#my sons were having an intervention

[trash-shay]

important meeting today

[daenerysoftarth]

(This is a genuine question, btw, no sarcasm!)

I am curious: what kind of abusive vibes did you get out of the Tywin/Joanna relationship? Everyone else that blogs about their relationship sees it either as a love story from the get go or at most a duo of two ruthless people set on making everyone’s lives hell together. Because of this, I’m very interested to read a separate opinion!

Mainly bc all of the accounts we get about their ‘love’ is very secondhand and Tywin rarely has anything to say about Joanna at all. And mostly bc the man is abusive to Tyrion, Cersei, and Jaime. That kind of abuse doesn’t build overnight, and abusers will often lash out at whoever is closest to them. Joanna was close to him. When she died, Tywin took it out on Tyrion as a part of a larger pattern of behavior.

Also so many accounts of great love stories turn out to be accounts of abuse. Abusers mythologize their relationship to make it harder for those around them to recognize subtle signs of abuse. Victims play into the mythology because it’s an extremely effective method of psychological entrapment, and they’ve been ensnared. How could I be unhappy when we’re the perfect couple? What’s wrong w me? Etc

And above all else: the vibes

Thanks for the ask! Xoxoxo

[reasonsforhope]

"When Ellen Kaphamtengo felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, she thought she might be in labour. It was the ninth month of her first pregnancy and she wasn’t taking any chances. With the help of her mother, the 18-year-old climbed on to a motorcycle taxi and rushed to a hospital in Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe, a 20-minute ride away.

At the Area 25 health centre, they told her it was a false alarm and took her to the maternity ward. But things escalated quickly when a routine ultrasound revealed that her baby was much smaller than expected for her pregnancy stage, which can cause asphyxia – a condition that limits blood flow and oxygen to the baby.

In Malawi, about 19 out of 1,000 babies die during delivery or in the first month of life. Birth asphyxia is a leading cause of neonatal mortality in the country, and can mean newborns suffering brain damage, with long-term effects including developmental delays and cerebral palsy.

Doctors reclassified Kaphamtengo, who had been anticipating a normal delivery, as a high-risk patient. Using AI-enabled foetal monitoring software, further testing found that the baby’s heart rate was dropping. A stress test showed that the baby would not survive labour.

The hospital’s head of maternal care, Chikondi Chiweza, knew she had less than 30 minutes to deliver Kaphamtengo’s baby by caesarean section. Having delivered thousands of babies at some of the busiest public hospitals in the city, she was familiar with how quickly a baby’s odds of survival can change during labour.

Chiweza, who delivered Kaphamtengo’s baby in good health, says the foetal monitoring programme has been a gamechanger for deliveries at the hospital.

“[In Kaphamtengo’s case], we would have only discovered what we did either later on, or with the baby as a stillbirth,” she says.

The software, donated by the childbirth safety technology company PeriGen through a partnership with Malawi’s health ministry and Texas children’s hospital, tracks the baby’s vital signs during labour, giving clinicians early warning of any abnormalities. Since they began using it three years ago, the number of stillbirths and neonatal deaths at the centre has fallen by 82%. It is the only hospital in the country using the technology.

“The time around delivery is the most dangerous for mother and baby,” says Jeffrey Wilkinson, an obstetrician with Texas children’s hospital, who is leading the programme. “You can prevent most deaths by making sure the baby is safe during the delivery process.”

The AI monitoring system needs less time, equipment and fewer skilled staff than traditional foetal monitoring methods, which is critical in hospitals in low-income countries such as Malawi, which face severe shortages of health workers. Regular foetal observation often relies on doctors performing periodic checks, meaning that critical information can be missed during intervals, while AI-supported programs do continuous, real-time monitoring. Traditional checks also require physicians to interpret raw data from various devices, which can be time consuming and subject to error.

Area 25’s maternity ward handles about 8,000 deliveries a year with a team of around 80 midwives and doctors. While only about 10% are trained to perform traditional electronic monitoring, most can use the AI software to detect anomalies, so doctors are aware of any riskier or more complex births. Hospital staff also say that using AI has standardised important aspects of maternity care at the clinic, such as interpretations on foetal wellbeing and decisions on when to intervene.

Kaphamtengo, who is excited to be a new mother, believes the doctor’s interventions may have saved her baby’s life. “They were able to discover that my baby was distressed early enough to act,” she says, holding her son, Justice.

Doctors at the hospital hope to see the technology introduced in other hospitals in Malawi, and across Africa.

“AI technology is being used in many fields, and saving babies’ lives should not be an exception,” says Chiweza. “It can really bridge the gap in the quality of care that underserved populations can access.”"

-via The Guardian, December 6, 2024

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The Neighbor’s Boy is…Odd

A piece from a collection of shorts inspired by Junjo Ito. Enjoy.🖤

It started when you were welcomed by the Okana family, next door. You had just moved in and the welcome wagon was in full swing. They seemed like a happy bunch, all with blonde hair with brown highlights and wide smiles save for their youngest son. He had red hair…not the orangish kind most would but like a burgundy. He was not that much younger than his brother and had to be in middle school. Which is why you tried to excuse the consistently weird vibe you’d get from him.

“Oi Toichi be respectful to the new neighbor,” his brother scolded him first.

Next, his sister chimed, “Yeah Toichi pass them the cookies we made for them!”

The boy seemed to shuffle anxiously. Blackish brown eyes darting between you and the cookies. When his gaze lingered you smiled and waved. Poor kid was probably frightened by you, reminding you of those nervous kindergartners who are shy in the beginning.

“Hi, are you Toichi? My name is (Y/n) and I’m your new neighbor! So happy to be friends with you!”

The poor kid turned red, bowing his head….and taking off with the cookies in hand. 

“Toichi! You’re so rude! Get back here!” 

“I’m telling Mom and Dad you took the gift for the neighbors!”

You held back your laughter as the siblings chased one another far from view. Chalking up that encounter to first-meeting jitters felt right. Perhaps your uneasy feeling was unreasonable and Toichi was truly just as pleasant as the rest of your family.

“Did you hear poor Miss Benson down the street had some cookies with nails in it!”

“Oh, how awful is she alright?”

“She’ll be fine she didn’t bite into any of them, it was the rust that poisoned her.”

“How cruel! That’s just terrible! I bet it was those delinquents, the devils.”

It couldn’t be. 

It had to be a mere coincidence. A small coincidence that the cookies Missus Okana slaved over never did get to you and that…odd little boy seemed so nervous to hand the basket over. You hoped it was, so you couldn’t hold it against him when you found him in your yard. The fence was a little over your second-floor windows, unusually high but you figured your gardens might be the interest for scrounging pests. Which had you questioning how on Earth you came home to Toichi knee-deep in the dirt.

“Uh hi Toichi.”

“Eeek!”

He genuinely seemed surprised that you were home. Still dressed in your work attire, you decided not to startle him anymore. It was oddly relaxing instead of marinating in the silence of your garden to navigate the soft-spoken neighbor kid. 

“Would you like some tea or some snacks?”

The boy once again turned red barely nodding his little head before turning away. You chuckled at his bashful before retreating inside to get said tea and treats. It was nice to host for little Toichi certainly less conversation but you didn’t mind. 

But for good measure, you figured you’d let the family next door know their little one was safe and sound.

Curse Them!!!

Curse them for that bright smile! Never before have I suffered an active buffer to my curses. Already three of my brilliant curses were thwarted! The first curse was brilliant until their intervention! It was the perfect revenge for frightening me with their….nice face. A cursed gift is what I left the skull of a pesky mouse on their doorstep a lovely little symbol for this new neighbor. But alas I was thwarted by the stray cat that visits them every night, the pesky creature pulled and scratched at the wrapping before dragging it away. I tried to retrieve it but the feline must have been bakaneko with how painful the scratches they inflicted on me…but I was—am unphased!

My next scheme was even more grand! I snatched the sliced fruit they gifted the family in return. Though I’d endured protection from their smile with shielding glasses, but I neglected to use ear plugs to combat their enchanting voice. Surely they are not at all like the usual malevolent forces but for my third attempt I figured I’d have to try! I consulted with the forces beyond when it came to their frequent visitors who dared to bring attention to my hiding place among their bushes! My spirit contact suggested I directly summon them to deal with this problem, but when the demon was summoned all they did was posses the mailman and get invited inside! I wanted to do that!

Clearly on my own the best I could do was put a cursed object in their garden. The object was an extension of myself, the perfect tool to find their weaknesses and destroy them once and for all. Once the full moon rose it would gain all it’s functions and be the perfect puppet, but for now it’s eyes were all that could be used. And with the perfect timing it would prove to be their demise!

“Hey Toichi you alright with cheese crackers?”

Of course I nodded keeping my eyes far from theirs. My puppet was already in place now all I needed to do was leave and activate the puppet so that I could–

“Here you are! Let me know if you need anything else, huni!”

Oh no! They’re vocal enchantments! The earplugs were taken out to avoid detection and now I’m paying the price! As their hex entails my cheeks are red with the blood boiling it causes forcing my heart to beat so much faster. Along with the sweat induced that allows them to collect my cursed essence to bend me to their will! Though I assume that must be the power of this…new mysterious entity. It draws me in, inviting me to stay with it’s infinite power. Looking out the window at the small pile of raised dirt, I began to envy the puppet. Maybe I can–

“TOICHI! Are you bothering our neighbor!”

Curse this wretch of an older brother! I’ll forever hate all his entire existence! HE’S RUINING EVERYTHING! STUPID OLDER BROTHER! AFTER I VANQUISH THEM I’LL TURN YOU INTO A COCKROACH SO I CAN SQUASH YOU, ROAST YOU AND FEED YOU TO THAT STUPID, MANGY,TWISTED C–

“Oh Toichi before you go! Here’s your doll you buried and the extra cookies. See you later!”

…

…

….There truly was no hope with this horror….

Well if you can’t beat them they say to join.

Perhaps he’d have to rethink his allegiance to the spirits in the attic sometime.

