#we’ve almost got both of them into the seventies!

[dearweirdme]

[writingsbychlo]

HOME TO US | rhysand

summary; rhys and nyx are a family of two, but they're both pretty hell-bent on making it into a trio, with you.

word count; 12,151

notes; I have no idea how this got so long? I planned for it to be like 4-5k, and @azsazz can vouch for that. also big shout out to @acourtofwhatthefuck for proofreading this for me when I just had no motivation, but I needed this one to be perfect.

Fate had always seemed to have the worst timing for you.

Whether it be relationships, the sunny skies turned to rain, or simply this; balancing precariously on a stool and getting startled by your own phone, which you could have sworn was on silent mode. 

Blaring out across the shop in a sudden burst of cheery notes and tones, you almost dropped the stacks of books in your hands, cursing a little as it vibrated in rhythm in the back pocket of your jeans. When the call persisted after the usual three rings signalling a cold caller or market salesperson, you sighed. 

Shifting the books to one arm, you fished the phone out before it could go to voicemail, wondering just who would be calling you so urgently at this time of the day. The question didn’t linger for long, though, as your eyes widened at the caller across the front of the screen. 

‘Velaris Young-Education Prepatory School’.

A ridiculously fancy name for an elementary school, you thought it every time you saw the name, and yet right now, your heart skipped a beat as you pressed answer. Bringing it to your ear as you shuffled the books in your arms more, you lowered yourself down from the ladder carefully. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello! Is this Nyx’s mother, (Y/N)? It’s V-Y-E Prep.”

The woman on the phone sounded somewhere between relieved and panicked, and your heart leapt into your throat a little at her tone. “Well, yes, that’s me, but-”

“Oh, good, we weren’t able to get in touch with dad, I was worried I wouldn't be able to get a hold of either of you.” She cut you off before you had a chance to finish, your lips clamping shut as she let out a sigh of a laugh. “I’m Nyx’s class teacher, but he’s had a little bit of an accident today, do you think you’d be able to come and pick him up from the reception?”

Your heart felt like it stopped in your chest entirely. “An accident, what kind of accident, is he okay?” 

“Oh, he’s fine! He had a fall during playtime, and he bumped his head. There’s a mark, and a scratch we’ve cleaned up, but he’s understandably a little shocked and upset. We know dad can get… concerned,” 

Understatement of the century, you wanted to butt in, because Rhys was more than just concerned. He was overprotective, in an endearing way, but he tended to freak out over the smallest things. Then again, it didn’t help when teachers said things like ‘accident’ when it’s not so serious. Perhaps it was a good thing that they got you, not him. 

“So, we thought we’d give you a ring, and see if you could pick him up?”

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. You still had four hours left of your shift, and you felt terrible just ducking out, even if the store was dead, excluding the few people idling over lukewarm coffees in the connected café. “Sure, yeah, of course. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Wonderful, we’ll see you then.”

The line clicked dead, your eyes sliding shut as you let out a slow breath. You could have just said no, that voice in your head taunted, he’s not your child to fret over. And yet, the thought of his sad face lingered in your mind, triggering all those maternal instincts inside of you and sending them into overdrive.

“Sounds urgent.” Somehow, despite walking with a cane and always wearing heeled boots that clicked on the floorboards, Margaret had managed to sneak up on you. When you turned, the seventy-something-year-old was standing with a smile on her face behind you, eyeing the phone in your hand. 

“I’m sorry, Margie. It’s Nyx’s school.” You grimaced, lips pressing together into a thin line. She only laughed lightly, waving a frail hand idly in the air as if to bat the moment away.

“Oh, don’t worry, dear. I know what it’s like to have your child’s school call you up in the middle of the day.” Her smile only widened, her eyes glazing over a little. “Our Tommy was a terrible little troublemaker, I had constant calls about his behaviour. And our Jenny, well, she was the clumsiest kid you ever saw. Tripped over thin air.”

A wistful sigh escaped her, and your lips flicked up at the edges. You’d met both Thomas and Jennifer, lovely people, but just as she’d described. Jennifer seemed even more prone to bad timing than you, and Thomas had turned all that troublesome energy into bad flirting and a heated temper. 

“You do what you have to for your kids.” She’d finished her recollections, her voice snapping you from your own, and you could only nod.

“I know, but he’s not my kid. Not biologically, or in any way that matters. It’s not the same, and-”

“Hon, if I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.” Her words made a lump in your throat that was impossible to speak around, a quick flash of emotion swelling up that you were quick to fight against, but the sparkle in her eyes told you she’d seen in. “He may not have your genes, but he’s yours. So, go get your son. The store will still be here when you come back on Monday.”

“Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me force you out of this door.” She tapped her cane at your feet, just close enough that you could feel the floorboards vibrate under the harsh taps, a wordless threat, and a grin broke out on your lips to hide the blush on your cheeks. 

“Alright, I’ll see you Monday, then.”

She gave a curt nod, and you were flying through the store. Grabbing your bag and coat from the backroom on the way, you were out of the back door and at your car in less than a full minute. Only when you’d put your bags onto the seat and checked the car seat permanently attached to the back of the car did you get into your own seat.

How you’d gotten to this point, you had no idea. It hadn't been your intention four years ago when you’d first met baby Nyx, to end up with a box of his things in your trunk for emergencies, a child seat of your own in the back of the car and your name registered as a parental contact. Yet, as you stared, twisting to look at it and brushing your fingers over the fabric, you didn’t have a single regret about it. 

In fact, only a smile pulled at your lips as you thought about him. Him, and his father. Rhysand had been your best friend for many years, and his baby only seemed to bring you closer. You’d never have wished Nyx’s mother to have abandoned him, you loathed the woman every day for what she did to them both, but it had created a space in their lives that you’d somehow patched a part of up. 

When Rhys had needed support and guidance, you’d been there.

Now, you’d be there for Nyx, too.

As you started the car, flicking a glance back to check the mirrors on the seat were still aligned, Margie’s words flickered through your mind. 

If I’ve ever seen a mother, it’s you to that little boy.

They lingered on your mind for the entire drive, hanging over you like a cloud on an April day, unsure if it was going to rain, or simply pass by. Until you were parked outside of the school, hands still clenched tightly on the steering wheel as you stared up at the tall glass entryway only a few paces away. You couldn't see Nyx yet, not with the doors on the other side that truly sealed off the building, but you could make out figures and shapes on the other side.

Your eyes moved to the clock, the digit clicking over another number, and your fingers felt numb when you finally released them from the wheel. With another sigh, you released all thoughts about mothers and genes and Rhys. 

One day, perhaps, you’d confront them. Today wasn’t going to be it.

Stepping out of the car and swinging the door shut behind you, you didn’t even bother to lock it, as you took a slow jog up the main pathway before the school. The doors hissed open automatically before you, the smell of fresh cotton coming from the air freshener in the corner of the office, and the receptionist behind the desk looked borderline bored as she glanced up. 

