#pinging this back fast so i can track it!

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[pucksandpower]

Ice Queen: Ice Princess

Kimi Räikkönen x daughter!Reader

(Future) Max Verstappen x Räikkönen!Reader

Summary: before taking F1 by storm as the Ice Queen, you rose up the ranks of single-seater racing (a prologue of sorts)

Series Masterlist

How It All Began: Age 5

The air smells of rubber and petrol as you approach the karting track, your small hand wrapped securely in your father’s. His face is a mask of nonchalance but the slight tug of his lips gives away his excitement.

You look up at him, mirroring his stoic expression. “Papa, is this like your big car?”

Kimi glances down, raising an eyebrow. “Sort of but smaller. And no fancy buttons.”

You stare at the kart, then back at him, your tiny face serious. “Will it go brrr?”

He laughs, a sound seldom heard by the media but common enough for you. “Yes, it will go brrr.”

Placing you into the seat, he starts explaining the basics. “This is the steering wheel. It’s what you use to turn the kart.”

You grab it, imitating every race start you’ve seen. “Like this?” You make a vroom sound.

He chuckles. “Exactly. And remember, it’s not just about going fast. It’s about control.”

You squint at the track then back at him. “Will there be red flags?”

“No, no red flags today. Just us,” he says, fighting back a grin.

You nod sagely, taking in the information. “Okay, Papa. But what if someone wants to overtake?”

He leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “Then you do what I do.”

You pause in a replica of Kimi’s thoughtful pose. “Don’t let them?”

He winks, “Exactly.”

After strapping you in securely, he shows you how to start the kart and you begin to drive. The wind rustles your hair and excitement bubbles as you make your way around the track for the first time.

He shouts after you, “Hold the wheel tight!”

“I know what I’m doing!” You yell back.

As you circle back to him, he crouches down, ready to help you stop the kart. “So, how was it?”

You smirk, “Okay, I guess.”

He pulls you into a hug. “You really are just like me, aren’t you?”

You beam up at him, pride evident in your young eyes. “Yep, Papa. We’re a team.”

He ruffles your hair, a soft smile on his lips. “The best team.”

Signing with Prema Racing: Age 16

“Sixteen and in Formula 3, huh?” Kimi muses, sipping his coffee as he leans against the kitchen counter. “When I was sixteen, I think I was—”

“Chasing snowmobiles in Finland?” You interrupt, smirking as you take a bite of your toast.

Your father rolls his eyes playfully. “Very funny. So, Prema?”

You nod, trying to play it cool but your excitement still shines through. “Yeah, they want me for next season.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Moving up from F4 to F3 is a big transition. It’s faster, more competitive.”

You lean against the counter opposite him, mimicking his casual stance. “I know, Papa. More buttons.”

Your father chuckles, “A lot more buttons. And more media.”

You groan, “Oh, not the media. Can’t I just drive?”

“Trust me, I’ve tried that approach,” Kimi smirks. “But they’re like mosquitoes. Persistent and out for blood.”

You consider this for a moment. “Maybe I can give one-word answers like you do?”

He grins, “It’s an art form. But sure, give it a try.”

A notification pings on your phone. It’s an email from Prema, detailing your training sessions and media days. “Speaking of which,” you show the screen to Kimi, “Media training next week.”

Kimi makes a face, “A room full of people teaching you how to not be yourself.”

You laugh, “Should I tell them I already have all the training I need from the master himself?”

He winks, “They won’t know what hit them.”

You put your dishes in the sink, your thoughts racing ahead to the upcoming season. “You think I’ll do well, Papa?”

Your father walks over, placing a hand on your shoulder. His face is serious but his eyes are warm. “I know you will. Remember to enjoy the journey, not just the destination.”

You smile, pulling him into a hug, “Thanks, Papa. I promise to make you proud.”

He hugs you back, his voice a soft murmur in your ear, “You already have.”

Formula 3: Age 16

The roar of engines, the buzzing of the crowd, the palpable tension in the air — this is it. Your first Formula 3 race.

“So,” your father begins, leaning against your garage, “Nervous?”

You shoot him a look, trying to channel his signature coolness. “Do I look nervous?”

He tilts his head, a playful smirk growing. “You’re fidgeting with your gloves. You never do that.”

You glance down at your hands and laugh, “Okay, maybe a little. But can you blame me?”

Kimi shrugs, “It’s your first F3 race. If you weren’t at least a bit nervous, I would think you’re a robot.”

A rival driver, Dan, walks by, giving you a condescending wink. “Ready to eat my dust?”

You roll your eyes, matching his bravado with ease. “Only dust I’ll be seeing is from the podium.”

Your father snorts, “Well played.”

After a few minutes, it’s time to suit up. As you’re putting on your helmet, Kimi leans in close, his voice firm yet comforting. “Remember, it’s not just about speed. Strategy matters. Don’t be rash. You know what to do and how to race smart.”

You smirk, “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

He grins, patting your helmet, “Just checking.”

As you settle into your car, the weight of the moment hits you. All the years, the training, the early mornings, and late nights — it lead to this.

The race is a blur of adrenaline. Overtakes, near misses, and strategy calls. Every now and then, you hear your father’s voice in your earpiece, offering advice or just the occasional sarcastic remark. You’re not sure how legal that is but Kimi has never been one to care much for authority.

You pass the checkered flag, a respectable fourth place finish in your first race.

Pulling back in, you climb out of your car both exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure. Your father approaches, a proud smile on his face. “Fourth place! That’s solid.”

You lean against your car, catching your breath. “Could’ve been better.”

Kimi raises an eyebrow, “Could’ve been worse.”

You laugh, “Always the optimist?”

He smirks, “Always realistic.”

A reporter approaches, mic in hand. “Quick word about your first race in F3?”

You channel your inner Kimi, giving the shortest answer possible. “It was fine.”

The reporter blinks, taken aback by your brevity. “Oh, um, any challenges?”

You shrug, “It’s racing. There are always challenges.”

Your father, watching from the side, can’t contain his laughter. As the reporter leaves, slightly flustered, he walks over, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You really are my daughter.”

You grin, “Was there ever any doubt?”

Moving Up to Formula 2: Age 18

“Papa,” you begin as you both lounge in the living room, “I have news.”

Your father looks up from his magazine, one eyebrow raised in expectation. “You finally cleaned your room?”

You roll your eyes. “No. And thanks for the vote of confidence. I got the call. I’m moving up to Formula 2!”

He sets the magazine down, his eyes scanning your face. “That’s big. Ready for it?”

You shrug nonchalantly, a gesture you picked up from him. “It’s just another race car, right?”

Kimi chuckles, “In a faster race car. With even more buttons.”

You groan dramatically, “Great. Just what I needed. More buttons.”

He smirks, “You’ll manage. You always do.”

Training days for F2 are intense. New circuits, new challenges, and, of course, more media attention. As you take a break between testing sessions, your father walks over with a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you take a long sip of it.

He leans against a nearby wall, watching the other drivers on the track. “How does the car feel?”

You pause to think about it. “A bit more aggressive than the F3. But I’ll adapt.”

Kimi nods, “I know you will.”

A few days later, it is time for your first F2 race. The pit lane is a frenzy of activity with teams making last-minute checks and media personnel swarming about. As you are getting ready to climb into your car, a reporter thrusts a microphone in your face.

“Your first race in F2! Nervous about the competition?”

You don’t miss a beat, “No. They should be nervous about me.”

Your father tries to suppress a laugh but fails miserably. The reporter seems slightly taken aback, “Any personal strategies for today’s race?”

You look straight into the camera, “Drive fast. Don’t crash.”

The reporter, slightly flustered, thanks you and moves on. Kimi has never looked prouder.

The race is a whirlwind of excitement. The faster cars, the tighter competition, it’s all exhilarating. You don’t finish first but you hold your own, making some impressive overtakes and defending your position fiercely.

Your father glares at a cameraman until he turns the lens away from the two of you and then pulls you into a tight hug. “Not bad, rookie.”

You smirk, “Rookie? I’ve been racing since I was five, remember?”

He chuckles, ruffling your sweaty hair, “Yeah but this is F2. Welcome to the big leagues.”

You melt further into him, soaking the moment up. “Thanks, Papa. Here’s to many more races.”

He nods, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “And many more one-liners.”

Formula 2 Champion: Age 19

“So,” your father starts, watching as you prepare for the final race of the F2 season, “are you ready to make history today?”

You smirk, pulling on your gloves. “History is just another record waiting to be broken.”

Kimi chuckles, “You really have a line for everything.”

You shoot him a mock glare, "Look who’s talking.”

The race is a high-stakes event. You lead the championship but need a win today to cement your position and make you the first woman to claim the F2 title.

The cars roar to life and you can almost taste the tension in the pit lane. Your father leans in, his voice steady despite the chaos all around you. “Drive like you always do. Focused and fearless.”

You nod in determination. “Got it, Papa.”

The race is an intense battle of strategy, speed, and skill. Every overtake, every defensive maneuver, every millisecond counts. When you see the checkered flag waving and cross the finish line in first place, the weight of your achievement truly begins to sink in.

Emerging from your car, you swiftly climb onto the nose and raise your arms triumphantly, soaking in the jubilation around you. The barriers surrounding parc fermé are immediately swarmed by your team and reporters, but through the crowd, you spot your father. The pride in his eyes is unmistakable and he even smiles publicly despite all the cameras undoubtably capturing the moment. He pushes through, pulling you into a tight hug as the team erupts in cheers around you.

“You did it,” his voice is uncharacteristically choked with emotion.

You grin, pulling back to look at him. “We did it.”

The post-race interview is a blur of questions about your historic win but one question stands out. “How does it feel to be the first woman to win the F2 championship?”

With a sly glance towards your father, you reply, “I didn’t set out to be the first woman to win it. I set out to win it.”

Your father lets out a loud laugh, drawing the attention of the reporters much to his chagrin. They turn their mics to him, “Kimi, thoughts on your daughter's achievement?”

He looks at you, his signature deadpan expression in place, “She’s okay, I guess.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully, but the hint of a smile remaining on his face despite the media surrounding both of you reveals his pride.

The celebration that night is a mix of laughter, vodka, and memories. As you both sit, watching the team revel in the moment, Kimi turns to you. “I always knew you had it in you. But seeing it ... seeing you out there today … I’m beyond proud.”

You smile, resting your head on his shoulder as the liquor begins to take its toll. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Papa.”

When You Really Made It: Age 19

“You’re looking at that paper like it’s written in another language,” your father comments while sipping his morning coffee.

You glance up, the dual contracts from Red Bull Racing and Scuderia AlphaTauri spread out on the desk in front of you. “Sure feels like it. Formula 1! Can you believe it?”

He smirks, “Considering you’re my daughter and I taught you everything you know? Absolutely.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “How modest of you, Papa.”

A knock on the door interrupts the moment. It’s Christian Horner and Franz Tost. "Ready to discuss the details?"

You look to Kimi, who gives a nod. “Let’s do it.”

As the team principals explains the nuances, clauses, and expectations, you occasionally exchange amused glances with your father, particularly when terms get overly convoluted.

After they leave, you sink into a chair, decidedly overwhelmed. “This is big.”

Kimi sits across from you. “It’s a step up. But it’s where you belong.”

You look at the contract again and then at your father. “Think I can handle the pressure?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you asking me or telling me?”

You smirk, “Maybe a bit of both.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of race suit fittings, team briefings, and media obligations. The latter being your least favorite part.

During one press conference, a reporter asks, “How does it feel to be following in your father’s footsteps?”

You press your lips together, “I’m not. I’m making my own.”

Another inquires, “Any fears about competing at this level?”

You shoot him a deadpan look, “Fear is for the drivers who see me coming in their mirrors.”

Kimi, watching from a shadowed corner, struggles to keep a straight face and walks up to you with the tiniest of smiles that anyone else would miss after the presser, “You really have a knack for this.”

You smile back, “I learned from the best.”

Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @ilovedreming @jamie2305 @reidsworld @notyouraveragemochii @faithm120601

[nadvs]

Swte au

Imagine Rafe freaking out when their daughter has her first date or when she gets her first boyfriend. He’ll definitely be overprotective over his little girl 🥹🥹🥹

omg yessss he’d be crazy overprotective!!

based on this fic

» au masterlist

his wife can’t help but be amused by the way rafe is pacing back and forth by the front window. their teenage daughter left for her first date an hour ago and he’s already worrying about when she’ll be back.

“her curfew’s eleven,” she reminds him, curled up on the couch, the complete opposite of her erratic husband.

“she’s testing our limits,” he says with a frustrated huff.

“rafe,” she laughs. “it’s not even nine o’clock.”

he looks down at his watch.

“it’s 9:02,” he replies.

“i stand corrected,” she says. “relax. he seemed nice.”

“seemed,” rafe repeats, recalling the way his daughter’s date came to the door, his eyes wide and his hand clammy when he shook rafe’s hand. “who knows what he’s really like?”

“trust me, that kid isn’t going to try anything after the stare-down you gave him,” she responds.

“he better not.” rafe’s fists ball tight as he paces back and forth. “if anyone does anything to hurt her-”

“you’ll kill them,” she says. “i know. you’ve been saying that since we got home from the hospital. can you sit down?”

“no,” rafe mutters. he has trained until he couldn’t stand. he has gone through countless injuries. he won championships. this is harder than all that combined. “this is hell. actual hell.”

she almost wants to keep teasing him, to call him a drama queen, but she knows her husband, and she knows when he’s truly freaked out.

she stands, stopping him in his tracks.

“you’ll leave an indent in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” she says with a soft laugh. she puts her hands on his cheeks and looks up at his worried eyes. “baby, she’s fine. she’s smart. and she needs to have a life. we can’t keep her from living one.”

rafe’s lips curl in frustration. but he knows she’s right.

in that moment, his phone pings. he pulls it out in a worried rush to see that his daughter texted the group with her parents: dinner was great! movie starting soon. will be home by 11 :)

his wife looks over at his screen and smiles. rafe sighs a breath of relief. they don’t need to say anything to each other. they know that in this moment, they’re both proud of her.

rafe’s on the couch watching tv with his wife when he hears the key turn in the front door minutes before eleven. he rushes over to see his daughter come in with a big smile. she notices how stressed her dad looks instantly.

“has he been like this the whole time?” she calls to her mom.

“not the whole time,” she yells back.

she comes into the living room, looking lovestruck.

“you look happy,” her mom says.

“it was so much fun,” she gushes.

“if he did or said anything even a little bit over the line-” rafe begins.

“dad,” his daughter sighs, “i love you, but relax, okay?”

she gives her dad a side-hug, and as she pulls away to go upstairs, he pulls her back in to hug her a little longer.

when rafe sits back down next to his wife, she’s looking at him with pure endearment.

“that was sweet,” she says.

“i’m never letting her go out again,” he mutters.

“yes, you are,” she laughs, nudging him. “i know what you’re thinking. she grew up way too fast. but you can’t doubt that we did a good job raising her.”

rafe finally cracks a smile, agreeing and kissing her temple.

[mrs-harrington-reid]

Begin Again

Snow on the beach

" I can’t speak, afraid to jinx it. I can’t even dare to wish it but your eyes are flying saucers from another planet. Now I’m all for you like Janet can this be a real thing, can it?” - Taylor Swift

Pairing: Post Prison Spencer x Single Mom Reader

Summary: Spencer's therapist had encouraged him to get back into the dating scene to improve his mental wellness but after multiple failed blind dates Spencer feels that it is doing the exact opposite. That is until JJ and Garcia set him up with you.

Warnings: talking about traumatic dates, fluffity fluffy fluff, post prison spencer just being a little lover boy cutie pahtootie, lmk if I missed anything else!

Begin Again (Masterlist)

It wasn't that the girls Spencer went on blind dates with were horrible, they just weren't exactly the best. His first date was with a nice women that was in the same book club as Garcia. The date had gone wonderful until she asked if he had a chip in his neck so that the government could track him, and he would've laughed if she wasn't being completely serious. The next one was a girl who used to nanny Henry, that was all fun and games until her ex boyfriend showed up at the restaurant and she left Spencer with nothing but the bill.

Then there was the one who had too much wine and threw up all over him, the one who believed that the earth was flat and that the holocaust never happened, the one who just wanted a signed book from Rossi, and so on. He had been on at least ten failed dates within the spand of three months and to say he was over it would be an understatement.

"Oh come on Spence just give this one a try." JJ pleaded as they walked into the elevator with Garcia.

"I just don't see how this girl could possibly be any better than the last ten that you and Garcia set me up with."

"But she is!" Garcia exclaimed. "You see me and the all so lovely JJ realized the problem was that we hadn't picked a girl for you together as a team so that's exactly what we did and she will blow your little genius mind."

"fine." He huffed in defeat "but if this date ends horribly you have to promise to never set me up again."

Both the girls agreed to the deal so Garcia sent him your number as fast as she possibly could've.

All he could do was pray that they were right and that this date would turn out to be better than the last ones.

_

You adjusted your knitted sweater while you intensely examined yourself in the mirror. You wondered if you had put on too much makeup or if your tan knitted sweater with jeans and converse was too lazy for a first date.

"Can you stop fixing something every five seconds your seriously stressing me out." Your best friend Liv pleaded behind you while her head hung off the edge of your bed.

"I'm scared liv this is the first date I've been on in a long time and I don't want it to turn into a dumpster fire of a night." You sighed and brushed out the curls in your hair one more time.

"I think its going to be just fine from what you told me this guy is just as awkward as you are so maybe it's like a match made in dork heaven." She laughed.

"He seems super sweet I'm just scared he's going to run for the hills as soon as I tell him about Autumn."

“If he has a problem with the fact that you have a daughter he clearly isn't mature enough to handle a real relationship and needs to start acting his age."