Next →

[tritoch]

the warrior of light as a game-breaking force of violence

there's a moment, relatively early in dawntrail, that establishes succinctly how out of place the warrior of light (as the savior of eorzea and main character of four successive final fantasy game plots) is in what is essentially the story of fresh new final fantasy protagonist wuk lamat. and it sets up quite nicely how the framework of fantasy video game conflict pulls the warrior of light forever towards violence as the expansion goes on.

spoilers through 7.0 follow

consider wuk lamat's kidnapping and rescue. bakool ja ja holds his blade to wuk lamat's throat, taunting you. his lackeys line up against your party in neat little ranks suspiciously reminiscent of a classic final fantasy encounter screen.

and it simply does not matter to the warrior of light. you stride right through their combat setup because you are beyond that by now. the warrior of light has absolutely no respect for the "we are about to do ATB combat" lineup. the camera even jumps the line for you in one continuous rotating shot, crossing the axis of action as though to emphasize through the disruption of visual convention how far outside the game's boundaries you are.

this is how far you are above the problems of dawntrail's first half. you cannot even be bound by the normal rules of cinematography and video game combat. everyone else here lined up for a good old-fashioned scrap and the warrior of light said haha nope actually. i'm going to stroll through here like a god of war astride this tiny battlefield. your henchmen cannot even raise a hand to me. i don't even have to engage in violence directly anymore. my mere presence is enough.

in fact, not only can bakool ja ja's henchmen not raise a hand to you, he's not even worthy of your direct intervention. he kidnaps wuk lamat and steals her keystones and frees valigarmanda and kidnaps hunmu rruk and none of it warrants the warrior of light so much as raising a finger. he's wuk lamat's recurring villain, that's not your problem. you're just here to take in the scenery.

zoraal ja spends his whole life aspiring to be thought of as his father's equal and a worthy successor to the dawnservant as the "resilient son." all it takes for gulool ja ja to acknowledge you as a warrior on his level is like a five minute sparring match. the acknowledgement from gulool ja ja that zoraal ja hungered for his whole life and would eventually go full cyborg supervillain to get via regicide is something the warrior of light receives casually in a throwaway line after their level 93 solo duty on the way to more important plot conversations.

it really seems for a second, in the first half of dawntrail, like you are strong enough and the problems simple enough for this to be a clean and easy adventure. bakool ja ja? power of friendship'd. mamook? successfully reintegrated, no worries about the crimes against humanity. rite of succession? handily won. nothing can stop you. even duty finder queue times have been conquered: you can do all your duties with trusts now.

all of which only makes it better when the second half has sphene ask you and wuk lamat directly: could your strength have been enough to save alexandria? could you have found a different way?

i know some people get very annoyed we don't intervene in the gulool ja ja fight. now personally i think if you see arthur and mordred squaring up it's rude to intervene, but beyond that, it simply wouldn't have mattered. by the time zoraal ja's forces arrived in tuliyollal, alexandria and tural were already on a collision course and doomed to conflict. your hands alone could never have averted this conflict. sphene was always bound to do what she did—and certainly a gulool ja ja without his reason would not be any more inclined to peace than wuk lamat and koana were.

there's a great little moment just before living memory where estinien, champion at reading the room, is like "okay so if thancred and i stay here that frees up you up, aibou, to do what you do best and save the world and have epic fights. woo!!!" and immediately afterwards you basically have to apologize to alisaie because part of the sort of unspoken premise of this whole trip in the first place was that you were, finally, not going to plunge into mortal peril to save the world. you were finally going to take it easy. you were finally done with that. and she has to sort of ruefully be like nah it's fine bro. i was trying to get you to take it easy and not do insane risky world-saving violence. but y'know these things (interdimensional invasions) happen.

by the time you reach the very last trial, all pretense that the warrior of light could have ever been beyond these problems has vanished. you were, very emphatically, not strong enough to hold onto all that was dear without sacrifice. gulool ja ja and otis and cahciua died. yyasulani was irreversibly changed, physically colonized and culturally decimated by another dimension. you systematically shut down each part of living memory, and all its friendly, charming, loving ghosts, with your own hands. with your own clicks.

not even the vaunted strength of the warrior of light is enough to overcome sphene's inexorable logic of conflict. and so, in the end, she plucks you out of the crowd and says, explicitly for reasons of your strength, that you are going to have to do a boss fight now. you are going to have to kill her and you are going to have to do it in a proper 8-on-1 trial, and she forces you to affirmatively state that you understand you're going to kill her.

did you think you were above it all? did you think you could get away from here with your weapon undrawn, with your hands clean? that for you and you alone the logic of conflict comes undone? wrong. wrong. wrong.

your strength cannot redeem you, says sphene. your friends cannot make these sacrifices for you. if you would play the hero then you must play the hero. no half-measures.

back to the duty finder with ye.

[dreamdragonkadia]

I like naps with Percy, that might be my one personality trait now. p.jackson x reader

It happened again.

You weren’t even surprised at this point.

No matter how many times you told yourself you’d sleep in your own cabin, maybe curl up under a tree, or even find a spot by the lake, you always, always ended up right back here—buried in soft sheets that still carried his warmth, wrapped in the scent of sea salt and summer storms.

Poseidon hadn’t banned you from Cabin Three yet, which was nothing short of divine intervention. You were convinced the god had to know by now, had to have looked down at least once to find you curled up in his son’s bed like you belonged there. Maybe he was entertained. Maybe he didn’t care. Or maybe he had bigger problems to deal with than his son’s significant other making themselves at home in his temple of a cabin.

It was so easy to drift here. The sound of waves just outside, the distant echo of water lapping against the shore, the rhythmic push and pull of the tide—it all wrapped around you, lulling you into that perfect state of almost-asleep, where reality blurred at the edges and you felt like you could float away.

You’d already woken up twice.

Both times, you had every intention of actually getting out of bed. You’d even made it as far as pushing the blankets down, wiggling your toes, thinking about what you were going to do next. But then the pull of sleep had dragged you back under, his scent wrapping around you like a tide dragging you out to sea.

Maybe just five more minutes.

You weren’t asleep—not really. But you weren’t awake either. You hovered in that in-between, listening to the distant chatter of camp outside, the occasional singing of birds, the calls of demigods training. You wondered, vaguely, if you should be doing something right now.

Then came the softest chuckle.

You stirred, blinking blearily, and those damn sea-green eyes were the first thing you saw.

Percy was perched on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you with that lopsided grin that made your heart do annoying things inside your chest. His hair was slightly damp, the ends curling slightly, like he’d just finished sparring or maybe finished up with a shower.

"Hi, Handsome," you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.

"Hi, Beautiful," he said, voice soft as the tide rolling in.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss against your lips—once, then again, then a third time, slow and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. You could’ve stayed here forever, tangled up in him, the rest of the camp forgotten.

Your arms found their way around his neck without thinking, fingers threading through his hair, and he melted against you, his body warm and solid against yours. Not in the urgent, breathless way of stolen moments, but in something soft, something constant. His body pressed against you in a way that made you feel grounded, like an anchor.

He sighed against your skin, his head resting against your shoulder, the tips of his hair tickling your collarbone. "I swear," he muttered, "I’m just gonna start checking my cabin first whenever I’m looking for you."

You laughed, eyes fluttering shut again. "Smart choice, Seaweed Brain."

He huffed against your neck. "I knew you were gonna say that."

"You always know what I’m gonna say," you murmured, fingers lazily tracing the shape of his shoulder. "It’s, like, your one personality trait."

"Excuse me," he scoffed, pulling back just enough to look at you, feigning offense. "I have plenty of personality traits, thank you very much."

"Uh-huh," you teased, eyes twinkling. "Like sleeping, eating, and almost dying every other week?"

"Wow. Okay. Rude."

His fingers found your sides, pressing in just enough to make you squirm, and you yelped, trying to twist away as laughter bubbled up in your throat. "Percy—no, don’t you dare—"

"Shouldn’t have insulted my personality," he teased, grinning as he easily pinned you down, trapping you beneath him.

You pouted up at him, breathless from laughter. "I like your personality."

"Yeah?" He arched a brow.

You hummed, brushing your nose against his. "Mhm. Even when you’re being an absolute menace."

His grin softened into something more affectionate, something quieter. He dipped his head down, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, lingering, like he was memorizing the feeling of you beneath him. When he finally pulled away, his lips barely ghosting over yours, he murmured, "Guess I can live with that."

You sighed dramatically, stretching beneath him, making no attempt to actually move. "Good, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere."

Percy chuckled, shaking his head as he shifted, settling against you like it was the easiest thing in the world. His arm draped lazily over your waist, pulling you closer as he nestled his head against your chest.

"Yeah, me neither," he mumbled.

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, warm breath fanning over your skin, and just like that, he stilled. No more teasing, no more witty remarks—just the two of you wrapped up in each other, breathing in sync with the distant lull of the waves outside.

And so you stayed, the rest of the world forgotten.

[thetrialsandtribulationsofeb]

no but it cracks me up that all this time buck was walking around with this feeling of “my bro is the most attractive dude on the planet. like, he’s so pretty, any girl would be lucky to have him. i’m kind of jealous of them (joking, of course. or am i?..), but i get it. and he’s also such an amazing dad. and he’s so smart, and so brave, and so reliable, and so funny, and so cool. literally the best person alive. i’m just happy for his girlfriends, ‘cause they get to have this guy to themselves. but also i hope he never has another best friend like me, ‘cause no one is allowed to take my place in his life. it’s all i have”

and eddie was walking around with this feeling of “wow, i just made the bestest friend in the world. he cares about me and he loves my child so much. i want to spend all my time with him. i want to talk with him about everything. i want to listen to him talk about everything. i want to see him every day. i trust him with my life. i trust him with my son, which is even more important than my life. now that i’ve gotten to know him, i can’t really imagine my future without him in it. also, i have this weird swirl of feelings inside my chest when i see him with his romantic partners, but i have no idea what it is. it’s too confusing for me, so my brain is just kind of unable to process it. i trust him with my darkest secrets and i’m not afraid of him seeing me at my lowest, ‘cause i feel like he always accepts all of me with understanding instead of judgment. my life feels empty and wrong without him by my side. i might need him almost as much as i need my son at this point, wow. he’s just the most important person in my life. again, after my son. but i realized that i need both of them beside me to feel happy”

and for 7 years, they genuinely didn’t understand what it meant, because eddie was too inexperienced and emotionally repressed to be able to comprehend what his feelings actually meant, and buck was too unaware of what his feelings for men meant

so all these years they were really just walking around being in love with each other but not having a single idea that they were, because they really thought that this is just how platonic camaraderie feels like -

until tommy's intervention and eddie's move to el paso finally opened their eyes and gave them a new perspective from which they could look at their feelings toward each other and finally be able to understand them

their story gets me every time. like, it’s so stupid and unhinged and beautiful

and something like this really could only happen by accident, ‘cause i don’t think any tv show writer is smart enough to create something so raw and complex as their relationship from scratch

it just kind of happened by itself. and i love it

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ryan Burge at Graphs About Religion:

I’ve got two sons - one is thirteen and the other is ten. I remember when my wife and I were thinking about having children, we talked all the time about the best type of birthing plan (I distinctly remember becoming intimately aware of something called the cascade of intervention). Then it was breastfeeding versus bottle feeding and cloth diapers versus disposable diapers. It felt like it was consuming most of our conversations for a period of time. You just want to make sure that you are making the best decisions for your children so that they can hopefully grow up to be decent, productive human beings. Then we went through the preschool stage. How often should we send them? What school is best for their needs? That was certainly a rousing debate in our household. Then, public school vs private school - why wife is Catholic, after all. It seems like there’s no end to all the decisions parents have to face and every life stage gives way to another set of questions that don’t have any easy answers.

