#puck headers

[deepspacialrift]

boy king

[abqbox]

Watched a bit of sled hockey as I stretched before our game, it's an advantage of playing in the early time slot.

When our game started, it was a bit more lopsided than the sled hockey seemed to be, and not in our favor. That stayed pretty consistent throughout the game. In the end, they had a bit more than twice as many shots as we had and I felt that was probably a fair reflection of the overall play of the two teams.

But I played well in the net, and it was scoreless after the first period. Then, we managed to score the first goal about halfway through the second period. After that, they tried even more to score, and I had to make a number of good saves but was able to do so until a shot hit our defender in his hand. While he was in pain, they picked up the puck and managed to score with no pressure at all from just a few feet in front of me. That was a frustrating and annoying way for it to get tied up.

In the third, they kept coming offensively, while we only occasionally had a scoring chance, usually on a breakaway. I stopped everything though, for the first half of the period or so, until they had a lengthy period holding the puck in our zone and finally getting plenty of time for one of their defenders to line up a shot uncontested. I knew where he was shooting into the corner on my left and tried to get my glove up quick enough but wasn't able to.

We tried to score another to tie the game up, including with me on the bench as time was running out. Instead, they managed to get a long shot on the net and score a third goal. That was basically the end of the game, for a 1-3 loss.

After the game, the other goalie came and gave me some advice, even though I had clearly been the better goalie in the game. That's not the first time she's done that, and usually, the advice isn't wrong, but it is always something really simple I've already known for years. It kind of cracks me up actually, I just say thank you and move on.

[homestylehughes]

wanna bet?

quinn hughes x fem!reader

summray: you make a bet with quinn, which of you will win?

wc: 2.9K

warnings: nsfw 18+ smut, unprotected sex, p in v (practice safe sex guys!), oral fem receiving, spitting, cussing, dirty talk. there's some plot but it's mostly smut.

an: OH BOYYYYYY... i'm a little nervous to post this... GULP. it's my first time writing smut, so hopefully you guys all enjoy!! it took me like 4 hours LOL! writing smut is hard guys... thank you to all of my smut writing warriors. ALSO i tried my hand at making a header for my work, i kinda like it?? i cant tell if i ate or not..LMFAO. anyways im done yapping. like and reblog if you like, as always much love as always.

happy reading <3

“We should make a bet.” I say to Quinn as we’re getting ready for a home game between the Canucks and Winnipeg Jets. 

He looks at me confusingly as he finishes tying his tie in the mirror. “What kind of bet are we talking about?” he mutters back. “I don't know, something spicy and fun '' I say, as I make my way over to him to fix his crooked tie. 

“Hm..i like the sound of that” quinn says, as he rests his hands on my waist pulling me closer to his body.  I chuckle at his sudden change in interest, finally fixing his tie, I rake my eyes over his face. 

“I have an idea,” I say as our eyes remain locked, “and what's that baby?” Quinn says, I can feel his gaze now locked on my lips. 

“If you score tonight, i'll let you do whatever you want to me.'' I say, as I slowly trace my hands around his neck to play with his hair, leaning my body further into his. “if you don't score, i get to do whatever i want to you, but you can't touch.” 

I can feel quinns breath hitch in his throat, as I press myself completely against his front, planting soft kisses down his neck and across his jaw. His hands moving from my waist, to my ass, griping is hard and pulling me even tighter against him. 

Quinn tips his head down to try and connect our lips together, I quickly move my head to avoid his kiss. “How do those conditions sound?” I say, looking at quinns now flushed state. 

“They sound really good, baby, they would sound even better if you'd let me kiss you.” he says, slowly moving our faces closer together. 

I slowly shake my head no, as I pull myself apart from him. “ I have to finish getting ready, and so do you.” I say, while looking at a wide eyed, flustered quinn. 

“You actually hate me, don't you?” Quinn says, looking at me, still wide eyed. “no i don't, i just like making you suffer.'' I grin back at him. 

“So are we shaking on this?” Quinn says, finally collecting himself. Without a word I held my hand out to him, waiting for him to grasp it. Our eyes are locked, as Quinn pulls his arm forward, his hand finally finding mine, pulling it into a firm handshake. “you're on Hughes,” I said to him. “No you're on, I'm scoring tonight, just for you baby '' Quinn says grinning at me like a kid in a candy store. 

I step forward and press a sweet kiss on his lips, pulling away before he has the chance to deepen it, “may the best man win” i say before turning away from him, to finish getting ready. 

I'm nervous, not for the game, but for tonight. My nerves are getting the best of me as I sit in the stands waiting for the puck to drop. My eyes follow Quinn as they warm up on the ice.

 I'm starting to think I'm a dumbass for even betting on this. Quinn is super competitive, he's not going to let me win, but damn do I want to win. 

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my head, I settle in my seat, gaze locked on ice as the first whistle signaling the game has begun goes off. 

      This is going to be a long game, a long night, I think to myself. 

The Canucks win in a shutout, 5-0. I couldn't be more proud of them as they skate off the ice. Most importantly I couldn't be more proud of myself for finally winning a bet against quinn. 

They played an incredible game tonight, with 5 amazing goals, not none of those coming from quinn. I couldn't help but secretly be happy that he didn't score. 

I leave the stands and make my way towards the locker room, waiting for Quinn to finish up with getting ready and press interviews. Around 45 minutes later, I see Quinn make his way towards me. I open my arms to him, grasping him in a hug, “good game baby” I say to him as he pulls away, whispering a small “thank you” in my direction. 

We start to make our way to the parking lot, silence surrounds us, it starts to make me nervous. “Any updates on Thatcher?” I ask, who went to the locker room during the second period, with an injury. “We don't know too much right now, hopefully we get some updates tomorrow morning on his status.'' Quinn says as he throws his bags in the back seat of the car, before sliding over to open the passenger door for me.

 “Hopefully he’s okay, I'm sure he is. He's a tough guy, keep me updated when you get any information." I say to Quinn, as he's pulling out of the parking lot. “I will.” he says shortly. I frown at his shortness, in the conversation. 

“Are you okay?” i ask him quietly, “yeah, im okay.” he replies back quickly. Not wanting to push, I decided that's a good enough answer, keeping my gaze locked on my lap the whole way home. 

The car comes to a stop, signaling that we made home. I quickly got out of the car, wanting to escape the tension that was starting to suffocate me. Unlocking the door quickly, speeding my way upstairs to the bathroom, not even looking back to see if Quinn was behind me. 

Closing the bathroom door quickly, I take a deep breath to regain my thoughts. Is Quinn mad at me? Is he upset over Demko? Upset that I won the bet? Upset that he didn't score? I don't want him to be upset with me, especially over this, this was supposed to be hot and cute and now i feel like it's blown up in my face. A bet that I don't even care about at this point. 

5 minutes later, after I've calmed myself down. I see Quinn on the edge of the bed, when I open the bathroom door. Taking another deep breath, I start to make my way across our bedroom to the closet. As I'm beginning to pass the bed where Quinn sits, I feel him grab my leg, pulling me back towards him. 

My nerves are rising again. I'm now in between Quinn's legs, looking down at my feet as I wait for him to say something. I feel his hands run up my thighs, gripping them with a slight pressure. Trailing them higher on my body, over the Hughes jersey that covers my upper half. Quinns hands, finding their home on my waist, for the second time today. 

“Baby, look at me,” Quinn says, gently but with authority. I slowly lift my head up to lock my eyes to his. “I think we have a bet to take care of.” he says to me, my brain doesn't even register what he just said to me, before i start speaking. “are you mad at me? I feel like you're mad at me. We don't have to do this, it's just a bet it doesn't really matter to me Quinn. I thought this was a good idea earlier but now i dont think it's a good idea. I know you're definitely mad at-” 

  I'm quickly cut off by the feeling of quinns lips on mine. Taking me by surprise it takes my body a few seconds to respond. Once I do, my hands are instantly finding his hair, as Quinn pulls me down so I'm now straddling his lap, our kiss getting more intense by the second. 

I began to grind myself on his bulge that I felt growing beneath me. Quinn begins painting beneath me, his mouth opening enough for me to slide my tongue into his mouth, pulling myself into him. Our mouths began to fight for dominance. Our bodies move against each other at a faster rate. Quinns hands pushed my waist hard against his, causing me to moan into his mouth. 

Quinn pulls back suddenly, causing me to wine more. “Does it look like I'm upset with you baby?” he asks me as he starts to suck on my neck leaving kisses in his wake, causing me to arch my back closer into his mouth. Pulling away from my neck, looking at each other as we’re both panting. “I was acting like a sore loser” quinns says while rubbing slow circles on my thigh, eyes still locked with mine. “I don't like losing, and I really don't like not being able to have my way with you, not being able to touch you.” he breathes out at me. I'm struggling to find my words while he's looking at me like that. 

“Quinn. I don't care about this stupid bet anymore, I want you now." I don't even wait for him to respond to me before I'm crushing our lips back together. The kiss is hot, with need and want. Our teeth and tongues clashing together. 

I find the will to pull myself off Quinn, now standing in front of him. Without saying anything, I began to peel off my clothes. Pulling off the jersey, leaving me in a black lacy bra, and my jeans. Quickly moving my hands to my jeans, unbuttoning them quickly, pulling them down with my underwear, kicking them off my feet. Reaching behind me and unclasping my bra. Leaving me completely bare in front of Quinn.

“I want you naked, now.” I say to Quinn, who moves in supersonic speed pulling off his clothes and throwing them somewhere behind me. 

“Fuck baby.'' Quinn says as he's pulling me into him again. “You look so hot right now, all for me too.” tracing his hands down my bare sides, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps in his wake. 

Leaning forward he begins to press kisses against my stomach making his way down to my pussy, my breath begins to hitch, I'm afraid my legs are going to buckle beneath me. “Can I taste you baby? I want to taste your sweet pussy,  haven't in so long.” he says, as he slowly pulls my thighs apart. I can't find it within me to stop him, I don't care about the bet anymore. I need him to do something. “Yes please” I told him. He doesn't need to be told twice. 

Quinn quickly throws me down on the bed, my body making a small thud as it hits the bed. Quinn immediately pulled my thighs apart so he could rest between them.

 I'm knocked out of my daze, as I feel Quinn start to press kisses on the inside of my thighs, my breath is beginning to quicken again. “Look at me baby” he says, as he lifts his head to reach my eyes.

 I crane my neck to meet his gaze. Getting a good look at him, pupils blown with lust, his lips swollen and red, hair a mess, seeing him in this state turns me on even more. 

“Please Quinn,” I yelled out to him, shifting my body closer to his face. I need something, anything. ‘So impatient” Quinn chuckles, as he leans in closer to my pussy, so close I can feel his breath fan on my folds, causing me to slowly moan. “Keep your eyes on mine or I will stop. Got it?” he roughly says to me, nodding my head yes quickly. “Words baby” he says, “yes, yes quinn” i say urgently. 

Before I know it his face is diving into my cunt, his tongue instantly finding my clit, making arch my back into him. “Fuck” i say in a strangled moan, as my hands find their way to quinns hair, pushing his face deeper in my cunt. 

His tongue is lapping me up like a grown man starving, his hands are pushing my legs so hard and so far apart it almost hurts, but I can't find it inside me to care. His pace began to quicken, pushing his tongue in and out of my cunt. “Who got you this wet baby?” he mumbles into my heart. “You! Fuck right there baby” i moan out, as quinn slowly pushes 2 fingers in. 

The pressure is beginning to build in my stomach, between quinn fingering me and lapping and sucking on my clit is enough to push me over the edge. “Harder, faster, fuck quinn.'' I managed to push out, his actions now becoming faster and more aggressive than before. 

Before I realize, my peak is coming. My hips grinding themselves on quinns face,  desperate to cum. “That's it baby, there you go.” he says, as i begin to push myself on his fingers deep inside of me. Moving his thumb to now, rub my clit at a fast rate. “fuck quinn im coming” i push my head flat against the pillow as my body archs into him. “Fuck, don't stop. Quinn please don't stop, please please” i began to blubber out as i began to cum all over his fingers. Continuing to grind myself against him, taking anything that he’ll give me.

Quinns hands keep my thighs from closing shut and he removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue. Riding me through the last of my orgasm. My moans and pants are filling the room, my breath leaving my lungs as I finally come down from my orgasm. 

Quinn slowly pulled his face away from my heat. “That was the hottest thing, ive never seen, fuck” he says before making his way on top of me, his lips finding mine. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck pulling his chest to mine. Our bodies rocking together, “quinn” i say breathless, as his tongue is attacking my neck, moving his mouth lower down my body. Grasping my left nipple in his mouth, gently biting it, then releasing it into his mouth, wrapping his hot tongue around it. The action causes me to moan loudly, pushing my already close body even closer, if that's even possible.

As good as his assault on my boobs feels, I need him inside of me now. “Quinn” I say firmer this time. Pulling his face to mine, “ i need you to fuck me now, please now” i say panting in his face. 