Most men you tried to date either immediately ran or told you that they "weren't looking for anything serious right now" after you told them a out Autumn. You just prayed that Spencer would be the exception considering he was six years older than you and had experienced a little more life than you had.

The ping of a text message distracted you from your previous thoughts. "Okay liv, Spencer is going to be here in five minutes to pick me up. Theo is dropping Autumn off at seven and remember please she needs to be in bed by eight or else she gets grumpy in the morning and I'll be home at least by eight thirty." You rambled.

"don't you worry about Autumn she's going to have a great time with the world's greatest god mother. Also I already took the day off so go clean out your cobwebs tonight, I got this." You both let out a laugh at her last comment.

"I just feel so guilty leaving Autumn the day she comes home from her dad's. I promise I will be home by at least nine so maybe I can call in too and we can go get brunch in the morning?" You suggested fixing your earrings; finally feeling less anxious about how this would all play out.

Before liv could answer you the doorbell rang signaling you that either Spencer was waiting or Theo had been there early to drop Autumn off. Your heart rate picked up as you grabbed your purse and walked to the front door and slowly turned the knob.

"Hi you must be Y/N" Spencer smiled when you opened the door. You hadn't expected him to walk all the way up to your door and knock. Most of the guys you'd gone out with were the drive by and honk type, especially Autumns father Theo when you were dating.

"Yes I am and you must be the famous Dr. Spencer Reid I've heard so much about." You beamed as you walked out and shut your door behind you as soon as you heard liv open her mouth.

"Only good things I hope?"

"I think we both know JJ and Penelope would never dare to say anything bad about you." You said as you both approached his car, blushing when he opened the car door for you.

You were sort of confused at the fact that he insisted on picking you up. You could’ve sworn that you remembered JJ saying something about how he hated driving.

The drive was mostly silent and sort of awkward on your way to the unknown restaurant that Penelope had insisted he take you to after you told her that you enjoyed pasta, she had made your guys' reservation and everything. And when you arrived he opened your door for you once again. Even after being told almost every detail about the man standing before you still felt extremely nervous to make conversation.

"So JJ tells me that your a teacher." He attempts to make small talk.

"I am. I teach kindergarten, honestly I wanted to be an English Lit professor but you kinda of have to wait for one of those guys to die before the position is opened." You winced at your own shitty joke. You and Liv had always joked about how college professors looked like they were decomposing but Spencer didn't know that. And now that you’re thinking about it you remember Penelope telling you that Spencer was a professor when he wasn't with the BAU.

He let out at small laugh and you were absolutely flabbergasted. He got your joke? And he laughed? You were starting to wonder if this was just a laugh at all her jokes type of flirt tactic. But then again JJ had told you that he was sort of oblivious and bad at flirting.

"That's so true. You know the average age of college professors in the United States is 42 but there are significantly more faculty that reported their age at 55 and above so technically there's a lot more old professors in the USA than young professors." He rambled.

"I didn't know that." You smiled. He did understand your joke.

When you arrived at the front door of the restaurant you were met with a sign that said "CLOSED" in bold letters. You swear you could've cried you were only twenty minutes into the date and it had been so wonderful until this.

"oh...well if you wanted we could find a food truck and eat in my car? But only if you want to." He suggested, anxiously waiting for your response. You noticed him fidgeting with his fingers and you immediately interpreted that he was outside his comfort zone asking you to stay but he was still trying nonetheless.

"This isn't your master plan to drive to some viewpoint and get me in your back seat is it?" you smiled trying to ease his anxiety.

"I promise" he held his hands up.

You both walked back to his car unable to stop smiling. He was glad that you already weren't like the other girls he had gone on dates with. And you were happy that he wasn't as douche like the other guys you had been on dates with but you also still needed to tell him about autumn before you fully came to any conclusion about his character.

"Spencer before we continue this date I have something I need to tell you." You stopped walking and looked at him and he had fully set into a panic. This is it. This is when you would turn out to be just as insane as the other ones. He braced himself for your next words. "I have a one year daughter. I needed to tell you before I got too attached and you decided to run. I told JJ and Penelope not to tell you so that I could see how you reacted."

He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding in. "That's a relief."

You quirked your brow at him. "So you don't care that I have a daughter at home?"

"Not at all" he reassured you "I actually quite like kids. I've never had any of my own but I have my two godsons and they're wonderful." You smiled at him. How could he have been so damn perfect.

You continued walking and he opened the door for you once again when you reached his car. And once you were both in the small talk started up again. "So I assume you know how I know JJ and Garcia but how did you meet them." He was still astounded at the fact that they both knew someone this perfect and didn't set you up with him sooner.

"I used to be Henry's teacher and then when my I had my daughter me and JJ were in a mom group together and we became friends. And then I met Penelope when JJ invited me out one night and I've been friends with the both of them ever since." You responded. "And I'm guessing your Henry's godfather that he dressed up as for Halloween when I had him as a student?"

"How did you know? That was such a long time ago I'm surprised you even remember that." He smiled at the fond memory.

"Because it was probably the cutest little costume I had ever seen and extremely creative might I add. My daughter was a pumpkin for her first Halloween and Henry beat her in cuteness by a long shot." You gushed. "But don't ever tell her I said that."

"Can you tell me about her? Your daughter." Spencer asked. You felt like you needed to pinch your arm to see if this was real.

"Her name is Autumn. I named her that because she was born in October and my favorite poem is Autumn by Alice Clary. She has so much personality for a one year old and she’s just so beautiful and amazing. I never saw myself being a mom but now that I am I couldn’t imagine anything else." He admired the way your eyes sparkled and your voiced softened when you talked about her. It was so incredible how in love you were with being a mother. He parked the car and you both walked out and towards the first food truck that you had passed neither of you cared what kind of food it was considering you were absolutely starving.

Within the next couple of hours you had both ordered your food and we're currently eating it as you spoke on the hood of Spencer's car. He has his head thrown back laughing as you told a story about one of your lousy dates that you had been on in the past.

"So I really thought I got stood up and I was ready to leave until this guy shows up and explained to me that he had to have his mom drop him off because he missed the bus. And then he continues to tell me all about how he still lived in her basement and was unemployed." You laughed.

"What did you tell him."

"I pretended that Autumns dad called me and told me that she was sick and I had to leave immediately." You responded "and then he asked me if I could take him back to his mom's house on my way. I ended up taking him home and paying for my own dinner."

"I can do you one better." Spencer laughed "One time JJ set me up with this woman from your mom group named Amy and she seemed okay until she started drinking and in the middle of me telling her what I do for a living she threw up all over me in the middle of the restaurant. I had to carry her out because she could barely walk and I swear my car smelled like puke for a week."

"why would JJ even set you up with her" you wheezed "we literally call her alcoholic Amy. She always has a flask in her son’s diaper bag it’s absurd.” You giggled.

Spencer sat there admiring your beauty as you laughed. Something about you made him feel so comfortable. In the short time you'd known each other you made him feel so comfortable that he didn't need to hide behind all his knowledge. Comfortable enough that he could just be a carefree and casual version of himself that he barely even knew existed. He felt bold and confident in your presence and it made him so truly happy.

Your phone starting to ring. You picked it up extremely fast, scared that it was Liv wanting to face time to tell you that something was wrong with Autumn. But Penelope's name and face was the only thing that covered your screen.

"Oh look who it is." You giggled and flashed your phone at Spencer before you answered. "Hey pen, what's up?"

"So I was calling to ask how the date went but then I realized that I had gotten the confirmation for your guys' reservation at six this morning and I thought it was weird but sei la vie you know?" You and Spencer smiled at her rambling "But then I looked at the website and these people are open at six in the freaking morning! So turns out I made your reservation for seven thirty am not seven thirty pm cause they're closed at five which is completely bonkers if you ask me." She took a second to finally breathe "so I am so sorry if your date got ruined. Ugh and you were the first good one we set him up with too but I'll fix it no worries my love."

"Pen I'm gonna say your hours too late on this call but your all good we found something else to do so no worries." You laughed and turned your screen so that Penelope could see Spencer sitting next to you.

"Oh look at that you guys are still out. I would like to end this call with a quick" she cleared her throat preparing for her next words "I win Spencer, I told you she was a good one! ha!" After those last words she hung up.

"oh my goodness I didn't even realize what time it was" you gasped when you looked at the time on your phone and saw that It was almost midnight. "I'm so sorry I kept you out this late."

"No really your okay. I'd be lying if I didn't already see the time a while ago, I just didn't want this to end so fast." He admitted and it made you heart absolutely melt.

"If I didn't have autumn waiting at home for me I would totally stay for longer but I really should get going." You sighed.

He nodded and took your guys' garbage to throw away before he opened the passenger door for you to hop in. After he got back into the car and put his seat belt on he felt the need to ask you about your previous marriage. Something intrigued him about the fact that you had gotten divorced for what he considered to be at a young age.

“So I know this is sort of first date taboo but um, why did you get divorced? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to I was just kind of curious because I just feel like twenty eight is a young age to get divorced.”

“Oh no I really don’t mind talking about it.” You reassured him. “Me and Theo met in high school. Honestly it was one of those cliche high school sweethearts type of things. I was a cheerleader; he was the captain of the basketball team and our parents were friends so we just thought why not? It seemed right at the time but after I got pregnant with autumn everything changed so I filled for divorce before she was born.” “you know it’s actually proven that children who never experience their parents unhappy relationships actually live a much happier and healthier life than those who experience their parents divorce.” He tried to make you feel better about your failed marriage in his own special way.

“I hope that’s the case with Autumn” you sighed.

“I’m sure it will be. I know we haven’t known each other for very long but you seem like a really good mom.” He smiled as you pulled into your driveway. Neither of you were ready for the night to end but you knew it had to eventually.

“I’ll walk you to your door” he cleared his throat before exiting his car. He opened the door and you both silently walked to the front door but as you went to turn the knob Spencer stopped you. “I’m going to ask you a question and you can feel free to tell me no but it’s going to drive me crazy if I don’t ask. Can I kiss you?”

“yeah” you let out softly. He placed his hand on your cheek and slowly leaned down until your lips met. You moved your arms to rest on his shoulders while he moved his other hand to your waist. Something as simple as a kiss had never felt so perfect to you.

That was until Liv opened the door and cleared her throat in an incredibly overdramatic manner. “Hi I’m Olivia, Y/N’s roommate.” You and Spencer pulled away from each other, cheeks flushed and chests heaving.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Spencer” Olivia waited for a handshake that was never going to happen.

“He has a thing with germs”, “I have a thing with germs” you both stated at the exact same time.

“Anyway I should get inside now I had a fun night with you Spencer, feel free to text me anytime.” You smiled at each other with a silent understanding before he walked away.

you walked past liv to get inside. “So coming home after curfew young lady. Tsk. tsk. Did you get lucky?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“no he was a perfect gentleman and we just got lost in conversation.” You beamed.

“I imagine it was hard to have a conversation with his tongue down your throat!”

“that was the only time we kissed tonight! I really like him liv something about this guy just feels so different. It feels like I was meant to meet him you know.” Liv let out a small laugh but you were completely serious. You knew Spencer Reid was about to change your life you just didn’t know how yet.

“oh my goodness and what was that germ thing about. I mean the man wouldn’t shake my hand but he would swap saliva with you?”

“you know it’s actually more cleanly to kiss than shake hands.”

liv just shook her head “you two really were made for each other. I’m going to bed now but I will be ready for brunch in the morning.” She said before she walked to her room. You threw yourself on your couch and you couldn’t help but kick your feet at just how happy you were and little did you know Spencer was just as giddy as he walked into his apartment.

-

A/N: sorry this took my so long to get this out I’m revamping my fics rn so hopefully I’ll be posting more soon! I hope you enjoyed this and heads up I have not proofread so I’m sorry for any mistakes you come across. I appreciate feedback and I hope y’all have a wonderful day and lmk if you would like to be added in the taglist💕

also if any of y’all are into the Harry Potter universe please feel free to check out my other fic im working on called: The Alchemy

Taglist: @witchsbitchestime @sonicthehedgedoggo @feyresqueen @donttrustlove @alcoholandcakes @person-005 @ilwsma @mega-kittyglitter-1 @creative-heart @chicken-fifi

[clawbehavior]

‘change of plans,’ yohan says as soon as the elevator doors ping open to reveal his associate judge. he pivots neatly, trusting gaon to follow. ‘instead of meeting with the financial crimes team, we’re getting dinner with a former executive assistant from saram media.’

‘chief,’ replies gaon, hurrying after yohan as they exit the building. ‘there’s something i need to tell you. urgently.’

‘after dinner,’ yohan offers without breaking his stride, mind moving faster than his feet. ‘if the assistant has credible information on irregular expenditures we can -- ‘

‘i’m leaving the live court.’

years of fighting practice are all that prevent yohan from tripping over the last step in the staircase. he whirls in place to stare down his associate judge, who moves fluidly down the stairs to meet yohan, face resolute.  ‘and law, for the time being.’

yohan searches gaon’s stubborn expression for clues and finds none. his associate judge was straightforward to a painful degree, so he can’t parse out this sudden need for gaon to stand his ground.

‘where to?’ he asks and immediately blanches when gaon replies unflinchingly, ‘the social responsibility foundation. jung sunah invited me to be her executive assistant, seeing as the position was vacated by her promotion following chairman seo’s untimely passing.’

‘you mean his murder,’ yohan replies, appalled at gaon’s cavalier attitude. ‘or did you forget that along with the rest of your senses. kim gaon, what are you doing?’

the doors slide open at the top of the stairs, unseen footsteps halting then frantically shuffling away, eager to escape the scene unfolding near the back entrance of the ministry. 

‘making a difference,’ gaon replies. he has the gall to find this a complete answer and doesn't elaborate.

‘isn’t that what you’re doing at the live court, in the country’s first truly democratic --’ he ignores gaon’s skeptical eyebrow -- ‘trial in half a millennia. stay here. this is where you can make a difference.’

‘once upon a time, yes, when cha kyung hee was our primary opponent but the game has changed,’ gaon replies. ‘it’s gotten far bigger than us, than the live court. the SRF chooses our cases. our evidence gets tampered with. our witnesses go mum or missing.’ gaon follows yohan’s gaze when yohan looks away irritatedly at this recollection of their failures. ‘i’ve played the game your way but it’s not working. we need a man on the inside.’

‘she’ll hurt you,’ yohan replies lowly. ‘she’ll destroy whatever idealism you have left, manipulate you into compromising on your principles, threaten you with her own hands if being in association with her doesn’t put you in danger first.’

‘that's not so different from the danger i currently face,’ gaon counters quietly.

yohan refuses to feel shame. refuses to look away or cow down. ‘being my associate judge is what makes you vulnerable. gaon, jung sunah won’t trust a thing you say or do. she’ll misguide you, use you, and discard you.’

looking into gaon’s far too knowing eyes, yohan suddenly recalls with abrupt clarity how it felt to squeeze the younger man’s neck while gaon scrabbled uselessly at yohan’s hands, face turning red as he choked before yohan slammed him against the bookshelf in the study.

gaon shrugs but he looks invigorated instead of defeated. ‘maybe so but she can’t be everywhere at once. when she looks at me, you’ll be in the shadows. and when she’s distracted by you, i’ll have your back. yohan,’ he shakes his head. ‘we don’t know what the SRF is planning, only that lives are at stake. we can’t wait for her to act first.’

‘save your heartfelt speeches for the public, gaon,’ yohan grouses, unable to maintain his composure given how fast this conversation is going off track. ‘i won’t let you go. in fact, i forbid it.’

‘you can’t stop it,’ gaon says, expression turning tender as he looks at yohan.  ‘PD-nim aired it in an announcement just now. preventing me from leaving will mean contradicting an official communication from the ministry --’ 

he gasps when yohan springs up the two steps separating them and grabs gaon by the collar, tightly, yanking him in. where words failed violence would suffice. ‘i’ll retract it,’ yohan breathes, eyes blazing. ‘frame it as hearsay and fire the entire production team for their careless mistake. 

‘you could,’ gaon says, unresisting, ‘chain me to you, and the live court. but i would escape eventually. seeing me unhappy would affect you. you’ll slip up.’ and his hands come to rest on yohan’s trembling frame, sliding down yohan’s back in a physically soothing gesture.

‘you have some nerve,’ yohan says with a dangerous manic grin, before he hauls gaon in for a fierce and fiery kiss. it’s their first one and the furthest thing from gentle but gaon comes willingly, hot little mouth opening under yohan’s aggressive tongue as gaon practically climbs on top of him, crushing yohan's suit jacket and messing up yohan’s coiffed hair in his greedy hands. 

‘one year,’ gaon tears his mouth away to pant, wetly and hotly against yohan’s lips. he presses their foreheads together. ‘one year to find out what she and the SRF are planning. after that, you can get me out of there. i promise.’

‘i want daily check ins and a GPS tracker on you at all times, do you understand?’ yohan snarls and sinks his teeth into gaon’s plump lip, splitting it down the middle and licking the blood that wells up. 

‘this is crazy and dangerous,’ yohan pants. 

‘yes, yes,’ gaon gasps. they’re in public and in imminent danger of being caught. it’s taking all of yohan’s discipline to leash the animal part of him that wants to claim gaon on the public steps for all to see like a lion in rut.

‘which is why it’s going to work,’ gaon says. ‘now kiss me darling, before have i go.’

‘presumptuous,’ yohan replies but his entire body short circuits at gaon’s intentions, his skin going hot and his core trembling in anticipation.

at the top of the stairs, gaon pauses and says nonchalantly, ‘tell elijah i’ll be home on mondays, wednesdays and thursdays to make dinner. and, don’t worry about maintaining my bedroom. i moved all my things into yours before i left.’