Now we are in the phase of cell phones, screen time, and socialization. The best way that I can describe my goals for my boys is that they don’t become the weirdos who have no understanding of pop culture but are also not glued to their screens every waking moment. Good luck finding that balance. There’s an empirical reason for my concern - the data about the social lives of high school students is incredibly bleak and honestly makes me very worried for the next generation. Let me show you what I mean by generating a handful of graphs from this great dataset called Monitoring the Future. They’ve been asking questions of 8th, 10th, and 12th graders since the mid-1970s. What an amazing way to track what teenagers are doing with their time over the last couple of decades. Let me start by focusing on a question that asks high school seniors how often they go on dates in a typical month. In 1995, the vast majority of seniors were going on dates several times a month. In this data, just about one third of them said that they were going on zero or one date per month. Between 1995 and 2010, the share who dated very little rose to just below 50%. Let’s call that an increase of 15 points in about 15 years. From 2010 through 2021, the share who barely went on dates rose to 72%. That’s an increase of 22 points in just 11 years. In other words, the rate doubled in recent years. But I know what you are going to say - COVID explains some of it. Yes, I agree with you - there was a noticeable decrease in dating frequency during 2021 and 2022. But in 2010, 48% of 12th graders were dating rarely. In 2019, it was 63%. That’s a fifteen point jump in just nine years. That cannot be explained by a global pandemic. Dating among high school seniors slowed significantly during the 2010s. Now, what’s interesting about that to me is that between 1995 and 2021, religion among high school seniors also fell off a cliff. A very workable theory is that religious organizations can have a suppressing effect on romantic relationships between teenagers. If that hypothesis was true then we should see dating rise as we see religion decline. But we see the exact opposite.

[...]

Another question in Monitoring the Future asks how often 12th graders go out for fun or recreation in a typical week. That’s about as generic as it gets. This data points in the same general direction as the prior analysis. In 1995, just 22% of high school seniors were hanging out with their friends no more than once a week. That figure did creep up just a little bit in the next 15 years, but not by much. In 2010, it was up to 26% - an increase of just four points in fifteen years. Certainly a worrying trajectory but definitely a very slow moving trendline. By 2012, that figure moved to 30%, and it was up to 35% by 2014 and only continued to climb from there. Even before the pandemic hit, it was just above 40%. In 23 years, the share of teens who barely hung out with their friend nearly doubled. In the data collected during 2020 and 2021, the figure was exactly the same - 46%. Yes, there was a noticeable decrease in socialization due to the pandemic, but it was only five percentage points. I just don’t know how you can look at this graph and not think that this has a lot to do with the rise of the smartphone. It took 18 years to go from 22% to 32%. Then it took five years to go from 32% to 41%. What else could explain this increase? Anyone who says that social media has connected us more is just not facing the facts. Young people are not using all their messaging apps to arrange opportunities to hang out in real life, they are just seemingly content to digitally communicate.

[...] The one big takeaway for me is that those who never attend religious services are also the least likely to do other types of socializing. That makes sense, logically. One type of socializing is related to another type of socializing. Going to church means you are often given the opportunity to hang out with other kids in the youth group on another day of the week. That happened a lot when I was a teenager. But I do want to highlight the fact that never attenders really became an outlier on this metric around 2014 or so. It seems like there was a clear “socializing gap” that began to emerge about ten years ago. As I’ve written a dozen times - dropping out begets dropping out. [...] I want to point two things out that I think are crucial about this graph. The first is that the average high school senior is just incredibly less social in 2022 compared to a 12th grader from the 1990s. It’s at least 3-4 fold increase in the share who are completely antisocial. Kids aren’t hanging out. But the other thing is that religious attendance does make a difference here. The 12th graders who are the least social are those who never attend religious services. The ones who are the most social are those who attend religious services on a monthly basis. Hanging out begets hanging out. I am going to be clear on this - church is not some type of panacea to get kids to be more social, but it certainly doesn’t hurt.

Ryan Burge wrote in Graphs About Religion the very disturbing trend of growing anti-social sentiments in high schools.

[somereaderinblue]

Warrior!Penelope God Games

After writing Odysseus's Challenge, I was still on a creative high & decided to do this too. NOTE: The swaps between gods were taken from @too-much-flynnolium’s art.

[ARES]

Mother, God Queen, rarely do I ask for favours

Now, I'm kneeling on your floor

With hopes to save a friendship

With one who's a prisoner far from home

Penelope

[HERA]

Divine intervention, so that is your wish?

To untie apprehensions that were placed on that Greek?

You are braving such dangers for a girl full of shame

But if she's worth the risk of going under

Why not make it a game?

Convince each of them that she ought to be released

And I'll release her

[ARES]

Who's them?

[HERA]

Artemis! Hestia!

Dionysus! Athena!

Demeter! Or me

What do you say?

[ARTEMIS]

Sure.

[HESTIA]

Very well.

[DIONYSUS]

Hic!

[ATHENA]

Alright.

[DEMETER]

Interesting.

[ARES]

Bring it.

[ARTEMIS]

You all know I'm a fan of nature and all

So with so many sirens gone

I think Penny's in the wrong

[ARES]

They had planned to do their worst

All she did was reimburse them

Now they'll tread with caution first

To live another day and sing even more verse!

[ARTEMIS]

Good point, release her.

[HESTIA]

Trust is not wasted, it’s forged

Why should I give her my support?

She turned her back on her cohort

[ARES]

Did you forget they failed to listen?

She was betrayed and now imprisoned

But if you make the right decision

She can still have a future with those who miss her!

[HESTIA]

Fine, release her.

[DIONYSUS]

Your little high and mighty Penelope

Claims to love another, but keeps him chained to a broken heart

[ARES]

She was busy fighting

[DIONYSUS]

More like busy spiting the cyclops

Let her feel the pain that the others feel and rot

[ARES]

Wait!

You must reconsider this!

[ATHENA]

Really now, Ares, no new tricks?

[ARES]

Athena!

[ATHENA]

What kind of so-called fighter holds back her power

Just lets her friends get devoured?

She couldn’t fight Scylla, but didn’t even try to outwit her

Hides with naught but a sword to get the job done

Tries to handle things upfront

Dim-witted and weak like her son

[ARES]

Hold your tongue now, her son's my friend!

And tell that drunkard that all kinds of hurts can mend

You want more mind games? Then set her free

To get back to her homestead, she'll make everyone’s brains bleed!

[ATHENA & DIONYSUS]

Then release her.

[DEMETER]

So many talents, so many tales

Give me one good reason why yours should prevail

[ARES]

She's got the hands of a weaver!

[DEMETER]

Dig deeper

[ARES]

She's pretty skilled with words!

[DEMETER]

You can do better than that!

[ARES]

She's very sassy…?

[DEMETER]

Eh

[ARES]

Never once does she give up on her child.

[DEMETER]

Release her.

[ARES]

I’ve played your game and won! Release her.

[HERA]

You dare to defy me? To give me more shame?

No one beats me, no one wins my game!

Marriage, bring her through the wringer

Show her I'm the judgement call

The one who makes the final call!

.

.

.

.

[ATHENA]

Is he dead?

.

.

.

Penelope had told Ares that for mothers, childbirth in itself was a difficult battle and the parenthood that came after a race with no finish line in sight. Personally, Ares would’ve likened it to war. If family had truly been something as linear as a race then surely Hermes would be on their father’s throne by now.

She placed her spawn in his arms. Said spawn miraculously didn’t squirm or squall against his battle-hardened muscles and cold gauntlets. 

“His name is Telemachus.” Far from battle. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Then again, considering how eerily squishy the infant was, perhaps the name was fitting.

Ares blinked as tiny fingers gripped his, the pudgy digits unable to full wrap around it. Yet, the grip was strong. No, it was simply alive. He’s bathed in blood so often that he’s forgotten even the tiniest of hearts can still beat.

“Telemachus.”  Penelope and Odysseus smiled. Smiled at him, smiled because of him. They were happy. He was happy.

.

.

.

[ARES]

Let her go…..please

Let her go……

[sunshineandspencer]

Friendly face (Part 2)

A/N: I may have misjudged the amount of people that would love receptionist x hotch, and I never planned on a part 2 but I will always succumb to peer pressure.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Receptionist!Reader.

Summary: Now that his favourite receptionist works on his floor (with absolutely no intervention from himself), Aaron finds himself almost as smitten as his son.

Word Count: 609

Warnings: fluff in a way that my heart hurts

part 1 here!! and part three!!!

While working in the main reception had been interesting over the years, it was nothing compared to working on the BAU floor.

Firstly, the team had taken to her so well, and everyone absolutely adored her. Penelope especially, considering she now had someone that constantly stayed back just like her. Spencer, too, is an absolute sweetheart that she would probably die for.

Whenever they came back from cases, she always had a new batch of whatever she’d been baking just for them.

However, the team found out about her ‘first come gets two’ stipulation that she had, and didn’t like that it constantly went to Hotch. Plus he’d go on to get a third that supposedly went to Jack, but Morgan was convinced that he just eats it on the way home and his son doesn’t see a crumb.

Being accused of favouritism, especially with the Unit Chief, wasn’t something she expected, but she embraced it readily. Played into it, actually.

Absolutely adoring the way he would pretend that he hadn't ever taken two - “let alone three Morgan, get a grip” - but then made a big thing of packing two small paper-wrapped treats into his bag in full view of the team.

Accompanied by her soft giggles from the receptionist desk that she desperately tried to hide as they all walked out.

Although, her absolute favourite times at the BAU were when JJ and (especially) Hotch’s kids visited. They now swarmed her desk, asking so damn cutely for candy and treats that she’d happily sneak to them.

While Henry was adorable, Jack was absolutely her favourite.

Today, as she walked into the bullpen to sort out some files, she was met by the joyful giggles of the younger Hotchner boy running at her. Until she had a mess of blonde hair buried into her stomach that nearly ran her over.

“Oh~! How is my favourite Hotchner!”

“Good.”

The voice that responded wasn’t exactly the one she had expected.

It didn’t come from the muffled face buried into her pastel pink cardigan, it wasn’t high pitched and excited - moments away from begging for another candy - and it certainly didn’t belong to the younger Hotchner currently lolling his head back to look up at her.

Instead, as she looked up, she was met with the amused glance of Aaron Hotchner. A man who appeared far too smug for his own good.

Deciding to blatantly ignore the other agents as he walked over to them, ruffling his son's hair and talking softly. Easing the files from her hand.

“Don’t knock her over Jack, or she won’t give us biscuits anymore.”

The boy pouted and she knew she could never deny him anything, looking up to smack Aaron’s arm softly. Giving him a playfully scolding look.

“I would never deny my favourite Hotchner anything.”

“I should think not.”

Neither of them delved into whether or not she meant Jack or Aaron. Knowing it wasn’t worth getting into right now - he’d interrogate her over their dinner on the weekend.

