he’d flattened the top of the batter and scraped the surrounding area of chocolate until the bowl was clean at the top. 

“Nine murders already, Frank.”

Dean froze and looked up, watching brown eyes sweep over a bright phone screen. He could hear both heart rates rising in fear, their bodies tense as they shared the news. 

“What’s the police doing about it?” 

George continued to scroll through his phone, his brows pressed together in stress and said: “No idea, doesn’t say much.” 

Dean quickly took the glass mixing bowl to quickly pour the batter into the prepared muffin pan. His ears found their point of interest, the conversation between Frank and George. Still, Dean pretended to deeply concentrate on baking and walked to the back to shove the pan inside the oven and remove the croissants and sweet scones he’d made.

“I swear, this is fucking weird.” Frank rubbed his forehead anxiously. “They said it themselves on the first three murders, there wasn’t any blood at the scene. What the hell kind of animal does that? Sounds like a person to me. Probably dumped the body there, killed it somewhere else.” 

Oh, Frank. You don’t know the half of it. 

The following day, Dean was feeling unpleasantly wound up. 

He was hurt over your date with Clayton. 

And now, he was concerned for your safety as the day of your date came closer. You lived all alone in the woods. And there were vampires in town murdering people carelessly, as if they had no fear of getting caught. A beautiful and lovely woman was what you were to him, but to them, you were just a meal.

It didn’t just put you in danger. It put him in danger. Those vamps could easily move on, but a hunter could still follow. What hunter came by could find him, think the worst with the pile of incriminating evidence, and kill him. Or worse, Dean would have to kill the hunter out of self-preservation. 

He moved the murders to the top of his list of priorities because it still was all about you. Keeping you safe was all he could think of. It was like working a case again. Except it was easier because he was local, people knew him, trusted him, and liked him. What was harder was doing it alone, no Sam, no Cas. 

As always, Dean could count on flirting to get information out of police and detectives. A smile here and touch there proved that he still had it. Except this time, there wasn’t much he was interested in receiving because his entire body belonged to you. 

But at least he got a few photos of their files with his phone. It was easy enough to narrow down which monster was doing the killings. Vampires hardly ever changed their habits. But these vamps weren’t sloppy. They fed somewhere else and dumped the bodies randomly in the forest. They probably had different vamps from the nest dispose of the bodies so the locations were skewed and appeared random, but always deep in the forests. 

The victims were random. Three were dressed in running clothes, two wore work clothes, but the other four were dressed casually—killed on a day off or while they were out for fun. There was nothing they had in common, they probably bumped into the vamps, wrong-place-wrong-time type of deal. 

Their clothes were dirty, bloodied, tattered. They had bruises and cuts, but nothing that pointed to something that had human form. And to hide the vampire bite, the necks of the victims were completely torn by teeth. It was lazy work from the police, in Dean’s opinion, to blame mountain lions. Anyone with a brain would wonder how those people ended up in the forest to be attacked in the first place. 

Still, Dean had to find them and put an end to their nest. He wouldn’t stop you from going on your date, even though he’d previously planned on messing with your car so you wouldn’t get there… He hoped you’d be safer with… Clayton, and hoped that whenever he took you, you wouldn’t be left alone to end up as prey to the vampires.

All he had to do now was find the exact location of the nest and put an end to the vampires’ murder spree. 

SATURDAY — morning

You seemed a little more nervous than you were any other day when you entered his bakery. 

You asked him for some tea with honey, and he’d gladly obliged with a nice cup of chamomile tea that warmed your entire body in seconds. 

Dean, despite wanting nothing to do with what will happen on your date, wanted to comfort you. He sat down next to you, something he hardly did, and wrapped his cold hand around yours. You seemed a little surprised by his proximity, but you didn’t appear displeased. Instead, you turned your body towards him and smiled contently.

“I’m not exactly an expert in love, but shouldn’t you be… you know… a little more excited?” He asked, feeling elated that you placed your warm hand above his despite the way his touch made you shiver. You looked into his eyes curiously, tenderly brushing fingertips across his knuckles as you pondered his question with a fiery heat across your cheeks. 

“I sort of am,” you replied measuredly. He was glad he couldn’t physically cry because he would have been sobbing pathetically as a strange little ache settled in his chest. “I’m just trying to take it slow.” You tapped your shoe against his thoughtfully and he turned to touch his leg with yours, a harrowing need to be close to you overpowering any respect for your personal space. 

You instantly snapped out of your train of thought when he did, but your body completely decompressed as your eyes moved up to his face. He felt like you were seeing too much of him. 

“Slow?” He chuckled incredulously. His tone made you smile, but your brow raised, inquiring about his humour. “I think you might be takin’ it :0so slow you’re leaving your emotions behind a little. Most people would’ve been talking about their partner-to-be any chance they got.” The more he spoke, the hotter your face got. At least you finally looked away, appearing somewhat guilty. He slowly pulled his hand away from yours as your heat turned his want into need. “I guess I’m just wondering why you’re so nervous. You… like… the guy, you shouldn’t be this nervous,” he muttered.

He was glad you didn’t think much about the discontented tone of his voice, but you thought again for a few minutes after considering his words. “I’m… always watching people. I don’t need stuff to happen to me to learn something about life. For one, I’ve seen people falling hard and fast for someone... then it all falls apart, they're stupefied by the other person…” You breathed and ended your ramble. “Basically, I’m just trying to be smart and rational, so that I don’t end up in a bad situation.”

Dean blinked at you. 

Suddenly, everything that you were seemed to make sense. It dawned on him that you weren’t trying to be mysterious at all. You were just… calculating, and you applied that same logic to everything in your life. You always took long pauses to think before you spoke, you reacted slowly to his advances to contemplate him and then you made your move—depending on what you thought was appropriate, like a game. You were quiet because you were always observing others, learning from them, and then applying what you learned—to be accepted. You kept people at a distance out of fear and he knew more about that than anyone. 

“I don’t think there’s anything rational about love.” He knew that better than anyone, too. Why was he standing so close to you now? Knowing you could feel his unusually heatless body. Why did he stick around knowing he’d stolen your things and photographed items in your home? Why when you could easily find out that he was stalking you? That he’d broken into your home. That he longed for you and stayed by your side even though you didn’t and probably never would.

“That’s exactly why I’m trying to control it as much as I can. To have something seize me that way, to make me feel like I’m losing control of myself. I don’t think I can handle that kind of thing-”

“So that’s what it’s about? Staying in control?” He wanted to laugh. You and him were more alike than he thought. Not only did he have to restrain himself with his hunger for blood, but he had to wrest his desire to keep you all to himself. 

“Well, I think I’ve been through enough that it makes sense for me to be… controlling,” you argued indignantly. Your pout made him laugh, and his laugh made you smile. Then, you sobered. “I had no control over a lot of things in my childhood, even as I grew older. Even my illness dictated how I lived my life. There’s a lot of things. Abusive friends. My father. I was powerless most of my life. So yeah, I… I guess I’m just afraid to feel that way again. And love, romance, that’s even worse.”

Dean wondered with hope if you were trying to control yourself around him; if your date with Clayton was your way of controlling the way you really felt; if you felt so afraid about how strongly you might want or even need him, and forewished that it might be as much as he needed you. 

Dean reached out to grab your chin and made you look up at him again. You bit your lip and lifted your eyes from his shoulder to look at the greenness of his. He could already sense the blood rising to your face and your hand gently wrapped around his wrist, but you didn’t push him away. 

“When you find the right person, you won’t be afraid to lose yourself. Trust me.” Dean’s stomach somersaulted when your eyes dropped down to his lips and you licked your own. You pushed his hand away to wrap your arms around his neck, and he welcomed your first embrace. He could feel your warm breath by his ear, feel the heat of your body like the surface of the sun kissing his own when he circled his arms around your waist, and your heart thudded heavily, echoing against his empty chest.

SATURDAY — evening

The sun had set, swallowed by the horizon, pushed back by dark-blueness, leaving the moon behind in tall green trees. 

Damp dirt crunched beneath his once-retired boots. The scent of wet earth and rotten wood from the abandoned house the nest was vacating filled him with painful, nostalgic memories. He could smell human blood and salty sweat, he could hear quiet whimpers and panicked breathing. New victims. He focused on that instead.

He knew that facing the nest after the sun had set meant they were all going to be more awake. He could’ve missed work to do it during the day, but then it meant he wouldn’t have seen you. And he would not have been able to be so close to you, to fill his lungs with the delectable scent of everything that was you, to feel the sunniness of your body pressed against yours when you held him in your arms. 

He’d cherish that forever, if it was all you could give him. You wouldn’t ever know, but if you never chose him, he’d hide in the shadows of your life and do absolutely anything for you. Always.

Dean’s fingers twitched at the back door he was about to enter. Was he really just going to burst in there without getting a proper look inside? He cautiously made his way around the house to catch glimpses of the inside of the dark and ruined house. 

He counted the vampires downstairs, four women, two men, and the victims, two men. He couldn’t sense much from the second floor of the house, but he had to make do and act before they could kill the men. Dean could hear one of them, his weakened heartbeat, shallow breaths, not much energy left. The other must have been freshly caught… what a morbid way of putting it. 

He internally hyped himself up, swung his machete in his hand—like riding a bike. Hopefully. The sharpened edge of the machete was coated in a sticky layer of dead man’s blood, which intoxicated him slightly, but it had to be done. 

Now, he entered. 

He was greeted with hisses and bared fangs, and was thrown into decrepit walls and shoddy furniture. He was punched and clawed at, tackled and dragged across sodden and grimey floorboards. He was even bitten pointlessly by them. His skin healed and he stood back up and slashed his way through the modest, abandoned building. His freckled face, grey t-shirt, and old blue flannel spattered with blood. His jeans were covered in mud, old rain, and spilled vampire blood. 

His body thrummed and he felt alive. All those sensations against his skin were magnified and spectacular. He felt almost as alive as you made him feel. Saving people. Hunting things. It was like revisiting an old friend and going over fond memories. The family business, emphasis on the family. 

He’d tried so hard to get out. He did get out. But going back in was like relapsing, going back to a habit that he had always known was bad for him, deep down. 

Finished with the vampires downstairs, Dean hastily untied the men and ordered the more-lucid one to run and not stop until he was safe with the much weaker man. The man, Blue Shirt, had no idea what to think, didn’t argue and struggled to speed up as he carried Yellow Shirt out of the hell hole they had almost died in. 

Dean jogged upstairs and stopped at the woman who smirked at him. As if they knew each other, as if she had been expecting him. Uh-oh? Then two other vampires appeared behind her, bigger than the ones he’d killed downstairs, retracting their fangs with menace. 