‘or prescient. trust me. i know what i’m doing,’ gaon throws over his shoulder and leaves.

[aicosu]

Guys, I hate to do this.

Any of you who know me in any circle know that I'm a very professional, very private lady who hates any sort of disc horse breeds that might give me a headache. But this one is important, and my goal here is the integrity and reputation of artists.

For my credentials: I have been a part of five zines in the past. Two I moderated, and one I ran, created, laid out, printed, and shipped in its entirety.

So anyway:

HELLCHEER ZINE BULLSHIT

I joined Hellcheer and the Kindred Freaks Zine very late. Well, after sign ups, check-ins, etc. I saw it was happening in april-ish and shot a DM to the twitter to join. I did both a full art page and a cosplay page.

At the time, the server was quiet but kind. We got updates on the number of orders and books being made.

@Lawless is the runner of the Zine. They created and organized it. They are in charge of the main emails, the selling website, the orders, the shipping, and the funds. (To be clear, this level of sole responsibility is not ABNORMAL in a zine. And is not always an issue.)

@Valerie is the 'social media' mod. They are in charge of managing announcements and answering questions on Twitter and Tumblr. Please keep in mind: No one wants anything but a fast and easy recovery for both Lawless and their mother. Medical emergencies, heck—LIFE happens. It's always okay to put a hiatus on anything, even product with money, in order to take care of yourself and family. Every single contributor only wants them to be clear in what they need and how we can help.

So lets break down what's happening.

Back in May, Lawless went radio silent on the status of books and merch coming in. Another contributor and I, @Toguchin, start dming Lawless to make sure everything is on track. They come back after a week and apologize for being MIA, explaining that their mom got sick. We thank them for all their hard work and wish them and their mom well.

On July 15th, after contributors and customers inquire on delays to meeting the announced shipping deadline, Lawless makes a twitter post saying shipping has started and contributor copies will be happening. They proceeded to go MIA from the server discord and have been since.

The following week, contributors and customers discover that shipping HAS NOT started. Labels have been created and printed, but nothing appears to be in transit at all.

Toguchin and I started getting reached out to by customers worrying their packages are lost. We report this to the zine server to NO RESPONSE. Except @Ashlee, the discord mod who also has heard nothing.

July 20th to 22nd with customers complaining and theorizing a scam in mind; Toguchin and I propose that PDFs be given out to assure and apologize for delays.

We as a server discover a few things: 1. We cannot access the list of buyers at all in order to email apology zines because Lawless did not share the account information with anyone. 2. We cannot access the main email for the same reason. 3. Valerie, the social media mod, deleted discord and distanced themselves from the Hellcheer fandom and has not been checking the Twitter or tumblr, or discord notifications since May.

Ashlee and Ichikun contact Valerie to sign on.

I made a new email and said fuck it, we need to do something to assuage fears, let them send receipts to honor their zines. Valerie didn't know what to post or say or how to answer everyone, so I gave them a copy paste.

Still no words from Lawless but hoping for the best knowing the have a medical emergency, Ashlee and I begin answering the new email for PDFs, but cant help people change addresses or give them any update!!!

Throughout the weeks mods and contributors ping Lawless constantly asking if they need any help! Any help at all, answering emails, changing order addresses, heck a few of us ask if we can pick up the books and packages and ship stuff for them so they can hands off the project and take care of their mom. No response.

We send message after message saying if Lawless can share picture proof, that would be great cause scam theories and chargebacks are starting. BUT ALSO, we let Lawless know we and customers will ABSOLUTELY UNDERSTAND delays if they just communicate it. That if they post in server and on Twitter that shipping needs to wait a month or two, no one will mind. No responses.

July 31, Lawless makes a Twitter update with comments disabled that they are shipping ALL packages that monday with a picture of packages. They also call Valerie privately and tell the issue that USPS refuses to pick up shipments from Lawless has, and they can't leave their mothers side from the post office. They also claim they can only deliver ten packages at a time at the post when they go. *USPS has no such rules. Me and other mutuals who run shops have never had such a problem.

A week later, we realize that customers and our packages are still not in transit. Labels printed only. Most of us assume all packages are just label printed and sitting at Lawless' house.

We beg for updates from Valerie or Lawless. Valerie doubles down on Lawless old reasonings and also officially goes MIA until present day.

Throughout August, USA packages get delivered. A few more updates are made straight to Twitter and Tumblr with comments off. Radio silence in server.

As packages arrive, we all become aware from people's posts and pictures that random Stranger Things Art Stickers are included. No credit to any artist is given? No contributor is responsible for this art. These are suspected to be BOUGHT from Amazon. STOLEN arts amazon sellers resell in packs. NO contributor is okay with this!!! Valerie responds with no response at all.

As of now:

No response to missing digital copies. Ashlee and I cannot give out any without receipts because we have no access to buyers list. Nor can we answer missing packages inquiries cause we have no info. International packages unaccounted for. SCRUNCHIES FREE OR OTHERWISE UNACCOUNTED FOR. Zero word on contributor copies. Zero word on donation status. Zero word on generated profit or book and shipping cost. No way to verify funds at all. No word from Lawless to contributors since July 15. From Valerie since the 31st.

Some notes:

Turning off twitter comments was NEVER what any one of us wanted. A ZINE LAYOUT was never shared. So until people had them in hand or in PDF none of us realized that the credits DO NOT POINT TO ANY SOCIAL MEDIA. All of our usernames are handle-less? This was extremely disappointing. This one matters to me: Our FanEdit artist was not aware their work was not getting a full page. Again no pre-layout was shared. So their work is tiny and in the margins of the front and back. That's not okay. All of us wanted to help in any way we could. NONE of us doubt Lawless intentions or emergencies. But lying, misleading, non-communicating and turning off comments are all things we did not consent to. All of us only wanted a cordial, honest response. None of us actually cared about delays as much as we did communications. There has been many noticeable times Lawless has been online, posting privately or otherwise, even active on Discord and has not reached out.

Why make a post:

Customers should know contributors fought for them. That we did everything we could and our reputation as artists in the fandom shouldn't be tarnished cause two creators decided to disappear. Contributors should get their copies. Many of us BOUGHT bundles. I've been in five zines and every single one gave out free contributor copies WITH merch!!

I'm also attaching all server screenshots for integrity. I'm in half a mind to release the zine PDF publicly, for free, for everyone at this point. I personally think it's only fair since many are still missing just that. But I do not want to insult anyone who paid for just the PDF regardless of the potential contribution to charity. But it's really up to customers, not me.

[skellyflowers]

The Gift Giver

I think that I'm the luckiest person in the world. I think I'm the luckiest person in the galaxy.  It's not because I live in a big house or because I have a lot of money. No. I'm lucky because I have a job I love more than anything.

I work in my family’s mechanic shop. I know it's not the most glamorous job. But for me I have the best job in the whole galaxy. Besides, this isn't some regular shop.  My family owns a mod shop and we are the number 1 shop on the outer rim race circuit. It was OUR landspeeder that won the Tatooine Grand Prix!

So not only do I get to make all kinds of racing vehicles go as fast as possible but I get to meet all kinds of individuals. It is the way I meet my good friend III. He is a Mandalorian. We met after a trail race. He was looking for someone to fix his grappling hook. I replace the hook’s motor and rewrap the wire in less than two hours. And ever since then III has been my friend. 

There are a few unspoken benefits of having a Mandalorian as a friend. One of them is that he acts like a warning just by hanging around. Which is very helpful when you live in the outer rim. III just hanging around helps keep the riff raff out. I also got to learn about Mandalorian culture. 

The Sleepwalker clan seems really cool. Not that I have anything to compare them to. III told me all about how important music is to the Sleepwalkers. Almost everyone plays an instrument. He immediately bragged about playing the bass.

III told me about the Mandalorian relationship to bounty hunting. Being a bounty hunter is a good job because they move around so much. He specializes in beast hunting. He also told me that only other members of the Sleepwalkers can see you without your helmet. 

It had been a while since I last saw III. Almost a whole month. Normally I see him nearly every two weeks. But, word around the race track says that a red armored Mandalorian has been around so I worry a little less.

It's nice to know that he hasn’t been eaten by some giant creature. However, it's a little odd that I haven't seen him yet. He usually comes into the shop, excited to tell me about his latest adventure. I look forward to those stories. 

I'm out at the market when I get a ping on my comm link. It's from the shop. Probably my IG-15.

“Hello?” 

“Greetings Master, your friend the Mandalorian is here asking for you.”

“I'll be right there!” I say. I hastily pay for my groceries and run back home.

As soon as I walk into the shop I hear III’s laugh. He's probably talking to my brothers or my dad. Once I put away the groceries I head into the workshop. There he is! Standing a head above everyone in his red armor. It looks shinier than usual.

“Just who I wanted to see.” III said when he noticed me.

“Long time no see.” I say, giving him a hug.

“I got a job for you.” he said. 

“Of course you show up when you want something.” I say, rolling my eyes. 

“I only go to the best.” His flattering will get him anywhere. 

“Well then, come into my office.” I say, leading him to my work table.

“I want to know if you can work with this.” He pulls out a bag and empties the contents on my table. 

“What is this? Because it looks like a bunch of junk parts.”

“It's a rocket launching jetpack. Or at least it was.”

I start to move the pieces around into what I think this is supposed to look like. While I'm doing that, III is explaining that the jetpack is a gift for his friend Vessel. His birthday is  coming up soon. 

“That looks about right.” III says, looking over my shoulder.

“This is pretty big for a jetpack.” I comment.

“Ya, I might have overcompensated a little. I wanted to be sure that it could carry two.”

“Two? Vessel has a new friend?” 

“They have sex, so I think they are more than friends.”

“Oh! Well, good for him.” I say awkwardly. 

“Ya. Poor II almost got shot when he accidentally walked in on them.”

“I can probably get this done in a week.” I say  changing the subject.

“Great.”

“Hey IG, can search the shop's inventory for 15 millimeter rockets?”

“Don’t bother.” One of my brothers yells. “We used them already. Remember that landspeeder. We put the rockets on and it exploded.” 

“Oh ya.” I respond, now remembering that experiment.

“The closest place to purchase 15 millimeter rockets is a junk shop on Seeker-5.” IG informs.

“Nice. That's only one system over. 12 hours of travel!” I say, and start looking for my travel bag.

“NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING TO SEEKER-5!” my dad shouts.

“Come on dad. I can handle it.”

“No. We can wait for a local supplier.” 

“That could take too long.”

III steps forward between me and my dad.

“I'll go with them. Nothing bad will happen with me there.”

“Can you be sure of that?”

“If one hair is out of place. You can have my Beskar armor.”

That was good enough for my dad. With his blessing III and I head off for Seeker-5. 

Normally it would take 12 hours to get to Seeker-5 but with III’s B-Wing we will be there in half the time! I always liked his ship. It is definitely cooler than any other B-Wing, and I'm not just saying that because I have worked on it.

“What do I need to know about Seeker?” III asked when we landed. 

“The only thing I know about Seeker is that it is not a place you want to spend too much time in. We should get the part and get out as fast as possible.”

He nods and we exit the ship. The shop we are looking for is in an outdoor market. The owner is a goat man trying to wave down consumers. He starts to rub his hands together when I look for the rockets. He has 5 of them.

“How much for the 15 millimeter rockets?” I ask.

“15,000 credits for all 5.” 

“3,000 per rocket is insane!”

“That's the price, take or leave it.” the shop owner says with a shrug.

“I only have 3,000.”

“Then you are wasting my time. Buy something or leave!”

The shop owner grabs my wrist and pulls me away from the rockets. The grip is tight and I make a sound of pain. III hears and walks over to intervene. He grabs the shop owner's hand and I think I hear a crunch.

“Hands to yourself.” he growls. “Give us the rockets.”

“OK. OK.  Let me go!”

I grab the rockets and pull III out of the shop with me. I speed walk back toward the ship, drawing him behind me. I'm very stressed now.

“You shouldn't have done that.” I complain.

“He shouldn't have grabbed you.”

“Let’s just get out of here.”

We keep heading to the ship until a blast rings out. I flinch and duck down. III takes out his blaster. He also takes a hit to the shoulder. The blast just bounces his armor.

“GET HIM! I WANT THAT ARMOR!” Is that the shopkeeper yelling?

“Get to the ship!” III yelled.

I run as fast as I can back to the ship. When I look over my shoulder I see that III is slowly being surrounded. I rushed to the ship's gun station.

I don't want to kill anyone but when III gets knocked down I realize I might not have a choice. The first shot hits a produce cart. The second a wall. The third hits one of the thugs who was reaching for III’s helmet.

With one less foe III is able to shoot down the others. He walks toward the shop owner and out of my line of sight. I hear one final blast ring out before I see him again.

III rejoins me on the ship and we take off. My hands are still shaking from the gun fight. I try to calm myself down. It's not until III touches my hand that I realize I'm crying.

“Hey, it’s ok. We are ok.” He said gently.

“They shot you.” I whimper.

“Yes they did. But they hit my Beskar, I didn’t even feel it.”

“Is that why someone was yelling about taking it?”

“Ya, Beskar is hard to come by. However the only way anyone is getting this armor is off my dead body. That includes your dad.”

That last comment makes me laugh. I see his body language relax.

“That was some great shooting back there.” He says.

“Thank you. I'm  glad you're ok. I'm a little sad I didn’t get to finally see your face.”

“You want to see it?”

“Yes! When are you going to show me?”

“You can’t handle seeing my face.”

“Are you ugly?”

“Just the opposite.” He crosses his arms. He can be so cocky sometimes.

“Haven’t I done enough to see your face.”

“When you become a Sleepwaker you can see my face whenever you want.”

“How do I do that?”

“There are a few ways, some easier than others.”

“What’s the easiest way?”

“Being born into the Sleepwalkers.”

“I think I'm over 20 years too late.” I pause. “What’s the hardest way?” I’m not really sure why I even asked. Maybe just curiosity on my part. 

“You would have to get to Mandalore, swim in the Living Waters under the Ancient Forge, find then slay a Mythasaur and present one of its horns to the Elders.”

“I’m not doing that. I'll leave the beast slaying to you.”

“There is a third option.” He says after a pause.

“What’s the third option?”

“We get married.”

“What!?”

“What? If we get married you would be a Sleepwalker and you could see my face whenever you want.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I'm not not asking.”

I really wish I could see his face right now.  I don't know if he is joking. I'm not opposed to marrying him, but he's joking, my ego will never recover. 

“Don’t you think we're a good match?”

I don't get to answer when a message comes on the ship's commlink. A small hologram pops up on the ship’s dashboard. It’s another Mandolarian. He has all black armor and has three red stripes on the helmet. I wish I could pay attention to what the two were saying but I'm still thinking about III’s question.

Soon enough we made it back home. My dad gives me a full check up. It’s really embarrassing. Once he is sure I am still in one piece he shakes III’s hand. In the meantime I take the rockets back to my work desk. I start to put the jetpack together in my mind. I even think about a good spot to place the Sleepwalker symbol. Then I hear a knock just outside my door, it’s III.

“I’ll be back in a week to pick it up, I already paid your dad.”

I get up to hug him goodbye. He then whispers in my ear.

“Will you think about my question?”

I give him a nod. It’s not like I’m going to be able to think about anything else.

[umlewis]

lewis hamilton, p3, during the post-race press conference, spain - june 23, 2024 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Lewis, coming to you now. Many congratulations. Great to see you back on the podium for the first time this year. How much of a boost is this result for you and for the team?" Lewis: "Yeah, it's a big boost to finally get a good result. It's been a minute since I've been up here in the race, so a huge, huge thank you to the team, who have done an amazing job just with all the processes through the race weekend, but particularly everyone back at the factory for working so hard; the extra long hours to bring components to the car. And we're slowly, slowly getting closer. I mean, last year we were very fast here, so you have to take it with a pinch of salt, but obviously the last couple of races we've also been relatively competitive. So I think we have closed the gap a little bit, but we still have a good couple of tenths to try and find, so we just got to have all hands on deck and keep pushing." Interviewer: "Are you still fine-tuning this new package, or do you need more upgrades to close the gap to these two guys?" Lewis: "No. I think that's the maximum it's got, at the moment, and so… But, I mean, we're always fine-tuning it with subtle changes that we make, so we are always fine-tuning it when we continue to tune it through the year. But we need to bolt some stuff on, some extra bits to be able to compete with these guys." Interviewer: "Now, you had to overtake Carlos Sainz twice today. He was unhappy about the first of those moves, saying that you should have given the place back. Can we just get your take on what happened at turn one, there?" Lewis: "I mean, look, it's not a good feeling when you do get overtaken, and I think we had a nice, tight battle into turn one. I left him some room, so I think he was still on the track. But ultimately he left the door open on the inside, didn't fully close it, and so I went for the inside and tried to make the corner. I think he came around. I think we touched wheels equally and nothing major. It was like a small scrub. Gave him some room on the exit, and yeah…" [laughs] Interviewer: "Alright. Let's throw it forward now. Do you feel Mercedes are building some momentum now?" Lewis: "We definitely are. We definitely are. We're definitely getting more consistent, and if I can just get my qualifying to be like this weekend then it makes the Sunday so much easier. Also if you get a good start, but my Saturdays have been so bad for the last, like, fifteen races, so it's good to have a clean weekend, and hopefully this puts us in a good position to challenge in the next few races." Interviewer: "Thank you, Lewis. Thanks to all three of you. Let's open this to the floor. Name and publication, please."