“Hi, um- Hi. I’m here for Nyx.”

Her eyes widened a little, looking significantly more interested now as she took your name, and called through to the classroom. The thought almost amused you, had you not been so concerned. Rhys had quite the reputation around here, the big checks and hefty donations gained him and Nyx quite the special treatment, one that clearly seemed to pass onto you, too. 

The doors to the school buzzed open a second later as the magnetic locks released, and you stepped through. Sitting in one of the large plush chairs lined up along the wall of the office was Nyx, looking utterly swamped as his feet swung in the air, head bowed and hands clutching tightly to his backpack in his lap. 

At the scuffing of your shoes, his head snapped up, eyes wide and hopeful, turning to relieved as he saw you. He dropped his bag to the floor, moving to slide out of the chair but you were faster, dropping down to kneel before him. Up close, you could see more, enough to break your heart. 

His eyes were red, cheeks pink, tear-marks tracked into the smears of playground dirt and classroom muck on his face. When you brushed the edge of his inky hair back from his forehead, it was to reveal a cut across his forehead to his temple, bumped and bruised, growing into a lump on his head. His bottom lip wobbled, eyes growing shiny again. 

“Oh, Nyxie, did you get hurt?”

“Yeah…” His voice trembled as he spoke, sniffling lightly and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. Patting his hair down once again, you tried to choke back the emotions clogging in your throat as a tall shadow fell across the both of you. With a glance, you confirmed that it was his teacher, looking more than a little nervous as she watched you take in Nyx for yourself. 

“We just have some forms for you to sign, and I can tell you a little more about his injury, and then you’re good to go.” At your nod, she let out a heavy breath, wiping her hands down subtly on her skirt.

“Nyxie, I’m just going to go sign some forms for you, okay? Do you want to wait here?” He shook his head, eyes widening a bit as his little hand clamped down onto your arm, gripping tightly and shuffling across the seat closer to you. “You want to come with us?”

“Can I have cuddles?” His voice was low and shy, your heart swelling a little more. 

“C’mere.” Opening your arms up for him, his damp cheek fell to your shoulder, nose tucking sweetly into your neck, and you scooped him up, his legs dangling on either side of your body as he slumped against your chest happily. Standing up with a little more effort than usual, Nyx’s hands patted idly over your knitted jumper, body bouncing with each step you took to follow her inside of the office. 

The forms were already laid out, four to be signed, and she pushed the first one over to you. “This one is just to state you acknowledge the injury, the second is a copy for you, because dad requested always having a copy of forms.” Her cheeks flushed with a little colour, the edges of your lips flicking up at Rhys’ quirks. “The third is just an injury form, that you know we’ve given you all the information, and you’re satisfied. The fourth, another copy.”

You quickly signed your name on the first two, pushing one over to her and keeping the other on your side. The pen hovered over the paper of the third, your fingers clenching a little on it, eyes flicking over the page. “What did happen, exactly?”

“Well, uhm…” You rubbed a hand over Nyx’s back, a soft affirmation that you appreciated how patiently he was waiting. Putting on a smile, you tried to put the woman at ease, not having meant to sound quite so… pissed. 

“I know kids have accidents, I didn’t mean to sound so… well, let’s just say, be glad I’m the one that picked up the call. Dad can be overprotective.” The boy in your arms giggled a little, and you placed down the pen, using your hand to now cup his head and rub at his hair lightly. 

“He was playing on the climbing equipment. I think he went a little too high, because he couldn't climb down. Another child was trying to help him, but before anyone could get over to him once we realised he was stuck, he fell off.” Her voice was a lot more confident now, and you were glad you’d been able to ease just a little of that tension. “I can take you out to the equipment and show you what happened, if you’d like?”

“That won’t be necessary.” You grabbed for the pen again, signing both pages, and she pulled one over towards her files as you gathered the other two. 

“Nyx was so brave, weren’t you, huh?” She swiped a finger over his cheek as she passed by to get the door for you again, and he nodded slowly against your body. “And he was so excited when he found out his mommy was coming to get him.”

There was that word again, all of those thoughts coming swarming back in a dizzying rush as you followed her. A hot blush settled on your cheeks, your mouth opening to correct her, before Nyx’s hands were bunching in your jumper as he let out another little giggle, making your lips snap closed again. He hid his face deeper in your shoulder. 

Stooping down to pick up his bags, his teacher placed it over your arm, swinging as you gripped paperwork in one hand and Nyx in the other. “I put all of his schoolwork in his bag. We’ll see you again tomorrow, Nyx!”

She held the door open for you, waving her goodbye as she watched you go, the receptionist looking far more alert now than she had earlier, smiling widely as the two of you left, and you could feel their gazes on you all the way to the parking lot. 

Putting down the paperwork and his bag on the top of the car, you opened it up, leaning in to settle him was like muscle memory now. No longer an awkward act but a practised one, as he slid from your arms and into the chair. Fastening the belt across his middle, you did the ones over his shoulders.

Eyes that were the same incredible shade of near-violet as his father’s were watching you, a ridiculously adorable smile on his face as you leaned in to press a kiss to the uninjured side of his forehead. Tucking his bags on the other side of him, you checked all his straps, not realising you were frowning yourself until his little fingers pinched at your nose. 

“Got a nose!” He whispered excitedly, waving his fingers in a way that was supposed to mock his uncle’s, the way Cassian would always tease that he’d ‘stolen Nyx’s nose’ to cheer him up. When you smiled at him, he pushed his hand back against your face, giggling to himself as he continued to imitate his uncle. “You can have it back!”

“Well, thank goodness for that!” You teased, rubbing over the bridge of your nose and taking him in. Once you were happy with his safety, you closed the door, taking only the paperwork with you and folding them in half, tucking them into the glovebox of the car for safekeeping. When the car turned on, your fingers went to the radio, and a single button pressed had some of Nyx’s favourite songs pouring from the speakers as the kiddie-CD in the player came to life. “We’ll go and see your daddy now, hopefully, he won’t be too upset about your head.”

The boy only hummed to his song, leaning to stare out of the window, breath fogging it up and one hand resting on the windows he watched his school be left behind. “Daddy will be angry with us?”

For all the fresh set of worries now swirling inside of your head at Rhys’ reaction, you’d never considered how Nyx would interpret your words. “Oh, no, of course not, baby. Never us. We make daddy smile, not frown!”

Reaching behind yourself as you came to a stop at the red lights, you squeezed at his knee lightly, retracting it only when the light went yellow. Another few minutes of quiet went past, the roads clear for the middle of the day as you drove, and Nyx was happily taking in all of the Velaris scenery as you passed by. 

From the small town outskirts and into the city centre, it was when you were almost there that Nyx stopped singing and decided to speak again. 