“You don’t think we’d all just be waiting here… did you, Dean?” 

“What?” He voiced his bewildered thoughts. 

She took the opportunity to knock the machete out of his hand, as he assessed the two other vampires and attempted to absorb her words. She grabbed him by his neck to smile sweetly, only to smash his face into the window, and effortlessly threw him to—Yogi and Boo Boo. Dean smirked at them as they held him up, because the other guy was short, Boo Boo. That really eased the dull pain in his face. 

Now, he faced her again and she traced his jawline with her cold fingers. At that moment, as he sized her up, he decided she looked like Selene from Underworld. 

“The rest of the nest is out watching that pretty lady you’re obsessed with…” Dean’s face fell, enough to amuse Selene far more than she already was. “What’s her name…? Whatever, good… taste…” She smirked and leaned into Dean, enough for him to feel the dull air of her breath. 

“No,” he grunted, struggling against Yogi and Boo Boo as thoughts of you filled his mind. Thoughts of you going up against horrifying monsters you were not aware of and that you were not prepared to face. Why you? Why would they do that to you? 

“Yes, she’ll probably be as sweet as all that food you feed her.” Selene moved away to look out the shattered window, thoughtfully. “Does she smell good? God, I wouldn’t be able to stand as close to her as you love to be. I’d eat her right up, feel her body go limp as I swallow her warm blood… yummy.” 

Yogi and Boo Boo laughed cruelly, the grins on their faces that Dean peeked at showed their agreement with her words. 

“Shut up,” Dean growled. “Why are you going after her? What do you want with her?” It didn’t make sense for them to go after you. You were everything to him, but to them, you were nobody. Just a human. Unless it was about him. God, why did he have to piss so many monsters off?

Instead of responding to his question, she changed the subject and asked: “Alia saw you hunt coyotes and bobcats? What’s that like?”

Dean did not want to waste time talking about his diet if your life was in danger. It was a rash move to lunge at her, but his mouth connected with her neck and his fangs retracted on instinct, piercing hard flesh and disgusting blood that he sucked until she fell. 

He struggled against Yogi and Boo Boo’s grip, and was eventually torn off of her by them. Not without taking a chunk of her neck, which he spit out along with the blood he’d sucked from her already-dead body. He fought harder this time, for you and managed to get Yogi tangled up in Boo Boo when he shoved them into each other to swipe his machete from the floor as Selene recovered. 

He was grabbed roughly by Yogi or Boo Boo when they’d scrambled back up, but he kept his grip on the machete as he hit the wall one of them had pushed him into. He groaned as he turned, swung the machete, and Yogi’s head thumped loudly on the ground, a spray of his blood covered Dean, Boo Boo, and the wall. 

Selene kicked the back of his knee so he fell to the floor with a loud crack, and he was kneed in the face by fucking Boo Boo, then tackled into him by Selene. God, will it end?

Dean scrambled to get back up and removed her from his body by slamming himself with her on her back into the wall. Her breath rushed out as her body hit the wall painfully loud. Dean had barely managed to stand up straight when Boo Boo began to charge at him. Dean used Boo Boo’s brute strength to knock him into Selene before she could get up properly. 

Dean picked up his weapon again and drove the sharp edge across the back of Boo Boo’s head so he could see his brain slice through the middle with the partially diagonal slice from his machete. Dean kicked part of Boo Boo’s head away as Selene shoved his body off her. She stayed down and sighed defeatedly while glaring up at Dean. 

"It has come to this, the hunted, becoming the hunters to the hunted."(1) Dean quoted smugly, swinging the machete in his hand smoothly. 

“What?” She spat, wiping Boo Boo’s blood from her face. 

“Seriously? All this time on your hands and you don’t pick up a fucking vampire movie?” Dean rolled his eyes at her unwavering glare and sighed, squeezing his fist around the handle of the machete. “Can’t say this was nice, but, uh—it kinda was, actually. Huh.”  

Dean wiped his face with his flannel as he tore through the road on his way to you. Thank fuck you’d let him know where you’d have your date, even though his intentions weren’t exactly pure. If he hadn’t had to go after the nest, he probably would have sat nearby to hear everything you had to say. Maybe he’d even planned to interrupt your date and stir up some jealousy and.. but perhaps it was good the universe prevented that from happening. 

The only problem was that you were in danger. He had no idea what he would say to you once he stood before you at that restaurant-brewery where they made your favourite burgers. What could he say without sounding batshit crazy? Without frightening you to the point of making you want to be far away from him—forever?

That didn’t matter. If you didn’t listen, he'd have to force you, for once, into listening to him so you wouldn’t be in danger. So you wouldn’t die. You were human. You were all he had and even though your life was fleeting, he wanted to make sure you got to live a fulfilling life. With or without him. That’s all that mattered. He’d risk it all for you, in this life or death moment.

Finally, he realised he was close to the bar and parked nearby, in the darkened back alley where there was a woman smoking at the first door, a cat with its head buried in a bucket of popcorn at the garbage, and a homeless man covered in ragged blankets near the end of the alley. 

Dean didn’t bother with looking around for much longer. The vampires wouldn’t be going in after him, unless they were stupid. He just needed to go in and get you out, by his side where you were safer. With someone who could protect you against the horrors of the night. And not Clayton, the kind, safe, and boring mechanic that everyone knew and trusted because he wouldn’t charge extra, or lie, or… who was Dean kidding? Clayton was perfect for you. 

Dean broke the door’s handle and pushed his way through people and the cooks, and the man cleaning. He was glared at, but ignored for the most part as he made his way to the front. As per usual, Dean could find you without looking. He could sense you, the way your heart would beat, the brush of your hands across your skin, and the delicious taste of your body. You stood out like the sun in the sky. 

He found you in a beautiful deep red blouse that made you the centre of the entire bar. Without even intending on it. You were so delicate and beautiful, he had to save you. He couldn’t imagine the large cavity the lack of your existence would create, he always wanted to breathe your air and feel your heat and hear your sweet voice. Even if you didn’t belong to him. 

But soon, it was all smothered by Clayton. Dean could smell the remnants of engine fuel and cologne. Clayton with his blond hair and blue eyes and… ugh. It could be Dean beside you. 

It was as if you could feel him. You shivered and your eyes drifted away from Clayton as he spoke enthusiastically about his nephew. Your soft eyes met Dean’s and you looked surprised, then happy, and finally concerned in an instant. Had Dean not experienced time the way he did, he would not have noticed the rapid change in your expression. 

You sat up straight and Clayton finally shut up to look where you were looking. Dean forced his legs to keep moving, fighting against the tar that was created by his endless amazement at your perfect existence. He’d fight gravity to get closer to you, defying every law to protect you, like the Moon and the Earth. He was meant to be next to you. 

“Dean? Wha-what are you… doing here? Wh-what happened? You’re covered in… blood…” You stepped around the table as you questioned him, with a clean napkin clenched in your fretful fingers to find the source of the blood. You wiped away uselessly, before realising it wasn’t his. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t explain right now, but you’re in danger,” he whispered, wrapping his hand around your arm. He pulled you closer and you allowed him to as he scanned the room for any one suspicious or… undead. There was no one. 

“What are you talking about?” You touched his bicep, his eyes moved back to yours, and his face softened. Your touch felt like warm life being poured back into the empty vessel that was his body. 

“I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault,” he whispered. The unease and fear that shone through your eyes made his stomach clench.

“How? Dean, talk to me,” you attempted to regain his attention by tugging on the hem of his shirt—where he was clean of blood. Instead of replying to you, Dean pulled you closer and began dragging you to where he had entered.

“I just need to get you somewhere safe,” he explained, dragging your willing body into the back of the brewery and out into the alley. 

He heard you call his name multiple times, your hard-to-answer questions, and the apprehension in your tone. He slowed down only because he didn’t want to hurt your arm or cause you to trip and fall. Soon you fell into step with him and stopped bombarding him with questions as you looked around tensely. 

“Hey! What are you doing?” Clayton called after you and Dean, he had your jacket and purse. Dean noticed and you stopped moving, and then you stepped away from Dean. He knew you were considering returning to Clayton as he walked closer, but you stopped a foot away from Dean.

Clayton’s blue eyes, like a clear sky free of pollution, were filled with trepidation. He eyed Dean suspiciously and looked over to you. You were completely relaxed despite the terrifying, bloody state Dean was in and you were standing awfully close, trusting him despite the disorientation. 

“What’s going on here?” Clayton asked, but still returned your items to you. You couldn’t answer because you didn’t know how to. All Dean knew was that you hadn’t shoved him off you because of the urgency in his words, the stress knotting up his muscles, and the pleas in his Spring eyes. Why? Why would you just follow him anywhere without hesitation?

“Clayton, stay inside, this… is between me and her,” Dean warned, taking your hand rather than your arm. He could see the impala about a metre away. You didn’t smile when you turned to Clayton, you were still perplexed by Dean’s pressing behaviour, his determination in getting you out, and his insistence left no room for debate. 

Clayton appeared baffled and disappointed. He didn’t say anything, but Dean knew the judgement in his eyes as they stared at each other, the audacity is what his blue eyes were telling him. 

You squeezed Dean’s hand unintentionally. You didn’t know how to explain yourself to Clayton, but Dean saw the apology in the melted sugar of your eyes, and the deep frown of your oil-tinted lips spoke volumes. Your face told too much. Dean loved you. 

“It’s fine! I’ll… I’m sorry, I’ll call you later,” you promised, moving forward to squeeze Clayton’s arm which was covered by a white long sleeve. 

Watching it, while holding your hand, felt like he’d been thrown into a wall all over again. Breath knocked out, fury and jealousy boiled over him like lava. Dean tugged you away, but you didn’t complain. And you obviously didn’t notice what Dean had, Clayton’s gentleman-ly hand almost lifting to caress your cheek or move away that perfect strand of hair that curled perfectly around your face. 

“Are you sure?” He asked, moving his own long and blond hair away from his face as a biting breeze rolled over him. He ignored Dean completely. 

Part of Dean’s brain thought back to Sam, reminded of that kindness and the goodness in his brother shining through Clayton’s face. It didn't make Dean want to whine and throw you over his shoulder any less. He’d do it to get you out, but you would not approve of that. That’s the only reason he didn’t do it.

Maybe you nodded to Clayton, he wasn’t sure because he was examining a group walking towards you. His urgency returned when the five people approached the three of you and Dean sensed the lack of heat and sound from their bodies. Dean spoke lowly to you: “please, we gotta go now, sweetheart.” 