[time jump] NOT SHOWN: Journalist: "Kevin Scheuren, Motorsport-Total.com. A question is to Lewis and Lando: Of course, I don't want to discredit you becoming driver of the day today, but Max is bringing in victory after victory, and there were slight boos at the podium, as well. So would you say that there is a lack of appreciation for the accomplishments that Max has in the general public from time to time?" Lewis: "Well, I mean, honestly, I'm not really a lot on social media or reading the news, so in terms of being, like… [phone pings, journalists laugh, Lewis laughs] Yeah. I don't really… I'm not tapped into that to know, exactly, but on the race weekends, he always has a huge crowd, always, so he's always got amazing support and, at the end of the day, he does a fantastic job. Every weekend he delivers, and he's got a great team and obviously a great car, but you can't fault him."

[time jump] Journalist: "Phil Duncan, PA. Lewis, you've obviously said that Mercedes are building a bit of momentum. Do you think that that victory is on the horizon, and how important is it to you to sign off your Mercedes career with a win before the year's out?" Lewis: "I mean, it's not the… It'd be /nice/, but I think, considering where we've come from, I think… Yeah, I think just having consistency and seeing if we can put the team further up in the points, I think it's got to be the target, but I think right now let's just try and have more consistent weekends like this and then we'll see. But we aren't yet currently in a position to be able to fight them for wins. You would say that maybe Montreal… I mean, George probably should have won that one, but if I'd qualified where I feel I should have, there was potential also there, too. So we'll see in the next few races. I think we've got these high-speed circuits. You know, the McLaren's always been quick and the Red Bull has been quick in A1 Ring. Silverstone… They'll also be very fast there, but I'm hoping that we are able to eek a little bit closer to them and give them a bit more trouble in the next four or five races. And then we’ve just got to keep bringing upgrades. We've got to keep improving the car. There's a clear improvement and there's just clear areas where we need to bolt on performance so that we can be in the fight with them."

Interviewer: "Thank you. Yep! Another one." Journalist: "Don Kennedy, HB Today, New Zealand Herald. Question for Lewis: Great drive today. Obviously you'll be pleased Mercedes is moving closer to the front, but how does that sit with you in terms of your decision to move to Ferrari next year, and does that give you some second thoughts, given that Ferrari now seems to be falling behind the car you're currently driving?" Lewis: "No, not at all. I mean, firstly, I love Mercedes. I've been with Mercedes since I was thirteen and I'll always be a fan and supporter of Mercedes, and my job this year, right now, is to work as hard as I can with the crew that I have, with the people back at the factory, to try and move and develop the car in the right direction. And so ultimately, whatever course and trajectory the team is on… For next year, for example, there are things that I've hopefully been a part of and be proud of being a part of. My job will start next year at the other team, who I think are doing a great job. I think they've had a couple of difficult races, but let's not forget they had a race win in Monaco. I can't tell you what is wrong with their car and why they are in the position they're in today, but they did bring an upgrade here and I think they are definitely progressing, so yeah… But it doesn't make me second-guess my decision at all."

Interviewer: "Thank you. Yes, more, more questions." Journalist: "Pilar from Paddock Magazine. Question for Lewis: You have mentioned that you are struggling a little bit on qualifying. Where do you think is the key to start improving the results? Is because of the set-up, or more about the pace of the car?" Lewis: "I mean, our pace is where we were, basically-third and fourth to this weekend-but I think our car has generally been very… It's quite peaky, and that means that it's often out of balance. It's very rarely that it's in balance and it's nice and smooth through a corner, and so set-up has been… I've obviously experimented a lot with the set-up over the last couple of years, but the car doesn't really like any of the set-ups but one, and it's slowly starting to just become nicer to drive. And then, ultimately, tires. Tires have been a huge issue for me, so I think we got it half-decent this weekend. If I can make some improvements over the course of the next races, I think there's more performance there."

[monocytogenes]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @nirikeehan! Got two recent WIPs out and have been picking here and there at the Pravin and Theron longfic project, so here's some character work with the two of them getting ready for an op, ft. Theron doing hacker shit and being the most bachelor dude to bachelor, Pravin trying to shake his stimulant addiction, a joke about the metric system, and some inconvenient Gay Thoughts.

This premise is loosely 'what if SoR but it's the Star Cabal?'; you can find some previous WIP posts here:

“Everything is fine,” he heard himself say; distantly, as though through water.

“Oh, look at that.” Theron snatched it from him. “My unused PTO.”

“Yeah, nobody’s going to notice that.”

“Alright, I’ll get that taken care of. Thank you so much for your help. ...Bye.” Theron spun in his chair with a smug smile. “Got the credentials for the comms server. I need to check to confirm, but—” “That was fast.” Pravin tossed a bag of clothing onto the bed. “Wove a great story about a side-channel attack to a low-level tech and freaked them out so bad they didn’t bother transferring me,” he explained, turning back to where his datapad was docked on a table. “Let’s see…” “I have the uniforms,” Pravin declared. “I hope I got your size right; they’re using something called inches and I had to convert.” “Okay, sure, I’ll check in a few.” Pravin wandered across the room to the kitchen. Theron’s rented flat was prefab worker housing—little more than a bedroom and a bathroom, with tiled floors and plasteel walls resembling those of a ship. It was well-insulated from sound, though, and the man had intimated that he’d sliced the exterior camera system weeks prior to make his movements more difficult to track; the latter couldn’t be said of Pravin’s hotel, so they’d mutually agreed it would be better to continue their meetings here. He set the kettle to boil, sifting through Theron’s odd collection of teas: a few herbs common in Hutt Space, something floral that he didn’t recognize, and one called yarba whose packaging assured him it contained caffeine. Doubtless better than the powdered caf the man apparently drank, which somehow managed to be worse than the shipboard rations Pravin had endured in the navy. For fuck’s sake, you’d be better off with a stim, he’d thought derisively, a notion he’d then had to actively distract himself from for the following few hours, stretching against the lingering ache in his muscles. “Sweet,” Theron murmured to himself as the kettle pinged. “I’m in. What’s the number we want to forward to?” “Great question.” Pravin poured himself a cup. “Could your people take it?” “Let me ask if they’re available, given the time difference. Darok said 20 hours local, right?” “Yeah, we’ll get there maybe a half hour beforehand to be safe.” Pravin tapped out an inquiry to Shara, then rejoined Theron, setting the cup on the nightstand. Theron pulled a uniform shirt out of the bag, checking the tags. “Bigger one’s mine, right?” “Yes,” Pravin said flatly.

Theron yanked his shirt up over his head. He had a few scars on his back—faint, uneven abrasions that spoke of a nasty fall. The SIS clearly held a different perspective about such injuries than Intelligence; back in the day, all of Pravin’s comparable marks had been buffed out via the best plastic surgery the Empire had to offer lest they prove potentially identifying. Either that, or the Republic agency simply lacked the funding for comparable care. As Theron reached for the uniform shirt, Pravin’s gaze lingered on his shoulders, the ripple of lean but defined muscle around his spine. Theron’s eyes flit up to meet his; he quickly busied himself with the tea.

[chicken-wayng]

No Strings Attached

I do not own 911, obviously.

Current Word Count: 7, 086 (or around 26 pages)

Track#1: Bi, Bi Bi

It starts like it's going to be a normal night. Buck is on his way over, Chris is setting up their usual spot on the couch, and Eddie has just finished up burgers for their dinner. Then Eddie's phone pings with a message alert that changes the evening:

Would it be alright if Tommy joined us? Sorry it's such late notice but he’s got tonight off and…

Eddie doesn't read the rest of the message. His heart feels weird and he suddenly feels a little hot. It's not like the panic attack he'd experienced when he was afraid Ana and he were moving too fast, but it definitely is as uncomfortable. It feels like everything sturdy was pulled out from beneath him; which was a statement in itself from a man in his field of work. His ears ring as he types out a short response of consent.

Why does he feel so weird about Tommy coming over? Tommy has visited before and had dinner with Chris, but adding Tommy to family nights felt different in a way Eddie couldn't properly word. It felt entirely unreasonable how his entire being suddenly rejected Tommy's presence… And lately even Buck's. Ever since he'd announced his newest paramour, it seemed all Eddie heard about. Tommy likes this Star Wars themed coffee place near the 118, Tommy likes dark chocolate over milk chocolate, Tommy likes scary movies, Tommy likes video games, Tommy likes Buck and Eddie feels sick every time he thinks about it. Just the thought of it is horrible and it only makes Eddie feel worse. It's a vicious cycle of destruction he can’t stop himself from participating in.

A knock at the door interrupts his circling for now, but it's the subject of his thoughts knocking so it's like ice on a burn; a temporary fix with lasting damage. Chris lets out a cheer, grabbing his crutches and making his way towards the door. Eddie makes it after the excited boy, just in time to see Chris throw the door open and yell, “Buck!”

Eddie motions for Chris to step back and tells him to go make sure the living room is picked up while he gets the guests settled.

Buck is dressed in a pair of well fitting jeans and a purple sweater that hugs his body comfortably. A bit of his collarbone peaks out of the neck and it’s tight enough that Eddie can trace it without use of imagination, as it elegantly rises and falls with his broad shoulders. It’s a thin, dark purple sweater that brings out the blue of his eyes and the blonde highlights of his curls.

Tommy clears his throat, as if politely reminding the two he’s there, before stepping up behind Buck and holding up a bag of sour patch kids in his right hand. Eddie’s happy Tommy thought of Chris, but his attention narrows in on the left hand on Buck’s hip and suddenly he feels angry. Tommy smiles pleasantly as he says, “We brought a treat for the little dude and,” using that offending left hand he motions to a case of beer Eddie hadn’t had the time to notice in Buck’s hands. “some for us.”

It is a petty side of Eddie that makes him channel his father as he says, “Oh that’s so nice of you man, but it’s just that it's late and I don’t want Chris to have too much sugar before bed. Also I don’t think I want to drink, you can if you want I just don’t really need it to have a good time.”

Buck looks crestfallen and Tommy looks… odd but Eddie is saved from having to explain his attitude as Chris saunters back into the room. A huge cocky smile is on his face as he says, “I beat your score! It was so easy.”

Eddie’s earlier happiness briefly returns as he watches Buck separate himself from Tommy to go check the screen recording Chris had captured, both talking so excitedly it's easy to ignore his current discontentment. Until he has to turn around and entertain it.

“So how was work?” Tommy asks, friendly as ever. Dressed in a casual, pink v-necked sweater and jeans, Tommy looks genuinely comfortable. Eddie had known him well enough to know that while he was content and happy with the current life he’d built for himself, Tommy still had something he had been working through the last time Eddie and he had hung out. It seems that in the few weeks he’d been dating Buck, he'd gotten the metaphorical job done.

“Surprisingly boring,” Eddie says with a laugh, glad to have familiar territory to discuss. After returning the question, Tommy regales him with a tale of his day and Eddie slowly begins to relax. Realizing he hadn’t made a plate for Tommy, he does so as he listens as Tommy’s no-good day finally comes to an end that leaves them both laughing. It’s so easy to like Tommy, he’s such a great guy.

Realizing he’d kind of cornered himself into not drinking (not even his normal one bottle with dinner), Eddie grabs orange juice from the fridge and pours three glasses. Raising an eyebrow, Eddie asks, “Would you like one too?”

“Of course,” Tommy says, the left corner of his mouth quirking up as he leans on the counter. Something about it feels blatant to Eddie, but he’s not sure what it is. It’s too obvious and he’s never been one to guess the glaring plot, even with the number of telenovelas he’s watched. “Please and thank you, sir.”

Eddie jolts for a moment, an unexpected thrill going along his spine and traveling to a place it shouldn't be at a dinner party with his son, best friend, and his best friend’s boyfriend. He recovers quickly, but the damage was done in two ways. Not only does his jumping cause him to overspill, but he knocks over the glass intended for him as well. The orange juice covers the counter and quickly runs towards the floor, luckily Bobby was his cooking teacher and one of his tenants was to have a cooking rag. Eddie was able to sop most of it, but his shirt and jeans would have to be changed.

Tommy grabs the sink rag and uses it to wipe the sticky up, his shoulder bumping Eddie’s in the small space. They work to quickly clean up the mess and with their combined effort it doesn’t take more than two minutes.

Eddie tsks, shaking his head as he says, “I’m sorry man. Boring days get to me. Dinner is done so you don’t need to worry about it but I’ve got to change. Have Buck set you a spot at the table. Tell him the green mats are in the wash so he’ll have to make do with the yellow ones.”

“No problem. Now go before it starts to feel gross,” Tommy responds with a laugh.

Eddie passes Buck and Chris on the couch, who both look up with questioning countenances before noticing the spill down Eddie’s front. Eddie goes to his room, taking off the dirty clothes and going to his attached bathroom to wet a rag. Once he’s acceptably clean, he grabs the first shirt in his closet and quickly pulls on a pair of jeans. Pausing to check himself out in the mirror, he realizes it’s a blue sweater Buck had gotten him for father’s day. It has the word dad (and all related synonyms) all over it, in over a hundred languages, done in different shades of blue and eclectic fonts. Mentally preparing himself to go back, Eddie tells himself, “You haven't done anything wrong yet.”

Although not much of one, the pep talk does its job enough to get him out of his room. Chris and Buck are still on the couch, chatting happily, so Eddie goes back to the kitchen. Tommy has set the table and is now standing there, looking out the window with his arms wrapped around himself.

Now it's Eddie's turn to awkwardly clear his throat in announcement of himself, and he watches how Tommy jolts. The larger man turns to face Eddie, a guilty expression on his face and suddenly Eddie feels like shit. Tommy is his friend, no matter how Eddie's day went he has no right to make him feel so insecure.

“You okay man?” Eddie asks, not wanting to overstep but not wanting to fall short.

Tommy smiles, one so self-deprecating that Eddie recognizes it from the mirror, and says, “Yeah I just got in my own head. I can't stop beating myself up.”

“Don't,” Eddie says sternly, knowing how hypocritical the command is. “You wouldn't treat anyone that way so you don't do it to yourself. Want to share a beer with dinner?”

Tommy nods, grabbing them each one. The weird ice wall that had gone up seems to melt, conversation flows better as Eddie finishes grabbing all the needed condiments.

“...Anyways, it all boils down to human error,” Tommy finishes.

“People,” Eddie sighs as he grabs Chris’s burger, splitting it into four. “You'd think with a computer with all of human knowledge on it, we'd be smarter.” Eddie holds up a finger to halt Tommy before he responds so he can yell, “Boys, dinner! Go wash your hands.” He waits until he hears them scrambling up until he waves for Tommy to continue his thought.

“Oh but why learn when we can watch funny cat videos?” Tommy laughs, a deep rich sound that Eddie thinks fills the room pleasantly. It’s enthralling. “Much more important.” Tommy licks his dry lips to wet them, and Eddie would like to say that’s what drew his attention to them but then he’d be lying.

This close, Eddie can scent Tommy and it’s intoxicating. An alluring mixture of sandalwood, eucalyptus, and Kraken - whatever soap he uses and the deodorant - and most importantly Buck. The lavender and rosemary of the herbal hair products and the bergamont antiperspirant (“Never deodorant, Eddie. Not unless you want to smell me after two hours!”) Buck keeps spares of in Eddie’s bedroom bathroom. Distantly, Eddie notes that they’re both Old Spice guys too but mostly he can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy smells like Buck, which must mean the opposite is true. Something about this triggers Eddie’s earlier bad mood and he has to look away or else he just knows Tommy will see it.

As usual, he’s saved by Christopher as the excitable boy exclaims, “Dad please?!”

“Please what?” Eddie laughs, looking up at Buck with an eyebrow raised. The dirty blonde blushes and Eddie has to look away.

“Buck says there’s a new Kung Fu Panda movie out!” Christopher explains with a sigh. Eddie shares another look with Buck, this one much less confusing and clearly saying, ‘Kids, amiright?’

Buck laughs in response, moving towards his seat. Eddie would describe Tommy’s laugh as enthralling, the sound was nice and he would never grow tired of it; but Buck’s laugh was addicting. It felt like the times he went without it were the most miserable parts of his existence. He’d do anything to hear it for the rest of his life.

“Did you catch the game last night?” Tommy asks as he brings their beers over from the counter, taking a seat at the round dinner table, between Christopher and Buck, and across from Eddie.

“The college playoffs?” Eddie confirms as he holds up the mustard and ketchup bottles and in a silent question if Chris wants either. When he was younger he was normally a ketchup only kid, but ever since he'd entered his preteen years Chris liked to have the option.

“What else is on?” Tommy responds playfully.

“Ain't that the truth,” Eddie laughs as he puts the wanted mustard on the four cuts of burger. Eddie passes the bottle to Tommy and for a moment their hands brush and linger for a moment longer than necessary. Eddie brings his hand back with a grunt of apology.

“There was a new David Attenborough ocean documentary last night,” Buck comments, before taking a bite out of his burger.

Chris gasps as he asks, “You watched it without me?”

“No,” Buck laughs. “I watched the game with Tommy. I was making a joke because he implied there was nothing better on.”

“Ohhh,” Chris laughs too and then says. “You and Tommy should stay and watch it with us!”

With this he looks at his dad with such puppy eyes that Eddie only shrugs and responds, “It's up to them but we've gotta work tomorrow so they probably won't wanna, bud.”

And now it's Buck's turn to use his own Labrador eyes as he begs, “Tommy please? I have a set of clothes in my drawer big enough to fit you as pajamas!”

Eddie knows exactly how Tommy feels even before he gives his answer, because he's been there a thousand times for Evan Buckley:

whipped.

Track#2: Bringin' da Noise

Dinner goes pleasantly and soon they're heading for the living room to start Buck and Christopher’s documentary. The two settle into their usual spots, and just as Eddie is about to sit in his he realizes that he can't sit there. Normally Buck is sandwiched between the two Diazes but he'll probably want Tommy to sit next to him. Eddie hangs back and when Tommy stops to give him a questioning look he simply motions to the spot and says, “Currently the best place in the whole house.”