That seems to flip a switch inside of quinn, he's quickly lining up his cock, with my entrance, slowly pushing himself into me. Quinn goes as he fully enters me, our eyes locking for a quick moment before I lift my head to bring myself to his lips. This kiss is different from the others, love and passion filled, a kiss that isn't rushed. “Can I move baby?” quinn asks from above me, “yes please fuck me” i pant back into his mouth, bringing our lips back together again.

Quinns hips quickly snapping against mine, pulling out fullying before pushing himself back into me. The quick motion caused the both of us to moan loudly, “harder” I moan out to him. “You want me to fuck you harder baby?�� Quinn says back to me. To answer his question I push my hips up to meet his thrusts, quinn moves one of his hands from my waist to my right leg, and pushes it above his shoulder. the new angle, hitting a depth i didn't know was even possible. Fucking me at a pace so good, that i didnt want him to stop. 

The sound of groans, moans and our skin meeting and slapping together fills our room, our bodies slick with sweat. My eyes flutter open meeting quinns eyes, as he fucks me so deep and so good, my mouth is hung open but no words are coming out. 

Grabbing my jaws he leans down and spits into my mouth “swallow” he orders, his eyes still locked with mine. I do as he says, swallowing every last bit.

“Fuck you’re so hot” quinn moans at me, as he continues to fuck me. “More more '' I moan loudly at him, Quinn then pushes both of my legs on his shoulders. Fucking me so deep i can feel him in my stomach.

“Im gonna cum, baby” Quinn breathes in my ear, his face dropping to my neck as he picks up his pace. I feel the familiar burn build up in my stomach again. “Don't stop, im almost there please dont stop” i wine at him urging him to go even faster. 

Grabbing our headboard, using more strength to push himself harder into me. One singular snap of his hips causes me to cum. “Quinn quinn, im coming fuck fuck fuck” i moan loudly. “come for me baby fuck” quinn says as he continues to fuck me though my orgasm. 

“Im cumming” he sputters out, his lips finding mine. Our bodies move together as we’re coming down from our highs. 

My legs slowly come down from his shoulders, Quinn slowly pulling out of me, wincing as he does. Collapsing beside me, our chests falling and rising together, pants fill the room still. I turn my body to his hand tracing his chest and neck. Pushing his hair that's fallen in his face back. Quinns arms circled around my waist pulling me closer to him. 

“So much for the bet huh?” he says while laughing, pulling me in for another kiss.

[emjayewrites]

Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton) (9/15)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @mauvecherie-writes @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @lovebittenbyevans @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @certifiedlesbianbaddie @httpsserene @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @xoscar03 @saturnville @weetjy @pinkcatcus @lewlewlemon44 @cranberryjulce @chaoticcoffeequeen @vile-harlot @periodjosh @melanin-queen369 @destinyg237 @niahxo @purplelewlew @ffenthusiastt

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 9: New Horizons

Rorie stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the sleek Tommy Hilfiger outfit she was wearing for the promotional photoshoot. The partnership felt like a breath of fresh air amidst the recent turmoil. She smoothed down the crisp white blouse, tucked neatly into tailored navy trousers, a look that perfectly blended sophistication with her signature laid-back style.

"You look stunning, Rorie," the photographer called out. Rorie smiled, ready to face the cameras.

This shoot in the Culver City studio was the final piece of her campaign with Tommy Hilfiger. Most of the work had been done in New York a few weeks back - a whirlwind three days of shooting on the bustling streets of Manhattan, in Central Park, and atop a skyscraper with the city skyline as a backdrop. Those images had captured the essence of the brand's urban chic aesthetic, with Rorie as the perfect embodiment of modern, dynamic womanhood.

Today's shoot was for some additional lifestyle shots - casual moments that showed off the versatility of the collection. Rorie moved through a series of poses, from lounging on a minimalist sofa to standing by floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft California light adding a warm glow to each frame.

Between shots, Rorie chatted with the styling team, discussing the collection and her excitement about the partnership. It felt good to focus on her career, to have something positive to pour her energy into after the recent drama. And speaking of it, Deja finally managed to shut her mouth and stay off of social media.

That bitch needs her ass whooped...maybe I should've let KiKi drag her.

A couple of days ago, many of her good friends, KiKi being one of them, came to her defense and even threatened to hunt Deja down and let her reap the consequences of spreading lies, but as usual, Rorie was above the nonsense, and decided against it. Unfortunately, the damage from Deja was already done, and making things worse was not ideal, especially for her lawyers. A mixture of messages, ranging from support to vitriol continued to arrive daily in her comments and DM's, so much so that she had to disable both to safeguard her mental wellbeing.

All in all, work and home life was a welcomed - and needed - distraction from all of the bullshit.

"That's a wrap!" the director called out after a few hours. Rorie let out a small sigh of relief. As much as she enjoyed modeling, it was always intense work.

As she changed back into her own clothes, her phone buzzed with a message from Lewis:

Dinner with Fred Vasseur tonight. Big news. Love you.

Rorie's heart raced. She knew what this dinner could mean - a potential move to Ferrari for Lewis. It was exciting and terrifying all at once.

Later that evening, Rorie and Lewis arrived at Spago, Wolfgang Puck's flagship restaurant in Beverly Hills. As they approached the table, Fred Vasseur and his wife, Marie-Laure, stood to greet them.

"Lewis!" Fred exclaimed, embracing Lewis warmly and kissing him on both cheeks. "And the lovely Rorie," he continued, offering her the same warm greeting.

Marie-Laure followed suit, her elegant perfume wafting as she leaned in to kiss Rorie's cheeks. "It's wonderful to see you both," she said with a genuine smile.

As they settled into their seats, the sommelier approached, and after a brief consultation, Fred ordered a bottle of Château Margaux. "To celebrate old times and new beginnings," he said with a wink.

They then perused the menu, and the conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from Lewis's recent races to Rorie's upcoming partnership with Tommy Hilfiger.

"I can't wait to see some of the campaign photos," Marie-Laure commented. "You'll bring such vitality to the brand."

Rorie's cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. "Thank you. It's been an exciting project to work on."

After their appetizers were cleared away, Fred leaned in, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "So, Lewis," he began, swirling his glass of wine. "How would you feel about wearing red in 2025?"

Lewis glanced at Rorie, who nodded encouragingly. She could see the spark of excitement in his eyes, but also a hint of hesitation.

"I've been thinking," Lewis began, his voice thoughtful. "I've been with Mercedes for so long, and Toto has been incredible. But we haven't been winning races or championships lately, and I'm not getting any younger."

Fred nodded understandingly. "We know it's a big decision, Lewis. But we believe Ferrari can give you the car to claim those additional World Driver's Championships before you retire."

Lewis leaned forward, his expression serious. "If I come to Ferrari, I want to do more than just drive. I want to implement DEI trainings, make the team more inclusive, like I did at Mercedes."

"Absolutely," Fred agreed enthusiastically. "We've been impressed by your work off the track as much as on it. Your vision aligns perfectly with where we want to take Ferrari."

Rorie watched the exchange with pride, seeing Lewis's passion for both racing and social change shine through.

"It's not just about the championships," Lewis continued. "It's about leaving a lasting impact on the sport and the team."

Marie-Laure smiled warmly. "And that's exactly why we want you, Lewis. Your influence extends far beyond the racetrack."

As the main course arrived, they delved deeper into the details - the contract terms, the vision for the future, and the potential impact Lewis could have on the team culture.

By the time dessert was served, the foundations of a deal were firmly in place. As they said their goodbyes, with promises to finalize everything in the coming weeks, Rorie felt a mix of emotions washing over her. This move would be huge for Lewis's career and his broader goals, opening up new opportunities and challenges.

The drive back to their Malibu home was quiet, the usual LA traffic surprisingly light. Lewis held Rorie's hand tightly as he navigated the nighttime streets, the city's lights twinkling around them. Despite the silence, Rorie could sense the nervous energy still bubbling within Lewis. His thumb absently traced circles on her hand, a telltale sign of his racing thoughts.

Once home, they relieved Nina and settled in the backyard, watching the waves crash against the beach in the distance. The rhythmic sound of the ocean provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

"It's a big change," Rorie said softly, breaking the silence.

Lewis nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "It is. But it feels right, you know? A new challenge, a chance to make a real difference."

They talked about the potential move to Ferrari, the excitement and the apprehension intertwining in their words. The conversation then shifted to the ongoing situation with Deja.

"I still can't believe she did this," Lewis said, shaking his head.

Rorie sighed. "I know. And even though KiKi wants to fight Deja, she's still acting weird herself."

"What do you mean?"

"Tia told me that KiKi's back with her ex," Rorie replied hesitantly.

Lewis's brow furrowed. "Khalil?" When Rorie nodded, he let out a frustrated groan. "I thought she was done with him. What about Miles?"

Rorie leaned into Lewis's side. "Apparently, Miles was trying to move things into more serious territory, and KiKi got scared. Tia thinks it's because of her low self-esteem, and how Khalil never wanted to commit to her before."

"So she's falling back into old patterns," Lewis mused.

"Yeah. The girls and I are planning to talk to her about it. Kind of like an intervention, I guess."

Lewis chuckled softly. "Sounds intense. But necessary, probably."

Rorie nodded. "And... I think we both need to apologize to KiKi too. For placing suspicion on her. I feel so bad that we did that."

Lewis was quiet for a moment before agreeing. "You're right. We haven't been the best friends we could be." He pressed a kiss to his wife's temple. "Whatever comes next, we've got this," he murmured.

Rorie smiled, snuggling closer to him. "Together," she agreed, as the waves continued their endless dance with the shore.

The next few days went by quickly. With the Las Vegas Grand Prix approaching, Rorie found herself juggling preparations for an Almave pop-up bar during race weekend alongside her usual responsibilities. Managing multiple homes at once was proving to be a Herculean task. Their London house was undergoing renovations, with Lewis's brother Nicolas supervising the work. Her family was currently at their Colorado home, where she'd just hired a new housekeeper. The Monaco penthouse needed attention, and of course, there was their Malibu home to consider.

Rorie sighed as she thought about Luisa, their Malibu housekeeper, who'd been sick lately and rather short in their conversations. She made a mental note to send over a care package. As she juggled all these balls, along with her growing list of campaigns and ambassadorships, Rorie couldn't help but wish she were an octopus, with enough arms to handle everything at once.

"I really need to consider hiring a personal assistant," she muttered to herself as she confirmed yet another appointment.

Amidst all this, Rorie found solace in quiet moments at home with Lyric and Roscoe. Watching Lyric toddle after Roscoe, giggling with delight, Rorie felt content, which made her upcoming OB/GYN appointment all the more significant.

The day of the appointment soon arrived, and Rorie found herself in Dr. Chen's office. The waiting room was a vibrant space, with walls painted in soothing shades of blue and green. Colorful artwork adorned the walls, interspersed with framed photographs of smiling babies - all delivered by Dr. Chen herself. Soft background music and the gentle burble of a small fountain in the corner was a nice touch of calmness, and a refreshment station offered water, herbal teas, and fresh fruit, adding to the welcoming atmosphere.

In one corner, a play area was set up with soft foam mats and an array of toys. Lyric immediately gravitated towards it, joining a couple of other children in stacking blocks and rolling toy cars. Rorie and Lewis settled into the plush chairs, watching their son play.

"He's getting so big," Lewis murmured, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Rorie nodded, squeezing his hand. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

Lewis nodded, his eyes soft as he watched their son. "Do you think he's ready to be a big brother?"

Rorie considered for a moment. "I think so. He's been so gentle with younger kids at playgroup. We'll need to prepare him, though."

"Maybe we could start reading him books about being a big brother," Lewis suggested. "And involve him in setting up the nursery when the time comes."

"That's a great idea," Rorie agreed. "We should also make sure to give him extra attention, so he doesn't feel left out."

Their conversation was interrupted as a nurse in cheerful floral scrubs called their name. "Hamilton family?" she said with a warm smile.

Lewis stood, scooping up Lyric who protested leaving his new playmates. "Come on, little man," Lewis said, settling Lyric on his hip.

The nurse led them down a corridor lined with more baby photos and inspirational quotes about parenthood. "He's adorable," she commented, grinning at Lyric. "How old is he now?"

"Sixteen months," Rorie replied proudly.

"Oh, a big boy!" the nurse said, smiling at Lyric. "Are you being good to your Mommy and Daddy?"

"Say 'no'," Lewis joked, lightly pinching his son's cheek and causing the nurse to laugh.

They entered Dr. Chen's office, which was just as inviting as the waiting room. Soft, natural light filtered through gauzy curtains, and potted plants added a touch of nature to the space. The examination table was draped with a colorful, patterned cloth, making it look less clinical.

Dr. Chen greeted them warmly, her kind eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "How are we all doing today?" she asked, giving Lyric a little wave. As Rorie settled onto the examination table, Lewis sat nearby with Lyric on his lap. "And how have you been feeling, Rorie?"