“Okay, Dean,” you conceded, but your tone sounded an awful lot like you believed he was having a mental breakdown, and you were just playing along until you got him some proper help. 

Dean stepped backwards with your hand in his and muttered a curse under his breath. He wished Clayton had just left you alone, but Dean knew it was too late to get you away.

Clayton glanced back at the group coming closer and started to say: “I’ll be-”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Dean Winchester and his prize pet. You weren’t going to leave without introducing us, were you?” The only woman of the group sneered. Was this Alia? Dean forced you behind him. He felt your hands gripping the back of his shirt and your face’s heat beside his bicep when you attempted to peek over his body. 

Clayton saw the way Dean gazed alarmingly at the woman and her group, and stumbled away to stand beside Dean. Dean could hear the rise in his heartbeat and feel the anxious heat that radiated from him. Those vampires could definitely smell the fear on him. 

“Pet?” You murmured to yourself with a pout.

“What do you want?” Dean’s go-to was to find humour in any situation like this one, but he couldn’t focus on distracting the group of vampires since your heartbeat began to rise and your hand clenched his shirt tighter. 

“Straight to the point then, yeah?” She asked, chuckling and eyeing you behind him, then looked at Clayton with indifference. “You killed a lot of people, Dean—” He felt your grip loosen up on his shirt and your breath puffed against his arm. “—You didn’t think we’d just forget about all of it and let you get away with it, did you?” 

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Dean asserted. He scoffed, his lip twitched into a smirk on instinct and she glared at him. “I don’t even know you.”

“Of course not,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “Remember Boris? We were part of his nest. Robert recruited us. You killed him, too, remember?” Dean held her gaze. Why would he feel guilty about killing vampires? “Because of you, we almost couldn’t survive. After you left, more hunters came. Those of us who made it out, those of us who survived you, they were hunted and killed. And then we had to learn to survive on our own.” She stepped closer and Dean backed up into you, your warm hands pressed into his back. “It was hard… I created my own family. And here we are. Here you are.”

She looked at you, peeked over his body where you were hiding. Alia—Dean was pretty sure she who Selene was talking about—seemed to consider her next move before speaking. “You killed them, didn’t you? Did you really think you could just move on with your life like nothing ever happened? And come here to continue killing?” Dean narrowed his eyes at her and her deep brown eyes glared at him, a smirk grew on her red lips. 

Dean needed to get back to the impala, to get the dead man’s blood, to pick up a weapon he could use to fight them off. You’d also be safe inside the Impala. He’d even tell you to go far away, to keep yourself alive until he could find you again. 

Clayton moved beside Dean, looking up into his blood smeared face, slightly shaken. “Is it true? Are you the one killing these people?”

“What?” Dean snapped out of his head, looking at Clayton. You whispered Dean’s name, as a question. “The police said they were animal attacks.” Dean didn’t care about what Clayton thought, but what you thought about him definitely mattered. He also knew it didn’t look very good for him to be covered in blood.

“Okay, then who’s blood are you covered in?” Your voice shook as you asked. Dean sneaked a glance at Alia and her friends. The cruel sneer on her face made it clear to him that she’d intended on pinning the deaths on him—she wanted you to think that. 

He couldn’t explain himself to you. Vampires. Monsters. Why would you believe any of that? You’d just think he’s batshit crazy. You’d be afraid of him. 

“You need to get in my car and stay inside,” he ordered, turning you with his hands firmly on your shoulder. Your mouth opened, ready to argue, and your wide eyes searched his face with hope and fear. Two of the most painful things he’d ever seen piercing the dead heart he thought could feel nothing. 

“Don’t touch her,” Clayton warned, pressing his hand into Dean’s shoulder. Dean growled and shoved him away. 

“Dean! Stop!” You shouted, watching helplessly as Clayton stumbled to the ground. Alia laughed carelessly. “Dean, what the hell is going on?” You asked, ignoring everything that was going on around you to gaze into Dean’s eyes. Your firm tone shook Dean, you usually spoke to him so gently and bashfully. 

“Tell her, Dean,” Alia was suddenly closer, “tell her what you are.” 

“No,” Dean barked at Alia and pulled out the knife he had in his jeans dipped in dead man’s blood and plunged it into her chest while she was busy gloating. You gasped and covered your mouth, stumbling away from Dean and the group of men that suddenly began advancing with menacing snarls.

Alia pulled the knife out of her chest with a scoff and a glare in Dean’s direction. “Dead man’s blood,” she spat.

“Leave her out of this, she doesn’t know anything,” Dean pleaded uselessly. Still, he placed himself in front of you, hoping to get closer to the impala now that his only weapon was in Alia’s hands. 

“You have nothing left, Dean. You’re all alone. Killing her is the only way I can really deal damage to you.” She lunged forward and slashed the knife across his stomach before he could dodge it properly. Maybe he was a little rusty. 

“Dean!” You cried, instantly moving to his side to touch the sliced skin of his abdomen, but it was healing instantly. He turned to you as he hissed and you backed away from him, thrown by the way he snarled at Alia with his fangs bared. 

Alia turned weak and fell to her knees. The five men around her hesitated, looking from Alia to Dean. But Dean didn't have the luxury to demur, so he turned around and grabbed you to push you towards the Impala. 

He didn’t care anymore. You’d seen Alia survive a stab to the heart. You saw his wound heal. You saw his… teeth. His monstrous face. And you were too shocked to move. You just blinked and stared at Dean as he unlocked the Impala to inhumanly retrieve his machete from the passenger seat. 

“Leave him, Ray, it’s her he cares about,” Alia rasped weakly. Dean turned to see the youngest of the group ready to lunge as Clayton stood, trying to wipe blood away from his palms. 

Dean turned back to you and gave you a small shake. You blinked at him and tensed when you focused on him. “Get. In.” He demanded, placing the keys in your palm. 

It actually turned out better than he thought. 

Sure, his clothes were torn up from bites and the knife they were attempting to use between the five of them, but Dean knew he could take the five of them. He could’ve done it as a human. He could definitely do it as a vampire. 

He was covered in more blood than before. His hair was sticky with it and so was his skin, spattered and smeared all over his face. 

Disposing of five bodies was harder to do than he was used to. Usually, he’d have killed them out in those creepy lairs miles away from people where he could burn them to ash. He had Sam to help. This time, he’d have to leave them in garbage bags, in the large roll off containers from the restaurant. People turned the other way when they saw them fighting, probably assuming it was a regular old, drunken fist fight. 

He’d go back for the bodies once he got you and Clayton out of there. At some point, one of the vampires knocked him out cold. So Clayton was asleep in the backseat and you were still shaking in the passenger seat, staring dead ahead. 

This was so not how he pictured things going with you. Now, you were traumatised. You were probably scared of him, even if he’d saved you. He couldn’t blame you. He was a vampire and you’d just witnessed him easily slaughter five people. Only someone with experience in killing could manage winning a fight when they were outnumbered. 

After dropping Clayton unceremoniously into his couch, Dean ran back to the Impala and drove you to his place. He was surprised you’d allowed him to carry you all the way into his living room. And that you didn’t complain about him taking you to his home instead of yours. 

He hung your jacket and purse on the hooks beside the door and worriedly sat on his knees in front of you. He whispered your name and you lifted your eyes to his. You bit your lip. “Are you afraid of me?” 

You shook your head, and murmured, “I’m just… confused and… I don’t know…” 

“I’m here… do you wanna get cleaned up?” Dean took your hands cautiously, brushing his thumbs over your soft skin, over your knuckles. You shook your head, ‘no’. “Want to sleep?” You shook your head again, more vehemently. He smiled softly, a touch of sadness pooling in his stomach. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you or do for you?” 

“Dean,” your voice was a little hoarse. He hummed softly. “What the hell… just happened? I mean… how… wh- I can’t believe that…” You trailed off, falling back into the couch exhaustedly, and stared up at the ceiling as you attempted to wrap your head around what occurred. 

“I’m gonna make you some tea so you can calm down, and then we can talk.” Dean released your hands as he moved away from you. Your soft voice calling his name stopped him before he could turn away from you. 

“Will you tell me the truth?”

“Always.”

(1) Underworld: Endless War

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[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Six

Pairings: Poly 141 x female reader / female reader x her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Hint of future darker content?, Kidnapping, mention of miscarriage, possessive & obsessed Austrian man, the affair partner comes in, domestic abuse mentioned, controlling behaviour mentioned, many other possible topics you may or may not find disturbing. Reader discrestion is advised.

Words: 2574

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary:

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

A month into your kidnapping, you were never in the main house for longer than a maximum of three days of the week. König wouldn’t risk the task force finding you so quickly, he finally managed to get you back Mäuschen. Don’t you understand? He wanted to keep you for a little longer. How much longer you ask? Why do you need to know Mäuschen? You don’t have a choice in the matter.

Sit there, look pretty for him. Don’t you fucking move a muscle as a painter etches your new look into an oil painting. Into another canvas he would later neglect much like anything your relationship fostered between the two of you. You were too tired to protest or argue with him. The jet lag getting to you faster than a snail escaping a squirrel.

König’s cooing in your ear didn’t help the matter any more if you weren’t tired and fighting the urge to punch him in the face. He seemed too keen on making sure you had this child in his presence inside of his home.

You felt peaceful at home in Alaska.

Austria keeps you on tenterhooks.

Here screamed danger. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Nothing good for you.

That's a diet level not to recommend; a morgue visit seems more apt.

The cottage's redeeming feature is the panoramic countryside view from every angle.

Things kept inside of it? They were a little too perfect, perfected and placed in a ‘aesthetically’ pleasing view. If someone wasn’t paying too close attention to it. Someone with a keen eye would point out it was purposefully styled this way to get you to stay longer.

From Monday to Thursday, you focused on crafting an escape plan while in a different Austrian region. Upon returning, you had no intention of taking chances. Staring at the harp in one of the rooms. In another life you would be playing it still. In another life you would still be married. You wouldn’t have lost your child the first time. Things would have been…...better?

It didn’t matter. It is what it is and thinking about what ifs wouldn’t change a damn thing about it either. Your mind like a stonewall remained steadfast in your choices leading up to your divorce. There was nothing he would or could say to prove otherwise.

On a Friday morning, you were drinking your green tea while someone waltzed into your room. A smug grin plastered on her face. Painted on her face like a well-rehearsed lyric, line in a play and a notable quote from a novel you liked to read.

You finally saw the woman he was seeing behind your back, your face carefully posed neutrally. If looks could have killed, she would have died the moment she walked through the door. “Do I know you?” You asked raising an eyebrow at her.