Tommy snorts and takes the seat and soon they're all settled and watching the TV. There's basic conversation between the three, but really they don't talk because Buck and Chris are paying more attention to David Attenborough. It's surprisingly comfortable, almost exactly the same as their normal routine. 

Halfway through, both Tommy and Eddie are out of their beers and Buck’s out of his orange juice. When Eddie goes to stand and grab them a refill, Tommy stops him and says, “Let me. You just relax and I'll be back soon.” 

Eddie thanks him and goes back to watching TV. It isn't until Tommy is coming back ten minutes later with a piece of paper does Eddie realize how long it had taken him to grab the drinks. The source of his stalling is apparent, as he doesn't have the drinks and instead holds up a “contract” Eddie recalls all too well for the drunken night it had been written. 

It was after Shannon had died, and Eddie had needed nothing more than to get drunk with his best friend. Chris was at abuela’s so Eddie wasn't worried about letting his inhibitions go, and let go they did. Unable to recall the exact circumstances, somehow Eddie had gotten into an emotional state wherein he was complaining about being alone forever. Chris was growing up, soon he'd be 18 and then college and Eddie would be left with an empty nest. Equally as drunk, Buck had been reminded of a movie he and Maddie had watched where the main characters agree to get married if they aren't by a certain age. Long story short, they had decided to create a similar contract. Written on one a piece of construction paper for a project of Chris's, in the worst handwriting and so badly misspelled it looked like old English, was written,

I, Edmundo Diaz, of sound mine do hereby declare if by ages, 45 and 40 respetifly, we are unmarried then I will marry Evan Buckley.

It's simple and to the point, written big to take up the paper. Buck had doodled little hearts and flowers to border it and over the years that it had resided in the kitchen it had obtained a few cooking splatters of unidentifiable sorts. A piece of paper that truly should have been thrown away by now, yet Eddie had persistently kept on the fridge regardless of how many girlfriends gave him funny looks over it.

“Did you guys make a Wedding Pact?” Tommy asks, and to hear it from anyone else, especially a man of Tommy's stature and profession, Eddie might have been nervous but from him Eddie feels only a fierce protectiveness that makes no sense. 

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Eddie snappily defends them, crossing his arms. 

“Wait,” Buck says, swallowing and halting himself mid-sip of his beer. “You don't think it's a good idea anymore?”

Once again he's channeling his inner Golden Retriever to give Eddie the most pitiful look, one that has him scrambling to explain, “No! Not at all!” Somehow Buck's face falls further and Eddie further says, “Or, not no I don't want to marry you. I definitely do!” Seeing Tommy's joyantly raised eyebrow, Eddie further digs his hole. “Er, I mean I don't not want to marry you when- IF!- if the time comes.”

Tommy laughs, the joy and his eyes taking over his countenance as he says, “Oh my God, you two!” His own laughter cuts him off. 

Eddie's face feels hot and he distracts himself by putting the subtitles on. 

“It's a completely valid contract,” Buck says. “I would pay to have it notarized!”

“I would notarize it for you now,” Tommy responds. “If I had a printer for the finalizing paperwork.”

“Dad has a printer!” Chris helpfully offers. 

“It's notarized in our hearts,” Buck says with a dismissive hand wave. The conversation ends, and they settle into a comfortable silence filled with the narrations of Mr. Attenborough. Eddie feels like something has shifted, even though Tommy just sits down and they go back to watching TV.

Once the credits start rolling, Eddie turns to tell Chris to get started on his night time routine but stops when he sees him passed out with Buck. Both are laying in the same sprawling-fashion, heads thrown back and mouths open, tucked into each other like they couldn't sleep as soundly without the other - and truly they couldn't. Eddie lets the credits roll through and another doc play as he observes his little family.

And then his eyes glance next to him and he realizes he isn't the only one completely enraptured. Tommy has a soft smile and suddenly Eddie feels…

“What time is it?” Tommy asks, his head darting up as he realizes Eddie was staring at him. 

Eddie checks his phone, it's late. “12:46, we should probably get them in bed.”

Eddie stands up, his body aching from a good day's worth of work, so he twists his back to crack it and alleviate some of the pain. 

“I could help you with that really quick,” Tommy says. “I got my masseuses license.”

“Wow, vet, firefighter, pilot, masseuse; you're pretty skilled,” Eddie responds as he thinks over Tommy's offer. It's not like Tommy hasn't given him a rub down before, but it's different this time - he's Eddie's best friend's boyfriend now.

“Don't forget notary and best coffee maker at Jabba the Hutt,” Tommy adds with a laugh. “I like to keep busy.”

“Sounds like it,” Eddie says along with his own chuckle. “Hey if you ever really get bored I've got my hands full here,” Eddie waves his hands at his boys, before his hands return to his aching back.

“Oh I'd love to,” Tommy says energetically. “Anytime you need me let me know. I know it's a bit awkward me suddenly dating your best friend just as we're becoming friends ourselves and all, but I really want to be your friend. I wasn't trying to, like, use you for information on Buck.” Tommy's blue eyes reflect that he's telling a heartfelt truth. 

For an Ex-catholic, Eddie prays a lot. Currently he's praying for a metaphorical bell to save him, but since it's not coming he decides to just ring true. “I know that, and I didn't mean to make you feel like I don't want to be friends… it's just…”

And that's just it. Eddie can't even admit it and understand it himself, there's no way he can say it aloud. Thankfully Tommy takes over and charge, as he leans against the counter to nonchalantly admit, “You know, I thought you and Buck were looking for a third. I didn't realize you two weren't dating until a couple weeks into our friendship and right before he visited me at work.”

Eddie desperately wishes for another beer, just so he has something to distract himself with, but instead he raises and lowers his hands while his mouth gapes open like an idiot. “Shh-Whattt???”

“I mean, I was okay with it,” Tommy shrugs. “But it was a shock to learn you guys weren't-”

“- Tommy? Eddie?” Buck's voice is deep with sleep and he rubs his eyes with curled fists in a way that is both adorable and attractive. “We should put Chris in bed and get there ourselves. We all have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, of course!” Eddie responds, jumping at the out. “I'll carry Chris to bed if you make sure he has all his school things together?”

Buck hums his consent and they split apart to do their familiar tasks. Eddie tucks their son in bed and by the time he makes it back to the kitchen Buck is already back. And with Tommy. The larger male has him backed up against the counter, panting breathlessly and blushing redder than Eddie has ever had the pleasure to see. Suddenly, it dawns on Eddie that it will be Tommy sharing his bed with Buck tonight and that he'll be the one on the couch.

And he wishes for midnight - even though it's already there. 

Track#3: Makes Me Ill

Eddie's circling turns into a whirling hurricane.

A curse to see Tommy with Buck. It had happened once before he knew they were dating, but now it seemed every time he went out they were on a date. During their shift after the sleepover, all he hears is about how much fun Buck had and how they should do that more often. When he takes Chris to school on their next day off, he decides to drive by Buck's apartment… only to find his visitor’s spot taken up by Tommy’s truck and opts to drive on. During the family dinner Bobby and Athena hold at their place once a month, Eddie overhears their hosts inviting the younger couple to a double date for later in the month. Once Buck had somehow forgotten his phone at home and they'd had to go on a call before he could grab it, when they'd gotten back to the house Tommy had been waiting with it and flowers, telling Buck, “not to forget about his dentist appointment after his shift tomorrow,” with an adoring kiss good-bye.

Tommy was becoming a permanent fixture and the thought of losing his position scared Eddie beyond thought.

It had been two weeks since their sleepover and Eddie had found every excuse to get out of having to endure another one. It wasn't that he couldn't stand Buck or Tommy, he just couldn't stand them together and not… well that's just it. He could tell his avoidance disheartened Buck, yet the alternative was something beyond words and incomprehensible. It was better this way.

So he did his best to avoid the couple while failing horribly. The first time it happened Eddie had to head back to the station because he'd left his wallet. Since it was the middle of the day, Chris was at school and the only hassle about this was the drive back and forth. When he'd pulled up and parked, the fire engine rushed out. Then as he was exiting his truck, Christopher's school called to talk about a bake sale. After 30 minutes (33 minutes and 24 minutes according to the call log) he was finally ready to head inside the house.

It was silent without the B squad and eerily odd without his team. Like going into a school or a doctor's office after hours, the same anxiety about being caught even though he was allowed to be there. That's when he heard it.

“If you keep doing that, I'm going to be late for work and we're going to be caught,” a deep voice says, followed by a rich chuckle. Although they've only known each other for a short amount of time, Eddie recognizes the voice easily as Tommy's.

A naughty laugh answers his statement.

Realizing just what they’re doing in the shower room, Eddie quickly backtracks, unwilling to let that image haunt him for the rest of his day. Not that him not seeing it helps, if anything it makes it worse, because now every time he goes to take a shower all he can imagine is what exactly he could have caught them doing.

The second time he's on a movie date with Marisol.

Pepa had agreed to watch Christopher so they went with something mature. Honestly, Eddie wasn’t too interested in watching a seemingly smart person make bad decisions and miss the blatant truth in front of them, so he wasn’t paying attention to the movie’s plot. They were about halfway through the movie and Marisol seemed to be enjoying it, so he simply leaned back and distracted himself by looking around.

There hadn’t been a lot of people in the theater to begin with, but after the main character had made a cringy decision over half of the little crowd had departed. Now it was just Marisol and Eddie in the front three rows and a couple in the back row.

From his position and the darkness, Eddie couldn’t make out the faces of the lovers but now that he was focusing on anything but the movie he realizes he could definitely hear them.

At first it was just a heavy breathing, which quickly gave way to a panting then the intermittent sound of addicting whimpers joined the hushed cacophony. The participants were obviously trying to keep it down and Marisol had yet to notice, but it was all Eddie could focus on. He'd had sex thousands of times, in multiple ways, but never anything as passionate sounding - even as muffled as it was.

Eddie shifts, trying not to let Marisol in on his discomfort.

A deep, pleasured moan comes from the back row, and Eddie can't help but look at Marisol to see if she heard it. Somehow she hadn't, but when Eddie looks at the screen he sees a sex scene and realizes she must have thought it belonged on the screen.

Thankfully Marisol doesn't notice and the movie is over within 30 minutes. Grateful, Eddie makes a speedy exit, practically dragging Marisol out the door. Unfortunately, she stops him in the hallway outside to point out a poster for an upcoming movie. Which means that Eddie witnesses the couple exiting the theater, hand in hand and with matching countenances of love and bliss.

Buck and Tommy.

Eddie only gets a moment to covetously observe them before Buck sees them. It does make him a little happy at how obviously happy the other man is at seeing him, but his desire to be there too trumps any joy Eddie feels.

“Eddie!” Buck exclaims, holding his hand up as if Eddie could miss him in a room full of people.

‘This must have been a little of what Buck felt when I crashed his first date with Tommy ,’ Eddie thinks but he says, “Hey guys! How goes it?”

“Great! We just saw one of my favorite books on screen!” Buck responds, the couples facing each other now so Eddie can see his pure smile easily. “It was an amazing adaptation!! What did you guys see?”

“I think we might have seen the same thing!” Marisol remarks. “Did you just come out of theater 6?”

As Buck confirms her, Eddie catches Tommy's eye. He's unable to keep it for long because the glint of them says Tommy knows Eddie knows they weren't really watching the movie.

A month has gone by, which means Bobby and Athena's dinner is tonight and that Tommy and Buck have been dating for two and a half months now. The indefinable feeling that haunts Eddie has gotten worse. Everytime he sees them together he feels his blood boil with it, when Eddie sees them separately it lays dormant. So far he's been good at keeping their visitations quarantined, but at a family dinner he would inevitably have to be around the both of them. Maybe he could use Chris as a buffer.

It's with this goal that he slowly gets them around, to the point that Chris essentially is rushing Eddie out the door. They arrive later than everyone and Chris quickly abandons him to go hang out with Denny, Harry and Mara. Eddie curses his son's extroverted personality as he makes himself go hang out with his best friend and good friend, who just so happens to be his best friend's boyfriend. Nothing to be weird about.

Why is he being so weird about it?

“What's up with you, man?” Tommy asks as he and Buck make their way over to him.

“Nothing much,” Eddie answers with a wave towards Chris as he continues, “Just been so busy lately I feel like I haven't had any free time.”

“I feel that,” Tommy says, wrapping a firm arm around Buck's waist. “Are we still on for Sunday? No pressure if you've got something else to do or just wanna use the day to relax instead.”

“Oh, y’know, it's just, I've got no one to watch Chris,” Eddie stammers out the excuse, knowing how flimsy it sounds as he says it. “You guys have fun!”

Buck shakes his head then says, “No, no! I don't really like basketball. Why don't you guys go together, I'll watch Chris! I've missed my Captain America time.”

And how can Eddie say no to that? So he doesn't, “Are you sure? I wouldn't want to make you feel… like you did before.”

“Yeah but that was before…” Buck blushes, looking down shyly where his hand rests on Tommy's wrist. “I didn't understand how I felt then, and now I do. I don't want to come between the two of you like that.”

“Of course you wouldn't,” Tommy comments lowly just for Buck, but Eddie hears it anyway.

Not understanding it and also knowing it wasn't intended for him, Eddie ignores it as he says, “Okay, awesome. Sounds like a plan! I'm looking forward to it.”

Luckily, Bobby chooses this moment to make his way over and their weekend-plans conversation ends. They chat for sometime about general things, before Athena makes her way over. Eventually they get on the topic of children and for once Eddie doesn't notice Buck with Tommy, as the couple slips away.

Actually, it isn't until they're sitting down for dinner does he notice their absence, because Chris asks Eddie, “Where is Bucky?”

Looking around, Eddie shrugs and says, “I don't know. How about this, you go save our seats and while I go to the bathroom I'll look for them.”

Words he'd come to regret as soon as that heavenly blessed, muffled moaning once again graced his ears. He should have known with his luck he'd catch them again . Should have somehow guessed what they'd be doing because he knows both of his friends.

What he doesn't expect himself to somehow know is how… distracting their noises are. Unlike the time in the theater, Eddie stalls to admire the sound and what he hears leaves him yearning for a cold shower.

“Tommy, please,” Buck whines, a sound so desperate and pleading. “Don't tease, we have to hurry.”

“Then maybe you should do so,” Tommy responds deeply, clearly just as aroused. “Come for me, Evan.”

The sound that Buck makes is one Eddie will never forget and also why he couldn't meet neither Buck nor Tommy's eye over dinner. After all, how do you make eye contact with your best friend when you know the frantic sound they make as they ejaculate? How can you look into your friend’s eyes when you want to hear their boyfriend orgasm?

And what if you just as desperately want to hear more.

Today they're at the wedding venue to help Maddie and Chim plan their wedding. “They” being Athena and Bobby, Karen and Hen, Buck and Tommy and Eddie. They were invited to help on choosing the cake and none of them were going to give up free sweets.

“I'm so glad May was okay watching all the kids today,” Karen comments to Maddie. “I can deal with my sugar rush, not theirs!”

This garners some laughs and the congenial mood follows them into the room where they'll be taste testing. The group is led through the Japanese-inspired sliding door to a beautiful room that utilizes and encaptures natural beauty. The table they sit at is elegant but clearly made from a large tree. Eddie is sat next to Buck and the end of the table, with Tommy on Buck's left, Athena is next to him and Bobby is at the head of the table at the fiancee's insistence. Karen is across from Eddie, Hen is next to her, then Chim and Maddie.

The first cake is a simple red velvet, which Eddie is immediately biased for until he takes a bite and realizes it tastes nothing like his abuela's. Trying to conceal his face because the others seem to like it, he wipes his mouth and takes a drink of his water. Karen catches his eye and without words he knows she's in the same boat.

“How's Christopher?” She asks after setting her own glass down and dabbing her lips softly so she doesn't mess up her chapstick.

“Oh you would not believe…” Eddie starts, telling her about Christopher’s foray into the dating world.

Karen laughs, “Well do you expect any difference with who his other father is?”

“Not at all,” Eddie says with his own laugh. “I just hoped he'd learn more from…” he turns to Buck, “What'd you call it?” He snaps his fingers, turning back to Karen to answer his own question and continue, “Point 2 version than Point 1.”

Buck's eyes are furrowed in confusion until he seemingly realizes they're talking about him because he considerably brightens as he chimes in, “Oh please! We've had the same amount of hook-ups since you joined - actually I think you've had more than me in the last 6 or 7 years!”

Eddie opens his mouth to start protesting but stops himself as he does the mental math. Shannon, Ana, being friends with benefits with Lena until she'd called it off, countless one night stands, and lately Marisol. Ali, Taylor, Natalia, 13 one night stands (Eddie knows how many because Buck has told him about every one) and now Tommy. Libido wise, they’re matched. Relationship wise, they’re on a similar path.

“Whatever,” Eddie mock-scoffs, the smile on his face a sure sign that he’s joking. “I’ve had more serious relationships.”

“Indisputably,” Buck mock-snarks, his smile just as mischievous. “You’re looking for a mom for Christopher, not a partner.”

Eddie gasps, bringing his hand to his chest in false offense, “How dare thee!”

“Why would he need to be looking? You’re both,” Hen jokes.

Tommy laughs, “You can’t even deny it, Evan. The only decorations you have are his art works. They’re framed and displayed in places of honor,” He looks at Karen and Hen as he says, “When he brought me over to his apartment for the first time, I swear he spent the first hour showing me around like he was some art curator showing off his favorite artist’s work.”

Everyone laughs, which is what the bakers walk out to with the next cake.

“I’m glad to see everyone’s having a good time,” A woman says, obviously the head chef or the baker’s version of that. “Are we ready to try the next?”