"I've been feeling pretty good," Rorie replied. "A bit nauseous in the mornings, and I've had some weird cravings."

Dr. Chen nodded, making notes. "And you took a home pregnancy test, correct?"

"Yes, it was positive," Rorie confirmed, hope evident in her voice.

Dr. Chen began the ultrasound, and the room fell silent. Lewis held Rorie's hand tightly, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. They both watched the screen intently, hope and anxiety mingling in the air.

As the minutes ticked by, Dr. Chen's brow furrowed in concentration. She moved the wand, checking different angles, her expression growing more concerned. Finally, she set down the wand with a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry," she said gently, "but I'm not detecting a heartbeat. It appears to have been a false positive."

Disbelief etched on her face. "But... I've been feeling nauseous. I've had cravings. I haven't had my period..."

Dr. Chen's voice was compassionate as she explained, "Sometimes, stress can mimic pregnancy symptoms. Given everything that's been happening in your life recently, it's possible that stress is the cause of these symptoms."

Rorie fell silent and her heart sank, tears welling up in her eyes as she processed the information. Lewis, sensing her withdrawal, spoke up. "What are our options moving forward, Dr. Chen?"

Dr. Chen's tone was gentle but optimistic as she replied, "We still have two embryos frozen from your previous IVF cycle. If you're ready, we could discuss trying IVF again."

She went on to explain the process in detail, outlining the steps, potential risks, and success rates. Throughout the explanation, she maintained a tone of gentle encouragement, emphasizing that there were still possibilities ahead.

As Dr. Chen finished speaking, she offered them a moment alone. "Take all the time you need," she said softly, before stepping out of the room.

In the quiet that followed, Lewis enveloped Rorie in a tight embrace, Lyric nestled between them. Rorie clung to him, still processing the news. As her initial shock began to subside, she looked down at Lyric, who was watching them with curious eyes. Tears began to fall freely down Rorie's cheeks, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

Lyric, sensing his mother's distress, reached out a tiny hand and placed it gently on Rorie's wet cheek. The innocent gesture of comfort broke something inside her.

"Oh, my sweet baby," Rorie whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She pulled Lyric closer, crying into his soft curls. Between sobs, Rorie turned to Lewis. "I'm so sorry," she managed to say, her words muffled and broken.

Lewis shook his head, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay, love. It's not your fault," he said softly, wrapping his arms around both Rorie and Lyric. "Remember what Dr. Chen said? These things happen, and we still have options." He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice steady and reassuring. "I love you, Rorie. We'll get through this together, I promise."

Rorie nodded, unable to speak through her tears but drawing comfort from Lewis's words and the warmth of her family's embrace. Lyric, not fully understanding but instinctively offering comfort, snuggled closer to his mother.

In that moment, surrounded by the love of her husband and son, Rorie felt a glimmer of hope through her grief. The path ahead was uncertain, but she wasn't walking it alone.

As they prepared to leave, Rorie found her voice again. "Maybe we should take some time to think about the IVF," she said quietly. "We have a lot going on right now."

Lewis nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Of course, love. We'll take it one day at a time."

The neon lights of Las Vegas blazed against the night sky, casting a surreal glow over the city as it prepared for its inaugural Grand Prix. Lewis stood on the balcony of his suite at the Wynn, taking in the spectacle below. The energy was electric, but Lewis felt oddly disconnected from it all.

His mind wandered to Rorie, back in Colorado with Lyric. She had been withdrawn since their visit to Dr. Chen, the false positive pregnancy test hitting her harder than either of them had anticipated. Lewis had encouraged her to sit this race weekend out, to focus on her mental health, but her absence left a palpable void.

The news had been tough on him too. He'd allowed himself to imagine their family growing, Lyric becoming a big brother. But as Dr. Chen had gently reminded them, they still had options. Two frozen embryos waited, a possibility for the future. Yet, Lewis knew the decision to try again had to be Rorie's.

Shaking off his melancholy, Lewis headed down to the lobby where his best friend, Miles, was waiting. The Vegas strip was awash with Formula 1 fever. Billboards flashed with images of drivers, including the debut of Lewis's own Fortnite skin. Rorie's Tommy Hilfiger campaign was also debuting this weekend, her face gracing billboards throughout the city.

Lewis had reluctantly attended the Almave pop-up earlier, putting on a brave face for the cameras despite his heavy heart. Now, he and Miles made their way to Delilah, the Art Deco-inspired supper club within the Wynn.

As they settled into their booth, Miles studied his friend's face. "How's Rorie doing?"

Lewis paused, his fingers tracing the rim of his water glass. "It's been tough," he admitted. "She's withdrawn, barely talking. I don't know how to reach her sometimes."

"And how are you holding up?" Miles pressed gently.

Lewis's composure cracked, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm trying to be strong for her, but man, it's hard. We wanted this so badly."

Miles reached across the table, squeezing Lewis's shoulder supportively as his friend wiped away tears.

As their meal progressed, Lewis opened up more about the pressures he was facing - the lawsuit, Rorie's father reaching out, and the potential move to Ferrari.

"He says he's going to be here this weekend, and wants to talk again," Lewis said, his voice tight with frustration. "I just… I don't know how to handle all of this."

Miles listened intently, offering words of support and gentle advice. "Have you thought about going back to therapy?" he suggested. "It sounds like you're carrying a lot, bro."

Lewis shook his head. "I can't right now. I need to be there for Rorie, for Lyric. They need me to be strong."

Miles leaned forward, his expression serious. "Lewis, listen to me. You can't pour from an empty cup. You need to take care of yourself too. Rorie would want that."

As they were leaving the restaurant, a familiar face caught Lewis's eye. Deja stood near the bar, her gaze locking onto him.

"Lewis," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of anger and hurt.

Lewis tensed, his bodyguards immediately alert. "Deja, I have nothing to say to you."

"Of course you don't," she scoffed. "But I have plenty to say. Like how you're letting Rorie play the victim when she's the one who stole you from me."

Lewis's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"New Orleans, 2017. All-Star weekend," Deja spat. "We met at the club, danced, kissed. You promised me we'd be together! You said I was special!"

Lewis shook his head, genuinely perplexed. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember. I was partying a lot back then. If we did hook up, I apologize, but it was just that - a hookup."

Deja's face contorted with rage. "Just a hookup? You know what, Lewis? I'm glad I met with The Sun's PI. The truth is finally coming out, and I couldn't be happier. You think you can just use people and forget about them?"

"Deja, I—" Lewis started, but she cut him off.

"No, you listen! You ruined my life, and now I'm going to return the favor. You and that bitch Rorie deserve each other! I'm going to make your life miserable!"

Lewis's bodyguards stepped in, creating a barrier between them as the situation escalated. "We need to go, sir," one of them urged.

As they hustled Lewis and Miles out of the restaurant, Deja's angry shouts echoed behind them. "You're a liar, Lewis Hamilton! This is just the beginning!"

In the elevator, Lewis leaned against the wall, his jaw clenched. "I can't believe this," he muttered, then slammed his fist against the elevator wall. "Damn it!"

Miles watched his friend, concern etched on his face. "Talk to me, bro. What's going through your head?"

Lewis ran a hand over his face, frustration evident in every movement. "I'm trying to make sense of it all. All-Star weekend 2017... that was a year before I even met Rorie. Why is Deja so hung up on this?" He paced the small space of the elevator. "I mean, I partied a lot back then, sure. But promising someone we'd be together? That doesn't sound like me, even at my wildest. I'm trying to remember that weekend, but it's all a blur."

Miles shrugged his shoulders. "The bitch is crazy, bro. Don't try to rationalize delusion."

Lewis shook his head, still trying to piece together fragments of memories. "But what if there's some truth to it? What if I did something I don't remember?"

"Look," Miles said firmly, placing both hands on Lewis's shoulders to stop his pacing. "Even if something did happen - which I doubt - it was years ago. You weren't with Rorie then. You didn't do anything wrong."

The elevator dinged as they reached their floor. As the doors opened, Lewis took a deep breath, his mind still racing. "You're right. I just... I hate that this is happening now, with everything else going on."

Miles nodded sympathetically. "I know, man. But we'll figure this out. One step at a time, remember?"

"One step at a time."

As they stepped out into the hallway, Lewis felt a mix of emotions - anger at Deja's accusations, confusion about the past, and a deep longing for Rorie and the simplicity of being with his family.

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

This was not his weekend. At all.

Lewis stared at his phone, scrolling through the TMZ article that had somehow materialized overnight. The drama with Deja at Delilah had made its way to the gossip mill, complete with blurry photos and sensationalized headlines.

His dad had left several texts and voicemails, rightfully upset about what had happened. Lewis sighed, knowing he'd have to deal with that conversation soon. But for now, he was grateful that there were no messages from Rorie. The last thing she needed was this added stress.

His Twitter notifications were exploding, a mix of support and criticism flooding his mentions:

@F1Fan2023: "Lewis, stay strong! We know the truth is on your side. #TeamLH" @GossipQueen88: "First the lawsuit, now this? What's really going on with Lewis Hamilton? 👀" @RacingEnthusiast: "Focus on the track, Lewis. Let your driving do the talking. #LasVegasGP"

As he made his way to the paddock, Lewis tried to push the social media noise out of his mind. He had a race to focus on, after all. The Las Vegas strip was alive with fans crowding the streets and celebrities flocking to the various events.

Just as Lewis thought he might be able to lose himself in the pre-race routines, he spotted a familiar figure approaching. Martin, Rorie's father, was making his way through the paddock.

"This motherfucker," Lewis muttered under his breath, bracing himself for the encounter.

"Lewis," Martin called out, his voice tentative but determined. "I need to talk to you about Rorie. She's not answering my calls again."

Lewis exhaled heavily. "Martin, now is really not a good time."

"I know about the lawsuit," Martin pressed on. "I want to help. I have resources—"

"It's not just that," Lewis cut him off, then paused. He shouldn't be saying this, but the words tumbled out anyway. "We've been trying to have another baby. We just got some tough news from our OB/GYN. Rorie's… she's struggling right now."

Martin's face fell. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"

"Thanks, but no thanks," Lewis said, turning away.

"Lewis, wait," Martin called after him. "I know I've gone about this all wrong, but I genuinely want a relationship with Rorie and my grandson. Her half-siblings, they want to know her too."

Lewis paused, conflicting emotions battling within him. He understood the desire for family, but his priority was protecting Rorie and Lyric.

"Look, Martin," he said finally, turning back. "I hear you. But this has to be Rorie's decision. And right now, she needs space. Can you respect that?"

Martin nodded slowly, a mix of disappointment and understanding on his face. "I can. Just… tell her I'm here when she's ready?"

Lewis gave a curt nod before walking away, his mind already racing ahead to the challenges of the day. As he reached for his balaclava, his phone buzzed with a text from Julian in all caps:

CALL ME NOW.

Moving to the back of the garage for privacy, Lewis dialed Julian's number.

"Julian, what's going on?"

"Lewis, we've identified the inside source giving Deja information," Julian said, his voice tense. "It's Luisa."

"What the fuck, man?" Lewis exploded, lowering his voice as he glanced around. "This fucking weekend is cursed."

Shit, maybe I need to douse myself in holy water.

"It'll be okay, Lewis." Julian tried to calm him down. "I'm preparing to file a motion to have her arrested—"

"No, don't do that," Lewis cut in. "Luisa has two kids. We can't…"

"What do you want me to do then?" Julian asked, frustration evident in his voice. "This is serious, Lewis. She invaded your privacy."

Lewis took a deep breath. "I'll handle it after the race. For now, just… keep this under wraps, okay?"

As he ended the call, Lewis felt the weight of everything pressing down on him. Between the race, the media circus, and the family drama, this Vegas weekend was turning out to be more complicated than he could have ever imagined.

Lewis took a deep breath, trying to center himself amidst the chaos swirling around him. The garage buzzed with pre-race activity, mechanics fine-tuning the car, team members hurrying back and forth with last-minute adjustments.

He pulled on his balaclava, the familiar routine offering a small comfort. As he reached for his helmet, Toto approached, concern etched on his face.

"Lewis, are you alright?" Toto asked, his voice low. "I've heard about the... incident last night."

Lewis nodded, grateful for Toto's discretion. "I'm managing. Just focused on the race now."

Toto placed a supportive hand on Lewis's shoulder. "Remember, we're here for you. Whatever you need."

As Lewis made his way to the car, he caught sight of Fred Vasseur in the paddock. Their eyes met briefly, and Fred gave him a subtle nod of encouragement. The potential move to Ferrari suddenly felt like it belonged to a different lifetime.

Settling into the cockpit, Lewis allowed himself a moment of calm. The familiar smell of rubber and fuel, the snug fit of the seat – it all helped to ground him. Here, in this space, he was just a driver. No drama, no complications. Just him and the track.

The radio crackled to life. "Lewis, how are you feeling? Car okay?"