Her tactics didn't amuse you at all. In fact, it was a mere joke in a failing comical script by a piss poor comedian. Raised by failing artists who thought they could raise a success amongst two failures. You would have pitied her if you didn’t already want to immediately want to melt her face off.

"You don't remember? I figured you would." She jeered.

“You are no longer an integral part of my life. Therefore, your presence in my mind does not exist. Your name is lost in my history, forever a number in a line of cowards I have met in my life.”

“Fancy words for someone locked away in her old bedroom.” She rolled eyes. “I suppose that’s what happens when you run to a group of men instead of remaining loyal to the one guy who could have given you everything you could have wanted.”

“Oh. You sweet summer child. He told you that or did you concoct inside that head of yours all by yourself?” you snorted as you rolled your eyes at her naivety. You just created a job opening sweetheart. He’s serial cheater. You did yourself no favours by staying with him. I have no pity for you. None for a woman who took the life of my first born child from me. You dug your hole here. Lie in it and stay there.

You didn’t dare speak those words aloud. Not yet. You wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of her seeing you emotionally react to her. Once in a blue moon you will find your soul here. A version of yourself untainted by the future hurt you would feel soon after. A piece of yourself forever lying inside of the walls of this place no matter how many coats of paint he will put upon these walls.

No matter how much he denies it. You were first and foremost the one who might end up killing him by the end of it all. As you promised you would have if you ever found him cheating on you. Not one to take back your promise as it would go against your morals, your personal code of ethics. A promise is a promise after all.

Like a mythic fox, you're crafty, sharp-witted, and never succumb to trivial vanity. While König laid the game's foundation, you held more hidden cards. You weren’t going to lay around all day helpless like a damsel in distress this time around.

You had an Italian phrase etched into your forearm the month after your divorce, ‘Fino alla morte ogni coglione ci arriva.’ Meaning ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’

The phrase slowly becoming your mantra, your personal hymn and prayer you would say yourself over and over. It became your saving grace. Something you cling onto with vehemently. Close to your chest long enough to burn into your soul.

Yet this woman seemed to be so keen on getting right into your face about your pregnancy. You snapped, ordering her back onto König's cock, claiming he'd already fucked her senseless. Best she returns to her sole expertise before you consider doing it for him. Maybe not the optimal phrasing, but it seemed the sole means to make her retreat into a room that felt like a cave.

“Apart from your girlfriend's foolishness, you've done well,” you said calmly. “Well enough for a man of stature.”

König had never seen your temper rise this much. To this level before, it was pointed, angled at him and somehow, he felt his skin fluster. A bundle of nerves aroused by the thought of you losing your temper at her or him. He wanted more. No, he needed more of it. Aimed at him more than anything. Even when you threatened to fuck his girlfriend for him, which to anyone else, it would be odd to hear about right?

König didn't disagree. It was in fact odd to hear the first time she told him. He felt the need to hear repeat inside of his mind. Like a small voice in the back of his skull. Thoughts lingering around. He didn’t know he could think of you in that way. He only saw you as pure. Delicate. A flower.

Upon hearing this now. He desired you to sleep with her from the get-go. A desire which grew from the depths of his soul straight to his cock. Upon hearing, he was even angrier, you didn't. He wanted you to, solely to prove a point. The point where you weren’t the same woman he met years ago. Yet you sent her away. Slamming his fists against the table, sending a few pens rolling off the other side.

A few papers on his desk jumped from the top of his desk. Grunting at the thought of you taking his girlfriend in such an aggressive manner made his cock rock hard in a way he couldn’t hope to describe. Tempting like fudge he wasn’t allowed to eat. Irresistible like the last slice of pizza he hadn’t eaten in years. An apple from a tree, God had forbade Adam and Eve from picking and eating. Lucious, delicious, irresistible.

He'll confine you another weekday henceforth, leveraging your fiery nature for his gain. The potential is immense and endless, ready for his consumption, much like savouring shreds of slow-roasted pork. Can't you see, Maus? Don't you see his longing? Are you truly oblivious? He wants you face first into the white pillows mewling, begging for his thick cock to be shoved deep inside of you until your legs were weak, wobbly like a fawn learning to walk for the first time.

The deep thought of the mockery you would bring for the name branded things he had bought his girlfriend gave him the urge to jerk off inside of a condom pretending it was your tight pussy instead. Tricking his mind into believing he was cock deep inside of you.

Its your fault you look hotter while you are angry, tears streaming down your face and chest heaving as the sobbing wracked through you. Body and soul. Things he took for granted the first time. Yet if only he could take you like he did recently. Over and over without the fear of you ‘remembering’ somehow or in some way in the future. It was far too tempting to not play with that thought right?

You should understand what he’s capable Maus. You fucked with the wrong man this time. I mean it would always wind up to be your fault right Mäuschen? You get a sniff, a lick, a taste and a bite of freedom. And you act up like this Mäuschen?

You must be punished.

You need to be shown who’s really in charge.

And do you really think it’s you? Really?

Need a wake-up call? König is more than prepared to give you one. Or two.

“Taking her away from me? Laughable excuse among many. Pathetic.” He grumbled. Brow creasing into a frown.

Your mantra from ‘I don’t need you. Just as you don't need me’ to the more comforting ‘Until we die anything and everything can happen.’ Though the process was tough, she felt relief at escaping someone cold and uncaring. Her past often surprised her when she least anticipated it. Finding her miss parts of it more than she felt like she should have.

The same platinum blonde and light brown ombre coloured hair tied with pink hair ties in two piggy tails. The pastel pink headband matching the hair ties. The corseted, A-line pink and white dress. It screamed ‘try hard’ to a desperate degree. You just hoped she liked dressing this way before he met her.

She batted her eyelashes as stepped closer to you, you stepped away from her, yet with each step further away. She matched it with two tiny ones of hers. One step back and two steps forward. Pressing your back against the wall. Her light grey eyes looking into yours like you had something inside you worth keeping for herself.

Thief and liar. Two typically dreadful things combined. Evoking a distinctive atmosphere of neglect akin to that found in a Lovecraft or King horror novel. Commonly appealing to horror fans over partygoers.

Odd. She’s silent this time.

Good. She learnt her fucking lesson.

I wish she would stay out of my face though.

Not my problem for much longer.

Her gaze delved deep, as if manually reorganising your insides, all without a trace of physical contact. As you mustered the courage to ask her to go away, the door suddenly opened, and a maid brought in your breakfast. You moved to the table, the young woman gazing in your wake.

What the fuck is her problem? Doesn’t she have something better to do? Did Konig put her up to this? That stupid sick fucker. Probably getting off to the thought of sending her here.

It's likely he has three to four cameras here now.

I located one above the bathroom door and another right above the showerhead, closer to the shower. The third was likely behind the bathroom mirror.

I wouldn’t put it past him. Even with an affair, he remained controlling. Subtly controlling, unnoticed until my departure. Cameras were just one of the few things I remember. I am sure the meals were just as restrictive as they were back then. Can’t gain weight when your husband controls what you eat right? In this case ex-husband.

It felt odd to be watched in this manner. You expected it to come from a stonewall mute who only spoke in sign language or morse code. Not whatever this was.

His mind has flown the coop. It would have to be long gone by now.

He creates chaos and expects me to fix it, accepting the blame for his actions to ease his conscience. Not anymore. As I told him the first day.

I don’t need him anymore. He’s no longer the first thing on my mind. Yet it’s like he’s not listening to the words I’m telling him through my actions. Deliberately misreading them to a dangerous degree.

I can’t find the words to describe how pathetic he seems to me now. Knowing what kind of person, he has shown himself to be.

To think I’m the monster in your eyes. Especially considering the lengths you go to get what you think is yours. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.

You are far luckier you’re not in front of me now. No matter. If I need to bide my time. I will bide my time. Inch by inch. Centimetre by Centimetre. You will not get away with ruining my life.

Another strange thing you picked up on. There were no clocks inside the entire place. Not even digital ones. Not a single clock anywhere. No calendars kept anywhere to let you know what day or month of the year it was.

There is no ceramic dishes or glasses. Replaced by plastic plates, cups and cutlery. As if he tried to baby wrap and baby proof every aspect of your time here. You are sure the rest of the furniture has the same theme of ‘safety’. As if he didn’t think you were capable of caring for yourself properly.

Insulting as well as utterly demeaning.

He even cleared the books.

None of the erotic tales he'd suspect you of reading behind his back. He called it cheating to read them. Said you were reading them to get back at him on an emotional level of some kind.

Made him doubt your marital fidelity compared to his.

Stated it was your responsibility for his initial infidelity.

Ludicrous. Absurd and utterly false.

He yelled, calling it the ultimate betrayal for writing it on your own terms. He'd have remained unaware if he'd ignored the mail that day. You sold the manuscript a few months into his deployment for extra cash. You'd typically use this while earning, when he's usually away.

He’d be home. While you were deployed. It was an opposite of each other.

He didn’t know you. Not in the way you hoped.

He'd bring gold jewellery, but you liked silver more.

He’d bring you plain green tea. You preferred hibiscus and strawberry hibiscus.

Purposefully getting things wrong to the point where it felt like he just didn’t care. On purpose to a deeper degree, you couldn’t understand at the time. You couldn’t put your finger on the reason for it.

You guess you ought to be glad you got out of there in one piece the first time.

[celticcrossanon]

BRF Reading - 17th of October, 2024

This is speculation only

Cards drawn on the 17th of October, 2024

Question: How will the tour of Australia go for Queen Camilla?

Note: I'm using my new Rider-Waite deck for this reading, as part of the process of breaking the cards in, so the energies are not going to be as clear as they usually are.

Interpretation: She is very worried and stressed about the whole thing

Card One: Strength in reverse

Strength can mean physical strength or inner strength. In the reverse, it indicates a lack of strength, physical or internal.

The Strength card is the card of Leo, ruled by the Sun, so I was wondering if Queen Camilla would be affected by the weather in Australia, but I looked up the forecast and it is mild - the minimums and maximums for Sydney from the 18th to the 23rd are 17-25, 19-27, 16-23, 15-21, 15-23 and 14-26, and for Canberra they are 12-22, 11-23, 7-25, 7-24, 6-26 and 9-27, all in degrees Celsius, so even the warmer days won't be that warm because the nights are so cool. It might affect the Queen, she is old, so I'm putting that down as a maybe.