At everyone’s agreement, they clean up the table and pass around new plates with the new cake. Eddie would know what kind it was, if he had been able to listen to the baker instead of being completely enraptured by Buck and Tommy. The way they catch each other’s eye and share a secretive smile… It's alluring. The way their smiles sweeten, obviously in love and happy… Eddie wants to join them.

And Eddie realizes he knows exactly what that indefinable feeling plaguing him is.

It’s been obvious the whole time.

He drags his gaze away, looking straight ahead and meeting Karen’s eyes. They’re surprisingly sympathetic, like she’s experiencing something sad and wants nothing more than to fix it. Eddie can understand how she’s such a great mother, because he feels her love and he’s not even a child. Meeting her gaze is hard, but definitely easier than staring at the sweethearts.

“So Denny wants Chris to come over for a sleepover, I know we’re kind of busy now but since we’re both here we might as well chat about it,” Karen suggests as she tries the cake.

Eddie loves his family.

Grateful to her distraction his mind is taken off of the constant repetition of BuckTommyBuckTommyBuckTommy… or at the very least it’s an obnoxiously loud background noise.

“That’s perfect!” Eddie responds. “I can take them this next week if you could take them next sleepover.” Eddie subconsciously observes Tommy excusing himself and standing as he pulls out his phone to see his calendar. “Denny could come over this Friday. He could join in on our family night.”

“Yay!” Buck joins in to say after looking back from Tommy’s retreating form. “I’m excited! We’re going to have a Kung Fu Panda marathon so we can go watch the new one on Tuesday. Do you think Denny would like to come?”

“Definitely,” Karen says, all smiles. “Hen and I could use her day off to have a girl’s day with Mara. Denny went to my last salon and got embarrassed by all the grannies, he doesn’t want to go if they’re going to be there. They get… pinchy.”

Eddie laughs, “Oh my abuela and her book club are pinchy too. Every time they come around Chris he’s pretending he’s sick and wears his mask!”

“That’s smart!” Karen snaps her fingers. “I’ll have to tell Denny to use that one.”

“I’ll bet Chris already has,” Buck says. “Denny is just too sweet. Chris is more mischievous,” He rubs his head bashfully. “I swear that’s not from me.”

Everyone laughs. “Sure, Buck,” Hen says sassily, looking at him with a sisterly look. “Although, I will say he does get it from both of you.”

“Do what?” Maddie asks, leaning to face them better from the conversation she, Chim, Bobby and Athena had been having as it had come to an end.

“Chris got his player personality from both his dads,” Karen explains.

The entire table laughs.

“Oh goodness it is becoming apparent how alike our children are to us all,” Athena laughs waving her hands as she explains everything that had occured with Harry.

“I’m glad it’s all going to work out,” Buck says when she’s done.

Eddie nods, “Truly. Although, it all works out in the end, otherwise it’s not the end.” Everyone nods, adding on their own regards, but Eddie stops paying attention because it’s all taken by Buck discreetly excusing himself to the bathroom.

Which is a totally normal thing to do, but Eddie can’t stop focusing on the fact that Tommy isn’t back yet. The last time, he should have expected it and has been kicking himself for not realizing soon enough. Unable to give conversation, he crams his mouth with the rest of his cake and just nods along.

Ten minutes go by.

At this point he’s chewing mush, but he knows exactly what he’s going to do as soon as he’s done eating.

He swallows.

“Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom,” Eddie softly says as he stands up, pushing in his chair robotically. “I’ll be right back.”

The walk to the bathroom is thankfully short and the door is the same papery thin, sliding door that they had been led through before. Which means Eddie can hear them perfectly.

“You don’t think so?” Tommy is saying. “I know so, that's why I was feeling him out.”

“No way, he’s got all that Catholic guilt. Even if he could, he wouldn’t,” Buck replies.

“I’d beg to differ,” Tommy chuckles.

“Well I’m begging you to hurry,” Buck interrupts himself with a moan. “Please, oh my God, please .”

“Don’t beg God, keep begging me.”

There isn’t much talking after that. The time Eddie spends in that hallway feels innumerable. Able to easily listen, he makes sure to leave and be sat back in his spot well before they’re on their own way back.

Eddie finds that this time makes it no easier to meet the couple’s eyes.

The last time, Eddie had gone to Buck’s apartment after he and Marisol had gotten into an argument. In his defense, his spot had been open and only Buck’s Jeep had been in the apartment’s designated parking spaces. The walk up the parking garage stairs and to the elevator was daunting and the walk down the hallway to Buck's apartment was ominous, yet that was normal lately.

Maybe that's why he thinks nothing is off as he uses his key to unlock the apartment and goes in.

The sight that greets him is straight from a porno made by God for him.

Buck is bent over his counter, face twisted in a pert near illegal expression of pleasure, clearly overstimulated and loving it. Tommy is behind him, a similar countenance of ecstacy written across his face, dirty but adoring of the man beneath him. They are both facing the door, which means as soon as Eddie walks in and sights them that the opposite is true as well.

For a few seconds the momentum carries them through a few more thrusts and Eddie watches, captive to his own desire before he realizes this is real real life and not one of his repressed dreams.

“I'm sorry,” Eddie cries, trying to look away and failing as he backs up towards the door. “I'm going!”

“Eddie,” Buck says, voiced perfectly hoarse and fucked out. “Wait,” he straightens and Tommy backs up, pulling out evidently by the moans.

Eddie can't help but watch, but he also can't stay. Somehow he peels his gaze away, and runs from the apartment.

Upcoming Queue

(this is a rough draft outline. I wanted to cross-post what I have written so far because I can😎 I'd really like constructive feedback or someone to describe my writing. I'm also in need of a summary and I'm obviously no wordsmith)

(Blue are Posted, Red are Not Posted)

Chapter #1: Bi, Bi, Bi :: The set up OR As Eddie is setting up for a normal family night, Buck asks if Tommy can come and Eddie feels... Feelings about it.

Chapter #2: Bring in the Noise :: The set up pt2 OR An addition to family night doesn't disrupt it as worried.

Chapter #3: It Makes Me Ill :: Eddie has arrived in Jealousytown. All of the stations make him sick, especially when every stop be has to see Buck give love and attention at his will. And you can't imagine how it makes Eddie feel, to see them without him OR The 5 Times Eddie Catches BuckTommy.

Chapter #4: It's Gonna Be ME :: Eddie, Tommy and Buck get drunk at Chim’s bachelor party. Eddie makes a big confrontational speech to Tommy about how he thought they were friends and he can't believe he'd go behind his back type thing. Essentially telling Tommy there's been hundreds before him and Eddie's been there the whole time, it's gonna be him. Realizing he's made a fool of himself, Eddie runs off and avoids teven.

Chapter 5: No Strings Attached :: Eddie asking Chim, Hen and Bobby if he's homophobic, Chim says he's homo something (this is the plot bunny that started this fic)

Chapter 6: I Thought She Knew :: a proper break up with Marisol where he apologizes and she says she knows and there's no apology needed if he doesn't do it to another woman. They chat and he learns one of the big reasons she left is because she's bi too.

Chapter 7: Just Got Paid :: Eddie is still avoiding Buck and Tommy after Madney’s bachelor party and wedding but things are going more smoothly. Between more talks with Bobby and Hen he comes into his queer identity

Chapter 8: This I Promise You :: Confession

Chapter 9: Digital get down :: Domestic bliss 101

Chapter 10: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Found Family moment/telling the firefam

Chapter 11: Space Cowboy :: +1

Chapter 12: That's When I'll Stop Loving You :: Domestic bliss 202

[brunette-barbie4562]

Uncharted (Duff McKagan X OC)

Summary: Unsure of her next steps in life, Carreen Joy "CJ" Thompson finds herself taking a job working under the Guns N' Roses bassist Duff McKagan during the Not in the Lifetime... Tour. She faces the fast-paced and foreign world of rock n' roll, touring, and groupies, as well as blossoming taboo feelings for her boss.

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Trigger warnings: Sexual themes, mentions of abortion & drug use.

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Note: Sorry for the late update on this one. The end of the semester happened quicker than I thought it would 😅 I’m going to really try to commit to updates every other week, unless there are special circumstances with school stuff, but I will let everyone know if that is the case. I am a bit of a perfectionist with editing and I like to do at least ten pages of content before I post, so sometimes that slows me down too. Thanks for the patience 💕

10

March 2018

The Farm / Redding, CA

CJ couldn’t help but check her phone every 2 seconds after sending the text to Jess. She didn’t know how Jess would respond, or if she would respond at all. Work picked back up which was a nice distractor, but CJ was drawn back to her phone.

“Hey, you mind grabbing lunch?” Mindy poked her head in the doorway. CJ looked up from her phone.

“Ya, no problem,” said CJ, “Where from?”

“I’m placing an order at Maxwell’s, what do you want?”

“I’ll take a chicken pesto sandwich,” said CJ. Mindy nodded and disappeared from the doorway. CJ leaned back in her chair, listening to Mindy place the order over the phone in the other room. Her phone made a pinging noise from her desk, and she quickly sat up, grabbing it. She had a new message. Holding her breath, she opened the notification to see Jess’ response.

Long time no talk.

CJ quickly texted back as she heard Mindy finish her call.

Can I call you in 10?

Yes.

CJ felt her nerves creep into her stomach. She walked into Mindy’s office and grabbed her wallet and the car keys off the front table.

“Should be ready, or almost ready when you get over there,” said Mindy. CJ nodded, eager to get to the car. She said a few quick hellos to some coworkers on her way out. When she got in Mindy’s car, she immediately put her phone on Bluetooth, placing the call to Jess. The phone rang several times, feeling like an eternity. By the time Jess picked up, CJ had pulled out of the parking lot. The other end was silent.

“Hey,” said CJ.

“Hey,” said Jess. There was an awkward moment of silence.

“I’m sorry,” said CJ, “I know you’ve been trying to reach out, I just- A lot has happened. I know it’s not an excuse, and I’m sorry I didn’t at least tell you I was alive.”

“I was really worried,” said Jess, sounding slightly exasperated. “I don’t have your aunt’s number, so I couldn’t call to ask what was wrong.”

“I know,” said CJ, “I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to hear me explain things, but I’d really like a chance too.”

“Ya,” said Jess, “Please do, I was so worried for so long.” CJ didn’t know where to start. Jess had known about she and Duff’s relationship, how deeply she had felt about him, and how they were trying to plan how to continue their relationship once the tour ended. Jess was one of the few people who had been aware of it. She was also the only person who had warned her about going all in with the relationship. Jess had always been blunt with her. She didn’t pull any punches. She could hear Jess’ words in her head from when she had first told her about Duff; Just be careful. 80’s rockstars don’t have the best track records with relationships. She had waved away Jess’ concerns at the time, but she had been right. She figured she’d get straight to the point. Jess deserved that after worrying for so long.

“I’m pregnant,” she said. There was shocked silence from the other side. “About 15 weeks pregnant.”

“Holy shit,” said Jess.

“Ya,” said CJ, sounding more nonchalant than she felt, “Crazy right? I didn’t know until a couple of weeks ago myself.”

“Wait, what have you been doing? Where are you? In California or Seattle?”

“I’m in Redding,” said CJ. She paused for a moment. “Things did not work out the way I thought they would.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Jess, “Whose baby is it?”

“I know you already know,” said CJ, not wanting to say his name out loud. Her emotions were mounting, and she was afraid if she said his name she’d dissolve into tears.

“So, are you keeping it?” asked Jess.

“Yes,” said CJ, “I thought about it. I even went to an appointment to have it aborted. I can’t do it. I want to keep it, even if it means struggling for a bit. I can’t describe it, but I’m already in love.”

“Hold up,” said Jess, “You’re going to have this baby, and you’re not demanding child support? That man is rich as fuck, take him for everything he has. You could be in a mansion tomorrow. That child support would be fucking loaded. You are in a great position here, even if it may not feel that way.”

“I don’t want him to know,” said CJ.

“Why?” asked Jess. “Fuck him, take him for everything. He has more money than he knows what to do with.”

“It’s complicated, there’s a lot to explain,” said CJ, as she pulled into the parking lot of Maxwell’s. “Can I call you back in a minute? I have to run into this restaurant and grab lunch. Mindy is waiting back at the office.”

“Honestly, I think this conversation would be better in person,” said Jess. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing,” said CJ.

“Great,” said Jess. “I’m coming down there tonight.” CJ felt her heart leap in surprise and excitement at the thought of her friend visiting.

“Are you sure? I can come there. I know it’s a six-hour drive,” said CJ.

“No, you stay put,” said Jess, “It’s not a big deal. I have Monday off so I can leave Monday morning. I get off early today, in about an hour. So, I’ll go home and pack and get on the road.”

“That would be amazing!” said CJ. “Just be quiet about it around my aunt, she doesn’t know…. yet.”

“Don’t worry,” said Jess, “I’ll keep quiet.”

When they ended their call, CJ sat for a moment, reflecting and feeling grateful to have such a loyal friend.

When she got back to the office, she found Mindy bent over her desk, reviewing some paperwork. She placed her to-go bag down in front of her.

“Thanks,” said Mindy, not looking up.

“Jess is coming to visit this weekend; she’ll be here tonight.” Mindy looked up in surprise.

“Oh?”

“Ya, I haven’t seen her in awhile, we’ve been texting back and forth a bit.”

“Good, you need to go out and have some fun,” said Mindy.

-

By the time Jess arrived it was 8:30 at night. CJ had dimmed the lights and sat down at the kitchen table after dinner, taking a moment to herself. She could hear the low drone of the television from the living room where Michelle and Mindy sat watching. It was a cold night, and the heat was blasting through the floor vents near where she sat. She shuffled her feet over the grate, enjoying the heat, having always been chronically cold in the winter. The glare of car headlights flashed through the window and washed down the wall, illuminating the room. She stood up, her heart pounding as she saw Jess’ Subaru Outback pull in.

CJ pulled open the front door, ignoring the cold on her skin and bare feet as she hurried out. Jess got up out of the driver’s seat and CJ met her with a tight hug. Tears welled up in her eyes and her voice cracked as she spoke.

“I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too,” said Jess, muffled by CJ’s sweatshirt. They pulled away from each other and Jess looked down at CJ’s cast arm. “What happened with that?”

“It’s part of the whole story,” said CJ, walking over to the trunk of Jess’ car. “Let me get your stuff.” Jess shooed her away and opened the trunk herself.

“No, no lifting for you.” She pulled her duffle bag out and slammed the trunk shut.

When the two girls got inside, CJ got a better look at Jess. She looked the same; a stocky but athletic build, about 5’4”, black and wavy mid-length hair that was up in a messy bun, and bright blue eyes. The only difference was her once green striped hair was now streaked with purple. She was dressed in her usual comfy outfit, a pair of sweatpants, slippers, and a hoodie.

Mindy and Michelle appeared from the living room.

“Hey Jess,” said Mindy, “Good to see you!”

“It’s good to see you guys too,” said Jess, “It’s been a minute.”

“It has,” said Mindy, “How was the drive?”

“Not bad,” said Jess.

“Did you get anything to eat?” asked Michelle, moving towards the fridge.

“Ya, I got a burger on the drive,” said Jess.

“Well, if you need anything feel free to help yourself,” said Michelle. CJ could see Mindy gearing up to ask Jess a million questions. And CJ was eager to catch up with Jess too, but right now she wanted to get her alone. As Mindy started to talk, CJ interjected.

“I was thinking, how about tomorrow night we all go out somewhere to eat and catch up?”

“Oh,” said Mindy, “Ya, that sounds great! You guys think of a place, and we’ll do it.”

“I thought we’d head to bed early and do something in the morning,” said CJ, looking over at Jess, who looked back at her cluelessly. She quickly picked up CJ’s nonverbal hint.

“Oh ya, that sounds great,” said Jess. After saying their goodnights, CJ took Jess’ hand and gently pulled her into the hallway, down towards the bedroom. She quickly shut her bedroom door as Jess put her bag down. She pulled her sweatshirt off, her T-shirt briefly riding up to expose her stomach. She turned to face Jess whose gaze was focused on her midsection.

“You don’t even look pregnant, not even a little bit,” said Jess.

“Ya and I need it to stay that way,” said CJ, “At least until I can get some things figured out.” Jess sat down on CJ’s bed and patted the spot on the bed next to her. CJ sank down onto the bed and pulled her knees to her chest, taking a deep breath.

“So, what the fuck happened,” said Jess.

“I’m not completely sure myself,” said CJ. “He just left. The night after the last show, before we were supposed to go out and talk about me moving in. He just cut things off, didn’t say why, didn’t want to talk about it. It was like night and day.” Jess was looking down at her feet, not saying anything.

“You can say it,” said CJ, “You can say I told you so.”

“No,” said Jess softly, “You’re going through enough.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

“Well hindsight,” said Jess, “And it’s hard to take a step back and view things objectively when you have strong feelings.”

“That’s why it was so hard the past few months,” said CJ, her voice cracking as she tried to hold it together. “I was so depressed about it I couldn’t get myself to do anything. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.” A few tears escaped her eyes, and it quickly turned into an uncontrollable waterfall of sobs. Jess gently snaked an arm around CJ’s shoulders and pulled her close into a hug. CJ tried to be quiet, not wanting Mindy or Michelle to hear her. After a few minutes, she managed to gain control and took a deep breath, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

“I tried to go out and do things,” CJ continued. “I went snowboarding but broke my wrist. That’s actually how I found out about being pregnant, when I was in the emergency room. Who knows how long it would’ve taken me to figure it out if I hadn’t.”

“Did you not get your period?”

“I wasn’t really thinking about it,” said CJ, “It’s gone away from stress before, so I thought that was it.”

“And you’re definitely keeping it?” asked Jess.