With a gentle brush to the small of her back, Aaron slipped past her towards his office, and she looked back down to Jack. Smushing his little cheeks and leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead, leaving a pink smudge behind that left him giggling all over again.

Whispering down at him that she would never withhold treats from him, and sneaking him off to grab some more while his dad wasn’t looking.

Not realising that he was looking from his office, that gentle smile on his face to see his son so comfortable with someone else.

To be so comfortable with her.

Want more?! Good!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

I assure you, an AI didn’t write a terrible “George Carlin” routine

There are only TWO MORE DAYS left in the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

On Hallowe'en 1974, Ronald Clark O'Bryan murdered his son with poisoned candy. He needed the insurance money, and he knew that Halloween poisonings were rampant, so he figured he'd get away with it. He was wrong:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Clark_O%27Bryan

The stories of Hallowe'en poisonings were just that – stories. No one was poisoning kids on Hallowe'en – except this monstrous murderer, who mistook rampant scare stories for truth and assumed (incorrectly) that his murder would blend in with the crowd.

Last week, the dudes behind the "comedy" podcast Dudesy released a "George Carlin" comedy special that they claimed had been created, holus bolus, by an AI trained on the comedian's routines. This was a lie. After the Carlin estate sued, the dudes admitted that they had written the (remarkably unfunny) "comedy" special:

https://arstechnica.com/ai/2024/01/george-carlins-heirs-sue-comedy-podcast-over-ai-generated-impression/

As I've written, we're nowhere near the point where an AI can do your job, but we're well past the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

AI systems can do some remarkable party tricks, but there's a huge difference between producing a plausible sentence and a good one. After the initial rush of astonishment, the stench of botshit becomes unmistakable:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

Some of this botshit comes from people who are sold a bill of goods: they're convinced that they can make a George Carlin special without any human intervention and when the bot fails, they manufacture their own botshit, assuming they must be bad at prompting the AI.

This is an old technology story: I had a friend who was contracted to livestream a Canadian awards show in the earliest days of the web. They booked in multiple ISDN lines from Bell Canada and set up an impressive Mbone encoding station on the wings of the stage. Only one problem: the ISDNs flaked (this was a common problem with ISDNs!). There was no way to livecast the show.

Nevertheless, my friend's boss's ordered him to go on pretending to livestream the show. They made a big deal of it, with all kinds of cool visualizers showing the progress of this futuristic marvel, which the cameras frequently lingered on, accompanied by overheated narration from the show's hosts.

The weirdest part? The next day, my friend – and many others – heard from satisfied viewers who boasted about how amazing it had been to watch this show on their computers, rather than their TVs. Remember: there had been no stream. These people had just assumed that the problem was on their end – that they had failed to correctly install and configure the multiple browser plugins required. Not wanting to admit their technical incompetence, they instead boasted about how great the show had been. It was the Emperor's New Livestream.

Perhaps that's what happened to the Dudesy bros. But there's another possibility: maybe they were captured by their own imaginations. In "Genesis," an essay in the 2007 collection The Creationists, EL Doctorow (no relation) describes how the ancient Babylonians were so poleaxed by the strange wonder of the story they made up about the origin of the universe that they assumed that it must be true. They themselves weren't nearly imaginative enough to have come up with this super-cool tale, so God must have put it in their minds:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/29/gedankenexperimentwahn/#high-on-your-own-supply

That seems to have been what happened to the Air Force colonel who falsely claimed that a "rogue AI-powered drone" had spontaneously evolved the strategy of killing its operator as a way of clearing the obstacle to its main objective, which was killing the enemy:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/04/ayyyyyy-eyeeeee/

This never happened. It was – in the chagrined colonel's words – a "thought experiment." In other words, this guy – who is the USAF's Chief of AI Test and Operations – was so excited about his own made up story that he forgot it wasn't true and told a whole conference-room full of people that it had actually happened.

Maybe that's what happened with the George Carlinbot 3000: the Dudesy dudes fell in love with their own vision for a fully automated luxury Carlinbot and forgot that they had made it up, so they just cheated, assuming they would eventually be able to make a fully operational Battle Carlinbot.

That's basically the Theranos story: a teenaged "entrepreneur" was convinced that she was just about to produce a seemingly impossible, revolutionary diagnostic machine, so she faked its results, abetted by investors, customers and others who wanted to believe:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theranos

The thing about stories of AI miracles is that they are peddled by both AI's boosters and its critics. For boosters, the value of these tall tales is obvious: if normies can be convinced that AI is capable of performing miracles, they'll invest in it. They'll even integrate it into their product offerings and then quietly hire legions of humans to pick up the botshit it leaves behind. These abettors can be relied upon to keep the defects in these products a secret, because they'll assume that they've committed an operator error. After all, everyone knows that AI can do anything, so if it's not performing for them, the problem must exist between the keyboard and the chair.

But this would only take AI so far. It's one thing to hear implausible stories of AI's triumph from the people invested in it – but what about when AI's critics repeat those stories? If your boss thinks an AI can do your job, and AI critics are all running around with their hair on fire, shouting about the coming AI jobpocalypse, then maybe the AI really can do your job?

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

There's a name for this kind of criticism: "criti-hype," coined by Lee Vinsel, who points to many reasons for its persistence, including the fact that it constitutes an "academic business-model":

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

That's four reasons for AI hype:

to win investors and customers;

to cover customers' and users' embarrassment when the AI doesn't perform;

AI dreamers so high on their own supply that they can't tell truth from fantasy;

A business-model for doomsayers who form an unholy alliance with AI companies by parroting their silliest hype in warning form.

But there's a fifth motivation for criti-hype: to simplify otherwise tedious and complex situations. As Jamie Zawinski writes, this is the motivation behind the obvious lie that the "autonomous cars" on the streets of San Francisco have no driver:

https://www.jwz.org/blog/2024/01/driverless-cars-always-have-a-driver/

GM's Cruise division was forced to shutter its SF operations after one of its "self-driving" cars dragged an injured pedestrian for 20 feet:

https://www.wired.com/story/cruise-robotaxi-self-driving-permit-revoked-california/

One of the widely discussed revelations in the wake of the incident was that Cruise employed 1.5 skilled technical remote overseers for every one of its "self-driving" cars. In other words, they had replaced a single low-waged cab driver with 1.5 higher-paid remote operators.

As Zawinski writes, SFPD is well aware that there's a human being (or more than one human being) responsible for every one of these cars – someone who is formally at fault when the cars injure people or damage property. Nevertheless, SFPD and SFMTA maintain that these cars can't be cited for moving violations because "no one is driving them."

But figuring out who which person is responsible for a moving violation is "complicated and annoying to deal with," so the fiction persists.

(Zawinski notes that even when these people are held responsible, they're a "moral crumple zone" for the company that decided to enroll whole cities in nonconsensual murderbot experiments.)

Automation hype has always involved hidden humans. The most famous of these was the "mechanical Turk" hoax: a supposed chess-playing robot that was just a puppet operated by a concealed human operator wedged awkwardly into its carapace.

This pattern repeats itself through the ages. Thomas Jefferson "replaced his slaves" with dumbwaiters – but of course, dumbwaiters don't replace slaves, they hide slaves:

https://www.stuartmcmillen.com/blog/behind-the-dumbwaiter/

The modern Mechanical Turk – a division of Amazon that employs low-waged "clickworkers," many of them overseas – modernizes the dumbwaiter by hiding low-waged workforces behind a veneer of automation. The MTurk is an abstract "cloud" of human intelligence (the tasks MTurks perform are called "HITs," which stands for "Human Intelligence Tasks").

This is such a truism that techies in India joke that "AI" stands for "absent Indians." Or, to use Jathan Sadowski's wonderful term: "Potemkin AI":

https://reallifemag.com/potemkin-ai/

This Potemkin AI is everywhere you look. When Tesla unveiled its humanoid robot Optimus, they made a big flashy show of it, promising a $20,000 automaton was just on the horizon. They failed to mention that Optimus was just a person in a robot suit:

https://www.siliconrepublic.com/machines/elon-musk-tesla-robot-optimus-ai

Likewise with the famous demo of a "full self-driving" Tesla, which turned out to be a canned fake:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/tesla-video-promoting-self-driving-was-staged-engineer-testifies-2023-01-17/

The most shocking and terrifying and enraging AI demos keep turning out to be "Just A Guy" (in Molly White's excellent parlance):

https://twitter.com/molly0xFFF/status/1751670561606971895

And yet, we keep falling for it. It's no wonder, really: criti-hype rewards so many different people in so many different ways that it truly offers something for everyone.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/29/pay-no-attention/#to-the-little-man-behind-the-curtain

Back the Kickstarter for the audiobook of The Bezzle here!

Image:

Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Ross Breadmore (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/rossbreadmore/5169298162/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter nine

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Steve Harrington Masterlist

Summary:

You have mediation with Eddie, then get some big news afterwards.

Warnings:

Custody arguments, court, pregnancy

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N:

I’m sorry this chapter took forever to get out! Hoping to be faster with the next one 🙏🏻

“Ms. Henderson,” the mediator steepled his hands over his chest as he sat back in his leather chair. “You are not willing to agree to 50/50 custody, correct?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair. Your eyes darted to Eddie sitting across from you, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. “No,” you answered.

He looked at Eddie, who adjusted his suit cuffs as he gave you a look. He went to speak, but his lawyer spoke for him. “My client is not willing to take less.”

“Neither of you are willing to budge at all?” The mediator asked, like why are you even here?

Why were you here? That was Eddie’s stupid fault. Just looking at him pissed you off. You’d been hoping he would at least come to his senses by the time mediation came around, but unfortunately that did not happen.

You and Eddie looked at one another. You both shook your heads, set in your decisions. The mediator held his hands up- “Well, if we can’t come to an agreement here, the next step would be court intervention.”

You shook your head, bringing your hand up to cover your eyes as tears began to well. This could not be happening. Eddie’s lawyer began packing up, and you could feel your ex’s eyes on you.

Eddie wanted to say something, to reach out and touch you and comfort you, but his lawyer was pushing him from the room and, at the end of the day, he was the reason for your stress and pain, anyway. As usual, he thought to himself.

He hated himself for this. Sure he wanted the time with his son, but he was putting you through hell. He hadn’t even realized until he’d seen you today, but it was evident it was having an effect on you. You looked sick.

You felt sick. You had finally made that doctor’s appointment your mom and Steve had been hounding you about, which is where you’d be heading next. You straightened your blouse and skirt and stood, trying to compose yourself before walking out of the room.

Eddie caught your attention in the hall as you left. He could see your eyes bloodshot from crying, the dark circles around them. He felt like shit. But he also felt like this was his right - his son - and he didn’t want to back down. But goddamn, he never liked seeing you hurt.

“This is so stupid, you know that?” You hissed at him in the hallway as you reached him. “You have the band. You travel. You go on tour for months at a time. And you want 50/50?”