The other energy I get from this card, and this is the stronger energy of the two, is that of a lack of internal strength. So feeling not very confident, fearing that something will happen, doubting herself or feeling inadequate in some way. I think she is going to spend most of this visit worrying about The King, to be honest. She could also be comparing herself to Princess Diana, who drew huge crowds when she visited Australia, and I don't think the King and Queen will draw the same crowds as the interest is just not there as far as I can see - not as strong and not as promoted by the media. They will still draw crowds, but not the massive crowds that Princess Diana drew.

I drew a clarifier for this card and it was the Queen of Cups in reverse. Both Queen Camilla and Princess Diana are represented by the Queen of Cups card, which is my card for Cancer people, so there could be some sort of competition going on in the Queen's mind. If not, then the clarifier says that the Queen will not be at her best on this trip - she will be diminished or overshadowed in some way, or she will be acting out of the negative side of her inner nature.

Card Two: The Nine of Swords

This card is all about worrying about something - being physically comfortable but mentally in anguish. It indicates things such as fear, anxiety, negativity, and reaching your breaking point.

The energy of this card is of fear and worry. Somehow, the idea of doing this tour has the Queen in a state of extreme worry, and I'm picking up some fear also, mainly in the form of 'what if' thinking. I don't think the Queen wants to go on this tour and this card tells me that she is not mentally prepared for the tour at all. It could be that she is just worried about The King, but if so it is a very intense worry.

I drew a clarifier for this card and it was the Magician in the reverse. The Magician is the card of manifesting something, and in the reverse it is about not being able to manifest something, so the Queen may be worried that she can't make something happen that she wants to happen, which could be anything from good press to making sure her husband takes care of himself on this trip.

Card Three: Death

Death is the card of Scorpio, the sun sign of King Charles, so it looks like the Queen's worry is focused on her husband and trying to make sure he takes care of himself on this tour. I think that she also wants the tour to go the way The King wants it to go (which it may not) and she is worried about the effect on him if he is disappointed in the tour after putting in so much effort to make the trip.

The Death card is about endings, changes, letting go of things, and transformations. The energy of the card is that this is a farewell tour, a final goodbye, and the Queen wants it to go as well as possible because as far as she knows it is the last visit to Australia.

Underlying Energy: The Six of Swords

This is the card of travel overseas, so that is the going on tour itself that is underlying all of the above concerns. The Six of Swords can mean moving on, leaving things behind you, either leaving a problem behind or being forced to move on from a situation that you don't want to leave and you don't want to change.

The energy of this card is of regret and farewell. Like the Death card, an energy of 'this is the last time' lingers about it, of not wanting this to be the last visit but having to accept that the odds of returning are not in their favour. The woman in the card is huddled up in a cloak, as though she is in mourning for what she has left behind, and it is that sorrowful energy and regretful energy that is coming through this card.

Conclusion:

The Australian Tour is going to be hard on Queen Camilla. She may not show it externally, but inside, she is carrying a lot of worry and she may be having a crisis of confidence. She thinks that this tour will be the last time her husband travels to Australia and she wants the tour to go well for his sake - for him to get a triumphal farewell, if that makes sense. She is worried that this won't happen and that the King's last memories of Australia will be marred by any disappointment he feels from the tour. She may also be worried about her husband's health and how it will hold up to the tour.

There is a lot of worry and fear in this reading, coupled with a strong feeling of regret and a feeling that this is the last time so it has to be a good tour. There is self doubt as well, that the Queen can't make things happen they way she wants them to happen and also a self doubt in general - a sense of 'I'm not good enough', which may be from comparing herself to Princess Diana on tour (or maybe not, the Princess Diana is a faint energy and I'm only mentioning it because it is there as a small thread). She may also find the weather quite trying (again, she may not, this is a minor energy).

It's not going to be easy for her but most of that is coming from her own mind - she has bound herself up in her worries and her concern for her husband and she is most likely making things into a bigger deal than what they are - not mountains out of molehills, but exaggerating things a bit because she is worried and upset and she doesn't have the emotional resources to just take things as they come and adapt to any situations that occur.

[accio-victuuri]

follow up clowning related to gg’s weibo post from here. a reminder first that i don’t think everything has to mean something and most of the time what they post is just plain and simple. we are clowns, so we will speculate but that doesn’t mean we have to find some candy for every content they post before we can enjoy & appreciate it. for example, we also think that the reason GG is doing these solar terms right now, while he is filming LoZ is in the synopsis of the drama, his character is the son of the “director of the Imperial Observatory of the Great Yong Kingdom” , that’s the english translation. but the key here in the original text is this word: 钦天监 [qīn tiān jiàn].

what is it? thank you to good old baidu for always having the answer:

Qin Tianjian is the signature of an official whose function is to observe celestial phenomena, calculate solar terms, and formulate calendars.

calculating solar terms. so that could be the connection he is hinting at that is somehow significant to the character he is playing. makes sense right?

this is not me washing anyone’s candy. i’m only laying out alternative explanations cause that’s how i do things. lol. the addition i have seen going around is kadian related and i’m not a kadian girlie so i was blocking it out when i first saw it. 😅😅😅

okay, now let’s go to the cpn. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

the post he made is his 1085th on weibo. oh what a good number, like a mashup between their birthdays. and the kadian that was used 191919. which means still still still. or you can concentrate on the repeated use of the number 999 ( In Chinese, nine is pronounced jiu, which also means “long lasting.” As the highest single digit, it represents the maximum level of mortal happiness, longevity, and good luck. A perfect ten is reserved for the gods. Case in point: in respect to the Heavens, the Forbidden City in Beijing has 9999.5 rooms, just short of a flawless 10,000. )

who is saying still too? forever with who? wang yibo. based on my first post about it, his use of that word 谷雨 that also came up in LTS lyrics.

another coincidence is that in the song itself, the word comes up in the 0:19 mark. 👀

commemorating the anniversary of when he followed yibo on weibo, 4/20/2018 so he posted on the eve of that day. maybe he is celebrating something else that only the two of them know and it’s not necessarily something as mundane as following a person on weibo. who knows. however, it’s on the bxg calendar so we are marking that down as a possible reason. 📝

i love this explanation tho, that goes back to that actual day years ago and what happened. it was the 5th day of filming CQL and they did not have scenes together, so why did he pay attention and followed him? he was filming the scene in the burial mounds, WWX was drunk and reminiscing about when he first met LWJ. WWX misses LWJ cause he is not there. Was XZ also missing WYB that time? to the point that he went to his weibo account and followed him?

it’s not a secret that XZ prefers it when WYB is there, not only to act with, but just there for him. plus this level of attachment on the 5th day of filming is not surprising when it comes to them.

finally, the imagery of the rain when it comes to them is one that holds some meaning. much like how we fixate on the stars and moon. photos below to show some of those relations to the rain. ☔️

and that lrlg conversation they had that went:

XZ: "I'm waiting for you"

WYB: "I'll come and have dinner with you when it rains”

XZ: "Tomorrow's meal"

WYB: "Then tomorrow"

before we end, i’ll add this quote that seems to fit the whole subject of rain:

"Because it rains so often, many important things in life seem to have happened in the rain. Those memories are now uncovered and still feel wet. Even if they dry, they are like a book soaked in water, with ripples on the paper that are difficult to calm down."

sources aside from the ones directly linked: one / two / three / four 💛

[thetriggereffect]

Nothing About the Stargate Is Intelligent

Don't get me wrong, I love all three Stargate shows, and I regard them as some of the best science fiction on television.

But the Stargate itself is a mass of technobabble whose operation is not just ridiculous, but impossible. And I don't mean technically, I mean logistically.

A standard Milky Way Stargate has 39 glyphs. Each glyph represents a constellation. A standard Stargate address involves seven of these glyphs-- six of them identify the location in three dimensional space, and the seventh is the point of origin.

This is several entirely distinct flavors of stupid.

Constellations are not points. One of the stars in Orion's belt, for example, is more than a thousand light years from either of the others.

Even if this weren't the case, the Stargates are millions of years old. Stellar drift has changed the constellations in the ~10,000 years that mankind has been aware of them.

You only need three points to identify a location in three dimensional space. Requiring a second position for each axis does nothing except for drastically limit the locations that can be addressed.

If every address requires the same seventh symbol at a given gate, there's no reason not to make the gate automatically supply it.

If you can identify the point of origin with a single glyph, why can't you identify the destination with one? (There is actually a bit in the original movie where Daniel tells the natives, "we're from here" and shows the symbol that corresponds to earth and they get it.)

Also, if the point of origin is one symbol.... there can be a maximum of 39 total gates. There is no such limit in the shows.

Of course, there is also the magic eight-symbol address that somehow, despite being made up of coordinates in the milky way galaxy, points to the Pegasus Galaxy. Or the nine-symbol address that can only be dialed from one gate (that apparently isn't even in the right place, affecting its ability to dial), which points to Destiny, which doesn't even have a fixed location.

And while we're on the subject of Destiny, how does THAT gate work? If the glyphs on a gate are constellations, how does that work on a ship that moves between galaxies?

How does dialing even work? The whole spinny thing is just our gate, because we don't have a DHD, but, like... why does spinning it even work? And how is it that, by the end of the show, we've developed the technology to build our own gates, but we're still dialing the main gate with the equivalent of a hotwire?

That's not even getting into the physics of the "wormhole" itself, or, rather, the lack thereof.

An incoming wormhole spits out a vortex that, in a violation of all known laws of physics, completely destroys everything it comes into contact with.

Unless it's the iris, which is just really close to the event horizon.

Or you just bury it, but that seems to have only worked the once.

The iris that we built, because the ancients who created them didn't seem to think anyone would need to be able to lock the goddamn door (until they got to the Pegasus Galaxy).

The iris that nonetheless seems to be completely integrated into the gate so seamlessly that you can't see the mechanism or where the parts go when not in use.

Wormhole travel is one-way. Except, of course, for radio waves.

It is an explicit plot point in several episodes that an object passing through a stargate is de-materialized as it passes through the event horizon, and is not re-materialized until (and unless) the entire object passes through.

Which begs the question-- how can you step through? Once your front foot is through the horizon, it can't bear weight. How is your back foot lifted up?

[defectivevillain]

this broken design

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary:

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

word count: 2.3k [ao3 version here]

Reader’s pronouns are unspecified but masc-intended. You take the place of Will Graham, essentially. [Will is the mf blueprint and I love him,, I just wasn’t creative enough to think of a way to fit the reader into the story without replacing him ;( ]

Since Hannibal is your therapist, the relationship [although ambiguous] is ethically questionable. That’s par for the course to many Fannibals, but I’ll put this here in case you’re new to the fandom.

warnings: canon-typical violence, dissociation, breach of doctor/patient boundaries, insomnia, sleepwalking, cannibalism, spoilers for episode 1.