“Yes,” said CJ. “I know it sounds weird, especially since there’s not really anything to see, on the outside at least, but I’m already in love.” She placed a hand on her still flat stomach. “Maybe it’s the hormones talking.”

“Just don’t let the hormones talk you out of getting child support,” said Jess.

“I don’t want his money,” said CJ, “He wouldn’t want this baby anyway.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t owed support, CJ. He made the decision to lay down just the same as you, so fuck him. Your kid deserves the same support as his other kids,” said Jess.

“You know what he told me.” said CJ with a laugh of disgust. “He told me he got a vasectomy right after his last daughter was born. That’s why I wasn’t worried about it. I thought I was being careful, but now I think he lied.” CJ paused thoughtfully for a moment longer. “I don’t know, maybe I didn’t fit in with his lifestyle. He didn’t seem like the type to care about that kind of thing. But he was always surrounded by such glamorous places and people, glamorous women. And who am I compared to all that?”

“Well either way, he should be giving you a monthly payment,” said Jess, “Doesn’t matter who you are or where you are from.”

“I don’t need him,” said CJ, “I can do this on my own.”

“When are you going to tell your aunt?” asked Jess.

“I need to find a place to live first,” said CJ, “I want to have my own place and support myself.”

“You don’t think she’ll let you stay?” asked Jess.

“I know she would,” said CJ, “and I know she’ll love any children that I have, but it’s not fair of me to bring an infant here. She did her part when she raised me. She didn’t have to do that either, but she did.”

-

June 1989

Los Angeles General Medical Center / Los Angeles, CA

Mindy did not think she’d ever see the inside of the maternity wing at a hospital, never mind be present for a birth. But there she was, standing at her sister’s head, letting her grip her hand tightly as she pushed her niece into the world.

The last nine months had been a whirlwind. Heather had gone into rehab quietly and stayed put, which had surprised Mindy. Things went smoothly for the first few months and Heather told Mindy she was working on getting the adoption process rolling.

Then, one day, Mindy received a call from a pissed off Heather. She remembered the first words Heather had said to her before she could even say hello. Can you believe they don’t give you money for putting your kid up for adoption? Mindy could only laugh at her sister’s selfishness and told her that of course they don’t pay you, that would be trafficking. Her initial suspicions were correct about her sister’s motivations being monetary.

Heather had gone on to rant some more about the fact it was too late for her to terminate, and then declared that she’d be keeping the baby. Mindy went from being amused to horrified. She then spent the next 30 minutes trying to convince Heather to go through with the adoption process, but to no avail. She remembered asking Heather, why keep it if you don’t want it? Her response had been, Tax breaks, benefits. Mindy had pleaded, telling her that was no reason to have a baby. She didn’t even have a job to get tax breaks on. But Heather wouldn’t listen.

On a positive note, Heather had gotten clean, stuck to plan, and the pregnancy had progressed typically with no health issues. CPS had been alerted but since she was actively in rehab and had tested clean for the past several months, there were no plans in place to remove the baby. With that, Mindy had been scrambling to get her own shit together. The idea of living with her sister long term was highly irritating. But she couldn’t put her out with a new baby, and she honestly didn’t trust Heather to care for the baby properly alone, especially if her only attachment to it was based on money. She didn’t know if Heather could stay clean. It felt unrealistic to hope for, but if Mindy let her stay and pushed her to get a job and a place of her own, maybe this would be what completely and permanently turned Heather around. She wasn’t hopeful and in the back of her mind she was contemplating back-up plans. She had never planned on being a mother or having a baby. But if she had to, she’d take Heather’s child in. She couldn’t see her niece or nephew go to foster care, no matter how inconvenient or derailing it was for her life.

Mindy had set up a crib and bought all the basic things she would need, preparing for the birth and for Heather to leave rehab and bring the baby home to the apartment. It had cost her a chunk of her savings and she had to remind herself it was for the baby, not for Heather.

Laying in the bed, Heather gripped Mindy’s hand painfully tight and let out a loud yell as she gave one last push. A moment later a sharp cry pierced the air. Time seemed to move slowly as the nurse held the baby and Mindy got a clear look at it.

“It’s a girl,” said the nurse. The baby was chunky and healthy looking, with a thick head of dark brown hair, and a good set of lungs on her as she loudly cried. They moved to clean her off and examine her. Mindy looked at Heather who was sitting there, still trying to catch her breath and looking exhausted.

“You did so good!” said Mindy with excitement. Heather didn’t respond or react to Mindy and just put her head back against the pillow. A moment later, the nurse carried the baby over to them and gently placed her on Heather’s chest. “She’s so beautiful Heather, look at her!”

Heather looked down at the baby, her face expressionless. Instead of holding her closer, she picked her up and held her out to Mindy wordlessly.

“You’re not going to hold her?” asked Mindy confused.

“No,” said Heather. After handing the baby over, she turned away from them. Mindy felt a deep sadness as the baby began to cry louder. A nurse, having seen the entire interaction came over and quietly offered Mindy a bottle of formula.

“If you want to sit here,” she said, gesturing to a cushioned armchair, “and do skin to skin.” Mindy handed the baby back to the nurse while she removed her shirt. The nurse laid the baby on Mindy’s chest and then covered them with a light blanket. Finally, the baby had stopped crying, her dark eyes cracked open and looking up at Mindy. She lightly ran a hand over the baby’s thick head of hair.

“Hey sweet girl,” she said softly to the baby, “Everything is going to be ok. I promise.” Mindy looked back over at Heather, who was still turned away.

-

May 2017

Somewhere over Spain

The feeling of being unsettled had permeated Duff’s day. The morning had gone as usual, other than the groupie leaving his room at 5:30 A.M., prior to there being a risk of anyone else being awake to see her go. He had seen the same woman in the lobby of the hotel just before leaving to drive to the airport. With sexual release came the buildup of his internal emotional tension. The post-hook up crash had him in his head. Being the intuitive and empathetic person that she had revealed herself to be, CJ had picked up on it immediately and asked him if he was ok or needed anything. He had told her he was fine, just tired.

She sat next to him on the plane, focused on updating his social media accounts with pictures and videos from the show the night before. She had been quieter than he was used to her being and he thought maybe he should be the one asking her if everything was ok.

The flight attendant came around with snacks and he wordlessly slid her over a bag of chips. She glanced at it and said a quick thanks before continuing with what she was doing on the computer.

“Hey, you good kiddo?”

“Hm?” she said, looking up.

“You’re just kind of quiet,” he said.

“Oh ya, sorry,” she said absent-mindedly, turning back to her work.

“Hey,” he said, slightly amused at her reaction. “You don’t need to apologize; I was wondering if anything is wrong.” She met his gaze, looking like she had something to say.

“I just don’t like what happened last night,” she said. Duff felt a rush of panic. How did she know. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” His panic immediately subsided when he realized she was talking about their conversation in the SUV, on the way back from the show.

“Oh,” he said, his relief making him slightly dismissive, “I forgot about that.” His statement made her frown deepen.

“Well, I haven’t,” she said, “I feel awful.”

“Relax,” he said, opening his bag of chips. “Like I said, you couldn’t have known. I’m not worried about it. You’re over worrying.” She didn’t say anything more to him but continued to look concerned as he stuffed a few chips in his mouth.

“Maybe you’re under-worrying,” she said, giving him sass. He laughed at her attitude and decided to change the subject.

“Sick of airplanes yet?” he asked. “Cause if you aren’t yet, you will be soon.”

“No, not yet,” said CJ.

“When we get to the North America leg in July, we use tour buses a lot more to get around, unless we’re going from one side of the country to the other. You might like that more. Sometimes we leave right after a show and drive overnight to the next city.”

“I’d be with you for that? Or on a different bus?” she asked.

“Ya, of course,” he said. As the words left his mouth, he realized he hadn’t put much thought into the subject. His previous assistant had traveled with him on the same bus. But it had been different, since his previous assistant had been a man. He had never dealt with having to travel with a female assistant. There were three beds on his bus, one in the master bedroom, which he slept in, one pullout couch, and one over cab loft bed. Despite it being a large luxury RV, he didn’t know if it would be appropriate to share such a close space with her. He didn’t know if he could share such a close space with her. The thought of it made his head spin. He couldn’t think about it now, he had over a month to think about it. He could make decisions later.  

-

Upon landing in Lisbon, CJ received a barrage of texts, her phone pinging several times rapidly. They were all texts from Jess.

Where are you!?!?

What band is that!?

How are you on stage!?

Smiling to herself, she typed back.

This is my summer job, and maybe for longer than that.

A moment later her phone began to ring. They were still taxiing on the tarmac and CJ rejected the call and texted.

Hold on, about to head to the hotel, I’ll call in 30.

Jess quickly responded.

Ugggghhh you’re such a tease.

-

Duff and Mark made plans to meet for lunch after they had settled everything in their hotel rooms. It would be good to catch up a bit during a time when they weren’t backstage and preparing for a show. They planned to walk over together, but Mark got caught up with some business-related matters, and told Duff to go on ahead and get a table. Duff sat on the second-floor balcony of a little café they had chosen on the water. It was a quiet afternoon with only a few other patrons. The weather was breezy and warm, solidifying the relaxed and laidback atmosphere of the place.

When Mark arrived 15 minutes later, he had a look of discomfort on his face. He oddly sat down without saying anything.

“What?” said Duff.

“Have you been online lately?” asked Mark.

“No? not really,” said Duff. “Not since this morning.” Mark pulled out his phone and unlocked it and slid it across the table face up. Duff looked at it and was briefly confused at what he was seeing. It was a Twitter post, posted only an hour ago by what looked like a GNR fan account. It was a picture of him and CJ. It appeared to be from last night’s show, right before GNR had taken the stage. It was taken from somewhere down in the pit. It was a blurry shot of the moment he had bent down from behind the stage riser to hear CJ’s comment about Mark’s performance. CJ was slightly leaning over the back of her chair, her head tilted back. It made her cleavage in the red top she had been wearing look nearly pornographic. His face was turned inward to her ear so he could speak closely enough for her to hear him over the music. But the way that the picture was angled made it look as if he had his face buried in her neck and she was enjoying it and leaning back into it. The caption was short and read: ‘Duff’s new gf?’

-

By the time CJ got to her hotel room and was able to take her phone back out Jess had figured it out. A text from 20 minutes ago read,

It’s Guns N’ Roses, isn’t it.

The phone only rang once before Jess picked up.

“What the hell Thompson,” said Jess, “How are you backstage at a Guns N’ Roses concert and I’m not there!?”

“I can get you tickets,” said CJ, “Pick a date, any date, anywhere.”

“Did your aunt reconnect with Axl Rose?” Jess knew Mindy had been old friends with Axl. It had been brought up a few times during their time in college.

“Apparently they never disconnected,” said CJ, “He offered me a job as a personal assistant on their current tour.”

“You’re Axl Rose’s personal assistant!?” exclaimed Jess loudly.

“No,” said CJ, “I’m Duff McKagan’s personal assistant.”

“The bass player?” asked Jess.

“Ya, that’s the one,” said CJ, walking over the hotel window and looking out over the city.

“You have got to get me tickets!!” said Jess, “Where are you now?”

“Europe until mid-July,” said CJ, “Then we start in the U.S.”

“I’m pulling up the dates now,” said Jess. CJ glanced at the clock on the wall to see that it was 11:00 A.M. She counted the hours in her head.

“Wait a minute, what time is it there? Isn’t it like 3 in the morning?” asked CJ.

“It is,” said Jess, “I was headed to bed, but now I’m too excited to sleep.”

“Well go to bed,” said CJ, with a laugh. “I can get you tickets any time, pick a date and just let me know. I can probably get you backstage with me too.” There was a knock on her door, which distracted her away from Jess’ excitement.

“Hey, I gotta go,” said CJ, “I’ll text you; someone is at my door.”

“You’re killing me,” said Jess, “TEXT ME!”

“I will!” said CJ.

She ended the call and quickly made her way to the door, expecting it to be Duff. Instead, Tate was standing there.

“Hey,” he said, “You busy?” She was caught off guard by his presence.

“Oh, no, not at the moment.”

“There’s a gelato stand just outside the hotel. I was headed down to get some and then grab lunch with some of the others if you’re interested?” CJ had nothing else planned for the afternoon. Maybe the gym in the evening, right before dinner. But it wouldn’t hurt to get some fresh air for a bit. It also wouldn’t hurt to be social and maybe try to make some friends with the people she’d be alongside for the next several months and possibly more.

“Sure,” she said, stepping out and shutting the door behind her.

[lunlumo]

Rating 2024 sports:

100/10 will set an alarm in 2028

gymnastics

artistic swimming

BMX freestyle

equestrian - horses were my favourite animal since formative years

breaking - I'm speechless. Why wasn't this an olympic sport sooner

was super fun

diving

swimming

archery - I think Versailles backdrop helped. also you actually see the hit and points make sense

climbing

watchable, can get behind if nothing better is on

athletics - listen. LISTEN. the queen herself yada yada but there is insane amount of categories. I got exhausted on day two. Why are they throwing 5 different objects. Why are they running so much. There is no way I can keep track of who does what and when

canoeing - surprisingly intriguing

BMX racing

mountain biking - again. surprisingly intriguing

volleyball

it's the one with a ball. you are basic but I have no personal beef with you (basketball, handball, water polo)

I don't get the rules:

surfing

any kind of fighting

I regret the 5 minutes I've spent on this

boxing - controvers(ies) aside this one has a very mean vibe in particular

tennis - how do you people sit down for this I genuinely don't understand. It never ends

table tennis - they just ping pong back and forth. somehow it's no shorter than game of big boy tennis

track cycling - they just go in circles super fast

shooting - I don't know what's happening. I hear simultaneous clicks and wait for the graphic to enlighten me. a lot of categories? the memes were exquisite tho

fencing - I expected anime sword fight. this one is on me

no. never have never will

badminton - chill leisurely activity in my mind and I can't get into competitive spirit

field hockey - genuinely why do you exist. stay in your lane

football - what, gazillion tournaments weren't enough you want to overtake the Olympics too? gtfo

golf

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Comfort in an Abandoned Theatre

Summary - Part 38 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

 Meanwhile in the alley…

Dean waits as patiently as possible pretending to mess with something under the hood of Baby. The longer he waits the more impatient he gets. He just wants to bust into the club, drag his wife back to the hotel and forget the werewolves even exist. But he pushes that desire deep down and reminds himself why he fell in love with Y/N in the first place and that she can handle herself just fine. After what feels like an eternity he sees the backdoor of the nightclub open. He quietly closes the hood and pulls out his gun, checking the silver bullets are loaded. When he cautiously glances back over at the person who emerged from the door his eyes land on your lifeless-looking body in his arms. His heart instantly sinks and all he wants to do is shoot, but he knows he can’t risk hitting you or the man using you as a human shield, or hurting you in retaliation. So instead he just watches hopelessly as you’re led away in the opposite direction down the alley. He knows Jason’s waiting on that corner, so as soon as the coast is clear he jumps in Baby and follows from a safe distance with the lights off. He spins his ring around his finger, trying his best to calm himself down as he watches the man get further away with you. 

Then all too quickly the sound of a gunshot sends him into a panic. The werewolf sprints off dragging you with him. His speed alone is the last bit of proof Dean needs. He can feel his blood almost boiling as he loses sight of the werewolf and you. He slams his hands on the steering wheel in frustration, shouting, “Son of a bitch!” He sees Jason run out from around the corner with his hands up, then he spins around and sees Mark with his gun in his hand by his side. Dean’s face says everything they need to know, he’s beyond angry. 

Mark cautiously walks towards Dean and Jason. “He put something in her drink. She was fine and then she quickly wasn’t. It went downhill real fast in there.”

“So what you thought you’d come out here guns blazing? You could’ve shot her! Or worse you could’ve hit him and caused him to turn her! What were you thinking?” Dean shouts.

“I was thinking I’d kill the werewolf, because that’s why we’re here right? Or did you forget that this is a hunt, Winchester?” Jason spits back. Then under his breath he adds, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to work with a Winchester.”

Dean nods and then storms back to Baby. “Then you’d better just stay out of my way!” He slams the door shut and speeds off down the alley in the last direction he sees the werewolf go. He drives up and down streets looking for anywhere that looks like it could house a pack of werewolves. Among all the highrise buildings and shops, nothing looks even remotely like an average werewolf den. 

After an hour of driving around and no leads, he returns to the hotel. He pulls out his laptop and tries to track your phone. It pings at a theatre building about a block back from the beach. When he searches the building online he finds out it’s been shut down and abandoned for years. He slams the laptop shut and sprints back down the stairs to the car speeding as fast as he can to the theatre. He pulls a park out the front and sends Sam a quick text with his location and the word ‘werewolf’. He puts his phone on silent so as not to give himself away, grips his gun and gets out of the car as silently as possible. It’s been years since he’s taken on a hunt like this alone; he can feel his heat racing as he approaches the decrepit building. He silently peers between the boards on one of the front windows searching for any signs of movement or light; proof that you’re actually in there, alive and still human. He can’t see anything, it’s pitch black inside, but as he turns to make his way to the next window he hears a small howling sound. Almost like a puppy that’s been left home alone all day, it’s sad and a little weak. 

Sons of bitches are breeding! He thinks to himself as he peers in another boarded-up window. Still no luck. It’s just too dark. Damn werewolves and their ability to see in the dark! 

He looks up at the dark sky and crescent moon high above him, before glancing back down at his watch: 1:25. With hours till sunrise and the desperation to find and keep his precious wife safe pulling at his heart,  he makes the decision to go in blind. He can’t wait the four to five hours required to get light, with the hope that they’re nocturnal. Anything could happen in that time, and each worst-case scenario is filtering through his mind as the seconds pass. 