“I heard daddy tell Uncle Azzy on the phone that you make him smile like nobody else ever has.”

Your eyes widened, your foot nearly slamming onto the brake a little too hard as you turned a corner, and Nyx went back to singing his song. Your heart was picking up speed in your chest, the traitorous organ fuelled on hope reacting in a way you tried to resist. Your head was empty, it took a full minute to form your response, and you gave out a croaky laugh. “Were you being cheeky and listening to your dad’s private phone calls again?”

“No!” His voice sounded indignant, but with a look cast in the mirror onto him, you could see the cheeky smirk on his face. “He answered it at dinnertime! I got to say hi to Uncle Azzy. He’s in a whole different country right now, did you know that?”

You could only smile at the excitement in his voice as he spoke all about Azriel’s current escapades in Spain, or at least, the version that was completely safe and child-friendly. Soon, though, his distraction was over, and he was circling back to a topic you had hoped he’d forgotten.

“Daddy loves you. He told Uncle Azzy. And Uncle Cass, and Auntie Mor.”

“Well, now I know you’re telling me fibs.” Releasing your hand from the gearstick at the next red light, you reached it behind you, tickling at his tummy until he laughed loudly and kicked his legs, slapping at your hands weakly as he wriggled in his chair. “He would never tell Uncle Cass about his feelings, because Uncle Cass would tease him!”

“I’m not telling fibs, I’m not!” He gasped the words between breaths, face growing red, and you almost forgot you were sitting at the lights until a car honked behind you, forcing you to pull away. His laughter died down as the car started again, but he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “He did tell him. He said that he loves you, and he thinks that you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world.”

Your lips pursed, your heart betraying you once again, stomach joining as butterflies erupted until you felt lightheaded, and the weight of his stare on the back of your head was obvious without you even needing to turn. 

In a far less sure voice now, “Do you love daddy?”

You had no idea how to answer that question. You’d known he’d get curious about your friendship with his father soon, you’d just been foolish and selfish enough to hope it was his father that he asked, and so you wouldn't have to handle it. 

Of course you loved Rhysand, but that didn’t make it easy to explain. 

Rhys could never know, the wound of Feyre running away with Tamlin and abandoning Nyx was sure to still be raw, Rhys hadn't been on a date in four years, and if this conversation had confirmed anything, it was that Nyx wasn’t the best secret-keeper. 

Your words had to be chosen carefully.

“Your daddy is my best friend, so, yes. I do love him.” You thought you’d done well, until Nyx made a non-committal sound, another question all ready to go. 

“Does he make you smile?”

“Yes.” Your teeth gritted, the looming office building of the company HQ filling the sky as you pulled up to the security box, not even needing to roll the window down before the gates were buzzing open for you.

“And, do you think he’s the prettiest man in the whole wide world?” His arms flew as wide as they could, and you ignored how endearing it was, choosing a parking spot instead and focusing on your alignment. 

“He’s very pretty, Nyx. Just like you.”

“Then why can’t you be my mommy?” That question felt like a punch to the gut, the car shutting off, silence filling the cabin around you as the engine stopped and the singing CD paused. He was waiting, playing with his fingers and staring at you when you turned to face him. His eyes were wide, confused, and you hated that he felt that way.

“Let’s clean up your face, huh? You’re all dirty.” The words were pathetic, you hated yourself, because avoiding his question meant avoiding your own. You were taking the coward's way out, pulling two wipes from the packet in the dash to wipe at his face. He stayed silent, lips pursed in an unhappy pout, but he didn’t push it. The next time he spoke, it was as you were unclipping him from his car seat and lifting him towards the ground. 

“No, no, no.” He clung to you more, jutting out his lip and putting on puppy eyes he knew worked every time. “More cuddles?”

If it kept him effectively distracted, that was more than enough. Settling him in your arms and locking the car this time, the two of you set off towards the building, Nyx babbling in your ear about everything he could see around him so far.

Upon entering the lobby, his chatter cut off, head lifting from your shoulder to wave excitedly at the assistant behind the main desk. Long ago, you’d felt insecure stepping into this building in nothing but your jeans and a hoodie as everyone else wore dresses and suits and polished heels. Now, even as the elegant woman stood in her pencil skirt to lean over the counter to greet him, you felt at home. “Hi, Ana!”

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day, little mister?” 

He only laughed, leaning out proudly to wave at her, and a new receptionist you didn’t recognise. “We’re here to see Daddy!”

She offered a knowing smile when you pushed his hair back just enough to show off the growing bruise, and turning to the intern beside her. “Take them up to the boss, and let him know.”

With a shaky smile and a polite introduction, she led your group over to one of the elevators, Nyx pulling faces and giggling over your shoulder at Ana the whole time. The ride up to the top floor consisted of Nyx counting the numbers off loudly, tickling them off on his fingers until he couldn't count anymore, and the doors chimed open at level twenty-six.

Guiding the both of you toward the boardrooms, you stopped outside of Rhys’ preferred meeting room, the one with ‘the good coffeepot’ he claimed, a smile flickering on your lips as you spotted his silhouette through the frosted glass while she knocked at the door.

As she entered, you could hear his voice pouring out, the back end of a speech on this year's profit margins that he’d practised on you a hundred times before today, only going quiet as all attention fell to her. “Sir, your wife and son are here.”

Your brows rose at her wording, still sitting high on your forehead as Rhys appeared, closing the door behind him and dismissing her thankfully. Left alone, his gaze flickered over you both, an emotion you still didn’t understand settling on his face when Nyx sat up in your arms, still cuddled against you. 

“Hi, daddy! I got a bump on my head, look!” Pushing his hand over his hair, he moved his fringe out of the way, Rhysand’s eyes going comically wide as he stepped closer to get a look at it. “I fell off the climbing frame!”

His frantic gaze swept to you as he ran a thumb over his son’s forehead, the other hand settling on your hip subconsciously, but all your attention seemed to fix on the way his thumb swept over your waist in a matching way. 

“I took care of it all, don’t worry.” You mustered the best smile you could, getting a whiff of his expensive work cologne when he dipped down to press a kiss to the same spot you had when tucking Nyx into the car. He examined the cut a little more, frowning at the mark on his son’s face, and you wanted to say something, to reassure him, to quash the thoughts about being a bad father that you knew were flying through his head. Before you could speak, though, he was acting once again.

He nodded, seeming to have already fought the war inside his own mind, and if the way his shoulder’s slumped from their tightened position, he’d won this one. Leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead too, your breath caught in your throat at the intimate brush of his lips over your skin. Rhysand had always been affectionate, this part of your friendship was nothing new, but somehow, it had become so much more than a flirty comment or wink. Your eyes fluttered shut, pressing selfishly into that hint of affection as it dragged on just a second too long, warmth coating your cheeks when he pulled back. 

“Give me five minutes to finish this meeting up, wait in my office.” His attention moved to his son. “You can get one toy out, just one.”