Bono's voice made the corners of Lewis' lips quirk into a small smile. Although the car was still shit, at least it was somewhat better than the current reality of his life.

"All good," Lewis responded, his voice steady. "Let's do this."

"Alright, mate, whenever you're ready."

He pulled out of the garage for the formation lap, revving his engine as his mind began to clear. The neon lights of Vegas, the drama with Deja, the situation with Luisa, even the heartache over the false pregnancy – it all faded into the background.

For now, there was only the race. The grip of the tires on asphalt and the thrill of pushing machine and man to their limits. As the lights went out and Lewis launched off the line, he felt a familiar surge of adrenaline.

Let's fucking go.

The crisp November air of Colorado bit at Rorie's cheeks as she stood on the balcony of their secluded home. The Rockies stretched out before her, their peaks already blanketed in snow, the evergreens dotting the landscape providing the only splashes of color against the white and gray backdrop. It was a view that usually brought her peace, but today, it felt more like a beautiful, wintry prison.

Lyric's laughter drifted from inside, where he was playing with Aaliyah. Rorie pulled her thick cardigan tighter around herself, grateful for her sister's presence; it provided a welcome distraction from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

She glanced at her phone, notifications muted but the screen still lighting up periodically with incoming messages. The early sunset of late autumn had already painted the sky in deep purples and oranges. She knew she should check her messages, knew that Lewis was probably worried, but she couldn't bring herself to face the outside world just yet.

The news from Dr. Chen still felt raw, a constant ache in her chest. Each time she saw Lyric, bundled up in his winter clothes, a bittersweet mix of love and longing washed over her. He was growing so fast, and the thought that he might remain their only child brought a fresh wave of pain.

Rorie's eyes drifted to the mountain horizon again, where the first stars were beginning to appear in the clear, cold sky. She'd come here to find peace, to escape the pressure and drama that had been building back in L.A. But even here, in this beautiful winter sanctuary, she couldn't outrun her own thoughts.

Throughout the day, Rorie thought about her husband and his race in Vegas. When the final results came in, she felt a mix of emotions - pride in Lewis's efforts, but also disappointment at his P7 finish. Part of her felt guilty for not being there to support him, but another part was relieved to be away from the spotlight. The lawsuit, her biological father's attempts to reconnect, the constant scrutiny – it all felt overwhelming.

"Rorie?" Aaliyah's voice called from inside. "Lyric's asking for you. And it's getting cold out there!"

Taking a deep breath of the pine-scented air, Rorie turned from the view and headed back inside to the warmth of the house. As she scooped up her son, feeling his warmth through his soft sweater, she felt a small spark of hope ignite within her. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she had this – the love of her family, the strength she knew resided within her.

"Mama," Lyric babbled, patting her cheek.

"I'm here, baby," Rorie murmured, holding him close. "Mama's here."

She settled on the couch with Lyric, and Aaliyah joined them, draping a warm throw over their laps. Rorie allowed herself this moment of peace, surrounded by the love of her family and the quiet strength of the snow-covered mountains.

Rorie heard the soft murmur of voices from the kitchen. Her mother, Marian, and stepfather Greg were preparing dinner, the comforting aroma of homemade stew filling the air.

"How're you holding up, sweetie?" Aaliyah asked, settling beside them and tucking the throw around their legs.

Rorie sighed, bouncing Lyric gently on her knee. "I'm... managing. It's just a lot, you know?"

Aaliyah nodded sympathetically. "I can't even imagine. But we're all here for you, Ror. You know that, right?"

Before Rorie could respond, Marian entered the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's almost ready, girls. Rorie, honey, have you checked on Lewis?"

Rorie shook her head, a twinge of guilt passing through her. "Not yet, Mom. I just... I needed some time."

Marian sat down on the armchair across from them, her eyes filled with concern. "I understand, baby. But remember, you two are a team. Don't shut him out."

Greg appeared in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space. "Your mother's right, Rorie. And speaking of shutting people out, there were at least a dozen paparazzi camped outside our house this morning. Mrs. Weatherly said it's still a circus back there."

As much as she was nosy, Mrs. Weatherly, her parents' elderly neighbor, was still a good person and kept them updated about everything.

Rorie groaned, burying her face in Lyric's braids. "I'm so sorry you guys got dragged into this mess."

"Hey, none of that," Greg said firmly, moving to sit on the arm of Marian's chair. "We're family. Your battles are our battles."

"That's right," Marian added. "And we'll face them together, just like we always have."

Lyric, sensing the tension in the room, began to fuss. Rorie stood up, bouncing him gently. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Mama's got you."

As she paced the room, soothing Lyric, Aaliyah spoke up. "Have you thought about what you're going to do about... everything? The lawsuit, Martin trying to make contact..."

Rorie paused by the window, looking out at the snow-covered landscape. "Honestly? I don't know. It all feels so overwhelming sometimes."

"One step at a time, honey," Marian said softly. "You don't have to figure it all out at once."

Greg nodded in agreement. "And whatever you decide, we've got your back. All of us."

Rorie felt a lump form in her throat, touched by the unwavering support of her family. "Thanks, you guys. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Just then, the timer in the kitchen went off. "That'll be the cornbread," Greg said, standing up. "I'll go grab it."

As he left the room, Marian turned to Rorie. "Why don't you go freshen up before dinner? I'll take Lyric."

Rorie hesitated for a moment before handing Lyric over to her mother. As she headed upstairs, she paused at the landing, looking back at her family gathered in the living room. Despite everything, she felt a surge of gratitude.

In her room, Rorie finally picked up her phone. Several missed calls and messages from Lewis, all expressing love and concern. Taking a deep breath, she typed out a message:

I'm okay. We're okay. Call you later. Love you.

As she hit send, Rorie felt some of the weight lift from her shoulders. Rorie descended the stairs, and the rich aroma of Greg's famous cornbread filled the air, mingling with the hearty scent of the stew. The sound of Lyric's giggles echoed from the kitchen, bringing a small smile to her face.

She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Marian was at the stove, stirring the stew with one hand while balancing Lyric on her hip. Greg was carefully cutting the cornbread, while Aaliyah placed items in the dishwasher.

"There you are," Marian said, noticing Rorie. "Feel better?"

Rorie nodded, moving to take Lyric from her mother. "Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mom."

As they settled in the living room with bowls of steaming stew and plates of Greg's famous cornbread, Greg turned on the TV. The Broncos vs Vikings game was just starting.

"So, Aaliyah," Greg said between bites, "how's that new project at work going?"

As Aaliyah launched into a story about her latest architectural design, Rorie felt herself relaxing. The normalcy of family dinner and football was exactly what she needed.

Greg, ever the Eagles fan, watched the game intently despite neither team being his favorite. "You know," he said during a commercial break, "I'll watch any football game, but it's a bit more interesting now that Lewis is one of the Broncos' owners. Speaking of which, Rorie, does Lewis have any plans for trades? I've got some ideas..."

Rorie couldn't help but laugh, the first genuine chuckle she'd had in days. "Dad, you know Lewis doesn't really deal with trades and that kind of thing, right? But I'll be sure to pass along your suggestions."

Marian rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Greg, leave the poor man alone. I'm sure he's got enough on his plate without your armchair quarterback advice."

As they continued to eat and watch the game, Rorie felt a sense of normalcy wash over her. The warmth of the stew, the comfort of her family, and the familiar sounds of football commentary created a cocoon of safety, if only for a moment.

After dinner and the game, Rorie excused herself to put Lyric to bed. She carried him upstairs, and she could feel the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. In the nursery, she gently changed Lyric into his pajamas, humming softly as she did so.

"Time for sleep, my little love," she whispered, placing him in his crib. Lyric gazed up at her with heavy-lidded eyes, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp her finger.

As she tucked him in, she whispered, "Daddy did his best today, baby. We're always proud of him, aren't we?" Lyric mumbled something unintelligible in response, already drifting off to sleep. Rorie stood there for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, finding a moment of peace in the simple act of motherhood.

With Lyric settled, Rorie retreated to her room, closing the door softly behind her. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her phone for a long moment before finally dialing Lewis's number. Her heart raced as it rang once, twice...

He picked up on the second ring. "Hey, babe," his voice was tired but warm, instantly soothing her frayed nerves.

"Hi," Rorie said softly, curling up against the headboard. "Tough race today, huh?"

Lewis sighed, and she could almost see him running a hand over his face as he often did when frustrated. "Yeah, not our best. The car just didn't have the pace we needed. Felt like I was fighting it the whole time."

"You did your best, though. That's what matters," Rorie assured him.

"Thanks, love. But that's not even the half of it. Rorie, I need to tell you something, and it's... well, it's not good."

Rorie felt her stomach tighten. "What is it?"

He proceeded to recount his encounter with Deja at Delilah, describing the heated exchange and her claims about their supposed history. Rorie listened, her free hand clenching the bedsheet as Lewis spoke.

"She was yelling about how we met in New Orleans during All-Star weekend in 2017, saying I promised her things. I swear, Rorie, I don't remember any of it. If something did happen, it was just a hookup, nothing more."

Rorie took a deep breath, trying to process this information. "I believe you, Lewis. But why is she doing this now? After all this time?"

"I don't know," Lewis admitted, frustration evident in his voice. "She seems convinced that you 'stole' me from her or something. It's crazy, Rorie. We hadn't even met in 2017."

Rorie's mind raced. "Do you think she's just looking for attention? Or is there more to it?"

"I wish I knew. But there's more, and this... this is going to be hard to hear."

Rorie braced herself. "What is it?"

"Julian called me today. He found out who's been leaking information to Deja."

"Who?" Rorie asked, dreading the answer.

"It's Luisa," Lewis said, his voice heavy.

Rorie gasped, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "Our housekeeper? But why would she— How could she—"

"I don't know," Lewis cut in, his own voice tight with emotion. "I told Julian not to do anything drastic. We'll figure it out when I get back. I just can't believe someone we trusted would do this to us."

Rorie felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I trusted her with Lyric, Lewis. She's been in our home, with our son... Oh God, what if she—"

"Hey, hey," Lewis soothed, "Lyric is safe. He's there with you and your family. We'll sort this out, I promise. We'll make sure he stays safe."

Rorie nodded, even though Lewis couldn't see her, wiping away a stray tear. "You're right. He's safe. We're safe."

There was a pause before Lewis continued, "Oh, and there's one more thing. My parents are planning to come to Colorado. They want to be there for us, with everything that's going on."

Rorie felt a wave of emotion wash over her. "That's... that's really sweet of them. When are they coming?"

"They're trying to get flights for tomorrow. Is that okay? I know it's a lot with everything else..."

"No, it's perfect," Rorie said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "I think having them here will help. Your mom always knows how to make things better."

Lewis chuckled softly. "That she does. How's Lyric doing?"

Rorie smiled, glancing at the baby monitor. "He's good. Missing his daddy, but good. He loved watching you race today. Kept pointing at the TV and saying 'Dada fast!'"

"I miss him too. Both of you. God, Rorie, I wish I was there with you right now."

"I know. Me too. But you'll be home soon, right?"

"Late tomorrow, I promise. Look, I know it's a lot to process. But we'll get through this together, okay? We always do. I love you, Rorie. You and Lyric are everything to me."

"We love you too," Rorie said, her voice thick with emotion. "Come home soon. We need you here."

"I will. Try to get some rest, okay? And Rorie?"

"Yeah?"

"We've got this. Together."

As they said their goodbyes, Rorie felt a mix of anxiety and determination. She lay back on the bed, her mind racing with everything Lewis had told her, but also feeling a glimmer of hope. Whatever came next, they would face it as a family. Rorie closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but for now, she allowed herself to find comfort in the love of her husband and the peace of knowing their son slept safely nearby.

KiKi sat in her car, parked a few blocks away from the trendy café where Deja was holding court with a group of her friends. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the steering wheel as she watched Deja through the tinted windows. It was supposed to be a casual surveillance, but the longer KiKi sat there, the more her frustration simmered.

Deja had been a thorn in Rorie’s side for too long, and KiKi had been watching her closely, waiting for the right moment to strike. She’d seen Deja run her mouth to anyone who would listen, stirring up more drama, and generally making Rorie’s life hell. KiKi’s loyalty to Rorie ran deep, and the thought of Deja continuing to cause problems made her blood boil.

When Rorie had told her not to beat Deja’s ass, KiKi had nodded, promising to stay cool. But Rorie hadn’t said anything about not finding someone else to do it, and KiKi had taken that as a green light. Enter her cousin’s boyfriend’s sister, Nyla. Nyla was a wild card, known for handling business in a way that left no room for misunderstandings. KiKi had mentioned Deja’s antics to her in passing, and Nyla had practically volunteered for the job on the spot.

As KiKi sat there, her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced down at the screen and saw it was from Nyla, who was already on the move:

On my way. Got the address. Bitch won’t know what hit her.

KiKi smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction. Nyla wasn’t one to play around, and KiKi trusted her to send a clear message. Deja had been playing with fire, and it was time she got burned.