With his gun full of silver bullets, and drawn with the safety off he tries the door handle carefully, trying to keep quiet. To his surprise, it isn’t locked. He steps inside quietly, shutting the door behind him with care. Inside he notices the floor is carpeted, helping to cushion the fall of his heavy boots and hide his footsteps. Barely being able to see a foot in front of him, he tunes into his other senses. Listening for more howls, movement, and voices. Smelling for the rank, metallic scent of blood, rotting meat, and the distinct and comforting smell of your floral perfume hoping it hasn’t been covered by the scent of mutated dog. As he ventures further down the hall his eyes start to adjust to the darkness making it ever so slightly easier to see and keep him from bumping into anything and making noise. He sees a wide-open doorway to his left, almost like the entrance to a movie theatre or concert hall. He notes the protection a room like that would give a pack, especially one with children, but also the danger of the limited exits for himself as he stalks through the doorway. Keeping his aim steady in front of him, he cautiously makes his way through the dark corridor, noting the lines of stepped-up seating above him on either side. 

Suddenly, an aching pain shoots through his body as someone lands on top of him, causing him to land on his back on the carpet, which isn’t as soft as he hoped. He tries to fight off the man, approximately the same size as himself but his gun is knocked out of his grip. He fumbles around trying to reach for the silver knife in the waistband of his jeans but his hands are pinned above his head. As he looks up at the attacker’s face he notices the sharp fangs on display. He doesn’t need to look at his hands to see the claws, he can feel them cutting into his wrists. He gathers his strength and kicks his legs out, distracting the werewolf enough so that he can rip his hand free. With his free hand, he immediately rips out his silver knife and stabs the werewolf in the side, overpowering him so he can get on top. He slides his knife out of his side and stabs him in the heart, watching as his body goes limp. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he stares at the wolf’s features; they’re familiar. He pulls his knife out of his chest, wipes it clean using the wolf’s shirt and then stands over him. 

“That’s for taking my wife, you son of a bitch!” He says.

He turns to inspect the room further, searching for you in the darkness when he hears the same sad howling from earlier again. He takes a few steps forward, collects his gun inspects it carefully and then calls out gruffly, “I hear you! Come on out!” When he doesn’t hear or see any movement he rounds the corridor and ascends the stairs checking each row carefully. As he approaches the back of the room the howling is replaced with a sound that is halfway between a low growl and sob, but it’s still quiet. He sees a subtle movement in his peripheral vision and focuses on the back row. In the dark, he can make out a small shadowy figure. It’s shaking. He aims his gun towards the figure as he gets closer. From the end of the row, he can finally tell the figure is a small child, he assumes from their tiny stature they can’t be more than five years old. He replaces the safety on his gun and stows it in the pocket of his jacket as he slips into a chair at the end of the row slowly. 

“Hi. My name is Dean, I’m here to help you, what’s your name?” Dean asks softly.

The child just shakes their head and looks at the floor silently. 

Dean tries again, “Was that other man trying to hurt you? Did he take you away from your parents?”

The child shakes their head again. Then eventually groaks out in a tiny voice, “Is he dead?”

Dean slowly nods his head, watching the child intently as they resume their howling and sobbing. 

Shit! The gears start turning in his head as he watches and listens to the child. 

“Was he your dad?” Dean asks. 

The child nods sadly. Dean watches them as he weighs up his options. He knows this pup is a monster, but they’re still a child. He puts his hand on the handle of his gun but can’t bring himself to pull it out. Werewolf or not, it’s a child. If they grow up and start killing people he can always come back and finish the job, or some other hunter can. He stands up. 

“Have you seen a woman in here? She came here with your dad earlier tonight.”

The child nods and points towards the other end of the row. As Dean follows the child’s direction he can’t believe he didn’t notice you there before. He takes in your limp body sprawled out over a few seats. You look so uncomfortable but also unconscious so he guesses you can’t feel or hear anything. Cautiously, he gets up and squeezes past the child to get to you. He pulls you into his lap so you can be more comfortable, even if you have no recollection of it. He just knows if you stay all contorted like that you’ll wake up with all sorts of aches and pains. He lets your head rest on his shoulder as he holds you close to his chest. He breathes a small sigh of relief as he fills your warm, steady breath fan out on his neck and feels your steady pulse. 

He watches cautiously as the child crawls over the chairs to get a little closer. Up close Dean can tell from her feminine features that she’s a little girl. Her face is soft and cherubic, with delicate, rosy cheeks, a petite button nose, wide, innocent, yet red-rimmed and tear-filled eyes, and a natural, gentle pout that gives her an angelic appearance. Her skin is soft and smooth, with a subtle hint of childhood freckles across her nose and cheeks. If not for her being a werewolf he would say she’s beautiful. He almost feels bad for stabbing her father, but as he holds your limp body in his arms he tells himself he did the right thing. Not having any of the right words to comfort the child, but also not wanting to leave them alone he stays silent. He just sits there and holds you waiting for whatever that monster put in your drink to wear off. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0, @nelachu2423, @ladysparkles78

[gavinfair]

Jay-Z's & Kanye West's Watch The Throne Album Review

The collaborative album was originally released in 2011. The idea for the album started during studio sessions for Kanye's My Beautiful Dark Twisted fantasy, Jay-Z originally wanted it to be a 5 song EP, but since the chemistry between Kanye and Jay-Z was so good it became a full length album. The album was created in many different luxurious locations around the world, with a very iconic recording session at the Le Meurice hotel in paris. Although Kanye has a lot of verse, he mainly focused on producing while Jay-Z did the vocals. The album features a lot of well known producers like Mike Dean, Hit-Boy, Q-Tip, and Swizz. SInce Jay-Z and Kanye had very different styles (Kanye being more Risk taking and experimental  while Jay-Z is more of a traditional rapper) there were tons of debates in which way the music would sound. The album talks about a lot of themes like wealth, power, and fame but it also brings up a lot racial issues in America (The murder rate in Chicago being mainly mentioned). After one year of development the album was finished in july 2011 and released August 8, 2011, and debuted No. 1 on the billboard 200 chart. “Otis” the fourth song in the album won Best Rap Performance, and Best Rap Song at the 2012 Grammys. During its first week it sold 436,00 copies, and 321,000 Itune downloads which was the second highest at the time, and on November 23, 2020 the album was certified quintuple platinum by the RIAA. Now that you are all caught up with the general history of the album let's see if it deserves all the praise it got.

No Church In The Wild

This is the opening track of the album which features Frank Ocean in it. The song talks about rebellion, morality, and questioning religion. The song is very dark with haunting vocals. The song challenges traditional beliefs and highlights the struggles of the modern world. I really like this song a lot, but I remember when this song first came out I did not. 8/10

2. Lift Off

The song features Jay-Z’s wife who is an up and coming artist, her name is Beyonce. This is one of my favorite songs on the album as Beyonce’s hook is so perfect with the trumpets, synthesizer, and if you listen very carefully you can hear Kanye’s Roland TR-808 board which single handedly made 808’s and heartbreaks. Even though there is not a lot of depth in the lyrics it is just very catchy and uplifting, 8.7/10.

3. N***** in Paris

When people hear someone talking about Watch the throne this is the song they immediately think of. This song is one of the most iconic songs of the 20th century, everyone and their mother knows this song. Now while it is the most popular song on the album I don't think it is the best, even though it is incredible. The song is funny, it flows really well, and it features some scenes from the movie “Blades of Glory” which is one of my favorite Will Ferrell movies. Overall I would give it a 9/10. Fun fact, when Kanye and Jay-Z went on tour they sung this song 11 times in a row when they went to paris

4. Otis

Best song on the album, one of the greatest songs all time. During this song Kanye and Jay-Z just ping pong verses back and forth and each one is better than the last. The instrumental samples Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness”. The song mainly boasts about how wealthy and powerful both artists are, the lyrics don't really have a deeper meaning to them as they are all pretty surface level, My favorite being “I made Jesus Walks so i'm never going to Hell” which is Kanye claiming that since he made a song about talking about jesus he is guaranteed to go to heaven (later doubling down and making an entire album about jesus called JESUS IS KING). Overall 9.9/10

5. Gotta Have It

This song is also really good, it is really fast paced and playful. The song samplesJames Brown’s “My Thang,”. Like all of the songs it talks about how wealthy both the artists are but this is the fist song that talks about race. The song opens with Kanye saying “Hello white America, assassinate my character” which touches on all of the predominantly white critics that were trying to almost blacklist Kanye and other black artists from the music industry. The song is a very good hype song as I do have it in my gym playlist. Overall 8.9/10

6. New Day

This song slows the album down and it mainly just speaks to the listeners. It talks about how all the fame and wealth that Kanye and Jay-Z were just flaunting is actually hurting their children. Kanye stated how he doesn't want his children to be hated because his father is such a controversial person, even saying “Don't be like your daddy that would never budge. Kanye then proceeds to say how he is going to raise his children to be very respectable people in society. Jay-Z then takes over and immediately apologizes to his future son for having the paparazzi already all over him, and says that his fathers sins are going to make his life 10x harder. This is a very emotional song and the lyrical depth makes up for the lack of depth in Lift off. 9.3/10.

7. That’s My Bitch

This song makes me feel like I'm in a jungle, and I like it. A lot of critics say that the lyrics in this song are too boastful but I think they are wrong, if they were Kanye or Jay-Z they too would be flaunting the money they have. The song in itself is very bold and it stands out in the album. It's not my favorite song but I still enjoy listening to it 8.4/10

8. Welcome to the jungle

I recently listened to this song and I just started liking it. This song is the reason I'm doing this review as it reminded me of how good this album is. The track's raw intensity really resonated with me which makes it a good addition to the album, even though it is not as popular as some of the other songs. I do agree with it not being as popular as it is a good song but it's not as good as the other tracks, so I give it a 7.9/10.

9. Who Gon Stop Me

This song definitely stops as it is almost like a techno song, Kanye has this filter over his voice in the beginning and the synths in the background  remind me of a 2010 call of duty montage. Just like That’s my Bitch this track is very bold and stands out in the album. Overall I rate it a 8/10

10. Murder to Excellence

This song does not follow the trend of flexing money and power and it tackles the racial issues in America. It talks about the killings in Chicago and compares it to the war in Iraq. Jay-Z makes comments about how the higher you go (more successful) the less black people there are. The song mainly suggests that we need to celebrate black excellence more, and to stop killing in these urban neighborhoods. Overall 8.3/10

11. Made In America

Frank Ocean pops up again in this album, sadly it was on the weakest song. I was never a huge fan of this song, it's mainly just Frank Ocean thanking all of the black leaders and saying that “He made it in America” meaning he is successful. 6.5/10

12. Why I love you

I really do enjoy listening to this song, this one you're able to sing to Charlie Wilson’s hook. The track talks about love, loyalty, and appreciation which goes against the whole money and power theme the beginning of the album talked about. The lyrics are very heartfelt and I love it. 8.4/10

[crystalsamethyst]

DND! In honour of our cleric's lying sister who is alive and perfectly physically well, we're about to bamboozle the king of hell!

I opened my character sheet and saw in capital letters "REMEMBER DO HEROES' FEAST" so thank you, last week's me, for doing that.

So we begin in our manor! Our safe safe manor! And our druid poked her head out and saw a fucking pit fiend waiting outside, staring at the door.

Right into it?

We are surrounded. And they're supposed to 'escort' us to Asmodeus. But we still need to go to the library first so we can do some bamboozling.

2 pit fiends, 2 giant devils, and 2 fucking adult red dragons. My rogue is now trying to communicate with Asmodeus. He's agreed to let these guys be our 'escorts' rather than force us straight to his house. But he is still somehow tracking us.

Cleric: Peeping! Toms! You know who doesn't watch me shit? Mystra!

Pit fiend: Are you sure?

Cleric: ... One sec! *goes in the mansion to commune* Mystra this is the most important question ever, have you ever watched me take a shit?

Mystra: ...... No.

Cleric: Why was there a pause there?

Mystra: I could.

---

Druid contacting Fierna through divination: Please tell us how Asmodeus can track us even without the divination magic?

Fierna: Ripples in a pond.

Rogue: That's fucking cryptic.

Cleric using sending to Fierna: Ok so you just gave Lost some cryptic fucking answer, tell me directly how Asmodeus knows where we are?

Fierna: You guys aren't subtle.

---

Sooo basically we're thinking our magic abilities and tools are getting noticed when we use them. Which means. My detection and telepathic spells. So sad.

We're recalling to the boat on level 8 after telling the entourage we're taking another nap. Hopefully they'll wait another 16 hours until the door fades, and we're gonna go back down and sneak off to that library. I think the plan was to turn us into fart clouds?!

---

We are now clouds and apparently flying fricken fast. Let's get to the library!

Oh fuck we followed my previous ping on 'fanciest books' locating. I think it took us to Asmodeus's castle. It is not secret, it's not at the end of a river, it's not an oasis. Shit. Keep going lol

We are at the end of hell! The river is dropping off into a red void but we can fly still. Shall we go into the void? YES! There is a floating land mass in the void, now this looks like a secret library!

[bardnuts]

Chapter 3!!

Be Gay, Do Drugs, Hail Satan - Chapter 3 - katabatic - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own]

You are a wretched pile of shit. You are an abortion of nature. You are the sputum of a failed deity. You have such a headache. 

You wake to the gentle light of morning, aching like a pile of broken sticks, with a hollow pit in your stomach and a bedroll soaked in perspiration. All night long, you dreamed of blood. Killing. Oceans of gall and bile. It would be bad enough if they were nightmares, but they weren’t. In your fevered mind, they were dreams of beauty. 

The white-haired elf watches, unblinking, as you stagger around the campsite. His eyes track your every movement, but he says nothing as you wash your hands in the stream over and over and over again, and he doesn’t look away when you peel off your sweaty clothes to rinse them out. You’re too out of sorts to ask for modesty, but your skin prickles under his gaze. Maybe it’s the psychic link between your parasites, or maybe your imagination, but you can sense him eyeing the twin scars across your chest. A passing curiosity. 

He doesn’t address you until you look at him, and when you do, his expression metamorphoses from wariness to smug indifference in a heartbeat.

“Good morning, darling,” he says. “Sleep well?” 

This is hardly a question you need to justify with a response, so you just stare at him in sunken-eyed silence until he shrugs and continues, “You look thoroughly insane, I hope you know. Positively rabid. You poor thing. Tell me, how is your little friend doing?” Astarion prods at his temple. “Any sign of tentacles?”

Tell him the truth. Make him afraid. 

Your voice crawls out of your throat half-dead. “I dream of a dead world submerged in lakes of clotted blood.” 

Observe.

Astarion’s face shuffles through half a dozen possible reactions before it settles again on smug indifference. “Well,” he says, “do take care of yourself. Shall we? I’d prefer to find a healer before one of us succumbs to frenzied bloodlust.” 

He’s taking this surprisingly well. Perhaps he didn’t hear you. Try again.

The words bubble out of you. “I long to kill everything that draws breath, then drive the very blade that murdered the world into my own wretched heart.” 

“Not bad, if you’re going for a sort of prose poem,” says Astarion, “but I think your wording takes itself a bit too seriously. Now, can we go? Some of us have places to be.” 

The Urge releases its grip on you with a suddenness that makes you gasp. You sag on your feet and Astarion steps back with a grimace of revulsion—possibly the first honest expression he’s allowed you to see. This isn’t good. You need this guy if you’re going to survive out here. You can’t afford to alienate any allies. 

“Poetry!” you say. “Right. Too seriously, really?” 

“My dear, I’ve read better poems on tombstones.” He waves a hand. “Let’s go; I’d like to reach those ruins by midday.” 

Ruins? “We need to find a healer.” 

“Yes, obviously, but when we find a healer we will then need to pay a healer, and I didn’t see you vomit up any gold coins last night,” he snaps. “I think a little scavenging is in order. Now, are you coming with me or shall I go find that helpful boar again?” 

His feigned concern was nice while it lasted. You sigh. “I’ll need to get my lute.” 

You turn away and feel a ping of awareness which is almost completely alien to you: for the first time in your life, with a -2 penalty to wisdom, you have succeeded a perception check. 

You whirl around just in time for the point of Astarion’s dagger to halt, unerringly, in the hollow beneath your chin, pressed to your skin, sharp as a plucked string. 

He’s still wearing that same impenetrable smile. “Let’s take things nice and slow.”

You glance down at the blade and back up again. “This is already moving a little fast for me, to be honest.” 

Astarion keeps the knife where it is and closes the rest of the distance between you. His red eyes are fixed on yours. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. 

“I just thought we should come to an … understanding,” he says quietly. “I’d prefer to survive this horrid little camping trip. I’m sure you would, too. Do I have that right? Nod.” 

Nod.

You nod.

Now seize the knife and tear out his jugular with your teeth.

You do not do that.

“Good,” says Astarion. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I don’t care. But I’ll be watching you, and I’m faster than I look, so I would think carefully before making any sudden movements. Otherwise I’ll need to bring our holiday to a premature end. Does that sound reasonable?” 

“So, so reasonable.” 

Still smiling, he removes his dagger from your throat. “Lovely. Now we can get on with things, and there won’t be any more secrets between us.” 

Did you hear that? It was the sound of you failing an insight check.

“Lead the way,” you say, shouldering your pack and your lute. “Or do you want me to walk in front? Keep an eye on me, and all that?” 

Fool! Never expose your neck to a stranger!

“I could not give any less of a shit where you walk,” says Astarion, but he allows you to take the lead as you set off into the trees. Birds rise twittering into the bright morning sun, which scatters on the leaves and paints the ground in gentle dappled patterns. “But I think we’ll get on fine so long as you don’t do any singing. Gods, why a bard …?”

Bear his jibes in silence.

You’ll get your vengeance soon enough.

~

Chapter 1