At the mention of the toy-box tucked away in the back corner of the office, Nyx’s face lit up, hands clapping together excitedly, and Rhys chuckled at him. “Do you need anything?”

“We’ll be fine.” You’d been to his office more times than you could count, knowing the building like the back of your hand. “Go finish up, gods know you didn’t make me suffer through your rehearsals a thousand times just to mess it all up now.”

He only smirked, adjusting his blazer and ruffling his son’s hair, cautious of his injury. “I’ll be with you soon, darling.” Before you could respond, he was placing a quick kiss on your cheek, and backing away and returning to work, the door closing behind him. 

When you stared at his empty space a little too long, Nyx let out an impatient sigh. “I want to play with the racing cars, darling.”

“Hey, now, cheeky! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were feeling absolutely fine, and perhaps I should take you back to school!” 

Nyx burst out into more laughter, shaking his head and clinging to you. Even if his movements did make it harder to carry him, you didn’t care, grinning at the enthusiasm and excitement on his face. As soon as you had the office door open, he was squirming in your arms to get down, racing over to the box in the corner the second his feet were touching the floor. 

Tearing off the lid, you flicked the light on, shutting the door and frowning as he began to pile toys up all along the floor. “Nyx, your dad just told you only one toy. Pick one, put the rest back.”

“But the cars all count as one, I have to get the whole set out!”

“Nope. You know that’s not how it works.” He scowled, but remained silent, making a point of pulling out the black truck with flames on the wheels, the one you hated, because it made terrible sound effects of grating engines and monster trucks. Piling the rest of the toys back inside haphazardly, the lid remained off the box, and he switched the volume up, glancing at you as he did. You only granted him a sigh, collapsing down into the plush leather chair of Rhysand’s desk.

Five minutes of watching Nyx push the truck around the floor and over every surface as he made car sounds himself soon slipped into ten. He changed toys to a small fluffy dog, and at fifteen minutes, an action figure. Just as he was setting up for his meeting with the plastic army man, Rhys appeared at the door, tugging his tie loose and smiling when you straightened in his chair. 

Tucking the tie down into his suit pocket, he circled the desk, eyeing Nyx on the floor, who didn’t even bother to look up from his life-or-death mission. Taking a seat in one of the cushioned meeting chairs on the other side of the desk, he turned a questioning gaze to you, raising an eyebrow.

“He climbed too high on the climbing frame at school, and slipped when another kid tried to help him down. He got all checked out by the school first aid, he’s totally fine. No dizziness or headaches or nausea, nothing wrong. Just a bruise and a bump.” It didn’t stop Rhys from worrying, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as his gaze moved back to his joyfully-distracted son. “Rhys.”

He didn’t look up, biting down on that lip harder. With one hand, he popped free the button on his collar, and the one below, taking a deep breath. 

“Rhysand.” With a firmer tone, you managed to gain his attention, a reluctant stare shifting to you, and you held your hands out across the desk, palms up. Wiggling your fingers, he placed one hand in both of yours, sighing sadly at the look on your face as you squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Nyx is fine, I made sure of it. I checked him out myself, signed the forms after reading them, and I’ve been keeping an eye on him. Look at him. He’s perfectly okay.”

“I’m sorry you had to leave work.” He whispered, ashamed gaze trailing to your joined hands, the edges of his lips barely flickering as you smoothed your thumbs over his knuckles. He squeezed a little harder, tugging a little closer, ensuring you weren’t letting go just yet. You’d had no intention to, anyway.

Tugging on your hands a little more, he guided you around the desk, back to your feet until you were standing before him, between his knees, and he could tip forwards to brace his head against your ribs. He still held tight to one of your hands, running his fingers over your skin now, but you managed to fight one hand free. With it, you patted his hair softly, smoothing over it until he let out a shaky but light breath. 

“Thank you.”

“You know I’d do anything for you two. Absolutely anything, you have nothing to thank me for, or say sorry for.” He only nodded, tipping his head up enough that the tip of his nose dragged over your skin, until his chin was propped there instead, glancing up at you.

“Not true, I’m thankful for you every single day.”

You willed your body not to react, not to give you away, other than the small smile you offered him, settling with your hand on the nape of his neck for a second. It was intimate, romantic, far too much for friendship, and the sudden flash of thought made your spine stiffen, and your hand retract down to sit safely on his shoulder instead. “Rhys?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Why does Nyx’s school have me listed as his mother?”

He blinked, once. “What?”

“When they called, they asked me if I was his mom, and I never got a chance to correct her before she was telling me everything. Then when I got there, she said it again.”

He was silent for a moment, before sitting up once again, disentangling himself from you and putting on an easy-going smile to match his shrug as he slumped back into the seat. “I have no idea. Maybe she just got confused, or forgot.”

“Okay…” You gave only a moment's pause, leaning yourself on the edge of the desk beside you, and crossing your arms. “Well, why does your receptionist think I’m your wife?”

“She’s new.” The words rolled off of his tongue so fast it was like he’d planned them, your brows shooting up a little. “I mean, you come in here carrying Nyx, and what else would she know?”

Despite his casual demeanour, a soft layer of pink tinged those tan cheeks, so faint you’d hardly notice it if you weren’t so good at reading him. His eyes studied you for a second, a deep look as he stared, gaze taking you in just as much as you seemed to take him in. There was a lull, a pause, like so many moments lately where the air seemed positively charged between you both, lingering on an adrenaline-filled precipice and just waiting for something to happen.

Rhys broke it, just a second before it would have become too much for you, too. Clearing his throat, he caught Nyx’s attention. “Why don’t we go and get some ice-cream, buddy? Put the toy away and we can go right now.”

“Before dinner?” The child’s eyes widened, throwing the army man into the box without a care for the way he slammed off of the wall, all love gone now at the mention of ice-cream. Clicking the lid back into place, you watched them interact in a daze, the joking and chatter becoming background noise. 

You’d never given yourself a chance to think before, too scared to get your heart broken and to lose them both, but a small flame of hope in the back of your heart had been steadily growing bigger and brighter, and it was starting to become hard to ignore. 

Only when a small hand slipped into yours did you snap out of it, Nyx swinging happily with one hand in yours and the other in his father’s, telling him all about the school work he’d done as Rhysand grabbed for his briefcase and coat. Once he’d acquired them, you were on the move, trailing through the building in much the same way, swinging Nyx between your bodies and letting him bounce excitedly at the prospect of frozen sugar before a healthy meal. 

As you wandered through the lobby, you took stock of yourselves, noting just how much the three of you really did resemble a family. The receptionist would be right to assume, simply from what it looked like. And, even if the teacher did know you hadn't been, from the number of mornings you’d dropped Nyx at school or picked him up at the end of the day, it could easily be misread as merely a development in a complicated relationship. 

Perhaps, it was nothing more than a misunderstanding, and Rhys was right. 