KiKi’s gaze shifted back to Deja, who was laughing loudly, oblivious to the storm heading her way. The woman sitting next to KiKi in the passenger seat, a friend of Nyla’s named Tasha, shifted slightly, adjusting her oversized sunglasses as she leaned back against the seat. Tasha was cool and composed, her sharp eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. Her long braids were neatly pulled back, and she wore a leather jacket that matched her tough, no-nonsense demeanor. Tasha didn’t say much, but when she did, her words carried weight.

"She doesn’t look like much," Tasha remarked, her voice low and steady. "You sure this is the right one?"

KiKi glanced at Tasha, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "Yeah, that’s her. Don’t let the cute face fool you—she’s a snake."

Tasha nodded slowly, taking another look at Deja. "Good thing Nyla doesn’t care what she looks like. She’ll get the job done."

"Damn right," KiKi muttered, her eyes narrowing as Deja tossed her hair and flashed a bright smile at something one of her friends said. "Rorie’s been through enough, and I’m sick of this bitch thinking she can just do whatever she wants."

Tasha didn’t respond, but KiKi could feel her quiet agreement. There was a certain satisfaction in knowing that they were about to put an end to Deja’s antics, or at least slow her down. Rorie deserved peace, and if it took a little roughing up to get it, so be it.

KiKi’s phone buzzed again, this time with a simple message:

In position. Ready when you are.

KiKi grinned, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She fired off a quick reply:

Wait for her to leave. Don’t make a scene.

"Time to move," KiKi said, sliding her phone back into her pocket and starting the car. "Nyla’s got this."

Tasha nodded, her expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. As they drove away, leaving Deja to her fate, KiKi felt a sense of grim satisfaction. She hadn’t laid a finger on Deja, just as Rorie had asked, but she’d made sure the message would be delivered loud and clear.

KiKi’s car rolled smoothly out of the parking spot as she and Tasha headed away from the café. The sense of satisfaction in her chest grew with each passing second. Deja had no idea what was coming, and that was exactly how KiKi wanted it. But as much as she enjoyed the thought of Deja getting what she deserved, there was still work to be done. Loose ends needed to be tied up, and KiKi wasn’t about to let anything trace back to her or, more importantly, Rorie.

She drove to a more secluded area on the outskirts of the city, where Nyla had said she’d meet her after handling business. The rain had picked up again, the rhythmic drumming on the car roof only adding to the tension in the air. After about fifteen minutes, KiKi pulled into an abandoned lot, the dim streetlights casting long shadows over the wet asphalt. Nyla’s car was already there, parked under a flickering light. KiKi parked next to her, and she and Tasha stepped out, the cool night air biting at their skin.

Nyla was leaning against her car, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. Her expression was calm, almost bored, as if she’d just finished running an errand instead of beating someone up in a parking lot, but there was a hard edge in her eyes that KiKi didn’t miss.

"Is it done?" KiKi asked as she approached, her voice low.

Nyla pushed off the car and nodded. "Yeah. the bitch didn’t even see it coming. Got her right as she was about to get into her car. Didn’t take much—she folded quick."

KiKi’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Good. And no one saw you?"

Nyla shrugged. "Even if they did, they won’t talk. But nah, it was clean. Just me, her, and the rain. She’s probably still trying to figure out what hit her."

Tasha chuckled quietly, pulling off her sunglasses now that they were out of the public eye. "Serves her right. Think she’ll back off?"

"She better," KiKi muttered, glancing at Nyla. "But just in case, we need to make sure this doesn’t trace back to us. No loose ends."

Nyla gave a small, dismissive wave. "Don’t worry about that. I made sure she didn’t know who I was. And if she tries to go to the cops, it’ll just look like she got into some random altercation. Ain’t nobody gonna believe her."

KiKi nodded, but her mind was already working through the possibilities, the what-ifs. She wasn’t one to leave anything to chance. "We’ll need to lay low for a bit, just to be safe. If anyone asks, we were nowhere near that café today."

Nyla smirked. "You’re paranoid, but I get it. Don’t worry. I’ve got an alibi, and I’m sure you two do too. We’re good."

KiKi sighed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Nyla was right—they were careful, and Deja was too rattled to put the pieces together, especially with the warning Nyla had delivered. Still, KiKi wasn’t one to let her guard down easily.

"Alright," KiKi said, glancing between Nyla and Tasha. "We’ll stick to the plan. If anything comes up, we handle it, but for now, we wait and see how she reacts."

Nyla nodded, pushing her hands deeper into her pockets. "Cool. You know how to reach me if you need anything else. But trust me, she’s not gonna be a problem anymore."

KiKi offered a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Thanks, Nyla. I owe you one."

Nyla shrugged, already heading back to her car with Tasha in tow. "Just doing what needed to be done. Catch you later."

KiKi got back into her car. The drive back to her hotel was silent, the satisfaction of the evening’s events mingling with the ever-present undercurrent of caution. KiKi knew they’d sent a message, but she also knew the game wasn’t over. Deja might be down, but she wasn’t out—and KiKi would be ready if she ever tried to come back for more.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 10 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Header by @ladyveronikawrites

Tropes and tags: RPF:AU hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, multiple POV. Content Warning: angsty romance, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, smutty, aggressive hockey players, PinV, MF relationship, possessive male, protective male.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

The gloves are off.

With a frustrated roar, I tear off all my protective gear flinging it across the ice, the clatter of plastic and leather echoing through the stadium as my helmet slams down, sending shards of ice flying in all directions. Chest heaving, I square up against the taller defenseman, my nose nearly grazing the other man's chin as my eyes glare upwards. 

The defenseman's face is flushed, his stringy hair matted with sweat that was rapidly freezing in the frigid air. Shoving with the full force of my palms, I refused to be intimidated by the size difference, adrenaline coursing through my veins I shoved again. His papa make contact with my chest sending me backwards and I'm forced to brace myself to keep from toppling over,  refusing to back down.

Rage coursed through my veins as I skated furiously towards the other player, my voice erupting in a guttural yell. "You wanna fucking put hands on me, bitch?!" 

I had seen him deliberately slap the puck directly at my face as I was guarding the goal, and the sheer maliciousness of the action had ignited a fire within me. That blatant cheap shot was clearly no accident - he was looking for a fight, and I was more than willing to oblige. In that moment, all I could think about was retaliating, of taking my stick and using it to break his face open. The opportunity presented itself when he checked me hard into the boards, causing me to lose my grip on my stick. 

Now my hands grasp at fistfuls of his jersey as I yank him down to face level. My balled fist then comes into forceful contact with his cheek as he turns his head. 

I continue to throw punches until he reaches up, his hand making contact on my skull just behind my ear.  The impact sends  ringing in my ears and makes me slightly dizzy. But I refused to let up, my grip on his jersey tightening as we both tumbled down to the ice in a tangled mess of limbs, each of us desperately trying to land more blows on the other.

Bodies are swarming all around me and a pair of arms roughly pulling me back from my intended target. The impact of the strike on my left cheek burns with a sharp, stinging sensation, and I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. Just moments ago, the only sound I could hear was the thunderous rush of blood pounding in my ears, but now the air is filled with the frantic screaming of the crowd and the shouts of the referees, who are desperately trying to restore order by calling out penalty times and names, urging everyone to settle down.

My opponent is in no better shape, sporting a nasty gash across the bridge of his nose, his teeth stained crimson with his own blood. One of his eyes is already beginning to swell shut from the impact of the blows. I can feel the throbbing ache in my own head and neck, the burning in my cheek now mingling with a strange, numb sensation as the adrenaline begins to wear off.

The refs roughly shove me onto the hard bench, treating me like a wayward child being sent to the corner. Indignation flares within, a desperate urge to lash out by untying my skates and hurling them at the cold, unyielding plexiglass walls. But in the end, all I can muster is a resigned lean forward, elbows propped on my knees as I stew in the searing frustration of my captivity.

Leo McGuire and his clean cut boy look steps into the box, a medical bag slung over his shoulder.  Last week, he had been a constant chatterbox, his nervous prattle grating on my nerves, but now that he has grown accustomed to this routine, his demeanor has shifted. No longer does he sound like an idiot fumbling through his words - instead, his tone is calm and measured as he approaches me, attempting to get a closer look. 

"Alright, Sebastian, let me have a look." But I refuse to submit, wriggling out of his grasp, unwilling to relinquish even the smallest shred of control. The walls feel like they are closing in, the air thick with tension as I steel myself against the indignity of my situation, desperate to maintain what little autonomy I have left.

I can feel the intense longing and determination coursing through me as I utter those three simple words to him - "I want her." 

I know she has engineered this entire situation, this calculated plan to have him take over my care during the games rather than her directly handing me off to various partners. The reasoning is obvious - to avoid raising suspicion about the true nature of our arrangement. But at this moment, I couldn't care less about the intricate web she has woven. All that matters is getting what I want, reclaiming my fox and taking her for myself, right here and now.

He shrugs, unwilling to argue or stand in my way. I watch as he waves her over. She rolls her eyes, a familiar gesture that only heightens my craving, as her ponytail swings rhythmically back and forth with each step she takes towards us. As she steps into the small box she and McGuirre exchanging hushed whispers as he gathers his belongings and departs, leaving the medical supplies behind. Without hesitation, she kneels down and begins rummaging through the box, retrieving gauze, tape, saline, and antibacterial gel. My gaze is transfixed, drinking in every detail of her movements, her expression. Do I really look that bad? No matter - her attention is all that matters.

She begins to gently clean the cut on my left cheek, standing off to the side, carefully positioned so as not to obstruct my view of the ongoing hockey game. It's a considerate gesture, but it's a little late for that - my focus has already been shattered by the intensity of her presence. I glance up at her, and I can't help but notice the lines forming between her furrowed brows as she knits them together in concentration. Her cheek is slightly sucked in as she chews on it, a telltale sign of her focus, as she dabs carefully at the wound on my face. 

Suddenly, she lets out a soft sigh, and I sense a shift in her demeanor. "We can't do this," she murmurs in a low voice, her lips barely moving. "I can't treat you and be sleeping with you. It's unethical." 

I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration at her words. "So you send the newbie to tend to me then. I knew it," I retort, my words harsher than I intended them to be, my blood still boiling from the intensity of the game. 

She responds matter-of-factly, "It's not like I needed to discuss it with you." I can't help but feel a sense of indignation creep in.

 "Didn't have the decency to tell me to my face," I fire back. 

"I didn't think it mattered," she says, her tone even. 

I pause for a moment, letting her words sink in. 

"You're right. It doesn't. This," I say, gesturing to the game unfolding on the ice, "this matters. The cup matters. And I'll be damned if some woman is gonna get in my way and mess me up." As I stand up on my skates, towering over her, I can see the glassy, trembling look in her eyes - and my own chest feels like its been cracked in half. I let out a heavy sigh and slump back down onto the bench, muttering an apology that I'm not even sure she hears over the din of the crowd.

However, the others - Jack and Leo- had clearly picked up on the tension. Immediately heading over and stepping into the box with us.

With a protective edge to his voice, Jack gently asked, "You good, Sarah?" 

Sarah's response was clipped, her tone betraying the strain of the situation. "Fine," she said tersely, before continuing, "Listen, could you take over for me? I think Sebastian just needs to cool down, and obviously I am not making that any easier right now." The way she emphasized my last name, almost spitting it out, struck a chord within me, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she gathered her belongings and pushed past Jack and Leo, putting as much distance between herself and me as possible. 

As I slap my hands against my face, ignoring the sting of pain, I feel the tangled mess of my hair slip through my fingers. It wasn't her fault, none of this was - I was the one who had been so foolish, so reckless in my actions. Yelling at her, when all I really wanted to do was run after her and beg for her forgiveness. I had been so stupid to think this could ever be just a casual thing, a fleeting moment between us. Not after today, not after what had happened. 

I could have played it safe, stayed cool and detached, never letting myself think about her during the game. It wasn't the puck to the face that had gotten to me - I could handle that kind of physical pain any day. No, it was what had happened before the game, when the players were circling the ice during warm-ups. I'd been on the bench, retightening my skates, when I saw him skate by, whistling and leering in her direction as she inventoried her equipment. 

At that moment, I saw red. She was mine, and no one was going to disrespect her like that, not on my watch. The puck to the face had been my opportunity, my open door to beat the living daylights out of him. All because I had been foolish enough to let my heart get involved, to catch feelings for someone I could never truly have. Now I was left to face the consequences of my actions, my emotions having gotten the better of me in the heat of the moment. I had to find a way to make this right, to apologize and beg for her forgiveness, even if I knew in my heart that I could never truly be with her.

After the game, I couldn't even speak let alone look at my teammates. The throbbing in my head and ache in all of my muscles is a familiar feeling, a badge of honor for the sacrifices I made on the ice. As I stand under the warm spray of the shower, I watch the dried blood from the cut on my cheek and one above my eye mix with the water and swirl down the drain, disappearing into the checkered tile below.