Jack Crawford can’t take no for an answer. That’s nothing new, of course. However, it’s frustrating to constantly be on the receiving end of that disappointed glare of his. You can’t take it much longer. He seems to recognize that you’re beginning to break, because he calls in a doctor for your psychiatric evaluation: Doctor Hannibal Lecter. There’s one unspoken statement lingering in the air when you walk into the room: “You will pass this exam and return to the field.”

Against all odds, Dr. Lecter seems to be one of the more competent medical professionals you’ve worked with. He doesn’t poke or prod at things that make you uncomfortable, testing your limits to the maximum. He doesn’t look at you with the patronizing gaze you’re so used to receiving from your peers. Lecter looks at you and, sometimes, it feels as if he’s looking straight through you.

After passing the psychological evaluation—you have a strong suspicion that Dr. Lecter lied on those forms—you’re back on the field. Before long, Jack Crawford is ordering you to look at mangled bodies once more. You notice that it takes more out of you each time you look. Looking is exhausting and the longer you look, the more time it takes to return to your own body.

You’re able to cope until your encounter with the Minnesota Shrike. You feel your composure beginning to slip as you frantically look through files in the office of his construction site. Thankfully, you can finally put a name to the killer: Garret Jacob Hobbs. He’s a construction worker, a husband, and a father. The guy is entirely ordinary, almost scarily so.

When you arrive at the Hobbs’ residence minutes later, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s expecting you. The house is eerily silent and when you walk in, his wife is already dead. Dread churning in your stomach, you turn the corner, only to find Hobbs holding his daughter Abigail captive. There’s a knife pressed to her neck. The betrayed yet horrified expression on her face cements itself in your mind. You point your gun at him, but he slices her neck before you can shoot him. After firing one, two, three, nine shots, you kneel down and try to stifle Abigail’s bleeding. Your heart races in your chest and there’s a roaring noise in your ears. Amidst all the chaos, however, you can still sense Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at you with a sickening smirk on his face.

“See?” The man had asked, as the light faded from his eyes and his body slumped against the cabinets. You turn your attention back to Abigail, who is now gasping and panting heavily. Your hands shake as you desperately try to stop the bleeding. You’re too rattled to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer until there’s a hand on your shoulder. Dr. Lecter and you lock eyes and, even in the swirling mess of emotions running through your mind, there is overwhelming clarity. Dr. Lecter’s expression is far too calm. Just before you can contemplate that further, he’s gently pushing you to the side and tending to Abigail.

Everything after that passes in a blur. Abigail is taken to the hospital and Dr. Lecter accompanies her in the ambulance. Jack seems satisfied and disconcerted all at once. He pulls you aside and starts talking your ear off, but you admittedly can’t process anything of what he’s saying. Eventually, the agent gives up and leaves you to drive home. Even when you go to work the next morning, you can’t shake the grey haze that clings to your very being. “See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs’ voice rings in your ears. You did see; you only wish you hadn’t.

You begin to have weekly sessions with Dr. Lecter. Jack all but forces you to attend, but the sessions actually prove to be helpful. Dr. Lecter is certainly an eccentric character, that’s for sure. You’ve never quite met someone like him before, and you can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. The therapist is certainly mysterious. You want to figure him out, but, at the same time, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that is still wary around him. You haven’t necessarily forgotten the strangely calm look on his face in the Hobbs house, the mechanical way with which he accepted the pervasive aura of death all around him.

As great as Dr. Lecter is, he can’t fix everything. Your sleep, for example, is continuing to tank by the day. Since your return to the field, it’s difficult to fall asleep and even more difficult to stay asleep. After the Hobbs incident, you’re plagued with nightmares of dark crimson rivers. A few times, you’re even forced to relive the encounter: the moment Abigail slumps to the ground, the moment you shoot Hobbs again and again and again-

The moral of the story is that you’re not sleeping well. Your sleep has never been great, but it’s also never been this bad. You muse on that thought as you lie reclined on your mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Exhaustion tugs at your very core, but your mind refuses to slow down for even a moment. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you shouldn’t even try to go to sleep, unless you want to slip into a killer’s skin once more. After staring up at the ceiling for an immeasurable amount of time, your eyes finally begin to fall shut.

Shadows seep into your eyes, coloring your vision dark. For a moment, there’s nothing but darkness. Garret Jacob Hobbs greets you like an old friend, his whispers ripping through your skin and into your very core. You claw at your head and close your eyes, desperate to rid yourself of his haunting voice. Somehow, your effort seems to work and you can’t hear his murmurs anymore. You want to drown in the shadowed void that stretches around you but, suddenly, there are two lights ripping through the blackness. You put a hand over your eyes as the brightness burns holes in your vision. Your eyes water and it takes several seconds for the graininess around you to disappear. To your surprise, there’s a car parked just to your left. You take a step forward and squint at the driver. The window rolls down slowly and your breath catches. A shiver rolls down your spine, and it’s not just the cold air that causes it. 

“Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried, and you quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

“I-” You try to say, but the words are stuck in your throat. His statement prompts you to look around and find out where exactly here is. Ultimately, you realize that you’re standing in the center of a road. It’s pretty dark outside. You look down and find that you’re still wearing your pajamas—a ragged shirt and sweatpants. Furthermore, there are scrapes lining your arms. You inhale sharply, beginning to feel panic seep into your bones.

Hannibal’s car door swings open and he moves to stand next to you. The therapist is dressed nicely, as always. You’d be more self conscious about your own attire if you didn’t feel so discombobulated. “What is the last thing you remember?” The man asks. You pause to ponder the question.

“Falling asleep,” you answer, after thinking about the past few hours. You were staring up at your bedroom ceiling. You must’ve fallen asleep at some point. There’s an infuriating lack of information- a gap from when you fell asleep to when you found yourself staring at the headlights of Hannibal’s car.

Silence settles in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You don’t know what to do or say, that could possibly justify this. Truly, one moment you were in bed and the next, you were standing in the middle of the road. You don’t exactly want to tell Hannibal that, but he seems to recognize the sentiment anyway. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed as he stares at you. His gaze is insistent and heated, so much so that you have to look away—lest you get burned.

“Come on,” Hannibal says. There’s an authoritative tone to his voice and you follow along instinctually. He helps you to his car with a hand on your shoulder. For a moment, you shiver in the passenger seat as he stares at you. Hannibal then shakes his head and takes off his jacket, putting it around your shoulders. You vaguely recognize that you must look truly pathetic, but you’re too cold not to burrow into the smooth fabric.

The moment he starts driving, you begin to remember your exhaustion. In actuality, you never got that much sleep. Judging from the radio in Hannibal’s car, it’s only two in the morning. You were only asleep for two hours and, yet, you walked all the way outside to the road. Gritting your teeth, you decide to look out the window. Despite your fatigue, your body doesn’t want to succumb to slumber. You have to settle for staring bleakly out the window.

“We’ve arrived,” Hannibal later announces. You blink dazedly, looking out the window to find a beautiful gothic home looming over you. Just before you can grab the door and get out, Hannibal is on the other side opening it for you. You fall in step beside him and allow him to lead you down the walk towards his home. He opens the door and allows you to enter first.

You feel extraordinary out of place here, as you usually do in Hannibal’s presence. The foyer has an elegant fireplace and deep blue accents. Paintings decorate the walls and there’s a vase of freshly trimmed flowers on one of the tables. You can see Hannibal having an internal debate with himself about giving you a formal tour or telling you about the pieces. He turns back to you expectantly and you follow him into the living room. You freeze in the doorway, upon realizing that you’re still wearing your shoes (which you don’t remember putting on in the first place). You quickly bend down and try to untie them, but your hands are trembling too much to do it.  

“Allow me,” Hannibal says, getting down on one knee. To your horror and humiliation, he proceeds to help you untie your shoes. You avert your eyes, feeling as if your skin is on fire. He must sense your discomfort, because he arches an eyebrow at you before untying them a little faster. Thankfully, Hannibal doesn’t offer to fetch you clean socks- you’re certain you’d die of embarrassment. Instead, the moment your shoes are off, he guides you to sit on the finely trimmed settee.

For a fraction of a second, when you look up at Hannibal, you see the cold, calculated gaze of a practiced killer. “You’re freezing,” Hannibal remarks. You swallow hard and watch with bated breath as he leaves the room. Perhaps you just imagined that. You look around the room, unsurprised to see hints of animals everywhere—what with the mounted antelope head and various skulls resting on the table behind you.

The Chesapeake Ripper sees his victims as animals, as pigs. You’re not quite sure why the killer comes to mind now of all times. Even so, you try to think about what you’ve gathered about him so far. He’s a middle-aged man with no current family. His tastes are eccentric and his murders are artistic performances. Furthermore, the killer is slippery. You’ve only found clues because, you suspect, he wanted you to find them. The killer is narcissistic; he knows he won’t be caught and prides himself on that fact.

Your head aches with the sleep you haven’t gotten. You rub at your eyes roughly, unable to shake the feeling that you’re on the crux of a realization. The Chesapeake Ripper… The killer refuses to leave your mind. Why is that thought plaguing you here, of all places? You’re in Hannibal’s residence, staring at the rather macabre animal imagery around the space, when it hits you. Everything clicks into place: the conveniently timed dinner parties, the luxurious lifestyle, the entire lack of shock on his face at the Hobbs’ house.

It appears you’ve found the Chesapeake Ripper.

Hannibal chooses that exact moment to reappear. There’s a blanket folded over his arm and a mug in his hands. He seamlessly weaves through the room, coming to a stop over you. You look up at him from your position on the couch. “Are you alright?” You nod mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. The clock on the wall ticks ominously. Your hands are still trembling at your sides, so badly that Hannibal reaches out and cups them in his with a worried expression. You’re certain your teeth are chattering in your mouth. You’re going to die. You’ll be the next Chesapeake Ripper victim. When you close your eyes, you see your colleagues from the Behavioral Analysis Unit staring down at your corpse on the investigation table. You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. Your heart is thundering away in your chest and you know you must look suitably harrowed.

Hannibal extends a hand and you realize that the Chesapeake Ripper is giving you a cup of tea. You watch mutedly as an organ harvester gently cleans the scrapes on your skin. A coldhearted cannibal is placing a hand on your cheek and looking into your eyes, searching for something. A murderer is placing a blanket over your shoulders.