“He can stay with you when I’m on tour, okay?” Eddie said, trying to get you to see his side. “Or with Wayne some nights. He can even come visit me when he’s older. I just want to have as much time with my son as I can when I’m home.”

You understood where he was coming from, but you couldn’t have Asher taken from you half the time. You couldn’t stand the thought. “It’s just too much, Ed. I don’t mind some visitation, but 50/50 - it’s just too much. You can’t take him from me half the time.”

Eddie let out a short, humorless laugh. “I am not trying to take him from you! Jesus, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“But you are,” you said, tears once again starting to fall. “If you do this, you are.”

Before Eddie could say anything else you turned and left, heels clicking as you walked out of the courthouse. You were meeting Steve outside to take you to your appointment, and you knew he’d want to hear how the mediation has gone.

It had been pointless, just as you suspected.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Steve asked as he pulled up outside the doctor's office. You eyed the door, dreading going inside.

“No, it’s okay.” You began unbuckling your seatbelt, grabbing your bag from the floor. “Just take Ash and go play, I should be done in an hour.”

Steve nodded, but his expression was etched with concern. “Okay. We’ll be back then. Just…I’m here for you, you know that?”

“I know.” You smiled at him gently, but your body was buzzing with anxiety. Steve had had a point about your lack of a period. It still hadn’t come. You were very late, and you never were.

Well. Once.

You climbed out of the car with your bag, giving Steve one last smile. You opened the back door and leaned in to give Asher a kiss on the cheek. “Bye, buddy. Be good for Steve. I love you.”

“Love you!” He said back, reaching for you as you pulled away.

You carefully shut the door as you moved back, waving one last time as they pulled off. You took a deep breath, then turned and walked into the office.

Steve drove down the road to the nearby park. He unbuckled Asher from his seat and let him down, the toddler running to the playground equipment as fast as his tiny legs would carry him. Steve chased after him, running out of breath a lot faster than he used to.

Asher climbed and played on the slides, Steve pushed him on the swing, and they played a game of catch with the big rubber ball you brought from home.

When they got hungry, Steve bought a couple snacks from the vending machine. Asher pointed to the candy bar as it fell, laughing hard.

“What, you like the vending machine?” Steve laughed. He put in another dollar and punched in the number for a bag of chips. Asher watched with rapt attention as the snack was dispensed and fell down into the bottom. He squealed with delight, watching as Steve grabbed the bag.

They ate lunch together on the grass, enjoying the cool weather. It was nearly Halloween, and there was a chill in the air. Steve wondered what you had planned for the holiday, since you hadn’t brought it up with everything else going on.

“Alright, big man,” Steve said once they were done eating, “Let’s run out all your energy before we go pick up Mommy.”

Steve chased him around, the little boy laughing his head off as Steve pretended to be unable to catch him. As he ran back to the main part of the playground, he tripped over the step, falling forward onto his face on the mulch. He immediately started crying and Steve panicked, rushing to his side.

He lifted him up, examining his face for injuries. He had a big scrape on his left cheek, but otherwise looked fine. He was wailing, and it broke Steve’s heart.

“Hey, Ash, it’s okay,” Steve cooed softly, picking him up as he headed back for the car. “You’re okay, buddy. Just a little scrape. You’re such a big boy.”

He sat Asher up in the passenger seat as he reached into the glove compartment for the first aid kit you insisted he keep. Now, he was grateful for your helicopter parenting. He sprayed some of the disinfectant on Asher’s cheek, which made him cry more and made Steve feel like shit. He then covered it with a Thomas band aid, which Asher loved.

He got Ash back in his car seat before getting back in the front. It had been about an hour, so it was time to pick you up. His mind raced as he drove, wondering what it would mean if you were pregnant. It could be his - he could be a dad. A real dad. But it also could be Eddie’s. As much as he hated it, he remembered that night you spent with Eddie when he got to town. Yeah there was some time between instances, but it was close enough it would be hard to tell.

As much as he had tried to help you avoid this - besides the accidentally cumming inside, that was on him - he was kind of excited by the idea of you carrying his child. He knew you would look so beautiful, glowing, just like you were when you were pregnant with Asher. But if it was his baby…he doesn’t think there’s a version of you that could be any more beautiful than that.

But it wasn’t ideal. He didn’t want to have to spend 8-9 months wondering if the child belonged to him or Eddie. He knew he’d get attached to the possibility. And if he did that, only for the baby to be born and be Eddie’s - it would break his heart.

Steve’s mind was still reeling when he pulled up outside the office again. You were leaning against the entrance, jacket pulled tight. As you got closer to the car, Steve could see that it looked like you had been crying.

“What did they say?” Steve asked as soon as you were in the car. He couldn’t wait another second. He needed to know.

You looked into the backseat. Asher had fallen asleep in his car seat, and he looked angelic like that. His little cherub face, chubby cheeks and pouty lips. You loved him more than anything.

Finally, you turned back to Steve. You let out a big breath. “You were right.”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest. “I was right?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I…I’m pregnant.”

Steve let out a breathless chuckle at the words. He couldn’t believe it. You really were pregnant. You were really pregnant and it might be his. “Do you know…who…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling, and Steve felt terrible for asking the question. “No. I don’t know.”

It was silent for a minute. Finally Steve spoke up - “Do they know when we’ll be able to know?”

You sniffled. “They said we might know more when we do the ultrasound and see exactly how many weeks I am. But since the…instances were only two-ish weeks apart, we might not be able to tell until they’re born and we can do a DNA test.”

Steve took in the news. He didn’t like it. He wanted this baby to be his, and he wanted to know now. “Do you feel like you know who’s it is?”

“No, Steve. I have no fucking idea. It could be either of yours.” You covered your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is all a disaster.”

Steve began driving back to your house, the ride tense and awkward. He wanted to say something. He wanted to be happy. He’d always wanted to be a dad. He had considered himself one with Asher, but Eddie coming back into your lives only showed how easily that could be taken away.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said finally. “I’m here for you no matter what. I love you and that baby no matter what.”

His words did make you feel a little bit better. You knew they were true. But what if this baby was Eddie’s? Clearly he’d want to be involved. This would only make things more complicated.

Steve parked outside of your apartment building. “Want me to come in with you?”

You smiled softly at him. “You don’t have to. I’m just going to lay Asher down and probably take a nap myself. A lot to process today.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “Well, call me if you need me.”

As you laid in your bed, your mind raced with thoughts of this baby and the potential fathers. If it was Steve’s, things might be easier. He would be happy. He would be a great father, wouldn’t treat Asher any differently than his own child. Maybe you could even try a relationship.

But if it was Eddie’s? What would that mean? Surely he would try to fight you for this child, too. You couldn’t stand the thought of having this baby and immediately having to hand them over half the time.

You were actually terrified.

The next day as you were feeding Asher breakfast, the phone rang. You left him in his high chair to go grab the phone from the wall.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hey. It’s me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, an anxious habit. “Hi, Eddie. What do you want?”

“I…I was just wondering if I could take Asher tomorrow. I want to bring him to the studio and let him meet the guys.”

You thought for a moment. You could be petty and say no, but then you really would be what he was accusing you of. “Okay. That’s fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Eddie.” You felt like rolling your eyes. “Just let me know when you’re picking him up.”

“Around 10 in the morning.”

“Okay.” You played with the phone cord, wondering if you should just go ahead and tell him about the pregnancy. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

A pause. Might as well just say it. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Finally, “Is…is it mine?”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you could feel the tears coming on. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“…No.”

Eddie’s mind was spinning now. He could be having another child. A chance to do it right from the beginning this time. But what if it wasn’t his? What if it was Steve’s? The thought made him sick to his stomach.

“When will we know?”

“Maybe at the ultrasound. Maybe not until it’s born.” You let out a long sigh. “This is such a mess, Ed.”

Eddie felt bad for you. But he was also stressing, wanting the baby to be his but terrified it wasn’t. Also a little scared of the idea of having two kids, but he would rather that than you have a baby with Steve.

“I know,” he said. “I’m not gonna lie to you, it is a mess. But you’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped the tears away. “I know. Either way, this baby has a dad who loves them.”

“That is true,” Eddie said. “I just hope it’s mine.”

You laughed a little. “Yeah, both of you do. Someone’s getting their heart broken one way or the other.”

You genuinely felt bad. And you felt like a huge idiot for having unprotected sex with two different guys so close together. Now you had to explain this to your mom.

Surely that could only go well.

As you ended the call and went back to help Ash with his breakfast, you thought about how his life was going to change. A new little brother or sister. It was hard for you to imagine your baby boy as a big brother. You didn’t even know how you were going to explain this to him. How would he understand? Would he adjust okay? Or would he hate having to share your attention?

That was your main fear, how Asher would take this. He was the most important thing in the world to you, and you wanted him to be happy. You knew he would get used to it, but you already felt so guilty.

This was going to change everything.

tag list

@awkward00noodle @american-idiot-jpg @georgeweasleyslostearhq @fandom-princess-forevermore @emxxblog @hopesicle @hellv1ra @whimsiwitchy @avalon-wolf @kellsck @toomuchbucky @sashaphantomhive @losingmygrasponreality @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddiesgirl1944 @ashcal99 @richardsamboramylove55 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @allhailtheslothoverlord @micheledawn1975 @browneyes528 @costellation-hunter @taccobelle @hellmastereddie @siriuslysmoking @princessadriana4-blog @littlemissholy @punkrockmlchael @sadiea20 @seeigotyoubaby @heyyimmisunderstood @xplrnowornever @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @alhaithmss @mastermindmiko @hazydespair @crispystarfishhottub @katethetank @4everdweeb @eme929 @arabellagreenleaf @itsmytimetoodream @leather-n-velvet @jeangeniex

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Family breakfast

Hii guyss, here's a new one-shot about Toto. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist :)

A quiet morning turns into delightful chaos when you discover your husband and son’s surprise gone awry. This leads to a heartwarming family moment filled with laughter and love.

The first thing you notice as you wake is the stillness. Normally, the house would already be alive with the sounds of your son, Jack, running down the hallway, his little feet pounding against the floor. The absence of that familiar noise pulls you from your dreams. And then it hits you: Toto isn’t beside you either. He always stays a little longer in the mornings, kissing your forehead softly before slipping out of bed. But today, nothing.

You sit up, pushing the blankets aside as you glance at the empty spot beside you, feeling a small pang of curiosity. Throwing on a cozy sweater, you pad down the hallway toward the faint smell of… something. It’s not exactly appetizing, but it is familiar. There’s flour in the air, a hint of chocolate, and unmistakably… burnt something.

Rounding the corner, you arrive at the kitchen doorway and pause, stifling a laugh at the scene in front of you. The kitchen is in absolute disarray: flour streaks cover the countertops, bits of batter have splattered on the walls, and your husband and son are standing there, Jack on his stool next to Toto, both looking down at what appears to be a very charred attempt at pancakes.

They’re completely unaware of you watching them, too focused on the burnt batch in front of them.