The butterflies in your stomach died down to a heavy weight. One of both relief, and disappointment you refused to acknowledge, the hot flush of anxiety cooling into a steady calm, and you were finally able to take a deep breath once again as you reached the car.

“We just need to grab his bag and forms from my car, and-”

“You’re not coming for ice-cream?” Rhys’ head snapped up from where he’d been looking down at his son, brows furrowing at you, and Nyx fell silent, turning to stare up with an identical look of confusion. 

“You don’t like ice-cream?” He echoed in his father’s tone, the two were far too alike for your good, and Nyx was nothing if not a clone of his father. One silver lining had always been that Nyx seemed to be 99% Rhys, only getting 1% from his mother. It was the smattering of freckles over his nose that only came out in the summer.

“Of course, I like ice-cream.” You tapped at the tip of Nyx’s nose and he beamed.

“So, you’re gonna’ come with us, then?” Your gaze moved from him, to Rhys, whose brows only furrowed further. 

“What’re you lookin’ at me for? You know you’ve always got a place with us. Frankly, if you decided to move in tomorrow, I wouldn't bat an eye.”

Your eyes rolled, and when you were looking back at him, he was grinning. “What about my car?”

“I’ll drive you back here to get it.”

“What about work?” You motioned to the building behind you, and he opened his car door, motioning for Nyx to hop up into the back. 

“I own the company, I can take off an afternoon to be with the people I care about.”

“What about-” He leaned in close enough that your noses almost brushed, a smirk forming on his lips at the hitch in your breath, cutting off your words.

“Shut up, get in the car, and let me take my family for ice-cream.”

You couldn’t breathe, never mind form a response, that word ricocheting through the inside of your skull like a bullet. Nudging you to the side, Rhys opened the passenger door, motioning you too, until you were sinking into the spacious car and letting him close the door behind you. 

By the time he’d strapped in his son and gotten into the car himself, you’d regained your calm and your ability to speak. “You’re bossy.”

“I’m the boss.”

“Not in this car, you’re not.” You muttered under your breath, his chuckle only dulled by the purr of the engine as the SUV roared to life. Setting the car into gear, he cast a cheeky look in your direction. 

“Oh, I know. You’ve been calling the shots here since the day I met you, and I’m just fine with that.”

He settled a hand on your knee, innocently enough, after turning on kid’s songs to match your car to keep Nyx happy. He never flinched, never even glanced at his hand on you, like it was the most normal and natural thing in the world. The scariest part, was that it felt exactly that way to you, too.

Nothing about it seemed wrong, or off, and the longer you stared at his hand, the more you wanted to take it. To lace your fingers together, set your hands in your lap after kissing his knuckles. Despite your attempts to push it down, it was seeming more and more like your ignorance of your situationship with Rhysand was making itself known.

It didn’t make sense. You were perfect together, in every other way, so why had he never made a move in this way? The spike of confused pain through your chest stung like a needle through the heart.

The drive to the ice-cream parlour didn’t give you much time to think, everything today was too fast, not enough time to think or clear your head. Before you knew it, you were pulled to a stop, Rhys climbing from the car to release his son who was practically tearing out of his car-seat to get to his favourite dessert store. He could have done with the run, the walk, anything to burn off some of that energy, but Rhys scooped him up into his arms, pressing several kisses to his son’s head, who only moaned and pushed at his father’s head.

He didn’t want kisses, he wanted sprinkles.

Too bad Rhys was beating himself up again about it all. Freeing yourself from the car to alleviate his worries, you squeezed his arm as you stepped out, shooting him a look to tell him that Nyx was more than okay. “One bumped head does not make you the world’s worst dad. Kids have accidents all the time, but look how happy he is right now.”

He didn’t need to look, shuffling his son to his hip and reaching out for your hand instead as he nodded. Lifting it up, he placed a kiss on the back of your hand before lacing your fingers together.

There was a bell tinkling over your head as Rhysand guided you into the cold store, looking for all the world, once again, like a real family, and you allowed yourself a few selfish seconds to eat it up. Finally, Nyx gained his freedom, darting over to the large glass display cabinet and plastering himself to the front of it as he took in all the flavours available today.

By the time the two of you had reached the front of the queue, he’d seemingly made up his mind, turning to stare at you both with a look on his face that could only mean trouble. 

“You pick what you want, bud?”

Rhys’ cautious tone meant he’d picked it up too, his hand squeezing a little tighter around your own when you chuckled, cutting you a glare as Nyx rolled on the balls of his feet and nodded. “I want the chocolate fudge, two scoops,” He held up two small fingers, for emphasis. “With chocolate sauce and the little fudge-chunk sprinkles.”

The woman behind the counter only laughed, staring down at him adoringly as he placed his hands on his hips, expectantly. Rhys’ eyes widened, his head shaking a little. “How about vanilla, with strawberry sauce, and rainbow sprinkles?”

“Ew, yucky, no.” Nyx’s face crumpled, and Rhysand’s jaw dropped, glancing from his son to you, and back. 

“It was your favourite last time.”

“But, this time my favourite is chocolate fudge with chocolate sauce and fudge chunks, Daddy!” Nyx stated it like it was obvious, and you tugged on your connected hands to bring an indignant Rhys’ attention to you. 

“Oh, let him have his chocolate-fudge extravaganza, he bumped his head.” Rhys’ only scowled, muttering under his breath about being ‘ganged up on’, before nodding to the woman behind the till but indicating for only one scoop. 

“You’re putting him to bed when he gets a sugar rush.” Was all Rhys could snipe back with, a smile forming on your lips against your control once again, letting him lead you over to the display stand as Nyx watched his ice-cream being constructed with rapt attention. Turning from the cabinet to you, he nudged his nose lightly against your temple, a feeling that had blood rushing to your cheeks and your head spinning at the intimacy. “The usual?”

“Yeah.” Your voice broke a little as you spoke the single syllable, and had you been capable of speaking properly at the time, you were sure you’d have been a little more embarrassed about it. 

“One raspberry victoria-sponge chunk ice-cream with, two scoops, and one triple-scoop rocky road.” He added to the order, the woman only nodding, piling them up on top of the counter as Nyx tried to reach for his, sparkles in his eyes as he stared at his sickly-sweet monstrosity in awe. 

Lifting it down for him, you stuck a wooden spoon into the cardboard cup holding it, a soft ‘thank you’ tumbling from his lips as he accepted it, cradling the pot patiently in his hands like it was a rare treasure. You remembered the same look being on Rhys’ face when he’d first held his son, the same tender and gentle astonishment, the shock in his eyes at something so special. You could only smile. 

“Darling,” Rhys tugged on your arm, your head snapping up from Nyx to look at him, only to find both his eyes and the servers on you. You hummed, brows raising, and watching Rhys balancing two ice-cream cones in his hand. “I said, can you get my wallet? It’s in my jacket pocket, your side.”