Hannibal sits down after his thorough investigation. Meanwhile, there’s one thought running through your mind: You can’t fall asleep here. You absolutely can’t let your guard down in front of the Chesapeake Ripper, the very cannibal you’ve been chasing for years. You sip the proffered tea and pretend that everything is alright. Hannibal seems content to sit with you in silence, although you can sense his gaze burning into the side of your face. Stay awake, you tell yourself. Stay alive.

Your eyes slip shut of their own accord

chapter two

Mwahahahah. AHAHHAHAHH…. Yes. I had to get that out, lol.

The untying of the shoes scene is a slight allusion to the Death Note scene in which L washes Light's feet. That's one of my favorite scenes in the series, as it hints at the parallels between L/Light and Jesus/Judas and the idea of recognizing betrayal before it comes. [Unfortunately, feet also gross me the hell out, so I settled for the untying of the shoes. Haha.]

This is entirely unrelated, but i got my dna results back and apparently i’m lithuanian 😏 [it’s not that significant or specific of a percentage, but just lemme have this 🙏]. hannibal, if ur reading this, i’m just like you frrrr 😮‍💨 except minus, yk, the cannibalism.

anyway, thanks for reading <3

[nancy-xx]

Nancy and Sid

The Chelsea was a rather appropriate setting for the events of last week, which culminated in the arrest of Sid Vicious on a charge of murdering his girlfriend Nancy Spungen. When Swedish writer Stina Lindberg stayed there a couple of weeks ago, she was not surprised to find Sid and Nancy as fellow guests Naturally, she sought an interview...

SID VICIOUS Ex-Sex Pistol

Nancy Spungen, his girl friend. There's no mistaking Sid's black, spiky hair and his bovverboy aura. I only see the back of Nancy's head. She looks like an old woman. Hunchbacked. Tufts of almost white hair stick out from underneath her beret. Her coat is an ancient, ankle-length article. It's a Saturday, September 31.1 spot then in the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel on West 23d Street in New York. If you find yourself living at the same hotel as Sid Vicious, if you're a journalist and you like the new wave, you're an idiot not to try to talk to him. But it feels weird. The same evening, I see Sid play with ex-members of the New York Dolls at Max's Kansas City, haven of New York punks. Sid screams, makes faces, and spits. Grabs himself between the legs, doesn't look at the audience at all. They're all awkward on stage, the volume is insupportable, and the music is lousy. The paing audience is less than warm. The only ones enjoying the show are three pale peroxide blondes with fire-engine red lipstick sitting on the stage moving with the music. They're with the guys in the band, Sid seems to want to pack it in after three numbers, and splits. Nancy runs after him and brings him back. He spits, makes another face and starts playing again. He doesn't get through to the audience, and his half-hearted spasms just look pathetic. A lone, doped-out Japanese bops away frantically, but the rest of the audience is frozen. Sid is not a great musician, nor is he a genuine stage personality. Sid is a 21-year-old Englishman enlarged to the size of a Colossus by the mass media. Poor bastard. I ring Sid's room repeatedly to try for that interview. Finally he answers and agrees to talk to me the same evening. At nine p.m. I knock on his door. Room 100, ane flight up at the Chelsea Hotel. The hotel is the first New York building to have a cultural preservation order stamped on it. Brendan Behan, Dylan Thomas, Janis Joplin, Andy Warhol and many other artists and musicians have lived here. These days, there's a motley blend of prostitutes, pop musicians, near-destitute pensioners, French film teams and tourists. The door is yanked open. Nancy all but draga me into the room. Sid leaps up from the bed. He's wearing orange overalls and a chain around his neck. He checks me out nervously, then runs about the room, digging in his clothes and bags Nancy, dressed in a black net leotard and black leather trousers, holds my arm, hard, and babbles "What are we going to do? We don't know a thing. We just got to New York and don't know the score. Is five too much?" Sid searches nervously for something. The room is both bare and disordered. There's a big bed with a TV at the foot of it. A desk, a table, a chair. Two or three gold records are propped against the wall, and there are suitcases on the floor. Sid and Nancy have just changed rooms. The mattress caught fire in the other one. Suddenly I get it. They think I'm a dealer. God. I swallow, then explain who I am. Sid explodes a groan and throws himself onto the bed "Fuck' sighs Nancy. She lets go my arm and lies down with Sid. The TV drones on at maximum volume. I sit on the edge of the bed, laughing at the absurdity of everything. Sid points out that there's nothing to laugh at. I turn on my tape recorder "What do you think of New York?" "Very democratic. Do pretty much what you want. Not that you'd probably do anything much, but that's beside the point" turns out that Sid is trying to put together a band. It "I had a group going. Johnny Thunders. But Nancy smashed up Johnny's girl, so it went down the drain "Did you?" I asked Nancy. " "Yeah. She fed a lot of stupid stuff to me. I've been friends with Johnny Thunders for years. We had a lot of fun. And she couldn't take it. She started it, so I kicked her in the face," So Sid's looking for a new group, and plays with the ex-Dolls in the meantime We talk about the show at Max's Sid blames the audience, "My name's worth quite a bit of bread over here," he said.

"Isn't that because of the Sex Pistols? "No My name's worth a lot on it's own. It's worth more than any of the rest of them." Nancy agrees, and points out that Sid has had more press than any of the others. "Why?" "Because I'm what people call a bad boy. I do things that are outrageous,' he says, with what sarcasm he can muster. "Do you think that you're outrageous?" "No, but that's what they write about me. They're square "Do you think you're a free person?" "No. I'm on house arrest" "Who put you there?" "The world. But I'm going to try to get us free. I won't be able to do it, but if people get the idea for long enough, the idea that punk started off, it'll become like that eventually." We talk about punk's anti-racist side, and about Rock Against Racism, which Sid says he supports, and about England, which Sid reckons is the most boring country in the world-after Sweden, where I come from. America is okay. Sid Vicious is okay, and is doing fine However, the Sid Vicious I see in front of me seerns anything but. He and Nancy make me think of two animals caught in a trap and trying to claw their way. Desperately. out I ring the next day, and speak to Nancy. She doesn't seem to understand me, and thinks I'm trying to put her and Sid down. I tell her she's paranoid, but ask her for an interview. She seems to break down, and suddenly sounds genuine "It's not so strange that we get suspicious. Everybody's trying to get at us, trying to get Sid's money. Every bastard we meet wants to get famous through Sid. They've made a fortune off him here in the U.S., but we don't get anything. I'm a person, you dig? Not a dog" I ask her again about an interview, but she freaks when I say I can't pay her. "You think you can speak to us free?" suddenly she's hard-boiled again and go back to Sweden and make money because you met Sid Vicious? Get fucked!" I begin to see their dilemma. They think they can go on living off their fame, while they're in the process of buming out. Sid and Nancy sense that, I felt. What they didn't know was that the Swedish papers would pay more than any of us thought at the time because someone,   maybe Sid, stuck a knife into Nancy a week after I met them Sid's under real arrest. Nancy's dead. And the pop industry and mass media hysteria are doing okay.

[vicmillen]

I think some of the chain sucks at cooking the way I'd probably also suck at cooking if I need to do it for nine young boys over a campfire. Point is, cooking in bulk is different to cooking for yourself and cooking over campfire is different than cooking over a stove or whatever.

Anyway I just think most of them are either not used to cooking with campfire or not used to cooking a large portion, or both. Not necessarily just bad at cooking period. Unlike Hyrule

Wars would probably be the only one with at least some experience with campfire cooking in bulk, what with the army training. But he only knows how to makes like, a total of three stews that somehow managed to taste exactly the same. Even if it's not really bad, it get old really fast. Wind would also have some experience helping with the ship's cook in Tetra's crew, but he's only good with helping the prep, and he doesn't necessarily like doing it.

Four, Sky, Time, Legend, and Twilight could probably managed a half decent meal, if they're at home and if it's only for a maximum of three to four people. Although Sky knows how to make a good pumpkin soup, courtesy of community service at Lumpy Pumpkin. Which Twilight is also good at, I think? But other than that it's always a hit and miss if they're put on cooking duty. There's constantly problems with seasoning, doneness, pot boiling over, burnt bottom, portion sizes too little or too big, and all the unholy mess that happens when you make things in a unfamiliar portion size.

Hyrule and maybe Time would be better off with foraging ingredients than with anything involving a fire, at least they sometimes help provide for some fresh veggies and fruit. But again, it's not a reliable source, what with them constantly changing worlds and caught up with fights.

So yeah Wild with his amazingly plentiful recipes and experience doing it in bulk does get appreciated a lot. If nothing then for the consistency in quality and quantity. Not to mention he actually enjoyed doing it, the weirdo.

[thecreaturecodex]

Zap Kraken

Image © Turtle Rock Studios

[Sponsored by Soluman Blevins. The second of the Evolve monsters I've done, other than the warpwraith. Mechanically, the Kraken is interesting, but design wise, it's a little drab. Because it's just a Cthulhu. The lightning bolt wings are a cool touch, but otherwise, it's very much a Cthulhu. And in a game that already has Cthulhu and his star-spawn, I wanted to differentiate it a bit. So I tied it to one of my favorite one-shot weirdo monsters from the 3e era.]

Zap Kraken CR 16 CE Aberration This immense creature has a roughly dinosaur-like body and the head of a colossal cephalopod. A vertical maw stretches between its beard of tentacles, and two large jointed appendages grow from its back and crackle with electricity. Its long tail is segmented like the vertebral column of a great beast.

Zap krakens are rare aberrant creatures that use electrical energy for both offense and mobility. Although they are enormous, they fly with surprising grace by manipulating electricity, essentially creating wings of lightning that hold them aloft. They are remarkably stealthy for their size, and can sneak up on prey from above before dropping to melee or merely blasting away with channeled lightning bolts.

Zap krakens are territorial, and maintain their territory by creating banshee mines, so called for the shriek of their explosions. These mines home in on creatures that get too close, and the zap kraken can also visit them to see what it has seen, similar to a prying eyes spell. Although zap krakens typically view other creatures as prey first and foremost, they have a mutual fondness for zeugalaks. Both species have tentacled maws and an affinity for electricity, and sages speculate that they are related to each other. A zap kraken often views zeugalaks the way a nobleman views their prized hunting hounds, using them to flush out prey or occupy melee combatants. 