“Maybe if we put enough syrup on them, she won’t notice,” you hear Jack say in a serious tone, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he looks up at Toto. Toto raises a brow, giving him a playful smile. “You think that’ll work?”

“Well, it works when you make toast,” Jack whispers back, eyes glinting with the wisdom of his young mind.

You clear your throat, unable to hold back a chuckle any longer, and they both spin around, caught red-handed. Jack’s face lights up in that special way, a smile spreading wide across his cheeks as he shouts, “Mama! We were trying to surprise you!”

Toto laughs, raising his flour-covered hands in surrender. “Our plan may not have gone exactly as we hoped,” he admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Turns out we’re not quite as skilled as you when it comes to pancakes.”

You take a few steps forward, pretending to survey the kitchen with a critical eye, your gaze landing on the plate of charcoal-colored pancakes. “Well,” you say, folding your arms in mock seriousness, “it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Jack laughs, his pride undented as he stands tall on his stool. “I helped with the mixing, Mama! But the flipping is hard.”

Toto nods, pretending to look solemn. “It really is harder than it looks. I think we’re going to need some expert intervention here.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, feigning skepticism. “Do you think you two can handle working as my assistants?”

Jack nods so vigorously his little curls bounce. “Yes, yes! I’ll mix it all again!”

You smile, grabbing an apron for yourself and tying it around your waist before stepping forward, guiding them both in their roles. Jack is in charge of mixing the batter again, but this time, you make sure to guide him a little more closely. His giggles are infectious as he watches the lumps disappear, proudly showing you his work. Toto tries to take charge of flipping once more, insisting he’s got it this time, only for a pancake to land halfway on the counter, sending Jack into fits of laughter.

Eventually, after much laughter and a few (successful) pancake flips, you plate the perfect stack, golden and warm. You bring it to the table, setting out butter and syrup while Jack bounces over to his spot, already piling syrup on his stack.

You all sit down together, and Jack digs in immediately, a trail of syrup dribbling down his chin as he takes his first big bite. Toto gives your hand a gentle squeeze under the table, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he leans close, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I think next time, we’ll let you be the head chef from the start.”

“Or maybe,” you tease, glancing at the two of them, “we keep it a team effort. But maybe a slightly less… chaotic team effort?”

Jack, overhearing, looks up with a big grin. “Family team!” he declares proudly, raising his fork in a sticky salute. You and Toto laugh, clinking your forks with his in agreement.

The three of you linger over breakfast, taking your time with each bite, sharing stories and laughter as the sun streams softly through the kitchen windows. There’s something magical about this moment, the simplicity of syrup-sticky hands and flour-dusted counters. Sitting here with Jack’s joyful giggles and Toto’s quiet warmth beside you, you can’t help but feel a deep, overflowing gratitude for mornings like this—messy, beautiful, and shared with the two people who mean everything to you.

[liahaslosthermind]

~ 𝐁𝐞𝐝𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 (𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨) ~

Past Rhysand x OC (Adelaide), Eventual Azriel x OC  Part 9 of Betrayal Oh my god Summary: Azriel’s Mother comes to visit Warnings: Domestic abuse, Azriel’s Father, Unhealthy family dynamics, Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Death of a loved one, Grief, Betrayal

Azriel loved his mother. Even as a boy locked in a darkened cell, the hour he got with her always made him feel like he was the luckiest to call Aisling his mother. The second he got the chance, around 100 years old, he had taken Rhysand and Cassian with him to force his father’s hand, freeing his mother from the Camp Lord’s abuse. He had thought their relationship would become even better, had thought he’d finally get a taste for what it was like to have his mom with him for more than an hour a week. But he hadn’t taken into account that as much as she loved him, as much as she wanted to finally be there for her child, Azriel looked like his father’s son. 

That was part of the reason his father and step family hated him so. He looked so much like his father, far closer to him than either of his cruel half-brother’s did. Looked like him so much that in Aisling’s weakest moments, she couldn’t stand to look at her son, wearing the face of their shared abuser. 

It hadn’t been something he had been prepared for. Years of fighting, of torture, of trauma, and his mother bursting into tears and throwing things at him in her worst of times had almost killed him. So he stayed away to protect her.

Even though she had gotten to the point where episodes like that were few and far in-between, Azriel had needed far more convincing to visit her. They had restored their relationship a lot in the past few hundred years, but any time he looked at his mother, he knew what she saw. The same thing he saw every time he looked in the mirror. 

Whether it was a divine intervention of some sorts that took pity on the Shadowsinger, or whether his sheer hatred had done it alone, he had grown to resemble his dad far less. Where Azriel was classically beautiful, his father was brutally and cruelly so. Still, Azriel could never feel anything but hatred and resentment for that man when he looked at himself. 

Nesta quickly left, deciding it was better to give the two a private reunion. She walked down to the room that had been quickly converted into a dining room, so the Inner Circle, as well as Helion, could stay close to both Az and Adelaide.  

“How was he when he saw Aisling?” Rhysand asked. Nesta almost didn’t answer him, still extremely mad at Rhys for his treatment of both the Shadowsinger and Addie, but the look of pure despair and concern, along with the slightest glint of hope, pushed her to reply.

“He looked shocked, so I left quickly to let them hash it out.” She said as she sat down next to her mate, who put a comforting arm around her shoulder. 

“Wouldn’t he be happy to see his mother? Why hadn’t she come sooner?” Feyre asked. 

“They have a complicated relationship. Because of Azriel’s father’s abuse-” The High Lord of night began, till he was cut off by a bread roll thrown at his head.

“It is none of her business.” Mor hissed out. 

Since the betrayal, even for a while before, Feyre hadn’t been on the best of terms with Adelaide. While Addie had been nothing but kind, Feyre saw her as an obstacle keeping her from her mate. When Feyre’s ill treatment towards her had reached its tipping point, causing Addie to run to Az in tears, Azriel had been less than amicable with his brother’s mate. It was also clear Feyre had seen his attempted resurrection of his best friend as nothing but an attack against her. She had become slightly more empathetic and understanding in the past few weeks, but that had only been because any sharp words from her about either of the best friends had led to fights with any of the Inner Circle, but especially Rhysand, who had been keeping his promise of working towards doing right by those he wronged. 

Feyre huffed when she realized Rhysand wasn’t even going to speak an explanation into her mind, finding his mind shields impenetrable. 

“Thesan said he had checked in with his mother at Rosehall to see how Aisling had been doing when we requested her presence. Apparently, she has been much better, but had been worried about Azriel when her letters went unanswered.” Helion spoke up. 

Cassian deflated at that, he had seen Aisling’s letters piling up, knew that Az hadn’t been in the right state to answer. He should have known that his mother was probably the right person to call. 

“She is here now. So we must make plans on what to do next. The High Lord has delegated enough work, both of you must go back and run your court.” Amren stated, staring down both Rhysand and Feyre. The youngest Archeron wanted nothing more than to return to her court, but Rhysand had been more weary, not wanting to leave Azriel vulnerable like he had before. 

But now it wasn’t like before, not really. Rhysand knew Az had been in a dark, depressive state for months after Adelaide’s death. He had done nothing but the occasional check in or inquiry, to which he never got an answer from the Shadowsinger himself. Now, Az had hope that he would soon be reunited with his best friend. While he wasn’t in good physical condition, mentally he was on the mend. Plus, he had the best healers and scholars in Prynthian working around the clock to help the two of them, along with the Inner Circle to offer familiar comfort. 

He knew he had to leave. He knew it was best to leave Az with people he actually wanted to see. Rhysand would have to work on gaining Azriel’s forgiveness later. 

Right then, Aisling herself popped in, looking tired but content. 

Only Rhysand and Cassian had met her, Amren knew of her existence and couldn’t truly say she wasn’t interested in the woman who created a son like Azriel, but she didn’t think it was her business, so she never cared to inquire more. While the Archerons had been left out of the loop for the most part, Nesta had learned of her existence and Azriel’s protectiveness over her after making a sharp comment about how the fact he never spoke of her must mean she wasn’t a very good mother, a comment she still deeply regretted, even though he had forgiven her a few times over. Mor on the other hand, had begged to meet her. Azriel had enthusiastically agreed many times, but Rhys had always intervened, knowing it was unfair of her to request to meet someone so deeply cherished by Azriel when Mor was knowingly playing with his feelings for her. 

No one spoke as they waited for Aisling to break the silence. Popping down next to Cassian, who she had often referred to as her second son, she let out a somber and exasperated laugh. 

“I will never understand it.” The Illyrian woman said.

No one spoke, until Feyre lost her patience with all the secrecy, “Understand what?”

Several glares from the Inner Circle were directed at the High Lady. 

“His capacity for love.” Aisling answered. Once again the room fell silent, the reply like an arrow to the heart after their negligent treatment of the Shadowsinger. “I have no idea where he got it.” Cassian laughed, a clear ‘obviously he got it from his mother’ displayed in his expression. “I’m serious. Even before…” she trailed off, making vague hand gestures. Everyone knew what she wasn’t saying out loud, even before the abuse. 

She took a deep breath and continued after a few moments, “I never truly believed in love as strong as his, never knew it was a possibility. Maybe it was Illyria, maybe it was my environment specifically. Maybe I wasn’t meant for romantic love. But Azriel had every right to grow up cruel, to end up hateful. No matter what bullshit he gives about the things he has done, he loves with his entire being.” 

As she let a tear fall, Cassian reached for her hand on the table. “You look well, Aisling.” 

She laughed, “Azriel makes me look young.” She hadn’t been prepared to see him, it had been decades since they had last met in person. After 50 years without communication with Rhysand keeping the Inner Circle stuck in Velaris, both had been weary as to how Aisling seeing him would go. They restarted their letters, promised to meet again “soon”, but when Adelaide died, Azriel had gone silent without any answer. Cassian and Rhysand had vaguely filled her in on why her son wouldn’t answer but with Az not talking to either of them, they couldn’t give much information. When she saw her son, he seemed to have aged hundreds of years in their time apart. 

“Didn’t you have him when you were young? You are hardly older than any of us and far younger than Amren.” Helion inquired. 

“I was 16 when I had him.” Several at the table shuttered at the thought. 

Once more the room was filled with silent grief, a depressing situation getting far more depressing with each second. That was till Nesta spoke up.

“You mentioned romantic love. Does- Is Azriel in love with Adelaide?” The question seemed to suck all the air from the room. Of course he loved her, but was Az in love with Addie? The thought made Rhysand nauseous. 

“I asked him. Seeing him look at her now, it isn’t the same as before.” Tension mixed with impatience made everyone unable to move. “He doesn’t know anymore. He said he didn’t before, or doesn’t believe he did. He just said he ‘woke up differently’. I’m unsure what he meant.” She explained.

Before anyone could speak up, a healer, who had been by Azriel’s side after his mother left, ran into the room. “She’s awake” was all that could be heard before a loud crash sounded from Adelaide’s room.  