“Oh! Right, sure.” Twisting to him, he smoothed his thumb over your hand in silent appreciation as you rooted around the inside of his pocket, fingers brushing across worn black leather, and pulling it free. 

You were more than familiar with Rhys’ money and his cards, he often handed you a small fold of notes or one of his shiny cards whenever you took Nyx out or needed to buy something, refusing to ever let you pay, but you rarely held the whole wallet.

Flipping it open, your eyes scanned over the folds inside to search for the right card, but your gaze snagged on the fold of an image inside. Pinned lightly behind clear plastic, the image preserved perfectly, was a picture of you and Nyx. You remembered the moment clearly, you’d been out with the whole family, one of the rare moments that Azriel had been home at the same time Mor was back from travels and Cassian had a day off. Amren even freed the day up to sit in the park with you all, celebrating Nyx’s third birthday. Mor had been on her Polaroid camera hype, and you didn’t even know she’d snapped this picture. 

Nyx’s hands were on your face, pushing your sunglasses on upside down after he’d finished playing with them. He was stood between your legs, the sundress you’d worn that day still had small stains from the muddy bottoms of his shoes, but the smile on his face that was caught in the picture was worth it. You rubbed a hand over the plastic protecting it, treasuring that day with all of your heart, and uncovering Rhys’ writing at the bottom as you did.

‘My loves’.

“Darling, the purple card. C’mon, the ice-cream is getting warm.” He nudged you again, Nyx staring pleadingly from the ground below as he clutched his treat, still waiting, and you slipped the purple card out with your thumb. Tapping it against the car reader and being sure to add a tip to compensate for your daydreaming, you slid the card back, sliding the wallet back into his pocket as the three of you found a table.

Just because you could no longer see the picture, didn’t mean it, and, more importantly, the caption, wasn’t seared into your mind. My loves. If he truly felt that way, why hadn't Rhysand ever made a move? It didn’t make sense, you’d been here since before Nyx had even been born, almost a decade of best-friendship and flirty comments that never became anything more, while secretly harbouring a picture of you in his wallet and holding your hand, kissing your forehead and smiling in a way that read as far more than just friends.

You’d barely even settled into the booth before Nyx was digging into his ice-cream, and your hand finally being freed and you were given your cone. Twisting it around and towards yourself, your eyes narrowed a little on the chunk missing from the side, somewhere where an obviously large piece of cake had been pulled out, and your glare turned to Rhys.

“You ate some of my ice-cream?”

“We always share, stop acting so surprised about it.” He grinned, taking a large scoop from his own, and you scowled at him. 

“I hadn't even tried it yet, and you ate the best piece of cake!” He only smirked. 

“Do you want to try my ice-cream?” Nyx offered, and you turned to look at him across the table. His hand was gripping the spoon like he was stirring in a cauldron, the contents inside had been churned up into a gloopy mess, and he held a spoonful of it out to you, chocolate and fudge-covered cheeks stretched in a smile. 

“That’s okay, Nyxie, it’s all for you.” You passed your cone back to Rhys after unwrapping the napkin from around it. “Hold this, and don’t eat any more.”

He nodded dutifully, but eyed another piece of cake hidden within the ice-cream nonetheless, as he ate his own. There was a particularly large piece of dark chocolate with a marshmallow on the side of his own that he’d yet to notice, and you stored that away for revenge. Reaching across the table, you wiped at Nyx’s cheeks, unsure why you’d bothered since he was only going to end up in the same state again soon, but you did your best with the sticky mess anyway.

You gave up when he got ice-cream on your hand too, refusing to pause eating even when you tried to clean him up. Leaving the scrunched-up napkin on the table, his father only chuckled in your ear and handed you your cone back. Turning to him, you held out your other hand. Wiggling your fingers, his face pinched for a second, before he sighed, giving in. He pulled that same face every time, despite being right that you always shared, a victorious smile on your face. 

You made a point of turning the cone, flashing the delicious chunk of chocolate and marshmallow to him, watching his jaw drop to stop you, but not fast enough. Clamping your mouth down around it, you pulled the chunk free, chocolate melting across your tongue as you let out a moan of appreciation.

His eyes flared, leaning in and snatching his cone back, but leaving his face close enough to your own that when you licked over your lips, you almost licked him too. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Payback is a… well, you know the saying.” You smirked, ensuring not to swear in front of the child across the table from you both, and he only growled a little. His eyes flickered over your face, every spot his gaze touched made your skin burst out with heat, lingering for a moment on your mouth. He smirked, raising a hand, and brushing his thumb along the edge of your mouth as he pulled back a fraction.

“You missed a spot.” He breathed, thumb slipping to settle on your chin instead, and his eyes found yours once again. The air between you both crackled like it never had before, electricity sparking between you both again, but so much more intense. “I, uhm, I’ve been meaning to talk to you lately...”

“Yeah? Well, we never see each other, I can see how it’d be hard to find the time.” You teased, his softly sighed laugh brushing over your face as his gaze held yours. Smoothing his thumb along your jaw until he was cupping your face, it was only when a drop of ice-cream dripped from your cone and onto your finger, the cold sending a jolt through you that made you gasp and snap back. 

Glancing down at it, you winced, licking away any more drops that looked like they may fall, and using Nyx’s napkin to wipe your fingers. When you turned back to Rhys he was facing the table again, eating his ice-cream and acting as though nothing had happened. The bubble was broken, whatever he was going to say he clearly wasn’t planning on anymore, and so you let it pass.

You ate your ice-creams together, conversation steadily flowing onto other topics, far safer ones, no doubt, and you did your best to clean up Nyx’s face once again. Smears of chocolate covered his cheeks, and you knew Rhys would have to scrub it off later before bed. 

The ride back to the office was where you grew to regret convincing Rhysand to allow Nyx’s choice, his sugar rush beginning to kick in at full force. He screamed his songs at the top of his lungs, loud enough to make you both wince as you drove, bouncing chaotically in his seat and threatening to break right out like a miniature beast. 

The hand, now sitting on your lower thigh rather than your knee, squeezed at a particularly loud shriek as he played with the window settings, up and down, up and down. “This is your fault.”

“I know!” You wailed, glancing back at Nyx, who was all but vibrating as he rocked side to side, giggling hysterically to himself. “I figured the sauce would be sugar-free, and fudge isn’t that much sugar, it’s like-”

“It’s half sugar!”

“What?” Your eyes widened a little, turning to look at Rhys with wide eyes, and he contained his laughter as he watched the road, trying to tune out the din from the backseat. “Regardless, I apologise for this.” There would be no calming him now.

Rhys rubbed his hand up and down your thigh softly. “I already told you, that's your problem. You think I’m going to let you go home and leave me with this?”

“I have some very important work to do-”

“Liar.” He called your bluff, and you scowled, turning your glare on his hand as it set warmth firing along all of your nerves. 