Dressed and barely getting my gear bag over my shoulder, a voice calls out my name - a voice I was dreading to hear.

 "Sebastian. My office."

 It's Veronica Campbell, the team's tough-as-nails PR director. With her no-nonsense attitude and impeccable business attire, Veronica commands respect from the six-foot-tall athletes she works with, even though she stands nearly a foot shorter than us. Her petite frame is always adorned in sleek black or gray pantsuits, her feet shoved into practical flats rather than the towering heels one might expect. 

Letting out a heavy sigh, I trudged through the familiar locker room, feeling the weight of my teammates' eyes following me as I made my way towards Veronica's office. 

As I clicked the door shut behind me, I braced myself for the impending confrontation, my mind racing with possibilities. Veronica's commanding voice cut through the silence, instructing me to take a seat across from her. I reluctantly complied, rolling my eyes in a futile attempt to mask my growing anxiety. 

"If this is about the fight, it's hockey - people fight. So what is it? I'm suspended, pending investigation. He's filing charges? What?" I demanded, the words tumbling out in a frantic jumble. Rummaging through the papers on her desk, Veronica produced two small packets, each with a neon green tab marked "sign here" at the back.

 "The first is a non-disclosure agreement. I need you and Ms Brody to sign. The second is a treatment plan where Ms Brody will no longer be your nurse on call for any future games, and you will be tended to by Leo McGuire instead." My stomach dropped as her words sank in. 

“I-but wait- what?” I stammer out and I see her shoulders slump. Her hazel eyes are heavy, probably from stress and exhaustion. 

“ Look, I don't want the details of you and Ms Brody's relationship. I really don't need it. I just need you to sign the non-disclosure agreement and the treatment agreement. If you guys are going to continue with whatever it is, you're doing.” 

Veronica sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowed as I contemplated the stack of papers before me. 

"Did she bring this up to you?" I pressed.

Veronica paused, considering her words carefully. With a cool, measured tone, she replied, "How the information was presented to me is my business and my business alone." There was an underlying firmness to her voice that brooked no further questions.

In that moment, my mind seemed to completely shut off, operating on pure autopilot as my hand instinctively reached for the pen, signing my name on the dotted line before I even had a chance to process what I was doing. The typed words on the page blurred together, their contents a mystery as I hurriedly scrawled my signature. 

“Can I take these with me?” I ask.

“If she consents I need them by Thursday. You have a game and I need everything filed before then.” I barely registered her response, my body moving mechanically to gather up the papers, trying desperately not to crease or damage them in my haste. The legs of the chair nearly tripped me up as I clumsily made my way out of the office.

“But Sebastian,” her voice stops me in my tracks as I turn slowly to look at her. “It's my job to file the paperwork. It's your job to tell the coach.”

Fanclub: @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @beaker1636 @missduffsblog @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @rumoured-whispers @sorrowsofsilence @mysticdoodlez @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @somebodyels3 @flowery-mess @thisbicc

[fruitcoops]

Dream Team

Day Twelve: Natalie Darcy wants snuggles, not struggles, and deserves them too. Characters belong to @lumosinlove! Header is from @noots-fic-fests, where you can find all other tagged fest fics from the last week and a half (wow!)

“Forty-five sixty-seven left,” Alex said, staring directly into Natalie’s eyes.

“What?” Panic. Instant panic.

“Wombat brat pack! Set, hike!”

Black flashed in Natalie’s periphery—collision—fluorescent light above her.

“Jesus Christ,” she wheezed as she was dragged to her feet by a hand twisted in her shirt.

Jersey.

Her jersey.

“Wombat brat pack!” Alex insisted. He was bent and braced for a face-off. Natalie fumbled out something like a protest, something like a whine. She didn’t recognize the faces around them. Was Kasey in net? Why had he let her do this?

A whistle deafened her and she flinched, grabbing her right ear with a gloved hand. “Darcy, out!” the referee barked before crouching again.

Thank god. She backed up on wobbly skates, gliding as much as her ankles would allow. The other players were giants around her. “Oh, shit,” she murmured. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck me.”

The whistle blasted again. They converged on the puck in a seething mass of muscle and Velcro. Natalie backed up as fast as her inexperienced legs would carry her, away from the wrestling and grunting and clatter of carbon-fiber she preferred to experience from a safe distance.

It was a mistake. A fatal misstep in this messy, awful game.

“Darcy!” someone shouted from the melee. One of them had broken free. Alex? He was aiming right for her. Alex would never—but he was, he was bolting toward the goal, the goal Natalie had mistakenly planted herself in front of.

“Fuck!” she shouted, more on instinct than anything else. Alex cut one way; she dove the other, goal be damned, but the puck followed her.

Natalie had never seen Kasey unpadded, such as it was. He looked significantly more terrifying bearing down on her without any Michelin-man sweetness.

“Why are you tall—AUGH.”

They went down in a pile of limbs. Kasey scrambled to his feet. Natalie let herself lie there for a moment, gathering shards of her breath where they had exploded out of her like LEGO pieces.

“Nat!” Alex’s voice made her jump, made her heavy, itchy pads rattle. He tapped the top of her helmet with his stick, like a fucking asshole. “Enforcer!” he said insistently. “Enforce!”

“I don’t know what that means!” Her face was hot. Everything was hot and damp and this was all terrible, why on earth would they choose this day-to-day?

Kasey was coming down the stretch again, snapping the puck back and forth with a teammate. Alex took off toward him with those gorgeous crossovers that showed off the power of his legs but Natalie had no time to appreciate it because she wasn’t in her spot, with her drink, rating asses with Lily until they laughed themselves hoarse.

The fucking nerve of this dude to come at her after everything she had been through.

Natalie turned herself sideways and drove her shoulder into his chest with a hard push off.

It hurt like a mother.

The momentum carried them both sideways, though, enough for Alex to knock the puck around the goal and leave her to her own devices, namely catching her breath and praying for deliverance. Her hair itched under her helmet. It all felt too big to get anywhere.

“Darcy!” Another jersey-bound maniac yelling her name. Delightful. Exactly what Natalie wanted in this extremely low-stress environment.

“What?" she shouted.

"Darcy!"

"What?!"

"Darcy!"

"Oh my fucking--"

“Stop him!”

“Sure!” she laughed, rough and without humor. “Awesome! Will do! What’s the worst that could happen?”

She didn’t even see the guy’s number before impact.

--

Natalie woke up in her bed with a pounding heart and a throbbing head. She twisted the (high thread-count, silky-soft) sheets in her hands and sat up, rubbing sand from her eyes until leftover glitter and makeup streaked the back of her hand. An achy feeling seeped through her arms and feet gradually, a gentle consequence of wearing heels and dancing all evening.

Her head…oh, her head. Her mouth was cotton. Her eyes felt puffy. Perhaps those midnight margaritas hadn’t been the best idea. She stretched her torso from side-to-side, then each arm, and finally her poor beleaguered neck. Alex snuffled in his sleep like a lost puppy, covered up to his neck by blankets.

Kasey was right where he was supposed to be, all cute and fuzzy in the half-moon she liked to cuddle into when it wasn’t too hot out. His hair fell over the side of his face in golden wisps.

Natalie brushed one strand off his cheekbone and tucked it behind his ear. “Kasey, baby,” she whispered. Early-red sun bled under the curtains. “Honey. Kase, wake up.”

Those rat-bastard baby Lions were going to pay up for their party crimes. Natalie enjoyed several fantasies of hanging every item of their clothing on their brand-new picket fence for the wind to ruffle while she waited for Kasey to stir.

At last, he did. He looked like a rumpled, well-loved teddy bear down there, all sleepy blinks and brown eyes and squishable face.

And she squished it. She squished it hard. Her pillow came down with enough force to knock a squawk from his traitor lungs.

“Jesus, Nat, what—”

“You don’t run at me,” she informed him, poking the center of his chest. “You don’t skate towards me fast, you don’t hit pucks at me, it’s scary and I don’t like it.”

One of Kasey’s eyes was only partially open. He still managed to squint at her. “Whuzzat? ‘S your nightmare again?”

“I don’t like it when you do that!” she repeated, whacking him a second, gentler time. “You’re tall. It freaks me out.”

“ ‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “Won’t do it again. C’mere. Early.”

But there was another traitor in her bed. Alex grumbled something and turned onto his belly, his face pointing away from them. Natalie grabbed the sheets at the curve of his lower back and yanked them down as far as she could.

His bare back immediately arched at the chill, knees jerking toward his chest. “Woah—”

“Up, up, up,” Natalie ordered, urging his big lug of a body to roll so she could get a good look at his nonsense-speaking face. After a minute of futile pushing, he let her turn him over.

“G’mornin’,” he greeted. “Did I steal the covers?”

“You made me an enforcer!”

Behind her, Kasey had the nerve to laugh. The pillow found his gut with a satisfying thump.

“And then you yelled plays at me!” she continued, swinging a leg across Alex’s hips.

He looked up at her in unadulterated drowsy confusion, but his hands found her waist for a few soothing strokes. “I…have no idea what you’re talking about,” he confessed. “But I’m so sorry.”

“That—” She caught herself and pursed her lips. “Is a very good answer, and you’re not forgiven, because Kasey ran me the fuck over and you didn’t even do anything. But I will stay here, just for that.”

Alex nodded agreeably. “Okay. Hang on, Kase ran you over?”

“In the game.”

“The game,” he repeated.

“The hockey game. Where you made me an enforcer.”

Steady awareness was returning to Alex’s eyes. His brows creased in the middle. “When…?”

Natalie flicked her hand dismissively. “Recurring nightmare. But you’ve never been there, and you were on my team, and you were too busy chasing Kasey around to help me up after you got mad at me for not being a good enforcer.”

“You’d be a great enforcer. Wait—”

“Alexander!”

“I’m sorry.” And he was laughing too, the jackass, holding her tight around the hips and rolling onto his side so they were facing each other on the mattress. He kissed her nose through his snickering. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry.”

Natalie covered his mouth with her palm and gave it a half-hearted shove. “Yeah, you better be.”

“Oh, god.” He was still smiling when she took her hand back and tucked it between them, pulling Kasey’s over her side to hold. Alex composed himself, broke, and scraped together just enough self-control to look at her with only a bit of a swallowed-down grin. “I’m sorry you had a bad time in your nightmare about being an enforcer in a professional hockey game.”

“You yelled plays at me.”

“I’m sorry for yelling plays at you when you clearly hadn’t been at practice.”

“Alex!”

[whiskeyapologist]

was looking through my camera roll & realized i never posted about this?? but i did a check please theme in my bullet journal back in april & i am still beyond obsessed with how it turned out!

task list & cover page

april was all about finishing my fucking thesis (i earned my mfa in stage automation in may) & i used the task list to break down each section of my thesis & make it less intimidating. i still pulled a bitty & had to marathon write most of my thesis within a like 36 hour period. i slept so good once that draft was finished!

when i started planning this theme, i flipped through the comic & decided pretty quickly i wanted the cover to be this view of faber from 4.25 "faber". i filled the outside with some of my favorite details from throughout the comic, including (clockwise from top left) the "text from chowder: i'm shouting!" from 4.2 "nonstop celly", jack's "oh" moment from 2.17 "graduation", the jack lego (?) figure from 3.1 "wag", dex & nursey's background roach & house bubbles & (i think it's) ransom's "et tu lardo?" bubble from 2.12 "post i: roadie", one of my fave senor bun appearances that didn't make it into a weekly from 1.16 "linemates", & bitty's phone (i don't think there's a specific appearance of bitty's phone that looks like this, at least not that i'm finding in the flip-throughs i've done to write this post. i think i did a lil freehand moment with it, but if anyone happens to find it in the comic, let me know!), as well as my usual little calendar & monthly focuses section

monthly calendar & habit tracker

the monthly calendar & playlist is inspired by the smh team roster hanging on the bulletin board in the haus at the beginning of year 2

the habit tracker features a few other details from 2.1 “moved in”, namely the “haus sweet haus” rug & the sock pinned to the bulletin board. the shopping list bubble is a callback to the “jizz!” speech bubble also pinned to the bulletin board next to the sock

meal & time trackers

the breakfast, lunch, & dinner headers are a callback to the hockey puck taped to the bulletin board

not much to add here, but it’s a great time to mention the “it’s tough but you’re tougher” speech bubble from 4.20 “spotlight on eric bittle” which was the quote i used to decorate my grad cap ❤️

weekly #1 is modeled after y1 & features my favorite y1 senor bun appearance (1.18 “playoffs - i”) & line (1.8 “checking clinic”)

weekly #2 is modeled after y2 & features my favorite y2 senor bun (2.10 "shinny") & line (2.4 "hazeapalooza")

weekly #3 is modeled after y3 & features my favorite y3 senor bun (3.3 "meet the falconers") & line (3.26 "cup v - post")

weekly #4 is modeled after y4 (the layout of the top panel specifically is modeled after the first panel of 4.16 "christmas in madison - iii" which shows a bunch of the christmas pics/posts from the rest of smh & tater) & features my favorite y4 senor bun (4.17 "senior thesis") & line (also 4.17 "senior thesis"). i has some extra space, so i included some excerpts from bitty's y4 tweets

camp nanowrimo tracker, before the pen. the left is just a table for tracking time spent on & words written for my thesis & the novel i've been working on forever. my camp nanowrimo goal was to write 1 hour every weekend day & 2 hours every week day, for a grand total of 50 hours, which i am proud to say i achieved! the right is a visual tracker, where each pie was equal to an hour of writing. i included 50 pies for my 50 hour goal. the bubble near the top is from 1.4 "the haus" with 2 footnotes i added; one on "kitchens" that says "word docs", & one on "pies" that says "words". clearly i think i'm very clever lol

visual tracker, filled in. i surpassed my 50 hour goal with about a week left in the month, & i wanted to include that additional progress on my tracker. once the month was done & i knew how much i needed to add, i made a tip-in (although this might just be a fold-out lol) to tape in. on one side, i included the dialogue bubbles from a panel of 3.19 "keagster"

on the other side of the tip-in/flip-out, i included jam jars for the additional 10.25 hours of writing i did, plus "it's gonna be two trips" also from 3.19 "keagster"