Zap Kraken CR 16 XP 76,800 CE Gargantuan aberration Init +7; Senses blindsense 120 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +17

Defense AC 30, touch 14, flat-footed 22 (-4 size, +7 Dex, +1 dodge, +16 natural) hp 225 (18d8+144) Fort +14, Ref +13, Will +15 DR 10/magic; Immune cold, electricity; SR 26

Offense Speed 50 ft., fly 100 ft. (good) Melee 2 claws +18 (2d6+8), tentacles +17 (4d4+8), 2 wings +16 (2d6+4 plus 1d6 electricity) Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft. (30 ft. with tentacles) Special Attacks banshee mines, lightning strike, shock pulse

Statistics Str 26, Dex 24, Con 28, Int 11, Wis 19, Cha 19 Base Atk +16; CMB +28; CMD 46 Feats Blind-fight, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Flyby Attack, Hover (B), Mobility, Multiattack, Stand Still, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Acrobatics +20 (+28 when jumping), Fly +21, Intimidate +17, Perception +17, Stealth +16, Survival +17; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth Languages Aklo

Ecology Environment warm hills Organization solitary or band (1 plus 1-4 zeugalaks) Treasure standard

Special Abilities Banshee Mines (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can create up to three animated mines. Treat these as the eyes generated by the prying eyes spell, only when a creature approaches within 30 feet of them (all creatures or of a type set by the zap kraken on creation), they fly towards that creature and explode. Treat this as a ranged touch attack using the zap kraken’s modifiers (+19 for a typical specimen). If it hits, the creature struck takes 4d6 points of electricity damage and 4d6 points of sonic damage. Whether the mine hits or not, it explodes, dealing this damage in a 5 foot radius (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken knows when one of its mines has detonated as long as it is within 1 mile of the mine. A zap kraken can create up to nine mines a day, but can have a maximum of three in existence at a time. The save DC is Charisma based. Lightning Strike (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can call down a bolt of lightning within 160 feet. It fills a column 60 feet high with a 20 foot radius, dealing 16d8 points of electricity damage to all creatures in the area (Reflex DC 23 halves). A zap kraken can use this ability once every 1d4 rounds. The save DC is Charisma based. Shock Wave (Su) As a standard action, a zap kraken can release an electrical pulse in a 60 foot radius centered on its body. All creatures in the area take 16d4 points of electricity damage and are pushed back 10 feet. A successful DC 27 Reflex save halves the damage and resists the knockback effect. A zap kraken can use this ability every other round. The save DC is Constitution based.  Tentacles (Ex) The tentacles of a zap kraken are treated as a single primary natural weapon

[megamindsupremacy]

Misc PJO Fic Recs (Part 4)

The Stolen God by TsarinaTorment

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus?

-

Baby Blofis College Fund by zipadeea

Valerie calls her an hour later.

“Sally, what the hell?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Bad? Sally, it’s gold. I went from squirming in my seat to crying genuine tears. And that twist, making him a Greek god, it’s exactly what we’re looking for right now. How soon can you get me the next chapter?”

***

In which Sally Jackson realizes by the time the new baby is eighteen, a semester of college will cost an arm and a leg. And those Fifty Shades of Grey books sure did make a lot of money.

-

to bet on losing dogs by furnaceglow

The thing is,” Apollo said, the coolest prisoner of war in all of time. Prometheus wasn't prone to jealousy, but even he felt a drop of envy at how relaxed Apollo was in maximum security. "How to define a man…are we talking ontology here? That’s broad scope, bigger picture. We can include ourselves in that definition. Philosophy otherwise! Our good man Diogenes. You remember Diogenes! Or are we specifically talking about man for the sake of man? Is this about anthropology, is what I’m saying.” “I’m open to all interpretation,” Prometheus said. “Been a while since I’ve had good conversationalists here. Krios is all grunting, and Hyperion is solely interested in making his quarters nicer.” “Well, he has an eye for interior design, I’ll give him that,” Apollo said.

In which Percy Jackson ascends to a reluctant godhood, his mother loses the war but wins a battle, and for once, Prometheus picks the winning horse.

-

and if your eyes don't speak by Pixelfun20

Estelle Jackson is seven years old when she meets her nephew for the first time, over a grainy Facetime call.

OR

Estelle grew up with stories of Percy Jackson, but it takes meeting his son to realize who he really was.

-

the carriage held but just ourselves by Writeous

The official story is this: Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, just two months shy of their seventh wedding anniversary, hurtle off a cliff on a lonely mountain road. A tragic accident, a sharp turn taken too quickly. Their 2023 Prius was found buried under debris, three hundred feet below where witnesses claim they fell. Paramedics declared them dead upon arrival, suffering blunt force trauma as their car collapsed with them inside.

The real story is this: Percy and Annabeth watch as Hecate’s children create perfect duplicates of them that are promptly hurled off a cliff. Percy loved that Prius.

(Or: at the end of the Titan War, Zeus offered Percy immortality. Percy was mistaken in thinking it was an actual choice.)

-

Dawn Rises From The East by TsarinaTorment

During the Battle of Manhattan, Michael Yew fell into the East River; his body was never found. Two years later, a homeless kid known only as Ferret has a chance encounter that changes everything he knows.

-

Annabeth and the Nine Step Career Plan by feeling_the_aster_9145

Annabeth Chase does not accept limitations. Everyone knows that. If she wants something, no matter how impossible, she will find a way to make it happen. Though, perhaps she will allow Bruce Wayne and his ridiculous paranoia-induced company restrictions a small portion of the credit.

Actually… now that she thinks about it, the man may have had a point in his worries.

Wayne Technologies does not accept college interns. Annabeth always has a plan B.

-

is it really a crime if you don't exist? by MidnightBunny

"So, what you're saying is," Percy said, staring at the man in front of him. "you're me from the future."

The man took a drink out of the coffee cup in his hand. "Yup."

"And you're here," Percy said slowly. "Because Annabeth's brother's boyfriend is trying to prove the existence of the multiverse."

The man nodded.

"And you got sucked in when he turned it on."

Nod.

"And now you don't know how to get home."

Nod.

"And how did you get sucked in, again?"

The man mumbled something.

"What?"

"I was coming back from the bathroom and opened the wrong door."

-

(I'm so excited this one is back y'all, the author privated all her works but just unprivated them a few weeks back so now I'm recommending you read all of her stuff, especially this fic)

Son of Sea Foam by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

“She’ll never claim me,” he whispered. Silena shook her head, eyes wild as she looked around for anyone who could be watching.

“My mother doesn’t remember half of her children as it is,” she said with a note of bitterness. “If you do something to impress her, it won’t matter. Return the bolt in her name. She’ll claim you if you act the part. If you stay unclaimed then they'll figure out what you really are," she said, squeezing his hands tightly. Percy's heart sped up.

"I - I don't know the first thing about Aphrodite-"

"My mother was born of sea foam," Silena cut him off. "And if you're really who I think you are... you are the sea. You can pull this off," she said and touched his cheek. "Get the bolt. Survive," she said. Percy swallowed.

"What if I can't act the part?" He asked. Silena's expression went blank for a moment. Slowly, she slipped off her bracelet and placed it in his hands.

"If you're going to be one of us... you better learn."

Or

AU where Percy has to hide the fact he's a Big Three kid otherwise he'll be killed on the spot. Unfortunately for him, unclaimed kids tend to raise the most suspicion... but he might have found a loophole in the form of Aphrodite.

-

This fic on tumblr that’s one of the best PJO fics I’ve ever read

[gabessquishytum]

No sex-ed Dream our beloved 😁 how about the reverse of that last ask? Dream was told as a child that only married couples have babies, and growing up somehow completely missed any evidence to refute that. Even when he later (barely) learns about sex, by the time he’s in college he pretty firmly thinks it’s sex + marriage = babies. He still wanted his first time to be special though, so he’s still a virgin until he starts sleeping with Hob.

When Dream starts having pregnancy symptoms, he simply assumes he caught a bad flu or something. At some point Hob hesitantly brings up the possibility of pregnancy, but Dream just rolls his eyes and says something like that’s impossible, or that he’s pretty sure he would’ve noticed if he was pregnant.

What he’s thinking is “It’s impossible obviously bc we’re not married, and I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed if we had gotten married, very funny Hob (actually that sounds lovely, but we should probably wait until after graduation)”.

What Hob hears is either “that’s impossible” as in Dream can’t have kids (a bit of a disappointment, but there’s always adoption), or “I would’ve noticed” as in Dream has already checked and confirmed he’s not, maybe he already took a test and it came back negative or he’s on his period, so Hob lets it go, and the nausea quickly goes away anyway and they move on in blissful ignorance (btw if Dream is like me he’s really really bad at tracking his cycles, so he doesn’t even notice that he’s missed a couple months (I’m so bad, if I ever get pregnant missing my period is not how I’m gonna find out 😅)).

If possible for maximum comedy I’d try to keep Dream in denial up until the birth, but Hob will probably bring the subject back up a little more forcefully when Dream starts showing. At first it could be dismissed as a little weight gain (and that’s what Dream definitely thinks it is), but at a certain point it’s clear that that’s a baby bump, it’s literally a baby bump, Dream do you have something you’d like to share???

They finally sit down and clear everything up, then they can both have a little freak out as a treat, that Dream is pregnant, they’re gonna be dads, holy shit they are so behind they need to schedule all the appointments yesterday.

-🪽anon

My love for this au never ends!!!! And I do have a huge soft spot for a Dream who is very obviously pregnant and very much in denial about it. Maybe he insists that Hob has just been feeding him too well! And Hob is staring at the very round very obvious bump (which occasionally ripples as the baby begins to move around and throw punches). Admittedly he likes to keep Dream eating plenty of nutritious meals, but his lasagnes definitely didn't do THAT.

I think deep, deep down Dream knows that he's having a baby, but he's very scared and kind of hoping the whole situation will go away if he ignores it. He still doesn't know HOW he got into this mess. Did him and Hob get married with out realising it? Dream is so confused and anxious and he wants a nine month nap and a hug. Instead he gets a baby (and a boyfriend who loves him very much and is who is NOT going to put his dick inside Dream without a condom for a very, very long time).

Nevertheless, the expectant parents are very very excited!!!! Hob is telling everyone he knows that his boyfriend is pregnant!!!! He's got a lil miracle in his belly!!!! Hob’s gonna be a daddy for real!!!! And Dream pulls off the most beautiful, iconic, celebratory trans pregnancy to the point where the entire campus is invested, and bigots everywhere are drowning in ire and envy.

It's especially nice that their baby, aged around 18 months, gets to be the guest of honour when they do get married. Dream and Hob get a night off from parenting their little one and have a very raunchy consummation of their marriage in their hotel room........ where Dream suggests that now they're actually married, maybe it's time to try for another baby?

Hob takes great pleasure in chucking the condoms out into the corridor. Time to make a baby with his HUSBAND <3