A/N: Aisling is pronounced Ash-Ling. 

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Long one shot for Jealous!Toto Wolff with wife reader. With how many celebrities and famous people at the Las Vegas GP, it's no wonder how many times she has been hit. Toto and their son, Jack saved her. Fluff/suggestive. Anything, I don't mind. Thanks!! :)

With prompts : Are you jealous?” “No, I’m not!” “Oh, you really are jealous! Wait, why would you be jealous?”, "I trust you, I just don't trust them." & “Jealousy doesn’t suit you. I like to see you smile more.”

Jealousy

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader

i loved writing this fic!! i have a serieus one coming out soon with a rather similar plot just more angst it is toto based!!

Jealous!Toto Wolff - One-Shot

The bright lights of the Las Vegas Grand Prix shimmered like a thousand stars on the Strip, illuminating the desert night sky as the paddock buzzed with excitement. The air was filled with the sound of revving engines, the chatter of celebrities, and the occasional laughter of fans mingling with drivers and team members. But for you, the night had started to feel overwhelming, your patience tested by more than one unwelcome encounter.

You had come to the race with your husband, Toto Wolff, and your young son, Jack. The plan had been simple: enjoy the thrill of the race, soak in the electric atmosphere, and have a good time with the family. But as you wandered the paddock, admiring the sleek cars and waving to some of the familiar faces in the crowd, the attention you were receiving started to feel less flattering and more intrusive.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to approach you—many of them were fans of Toto, or simply curious about the wife of the Mercedes team principal—but tonight, with the who’s who of the celebrity world filling the stands and the paddock, it seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you.

It started innocuously enough. A few polite conversations, quick photo ops with fans, the usual pleasantries. But soon, it became clear that a few of these “fans” weren’t as well-meaning as they appeared. A touch on the arm here, a lingering gaze there—nothing outright inappropriate, but enough to make you feel uncomfortable. And when you tried to escape back to the hospitality area, a certain well-known actor had greeted you with a lingering kiss on the cheek that, while nothing more than friendly in appearance, sent an uncomfortable chill down your spine.

It was at that exact moment that Toto appeared. His sharp eyes, usually so focused on the race, were now locked onto the scene before him with an intensity that made your stomach flutter—though not in a good way. He was standing by the entrance of the hospitality suite, his gaze fixed on the interaction, his posture stiff and controlled.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice calm but with an edge you had never heard before.

You nodded, attempting to brush it off. “It’s fine, Toto. Just… a lot going on tonight, you know?”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a few steps forward, the crowd seemingly parting for him as if they could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. He turned to the actor, his expression cold and polite. “Excuse me,” Toto said, his voice flat and even. “I’m afraid my wife is not interested in further conversation.”

The actor blinked, startled by the sudden intervention, and gave a half-hearted smile before backing off, muttering something under his breath.

As the actor walked away, you felt the warmth of Toto’s hand on your lower back, a gesture meant to reassure but also to stake a claim. You glanced up at him, catching the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something between possessiveness and concern.

“Toto, you didn’t have to do that,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I was fine.”

His expression didn’t soften. “Are you sure? Because it didn’t look like you were fine.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, offering a small smile.

He didn’t return the smile. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. “I trust you. I just don’t trust them.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “Wait, why would you be jealous? It was just a kiss on the cheek.”

Toto’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Jealous? Me?” He raised an eyebrow, as though the idea was ridiculous, but the tension in his voice betrayed him. “No, I’m not jealous.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe a little. But only because I don’t like how they treat you.”

Before you could respond, Jack appeared, holding a toy car in his hands and grinning from ear to ear. His innocence broke the tension in the air, and Toto’s stern expression softened. He crouched down, scooping Jack up and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“Are you having fun?” Toto asked, his tone much lighter now.

“Yeah, yeah! It’s so cool here, Daddy!” Jack exclaimed, looking between you and his father. “But I think Mummy’s getting bored.”

You chuckled, even as you shot a playful glare at Toto. “I’m not bored, Jack.”

But Toto wasn’t letting it go. “I think you need a break,” he said, glancing at you with an unreadable expression. “You’ve been dealing with a lot tonight. How about we get some privacy? Just the three of us. We can go back to the hotel, away from all this madness.”

His suggestion caught you off guard, but it was exactly what you needed. A moment to breathe, to relax, to remember why you were here in the first place: for each other. And maybe, just maybe, Toto needed a little time away from the chaos too.

Later that evening, after the race had ended and the crowds had dispersed, Toto had whisked you and Jack away to a luxurious suite in one of the quieter corners of the Strip. The moment you stepped inside, the world felt miles away. The chaos of the paddock, the glittering distractions of celebrity and competition—none of that mattered now. It was just the three of you.

You sank onto the plush sofa, feeling the weight of the day lifting off your shoulders. Jack immediately jumped into your lap, grinning as he showed off the race car he had “won” from one of the games in the paddock.

Toto, still standing by the door, watched the two of you with a soft, almost tender smile, his earlier frustration completely dissipated. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, you know,” you teased, leaning back into the cushions and catching his eye. “I like to see you smile more.”

Toto’s smile grew, but there was still a playful edge to it. “I’m smiling now,” he said, walking toward you. “And I don’t want to see anyone make you feel uncomfortable again. You’re mine, and I protect what’s mine.”

You laughed softly, reaching for his hand as he sat beside you. “Toto, we’ve been together for years. You know I’m not going anywhere.”

He squeezed your hand, the unspoken words between you both speaking volumes. “I know. But I still don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have you.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Well, they can think whatever they want. But the only person who gets to be close to me, in every way, is you.”

Toto’s smile turned into a grin, and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Good,” he whispered, resting his chin on top of your head. “That’s the way I like it.”

There was a long, comfortable silence between you, the kind that only true intimacy can bring. Toto leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, the kind of kiss that spoke more of reassurance and love than anything else. When he pulled back, his eyes softened, and you could see the shift in him—the guard he’d been holding up for so long had finally come down.

“You know,” he murmured, his fingers brushing your cheek as he traced a gentle line along your jaw, “you’ve always been the one to make me smile the most. But tonight… tonight you’ve made me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

A blush crept up your neck, and you ducked your head, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Stop, Toto,” you whispered with a shy smile, but your heart was racing, his words making you feel cherished in ways you hadn’t expected after a long, chaotic day.

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “I’m serious. You’re everything to me. And I just want you to know… no matter what happens, you’re the only one I care about.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. “And I’m the only one who’ll ever have you,” you said softly, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

Toto’s grin softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you—no words, just that quiet understanding that had always been the foundation of your relationship. His lips hovered over yours again, but this time, instead of kissing you immediately, he lingered, savoring the closeness.

“Let’s not think about the world outside for a while,” he whispered. “Just us. Here. Together.”

You nodded, a sense of peace settling over you as his lips finally met yours, slow and deliberate. The kiss deepened, and in that moment, everything else faded away—the buzzing, the noise, the world outside your hotel suite. There was just him, and you, and the soft, perfect rhythm of the love you shared.

As you pulled back, Toto’s fingers gently traced the line of your collarbone. “We need more moments like this,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

“Then let’s make them,” you replied, smiling up at him, knowing that no matter how chaotic life could get, moments like this—just the two of you—were the ones that would always matter most.

In the quiet of the hotel room, the two of you drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

7: SPRING FLING

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

You try and get over Bucky with a sexual intervention.

Word count 3.2k

Warnings: jealous Bucky Barnes, original character (please feel free to imagine Alexander Skarsgård when reading the character of Erik), some Russian spoken between Bucky and Nat, Nat being the best bestie

“You know what you need?” Wanda shouted over the loud music, looking directly at you.

“What’s that?” You answered, equally as loudly, taking a sip from the cocktail in your hand.

“To get laid.”

The way that you choked on your drink was undignified and most unlady-like.

You glared at Wanda and at Natasha who was sitting on a barstool opposite you smirking. Wanda patted your back, sympathetically. They had convinced you to come out with them to the local club, where the music was pounding and the lights were dimmed and you didn’t have to think about your emotional problems. Surprisingly, the thumping music vibrated through your body, calming your mind. The alcohol also helped!

“Was this your idea?” You demanded from the red-head who merely shrugged in response.

“Cricket, honey, your aura needs a good cleansing.” Wanda fanned the space around you, trying to pick off the gremlins that only she had the ability to see.

“Yeah, maybe having some good D will help you get over these ridiculous feelings.” Nat may have spoken quietly, but you caught every word.

“Fine, make a suggestion.”

That got Wanda and Nat’s attention, their eyes lit up like two little girls who had been promised ponies for their tenth birthdays. Immediately they started conspiring and assessing the options so you wouldn't have a chance to change your mind.

You glanced around the joint, it was filled with people you recognized, if not by name, then at least you'd seen their faces in passing or at briefings. The compound wasn't so far away from the city but the location was remote enough that the traffic on the roads was mostly caused by commuting members of the S.H.I.E.L.D. organization. Unlike most of the Avengers, they weren't offered automatic room and board. But it did mean that a large number of people congregated in the local watering holes to let off steam.

You let Wanda and Nat drag you onto the dance floor, where the bass thumped in time with your heart. You let yourself get lost in the music, letting go of your worries and inhibitions. The alcohol had loosened you up, and you found yourself dancing with a stranger, their hands on your hips as you moved together in perfect sync.

As the night wore on, you found yourself laughing and chatting with different people, enjoying the attention and the thrill of the unknown. It wasn’t something you normally did, preferring the comforts of home and the company of your inner circle. But everything changes and sometimes you are forced to change to adapt to the direction life is taking you. Wanda and Nat watched from the sidelines, nodding in approval as you let yourself be swept away by the moment.

Just as you were starting to feel a little dizzy from the drinks and the dancing, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to see a face that made your heart skip a beat. He was handsome in the most boring, traditional way… at first. His tall stature and toned figure towered over you in a way that made you feel small, but his eyes provided a sort of balm over the rest, endearing you to open up to him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music. "I've been wanting to talk to you ever since you walked in here with your friends. Can we go somewhere quieter?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves as he led you away from the crowd and into a quieter corner of the club.

“I’m Erik.”

“I’m-”

“Oh I know exactly who you are. My father talks about the Avengers a lot,” he laughed, mirth spreading across his handsome features. “You guys saved him from a number of mishaps.”

“Your father?”

“Erik Selvig? I’m Erik Jr.”

“Wait, you’re Dr Selvig’s son?”

“Guilty!” he shrugged. “Hope that doesn’t affect your opinion of me.”

“Are you kidding? Your father’s a genius! I have so much respect for him.