& that's all the spreads! spreads were done in an archer & olive b5 notebook. supplies include: mildliners in the colors vermillion, dark blue, beige, & gray; a black papermate flair, a white gellyroll pen in size 08, and stabilo pens in gray and brown. oh, & a piece of masking tape, bc i couldn't find any clear tape lol

[furymint]

FFXIV Write 2024 | header | wc: 465

Brave set a steaming pot down in the gathering's center. Sweat trickled down the black iron from the heat, and it ran to stain droplets into the raw wood table. She stretched her arms to shake off the strain, then something popped in her back. Arcian was the first to commiserate an apology.

The other Bells around the table gave their thanks instead. Few of them had the energy to do more than wait in the Alliance commons while Brave ducked into the mess galley to find something to settle them with.

Not one of them was a soldier—as they so often were reminded—but that did not entitle them to any civilian comfort. If they wanted to eat, they'd need to feed themselves.

Usually there was food ready for them in Castrum Oriens, but a disrupted supply meant even the Adders went without full meals this sennight. "Disrupted" was no kind substitute for the truth: a massacre followed by an inferno, so the pack chocobos' feathers raised a stench that harassed the Eorzean front for malms.

Brave explained with a laugh that the meal before them was scraped together with the only three ingredients she could find: flour, chicken, and water.

"Water," Elliot declared, "is not an ingredient."

Haru smacked him on the arm. "Just shut your mouth."

"I mean... Maybe?" Norhi tilted her head.

Brave pinned him with a dead look. "I boiled the bones into a stock, so yes. Water. With chicken dumplings."

"And no seasonings?" asked Elliot.

"Can we please just forget him?" blurted Arcian.

Wyda grinned. "Does the fire to boil it count too?" 

At this point, Brave dunked a ladle into the pot and served herself a bowl. "Look. I'm too hungry to care about the philosophy behind my soup. Have it or don't."

"Don't—I mean, wait!" Elliot stumbled to his feet, whipped his legs free of the bench, and flew out of the mess hall.

Yumi started a silent count with her fingers until he returned. Forty-four seconds. "I never thought he could run that fast."

Elliot leaned one arm into the table, panting, and smacked a wax paper puck to the table with his free hand. "A tea cake," he proclaimed.

Wyda pointed her spoon at him. "Drinking tea and eating supper at the same time—that's way too efficient for you, Carambole."

"But it's flavor!" he protested.

For the first time, the room considered what he said. The doubtful sat beside those who had nothing left to lose.

Brave shook the wax paper from the tea cake and lofted it for inspection. "...Does anyone hate the idea?" she asked.

No one protested.

"All right, Elliot—you win. Three ingredients." Brave tipped her bowl back in the pot and crushed the teacake over the sorry stew.

[samuelerssonupdates]

*on opening night

Forwards

1st line: Michkov #39 - Couturier #14 - Foerster #71

Maksim Konstantinov / Len Redkoles / Jason Mowry (header image: Eliot J. Schechter)

Michkov on the first line is the only non-controversial choice here. It was hard to pick between Couturier and Frost, particularly since I believe that Michkov and Frost are going to work really well together this upcoming season. However, I think it's more than likely they want to pair Michkov with a more experienced player, particularly one like Sean Couturier, who is strong on faceoffs - can get Michkov the puck off the faceoff! - and a good defensive forward. Speaking of defensive forwards, I put one of the top defensive wingers in the NHL this season, Tyson Foerster, on the other wing. Foerster is a RW but since the Flyers seem to have completely done away with GAFing about what position wing their forwards play, I put him here and, in this post, will not GAF about L/RW either.

I think Foerster and Konecny would be the only two wingers the Flyers would consider opposite Michkov right now. Konecny for his own strong offensive upside was definitely a plus, but I went with Foerster because I think making sure that their two best defensive forwards are balancing out Michkov's high offense will be a high priority for Tortorella. Foerster also plays a pretty physical game where I don't believe Michkov does...? Someone correct me if I'm wrong there. I think that this top line is a well-balanced line between a vet, a strong winger, and a superstar.

Matvei Michkov, 19-22--41, 47 GP for HK Sochi

Sean Couturier, 11-27--38, 74 GP

Tyson Foerster, 20-13--33, 77 GP

2nd line: Konecny #11 - Frost #48 - Tippett #74

Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles / Dustin Satloff

Purely offensive line. Total fun. Morgan Frost's defensive play is very good, but he's a playmaker at heart and I would love to see this line get some time this season. I do eventually envision Frost and Michkov on a line regularly, as I think (as do many others) Frost's creativity will work well with Michkov's, but as far as opening night goes, I can't see them putting Frost and Michkov together too early.

Otherwise, these three would be fun to watch. In the 23-24 season Konecny assisted on 10 of Tippett's 28 goals, and 8 of Frost's 13 goals were assisted on by one of these two. All three were particularly productive during the Flyers' more dominant period in December 2023 and January 2024.

Travis Konecny, 33-35--68, 76 GP

Morgan Frost, 13-28--41, 71 GP

Owen Tippett, 28-25--53, 78 GP

3rd line: Brink #10 - Laughton #21 - Farabee #86

Randy Litzinger / Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles

Something of a double-veteran presence on this line for Brink, who, while he has NHL experience, spent a multitude of games last year playing for the Phantoms and watching from the press box at the behest of Tortorella. Farabee had a career year in 2023-24 but it didn't seem like it after he went long stretches of time without a goal, and Scott Laughton, the unofficial Flyers locker room DJ, had a much maligned 23-24 season. Not that this is SamuelErssonUpdates's Line for Lost Flyers, but it's a line of guys who you'd love to see do even better. Hoping that each of them move up the lineup at some point in the season, but on opening night this would be a safe bet.

Bobby Brink, 11-12--23, 57 GP

Scott Laughton, 13-26--39, 82 GP

Joel Farabee, 22-28--50, 82 GP

4th line: Cates #27 - Poehling #25 - Hathaway #19

Rich Graessle / Dustin Satloff / Jason Mowry

The easiest decision of the bunch, the Ph(C) line was one of the most cohesive and regular of last season. A solid 4th line of three guys that scored a little and hit a lot, (thank you, Garnet Hathaway) all three are signed to short-term contracts in Philly. It would, however, be nice to see Ryan Poehling Do The Thing again, and if he potentially moves up the lineup this year, maybe we'll see a burst in production from him.

Noah Cates, 6-12--18, 59 GP

Ryan Poehling, 11-17--28, 77 GP

Garnet Hathaway, 7-10--17, 82 GP

Defense

In general, all of these defensive pairings have been pretty well established; they were generally paired together last year, and the Flyers org shows no signs of switching them up unless something surprising happens.

1st pairing: Sanheim #6 - York #8

Len Redkoles / Len Redkoles

These two were the top defensive pairing last year, and they'll be our top defensive pairing this year. York played 82 games and had an average ice time of 22:37 per game; in one stunner of a game against the Canes, he played a whopping 29:01. Sanheim, meanwhile, logged 30% more assists than ever before in his career. These two will be back at it on your TV screen on October 11, I guarantee it.

Travis Sanheim: 10-34--44, 81 GP

Cam York: 10-20--30, 82 GP

2nd pairing: Seeler #24 - Drysdale #9

Jason Mowry / Len Redkoles

Generally considered to be the pairing on which Tortorella will have Drysdale, Seeler's defensive defense will be a solid counterpoint to Drysdale's offensive defense. Literally everyone in the world wants to see Drysdale do well on the Flyers – a healthy, more veteran player like Nick Seeler is probably the best option to round out his play.

Nick Seeler, 1-12--13, 71 GP

Jamie Drysdale, 3-7--10, 34 GP (1-4--5, ANA; 2-3--5, PHI)

3rd pairing: Zamula #5 - Johnson #77

Len Redkoles / Bill Wippert

With the return of Rasmus Ristolainen still unclear, and having seen none of the Flyers' prospects in the preseason, this is my current projected 3rd pairing. Both Zamula and Johnson re-signed short-term deals with the Flyers this offseason, and while Johnson will most likely remain a 7th d-man to be rotated in and out of the lineup, if Zamula makes the team out of camp I expect to see him as a regular fixture on the blue line.

Yegor Zamula, 5-16--21, 66 GP

Erik Johnson, 5-1--6, 67 GP (3-0--3, BUF; 2-1--3, PHI)

Goalies

Starting Goalie: Ersson #33

Len Redkoles

I don't know what anyone wants me to say here. this could not more clearly be my fucking guy. the blog is named after him. I am not taking questions at this ti- Stats? Buckle up, fuckers. I love stats and I'm incapable of being objective.

Sam Ersson is tied for the 4th-most winningest rookie goalie in Flyers history. At 24 years old, he has 5 shutouts in 63 career GP; the goalie he replaced had 6 shutouts in 227 GP. He had 4 this season alone, tying Igor Shesterkin (55 GP) and Pyotr Kochetkov (42 GP). With 23 wins in 51 GP, he won more games than Linus Ullmark (22 W in 40 GP), Alex Lyon (21 W in 44 GP), Tristan Jarry (19 W in 51 GP), and tied Jarry (29 years old with 8 seasons of NHL experience) and Thatcher Demko (28 years old with 7 seasons of NHL experience) for games played on the season. He had a 19-game streak of 3 GA or less where he went 12-4-2 (with one game where he entered in relief) and was one of the best goalies in shootouts in the league. In shootouts, only 4 goalies stopped more shots than him, yet he had a better shootout save percentage than all of them.

He had an .890 save percentage on the season. I don't care. The Flyers played 37 games from January 18th to the end of the season. Ersson played 32 of them, most of them with a backup that wasn't NHL caliber (Cal Petersen - sent down; Felix Sandstrom - sent down and traded in the offseason) or not ready to play in the NHL yet (Ivan Fedotov). Ersson was playing 86% of the Flyers' games at this point; for reference, the top 5 most played goalies in the league played:

Saros, 28 years old, 64 GP; 78% of NSH GP

Georgiev, 27 years old, 63 GP; 77% of COL GP

Hellebuyck, 30 years old, 60 GP; 73% of WPG GP

Skinner, 25 years old, 59 GP; 72% of EDM GP

Bobrovsky, 35 years old, 58 GP; 71% of FLA GP

So to recap, rookie Sam Ersson was starting games at a higher rate than 5 goalies that made the playoffs, including one that won the Stanley Cup, one that went to the Cup finals, and one that won the Vezina trophy. Forgive me if I don't take his .890 save percentage as the word of God and the final statement on his goaltending.

He's the starter next year. Tortorella and Briere have already made it clear; Ersson is their guy. Fortunately, he likes that.

Samuel Ersson, 23-19-7, .890 SV%, 2.82 GAA, 4 SO

Backup: Fedotov #82

Len Redkoles

Ivan Fedotov should be fun to watch this season. He was phenomenal in the KHL for years, and hopefully will be able to bring that this season with more time to get settled in the area, the team, and in his gear. If all goes well would expect to see him start 25-30 games. Like Ersson, his stats on the Flyers tell nothing of the full story, and next season will be a better showing of his capabilities between the pipes.

Flyers, 2023-24: 0-1-1, .811 SV%, 4.95 GAA, 0 SO

CSKA Moscow, 2023-24: 21-22, .914 SV%, 2.37 GAA, 4 SO

[kalolasfantasyworld]

Welcome!

Just ART BLOG

Multi fandom blog (Vox Machina, Klance ❤️💙 IwaOi 🩵🩵, Miraculous ❤️💚 and others)

My Ao3

My twitter, although I'm more active here

My Instagram with only chosen arts

My Tik Tok with animatics

Hi! My name is Lola.