When he finally pulled back into the parking lot, it was considerably emptier than it had been when you’d left, and he spun to park across two full spaces into place beside your car. He left the car with a happy sigh, closing the noise that his son was making inside the vehicle, and rolling his neck from side to side. Finally, he opened his son’s side, lifting the boy from his chair and setting him on the concrete, where he immediately began to jump up and down, holding onto his dad’s hand.

The pair accompanied you to your car, retrieving the school bags and taking them back to their own while you gathered the correct forms from the glovebox, meeting him by the back of the SUV that made your car look tiny in comparison. You pressed them into his hands, and he tucked them into the front pocket of Nyx’s bag, setting his son off to put the bags away, who remarkably, did as told.

“I know you said no thanks, but, thank you for today. I mean it, you were so wonderful. You’re always so wonderful, I couldn't do any of this without you.”

“Any time, Rhys. You know that.” He shrugged, hands tucking into the pockets of his smart pants, leaning against the side of the car only a foot away from you.

“I know, but that doesn’t make me any less lucky to have found you, and to get to keep you in my life.” 

Small padding of feet came rushing back, bags no longer in sight but a picture clutched in his hands to be held up in the air as he came to a stop. It was decorated with pieces of glued-on dried pasta, glitter and sequins, and some splatters of paint. The most important part, though, was the drawing at the bottom. 

You’d grown used to his style of drawing now, easily able to pick out what each scribble was supposed to be, or rather, who each scribble was supposed to be, and the attempt at writing underneath. It didn’t matter, though, because he was quick to enthusiastically point it all out. 

“Look, look! It’s us! This is daddy, in purple. And this is you in blue, because it’s your favourite colour. And this is me! I’m wearing a crown.” His chest puffed up proudly, the broken piece of pasta on his head acting like a crown, and you traced the words written in matching colours under each figure. 

Daddy. Nyx. Mommy.

Casting a look up, Rhys was staring at the paper, a horribly crushing mix of longing and pain in his eyes as he stared at it, throat bobbing in a swallow, before he was blinking it away. He’d always been good at playing another role, hiding his feelings when he needed to, but you’d caught him too many times. 

All the pining and want, you’d always assumed it had been for Feyre, for the missing woman who had birthed his son, but when his eyes met yours, the façade cracking just a touch, you allowed yourself to wonder if maybe it was for you. Whatever it was today, this last few months, it was something new. It was like those walls you’d built up were finally crumbling, he was fighting through his own, and he let out a shaky sigh. 

He let Nyx lower the photo, occupied with admiring his artwork. He leaned down, lips finding your cheek and lingering there in a soft kiss. You hooked a finger under his chin, twisting his head up until your noses were brushing, his eyes snapping open wide before you, as your lips brushed lightly. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was thinking about kissing you.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you second-guessed yourself, second-guessed it all. His hand found your hip, smoothing around to sit on your lower back and tugging you close enough that your chests pressed together, his forehead resting on yours. 

He didn’t pull away, he didn’t stop you, he just gave you your chance to decide. 

So, you did. 

You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a delicate kiss that set your stomach into a frenzy of butterflies, and drew a soft noise from Rhys as he tightened his hold on you. After only a second of hesitation, he kissed you back, a push and pull with his lips that was as intoxicating as it was grounding. You felt like you were floating, tethered only to him as you gave into a desire you never thought you could have, his lips melding to yours in slow drags. 

It felt like it went on forever, and you were certain that you could easily have stayed there, just like that, for the rest of your life. 

When he let you breathe, when your mouths fell only an inch apart, you wanted to nudge closer to him once again, to seal yourself back to him, to sink into him wholly and entirely and never come apart again. If the tight grip he had on your hip was any indication, Rhysand felt the same way.

The fog cleared after a few moments, and he shifted back some more, eyes fluttering open once again, and this time, they were filled with questions. Swirling in the violet like a storm brewing at dusk, and you lifted a hand, running a finger over his cheek lightly, and smiling when his head tipped into your touch. 

“I’m so telling Uncle Azzy that you kissed Daddy.”

You practically jumped out of your skin, having forgotten about the babbling little boy at your feet, who was now staring up at you both in nothing but shock and smugness, one hand planted on his hip as the picture that had sealed the deal hung limply from the other.

“Daddy and-” You scooped him up before he could even get started into that little riddle, the taunting making your cheeks warm, even if he was only four, and making your way back toward the car. Rhys shuffled along behind you in a silent daze, holding the door open for you and standing by as you tucked Nyx back into his car seat. He never gave up on his childlike-smirk. 

“How about some dinner, huh? A little someone can have his favourite mac n’ cheese.”

“It's me! It’s me!” He cheered happily, and you took the opportunity while his arms were raised to strap the belt around his waist, sealing him back into the chair as his arms strapped through the other two. “I’m calling Uncle Azzy tonight. And Uncle Cassie.”

“You do that, Nyxie.” You bopped the end of his nose, switching on the small TV set that was attached to the headrest to face his way, and watching it load up. You could feel Rhys’ stare burning into you, like a fire crawling along your skin, impatient and needy and desperate for answers, making you grateful for this small distraction as you scrolled the shows on the tablet.

Like a warning, a warning not to make him wait much longer, Rhys settled one large hand over your hip, squeezing tightly and tugging you a fraction out of the car towards him, a shiver travelling down your spine. You hit play on the first show up. 

Backing out of the car to close the door, you didn’t get far, Rhys didn’t move, only pulling your body back into his with the grip on your waist, slamming the door shut for you and leaving you pressed to him. In a quick spin, he had your back pressed to the cold metal of the car, out of sight of his son and closed in by your own, the cold metal making for a relieving contrast to the heat. 

“Do it again.” There was a pleading note to his voice, his sights fixed entirely on your mouth now as he bit down on his lower lip, his forehead coming to rest on yours. “Kiss me again.”

You took your time, teasing him just a little, by running your hands up his arms, over his shoulders as he tensed, until you were holding his face. He sagged closer to you, like he couldn't even hold himself up anymore, pinning you between his body and the car. With a sweep of your thumbs over his cheeks, his eyes closed, noses brushing in sweet motions until he gave an aggravated breath at the waiting.

At long last, you gave in, closing the gap between you both once again. This time, he let out a soft moan when your mouths connected. He kissed like a man starved, like a man who had waited every moment of his life for this. It was like your first taste of air after being underwater, his mouth insistent and unrelenting, like he was memorising the way it felt to kiss you.

You gave him all you had, committing every part of him to memory too. Every sound he made, the way he panted against your lips before diving back in, teeth scraping your lower lip and sucking softly, before following it with a sharp nip. He ruined everyone else, no kiss you’d ever had compared to this and nothing else ever would. 