Erik smiled, relieved by your positive reaction to his father's reputation. The two of you continued to chat, finding common ground in your shared admiration for science and the work of the Avengers. You discovered that he was in town for the next few weeks relaying his father’s research to S.H.I.E.L.D.. You found yourself opening up to Erik in a way you hadn't expected. His easy charm and genuine interest in getting to know you made you feel comfortable and put you at ease. You weren’t one for falling for a man so quickly, but for some reason Erik Jr seemed to have cast a spell on you and you were letting it weave its mystic ways around you. And as you talked and laughed and got to know each other better, you realized that maybe Wanda and Nat were right. Maybe all you needed was a different connection to heal your heart and lift your spirits.

As the night wore on, the club started to empty out, leaving just a few stragglers on the dance floor.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Erik asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Did you have somewhere specific in mind?”

“I’m actually staying in the guest quarters at the compound.”

“Perfect, because my friends seemed to have disappeared on me.” This was in fact a white lie, Wanda and Nat had simply made their way back to the car you'd driven in and texted you to say they would wait until you had a plan.

Erik chuckled, pulling out his car keys, “Well let them know that I'm happy to get you home safe and sound. But I suspect that their vanishing act was probably a very intentional maneuver.”

A smirk crossed your lips, somehow turned on by his intuitiveness. “I'll text them and let them know,” you answered, sliding into the passenger side of his dark BMW. 

The ride home was spent discussing Norse myths and legends, stories you’d both been told or learned as children and how they compared to the things you had learned from Thor. The laughter and banter exchanged was stimulating but had an underlying tone of seduction that was undeniable. Erik’s hand on your knee confirmed his intentions. You couldn't stop thinking about the immediate connection you had felt with him. It was a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time, and it left you eager to see where things could go with Erik.

As Erik pulled up and parked outside the large complex where he was staying, he turned to you, his tongue sliding over his lips and his eyes roaming over you for a moment. “So, Y/N. Do you mind if I walk you home?”

Your name rolled off his tongue beautifully, and that’s when you decided to give in. If you could hear your name leave his lips even one more time tonight, you’d be one happy girl.

“So this is me,” you smiled, suddenly feeling a little shy as you stopped outside your bedroom door.

“Wow, looks so… normal.” Erik joked, trying to get past the obvious tension you felt.

“Would you like to come inside?” You bit your lip, looking up at the handsome, giant Norwegian. 

Erik’s eyes lit up at the invitation, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I would love to,” he replied, his voice low and husky.

You led him inside, feeling a rush of excitement and nerves as you opened the door to your room. It was a simple space, decorated with a few personal touches that reflected your personality. Erik looked around, taking in the details with interest.

“This is nice,” he commented, his gaze lingering on you. “Very cozy.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Thanks. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s home.” 

Erik stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes locked on yours.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

The world seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the moment, the connection between you and Erik growing stronger with each passing second. It was as if you had found something you didn't even know you were looking for, a spark that ignited a fire within you.

Erik broke this kiss with a reluctant sigh. “Look, I have a confession to make.”

Your heart sank, everything seemed too good to be true.

“I want to be honest with you before we go any further.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'm not going to be in New York for long. I travel a lot and I'm not looking for a long term relationship.”

You contemplated the proposition. For a moment you heard Bucky's voice in your head, calling you a slut. But Nat's voice was there to play devil's advocate on your behalf. ‘Girl, be as slutty as you like. Your happiness doesn’t depend on one person. Do this for you and your own pleasure, no one gets to judge you for it!’

You were your own judge, and your verdict was simple; have sex with the gorgeous man in front of you.

* 

Little did you realize that your return home was witnessed by your best friend. Bucky was a little perturbed to see you enter your room with this handsome stranger. He stood in a shadowy corner, watching as you and Erik, laughed and talked. Bucky couldn't help but feel consumed by envy. As you closed the door, he strode back to his room, slamming his own door shut, almost as though additional physical barriers might block out the mental image of the two of you from his mind.

Unfortunately, the physical barriers did nothing to mute his hearing.

“Where do you want me?” He heard your sweet voice.

“Sitting on my face sounds like a good start.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Spread your legs and show me what’s mine.”

Bucky couldn’t believe the sounds coming from your room. They were unmistakable, as they cut through him like a knife. He felt his heart shattering into a million pieces, unable to bear the thought of you being with someone else. As the night wore on, Bucky paced back and forth, struggling to sleep, his mind filled with thoughts of you and Erik. He couldn't shake his feeling of betrayal, images of you invading his mind, filling him with an ache in his chest that grew greater with every passing moment until he thought he would explode.

How could you do this to him? How could you be so careless with his feelings?

But as he listened to the sounds of your passion through the thin walls, a different emotion began to bubble up inside him. Jealousy turned to longing, and longing turned to desire. He couldn't deny the fact that hearing you with another man stirred something deep within him.

Bucky knew he had to confront you about what he had heard. He couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer. He knocked on your door, his heart pounding in his chest. When you opened the door, a look of surprise crossed your face.

"Bucky, what are you doing here?" you asked, confusion evident in your voice.

"I heard you," he said simply, his eyes searching yours for some kind of explanation.

You looked down, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "I...I'm sorry, Bucky. I didn't mean for you to hear that."

He took a step closer to you, his gaze intense. "Do you have feelings for him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. But before you could say anything, Bucky took matters into his own hands. He leaned in and captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hands tangling in your hair.

With a gasp, Bucky sat up in his bed, taking short shaky breaths as he tried to drag his consciousness away from dreamland. As soon as his heart stopped pounding in his ears, he listened for other sounds around him, but there was only silence. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling until sunrise filled the room.

*

The next morning, you emerged from your room, a smile on your face as you said goodbye to Erik. Bucky lurked in the shadows as you walked with him to the main doors. The scowl that graced his features was worthy of the Chitauri race. If looks could kill, Erik would have dropped dead on the spot.

Natasha, always one step ahead, hissed in Bucky’s ear. «Даже не думай.» (“Don’t even think about it?”) He felt the sharp pain of her pinching the skin on the back of his neck.

Bucky was taken aback. «Чё за хрень, Романов?» (“What the hell, Romanoff?”)

«Я знаю что у тебя на уме,» (“I know what you’re thinking,”) she whispered, her tone sharp.

«Что?» (“What?”) Bucky asked, confused.

«Не испорть это для неё.» ("Don't ruin this for her.”) She was gone as surreptitiously as she had arrived.

Natasha’s words echoed in Bucky’s mind as he watched you and Erik exchange a lingering goodbye. He felt a surge of anger and jealousy, but he knew he had no right to feel that way. You were free to do as you pleased, and he had no claim over you. Bucky was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you walking back towards him.

“Hey, Buck. Are you ok?” you asked, concern lacing your voice. He seemed dazed and you suddenly felt worried that he had seen you with Erik. It wasn’t that you wanted to hide things from him, but a small part of you didn’t want to permanently close the door on the possibility of something more. 

Bucky forced a smile, masking his true emotions. “I’m fine, just tired. Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, but you could see through his facade, the pain in his eyes mirrored the pain you had felt when he had told you about Priya.

“Who was that guy?” Bucky asked, throwing caution to the wind. Curiosity eating him from the inside out.

“Umm, that’s Erik. He’s Dr Selvig’s son.” You could sense the tension between you two, and it made your heart ache. You wondered what he was thinking, but you didn’t want Bucky to think you were trying to hide anything from him. So you found yourself blurting out every tidbit of information. “I met him last night.”

Bucky nodded, uncomfortably.

“Well, I’d better go… get started on those reports I’ve been putting off. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah sure.” Bucky returned your wave with a half hearted one of his down. As you walked away, Bucky couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. He knew he shouldn’t be upset, but seeing you with someone else made everything worse. He knew he needed to come to terms with the fact that you were moving on with your life, he just wished he could find a way to do the same. Despite being with Priya, his thoughts always came back to you.

*

It was a festive dinner with the team as they gathered to bid farewell to Erik, who was leaving New York the next day. You had enjoyed three uninterrupted weeks of Earth shattering sex and you were sad to see him leave. He was attentive and intuitive and certainly knew how to show you a good time. But Erik seemed to form an immediate connection with anyone he met and if there wasn't an expiry date on your relationship, you would worry about the depth of your connection. But as things stood, you were having a good time and didn't have time to wallow in Buckya and Priya’s relationship. 

Thor had been invited to join Erik's farewell fête as a gift to the guest, and the evening started off with a lively atmosphere. Erik and Thor were having a whale of a time, sharing stories and laughing loudly, while the rest of the team tried to keep up with their energy.

However, on the other end of the table, Bucky was sulking, his mood visibly dark. Steve, sitting next to him, tried to comfort him, but Bucky seemed lost in his own thoughts. He couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in his chest ever since Erik had arrived.

As the night went on, Bucky found himself in the kitchen with Erik, who had come out to grab a drink. Erik looked at Bucky and said, "You don't seem to like me very much."

Bucky, taken aback by the directness of the statement, replied, "I don't know you well enough to like you."

Erik raised an eyebrow and continued, “For someone who doesn't know me enough to like me, you sure were staring at me a lot during dinner. Or... were you staring at Y/N?”

Bucky's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of your name. He felt a wave of embarrassment at the realization that his feelings for you had not gone unnoticed. He cleared his throat and muttered, “Her name’s Cricket.”

Erik smiled knowingly and said, "If you like her, just tell her. Life's too short for regrets."

Bucky just glowered at him, unable to form a coherent response. He knew Erik was right, but the fear of rejection held him back.

As the night came to an end and the team dispersed, having bid Erik his goodbyes, you were left alone with the tall blonde.

“I guess this is it,” you said softly, breaking the heavy silence that hung between you.

"I guess it is," Erik said, looking at you with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Yeah, time to say goodbye," you replied, trying to keep your emotions in check.

"I just want to thank you for the last three weeks. It's been... amazing," Erik said, his voice trailing off slightly.

You smiled, feeling a mix of emotions. "Thank you too, Erik. I had a really great time with you."

There was a moment of silence as you both stood there, unsure of what to say next.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye then,” Erik said, reaching out to give you a hug.

You hugged him back, feeling a sense of finality in the embrace. He pressed one last kiss against your lips before releasing you.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” He gave you one last smile before turning and walking away.

“Bye Erik,” you said softly.

As you watched him go, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness. Deep down, you knew it was time to move on, and as you walked back towards your room, you felt a sense of closure and gratitude for the time you had shared with Erik. He had stopped you wallowing in ‘what ifs’ and ‘might have beens’. You had been left with a sense of hope for the future, that maybe there was the potential for you to find a connection with someone special.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

Tag list: @samodivaa @scoonsalicious  @noonespecial90  @browneyedgrli  @vicmc624  @cjand10   @capswife   @julvrs   @ordelixx   @sashaisready   @sebastians-love   @belleofthebooks   @missvelvetsstuff   @angelbabyyy99   @rabbitrabbit12321   @love-isnt-greed   @hhiggs   @winters1917   @blackhawkfanatic   @calwitch @learisa   @daybleedsintonightfa11   @lillianacristina   @mostlymarvelgirl @wintercrow   @buckitostan