This blog was set up to be my creative outlet, where I post my art, links to my writing and since I got to know some amazing people around here I interact with them ^^.

I'm a writer and an artist, both are very important to me.

This is mostly a Black Clover blog. I tend to circle around the Silva family (if my background art wasn't enough), but I love all of BC. 💕

I may organise events and then I could take requests. However I save myself the right to decline if I don't feel comfortable with a request.

One main rule: I don't tolerate hate here! No ship wars! No offending anyone! No toxic behavior! Let's be nice to each other and happy in our fandom.

I'm a multi shipper, AUs and OC enjoyer. Simply a dreamer 🫶

My ask box is open ^^ If you wish to know anything just ask

My main BC OC is Helena, who you see on the right of my header (her profile below) and she is shipped with Nozel. Below link to the canon compliant fan fiction about them.

👩‍💻 Writing

❤️ 💙 Paper Hearts BC universe - collection of works on Ao3 happening in the PH BC universe (collabs included)

Paper hearts -> Nozel x OC Helena fanfiction on Ao3, Wattpad

Paper Hearts explanation

Birdies (Silva next gens) one shots Ao3 1 2 3 4 5 6

Nozel is a closeted perv NSFW Ao3 1

⛸️ 🏒 Let's Puck Our Limits -> Asta x Noelle Black Bulls fanfic Cover Ao3 Wattpad

🏥 Against our own -> Nozel & Noelle & Nebra & Solid hospital heavy angst

KaLola BC Ships - Masterlist, Ao3

Excerpt ask game masterlist

⭐️ My Black Clover OCs

Character profiles:

Drazels: Helena, Luciana, awaiting an art and a profile: Gabriel, Maxim, Cecilia, Camilla, Patricia, Mateo and Antonio -> they will get a joint profile

The birdies (next gens): Natalia, Heinry and Noureen

Music witch (next gen): Hermione

Capital healers: Eric, Dina

Reference sheets:

Helena, Gabriel, Heinry, Noureen, Natalia

🎨 Some more memorable art:

Illustrations for some (let's say probably all after 14😂) chapters of #Paper Hearts (my fanfic) -> masterlist

cover 1 2 5 6 7 7.1 7.2 10 12 14 15 16 17 18 18.2 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 29.2 30 30.2 31 31.2 32 33 34 35 36 37 38

#KaLola BC Ships art series masterlist

OC portraits season 1

❤️Cute Nozelena💙 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 tango!

💕

[cowboybarzy]

1000 Follower Celebration!

so I hit 1000 followers a couple of weeks ago (CRAZY & THANK YOUU) and I know I have been mia for a hot minute when it comes to publishing fics. I’ve hit horrible writer’s block and I’m so sorry for leaving you all hanging. However, with this celebration, like I’ve seen many other people on here do (shoutout to them), I was hoping it could be cured and I could go back to regularly writing again 🤍

so this if for all of you guys to get to know me more but also celebrate you and for me to say thanks <3

rules: send me the emoji corresponding to the prompt you want me to answer.

——————————————————————————

🐢 get to know me – send me a number (or more) from this list or come up with your own question to get to know me more. I’ll give you one: turtles are my favorite animals

🎙 music – send me this emoji and I’ll shuffle my liked songs playlist 5 times to get to know my music taste

🧿 moodboard – I’ll make you a moodboard/lockscreen/tumblr header about whatever you want . include your aesthetic or prompt the moodboard should follow. (also the dimensions if you want a lockscreen or tumblr header)

🏒 blurbs – here is a prompt list you can use but you can also send in your own idea. any player you want. (be patient with me on those though, but I’m really trying!!)

🎀 random – send me any random questions or thoughts you have :)

——————————————————————————

some people I love and who inspire me to keep this blog up :) ily guys (sorry if I forgot someone) @smileysvech @daydreamingcara @fallinallincurls @holy-pucks @hockeysweaterweather @quietblues @pyotrkochetkov @youunravelme @wyattjohnston @softlotusss @generallybarzy @mendeshoney

[3416]

Auston on Mitch’s puck header and his shoe game being appreciated by the league 

Media Availability 3.28.23

[hexiewrites]

carve your name into my chest: chapter one

(read it on ao3!)

thank you @reindeerrobin for the amazing trading cards & header image and for all your help and encouragement on this fic! and thank you to @maxineholtzmann for your hockey consultation and plot enablement! (and to blue who doesn't have tumblr for your grammar and spelling wizardry)

[explicit | tw for slurs and internalized homophobia]

chapter one: fuck you

Canadiens face the Bruins on home ice in the first game of the season. Can star scorer Eddie “The Freak” Munson slip one past “Shutout” Steve Harrington, or will old rivalries cause problems like they did last year in the lead up to the playoffs?

Eddie pushed his mouthguard half out of his mouth as he skated in a circle, waving up at the crowded stands as the sound of the announcer filled the arena. He drowned most of it out, pulling his head into the zone. 

There was always a rush to an away game, the relief from the pressure of skating and home and knowing that everyone there was watching for him to make any mistake. Sure, skating at home had its advantages—the energy in the arena, the cheers for every goal. But there was something about the fact that nobody was here for him, this wasn’t his turf, that made things feel a bit less scary.

It was always good to be feared.

And on top of that, and the arena was filled with the loud sound of booing and fuck you, Munson as his number got called, and the most unimaginative chant of 58 Can’t Skate filling the air. 

There were a lot of things you could say about Eddie Munson’s hockey career. Hot headed was one he’d heard a lot. Too quick on the trigger. Bit of a weak backhand. Hogs the puck, even though with two wings he trusted on his line now that one was becoming less and less common.

But… can’t skate?

(keep reading on ao3)

[greenbergsays]

Dear Des,

There’s a story I need to tell you. It’s a bit long, so get comfy, and sorry if I ramble.

I got Tumblr about seven years ago (what is time). I can’t remember why I followed you, but I did, and to this day I still do. Next to that, at some point in my studies, I got to read and analyse A Midsummer Night’s Dream - which I dearly loved, and still do. At some point a few months later, I discovered where your header was from. During Covid the Shakespeare’s Globe published a few of its plays on Youtube for free, and I remembered your header and watched the play and fell in love with it, and especially with Puck. Fast forward a few years, and I joined a theatre club. Amateur club, but with great ambitions, and we did some wonderful plays. Each play is selected through a vote system, and one year I tried to add A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the list, but it didn’t receive enough votes to pass (too much of a classic, with rhymes… it didn’t please enough).

This year though, this year is a bit special, because we got a lot of new members in the troupe and they all have a knack for "classics". So I added A Midsummer Night’s Dream to the list again, having nothing to lose.

It passed. Which meant the next part was to ask for roles and see what we could get. Obviously, I asked for Puck - but it’s a popular choice, and many in the troupe also asked for it.

Nonetheless, today was the announcement for the roles, and my name got called for Puck. So now, I get to play the role I fell in love with (and whose comedian was one of the first to give me gender envy when I watched the 2013 play that I discovered through your header, and this year is also the year I officially have my gender-affirming surgery), and to give them life.

I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this. I wanted to thank you, although it might seem weird, because you played a part in the grand scheme of things that brought me to this moment, and it’s making me emotional. So thank you 💚

Congratulations, babe!!!! On both getting the part and the gender-affirming surgery, you deserve both ❤️

I’m glad I could help bring you happiness even if it was in such an innocuous way :)

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

(Cripes, I hope I'm not over-asking, but I've been thumbing my copy of the Companion while looking at your blog, and the wheels in my head are turning on Things What To Say.)

Re: the Companion and the Corinthian

I'm not sure I'd necessarily agree the quote from Neil out the Companion is trying to erase the Corinthian's queerness or blunt it? Like, quoting directly here, page 57 in my softcover second edition, from chapter 4 under the header "The Corinthian and the Cereal" Convention":

Hy Bender: Where did his name come from?

Neil Gaiman: It's a seventeenth-century slang word for a licentious rake who does things like frequent brothels. But Sandman's Corinthian doesn't have sex; he eats eyeballs. And he's homosexual, in the sense that he prefers to eat the eyeballs of boys.

And then they continue on to discuss the place and the letters and the columns and the leather, much as Puck alludes in The Kindly Ones. If there are other passages discussing the Corinthian that bring up queerness in any way, I've missed them while looking over the book, and will be happy to have them pointed out for further reference.

But taking the quote as is, Gaiman's bringing up sexual activity and orientation to note how the Corinthian deviates from one who you'd call a corinthian in the context of its original slang meaning. He is promiscuous and unprincipled, but instead of prostitution and rape his chosen vice is devouring eyeballs; rather than the presumed heterosexuality of the original term, he targets men. In a sense, it's actively calling attention to the fact the Corinthian's closest thing to a sexual behavior is uniformly male-oriented, which doesn't much seem an attempt to deny he's gay-coded.

Now of course, we ARE effectively implying he doesn't experience sexual or romantic attraction in the way a typical person might, but given how he's presented in the comics, I don't think I'd argue he does myself either. Unlike his TV counterpart, he doesn't have those moments when he chooses to sleep with a hot young guy rather than eat his eyes, or invites comparison and contrast with Hal by sharing a scene with him, or wins cautionary sympathy by proving a genuinely effective protective big brother figure for Jed, or pleads for Dream's understanding towards his yearning for what it's like to experience life as something other than a nightmare in parallel with Gault's. On the page, he's a much rawer id-force, personal pleasure expressed as inflicting misery and suffering upon others, the dark mirror Dream intended warped into self-serving, self-justifying abominable acts, the definite fuel behind the serial killers' gross self-flattering collective dream. His every appearance prior to full reveal plays on images of kidnapping and alleyway assaults and the aftermath of butchery through his "eyes," and we're left with a decidedly ugly figure behind a conventionally handsome face. He's the slinking, cringing force that hides behind platitudes of strength and righteousness, only to fall to nothing on exposure to reality.

(There's conversation to be had about Gaiman evoking predation and perversion with a character who eats eyes as bastardization of sexual activity and only eats the eyes of young men and boys besides, but I'm driving at a particular idea here so all I'll say there is God Were The 90s A Different Time Even If You Were Otherwise Progressive, Huh.)

My point is, the nightmare who walks as a man is much deeper in monstrosity on the page, and coming after Brute and Glob's twisted replication of the Dreaming, as capstone to the horrendous visions of gutless self-styled hunters, he's both exemplification of that issue's themes and a means of making the audience wonder how this still-kinda-a-horror-title comic is going to top itself with Fiddler's Green before you learn he's a completely benign figure we've known for several chapters now. The text doesn't much invite you to sympathize with him until he is remade in The Kindly Ones, and even then it's done through the filter of Matthew's mistrust and the uncertainty about Morpheus choosing THIS murder-happy failure for recreation. That reformed model spends most of his time bantering with Matthew, acting creepy, tracking down Daniel, and reacting to the destruction of the Dreaming, so there's not much to go on regarding what kind of person he is vis a vis queerness, and while I'll admit I've read about none of the Dreaming, Gaiman's dismissiveness towards developments in that title make me inclined to believe he probably wouldn't reference it unless directly prompted. Opportunities to dig into the Corinthian as a queer actor in the pages of Sandman itself are low - that obviously changes with the Netflix series expanding his role and complicating his person, but that's a long long way away from these 1999 interviews.

So it's like, I get the defensiveness that's arisen over the quote, but the take-aways didn't sit right with me, and putting it under close examination with the contents and context of the book as written, I think it's fair to say the Corinthian of the page is only really homosexual insofar as eating eyes is what he does to enact power and control over the helpless in place of sex, and he prefers the eyes of men to those of anyone else. If I'm frank, the lack of direct quotation or cross-examination in the posts concerning that passage look a tiny bit like a game of telephone, which I've fallen victim to myself in other fandoms in the past.

Course, you're under no obligation to agree with my interpretations here, and it's entirely possible I'm dead wrong (after all, with regards to the other Companion topic, I didn't make much of the claim about the fire motif other than "hm, yeah, so it is there, nifty" until you and others pointed it out as a potential issue and got me thinking deeper, so I'm curious to know what you think!

This is a great expansion/contextualization of the quote about The Corinthian!

Honestly you said it better than I could, but it really does fall under "the 90s were a different time." I did figure that, given the time period, saying The Corinthian was straight-up gay wouldn't have gone over quite as smoothly as it would today, so Neil might've also been hedging a bit with the whole "he desires men... to literally eat" thing. Plus, as you note, the implications of linking predation with queerness is also screaming "definitely a different time."

I find it funny that fans were complaining about the change of him being canonically pansexual for the show, when the canon they were coming from was...this highly metaphorical and dated representation.

tagging @violetoftheendless since I know you like Cori

[damazcuz]

Hello I wanted to say your header and pfp combo remind me of those little towels that come in a weird solid puck that you have to put under water to reveal its true nature as a towel. Very cool. 😌👍

would you all still love me if i was magical just add water tiger towel....