When his tongue smoothed over your lower lip, you were forced to pull back, to try and think somewhat clearly, one of you had to, because if you let this go on anymore, you weren’t sure you could stop. His hand was already shifting, exploring, dragging his fingertips up your spine to tangle in your hair, and you lowered yours to his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to take a breath that didn’t taste like him. 

He groaned, licking over his swollen lips to take away the taste of you, his eyes darker than before when they found you again, and you pressed your lips together to fight temptation. “You should… you should get our boy home.”

At that, he blinked, his gaze softening endlessly at the endearing claim, and his hand let your hair go to slip back to your back. Pulling you closer, he pressed a wet kiss to your cheek, nodding against your temple as he left a kiss there too. When he pulled back, it was to simply stare. There was nothing hidden now, the kind of dumb-in-love look shining in his eyes that you couldn't miss. Had it always been there, and you’d just never seen it before, or had he just stopped hiding it?

“You okay, Rhysie?”

He melted into you at the nickname you rarely brought out, eyes shining as he continued to stare. “So, so very okay, darling.”

Silence lingered between you both, the same comfortable quiet it had been since day one. No matter what, no matter how anxious or nervous or rattling, Rhys always had a way of making you feel at ease. You felt so vulnerable, and yet so safe with him, voice coming out in a whisper to speak into the gap between you both, “Can I ask you a question, Rhys?”

“Are you going to ask me if we can have carbonara with chicken for dinner again?” He teased, putting your nerves even more at ease, or maybe it was for his own, by making a joke. 

You indulged him, “It’s a classic for a reason, because it’s so good. Besides, who said I’m coming for dinner, anyway?”

“You think there’s any way I’m going to be able to let go of you now?” He mumbled, head dropping down to rest on your shoulder instead, and you chuckled, feeling his lips press a soft kiss to your shoulder through your jumper. “What did you really want to ask?”

That brought the nerves back in full force. “Why did nothing ever, y’know, happen between us?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening to look at you, but no words came from his parted lips. 

“Don’t you ever think about it, Rhys? I mean, look at us. There’s so much that would work, and I guess-”

“Of course I think about it.” He breathed the words in a rush, and your jaw snapped shut as words finally began to pour out of him, unrestrained and uncontrolled. “I think about it all the time. Every minute of every day you’re on my mind.”

“Rhys…” He let out a slow breath, but there was no stopping him now. You’d uncorked the bottle, the contents unable to be stopped from spilling. 

“Since the day I met you all those years ago, I knew that I would hold onto you for the rest of my life. I couldn't let you go. But, I was a stupid kid who just inherited a company, and I was terrified of that. I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. You just dropped into my life and filled holes and cracks I didn’t know I had, you made me feel complete. I fell for you, so hard and so fast, and I was so godsdamned scared of that.” He looked away, unable to look at you any longer, and swallowing thickly. 

“So, we became friends…”

“So, we became friends.” He repeated, sighing like he couldn't hold the weight of the world anymore. “I thought, selfishly, that I could hold onto you as my best friend, until I was ready for more. That it would be fine. I was too slow, though, and you started dating Lucien.”

Your mind flickered back, hardly remembering the man you’d been with for only a couple of months almost six years ago, flashes of red hair and tanned skin in your mind recalling it.

“He was good to you, and I hated that. I hated him, but I wanted you to be happy. But, I was so miserable. I was so sickeningly, maddeningly, obviously in love with you, and I had to do something before you noticed. So, I dated Feyre. It wasn’t… we moved too quickly, too fast. I threw myself into it and then she got pregnant. Nyx came along, and she abandoned him. I thought I’d lose you too. I was scared again, but you stayed. You helped with everything, you made it better.” 

His voice started to crack, and so your arms raised, looping around his neck, pulling him in until his forehead was pressed to your own. 

“I wasn’t scared when you were there. You taught me everything, you stayed for every step. I knew within days that you should have been Nyx’s mother, that being with you like this was all I’d ever want, I started to want everything cliché, a white picket fence and a little house of our own and a street where Nyx could learn to ride a bike with us. I mean, I picked out the house you liked best from the viewings even though it was gonna cost so fuckin’ much to renovate and repair and clean, but it was so worth it.” He laughed emptily, and you sniffed back tears.

“I had no idea.”

“I know, I never told you. I wanted you to see your dream house without the guilt.” He rubbed at his nose, and you kissed his cheeks, feeling him smile under your lips as you did, stopping the tears clinging to his lashes from falling. “But, you were still with Lucien, so I settled to take what I could get. If having you as my friend, helping me raise him like this, was all I could ever have, I’d take it. Then, you weren’t, and I thought maybe you’d be heartbroken about your break-up, or sad, and I wanted to give you time. I gave you too much time, I was a coward, I was nothing but a lonely man who already had a son. I couldn't offer you all the things you wanted anymore. I couldn't travel or go out and party or do anything. I’m always working or with my boy, and I didn’t want you to be forced to take that on.”

You were shocked, his candour had left you breathless, and he sniffled lightly, blinking away the tears he was unwilling to let drop. “We broke up because of you.”

“What?” He let himself look up, to you, of all the expectations he’d seemingly braced himself for, this obviously wasn’t it.

“Lucien and I. He- he said, understandably, that it felt strange to have a relationship with a woman who was practically a part of another family. It made him feel like some sort of home-wrecker. He didn’t say it, and he never would’ve, he was a good man, but it was a choice. You and Nyx, or him.” Giving the best smile you could despite the emotions overwhelming you, he matched it with a watery laugh. “I didn’t even have to think about it. That’s why I was never sad.”

“You chose us.”

“I’ll always choose you.” Your smiles were real this time, shared and intimate and frighteningly tender. “So, the real question, is whether you’re still sickeningly, maddeningly in love with me?”

“You forgot ‘obviously’. I can’t believe you don’t know it, I haven’t been subtle. I tell everyone you’re my wife, and let them believe you’re Nyx’s mom.” Your scoff only made him smirk, smacking at his shoulder lightly, pushing him away only to have him grip you tighter, tugging you closer to him. 

“I knew those weren’t ‘little mistakes’, or miscommunications!” He only shrugged, dipping back in, every intention clear as he moved slowly. 

“I intended to tell you today, and so many other times, but I was always so scared of losing you.” The confession hung between you both, the unspoken promises and words as he tried to give you a chance to leave, to back away, to call it too much, but you didn’t. 

You let him kiss you, let him kiss you until your lungs burned for oxygen and your head was spinning, and it felt like hours had passed by as you learned one another’s mouths. You let him kiss you until you were sure he understood that you felt the same, that you always had.

“I still love you. I will always love you. You don’t just get over this kind of love.”

You could only grin at him, cheeks aching but you didn’t care, because you couldn't have contained your happiness even if you’d wanted to. “Good, because it would have been horrible if my feelings were unrequited.”

“Never.” A few more stolen kisses, mumbled promises between them. “So, you’ll follow us home for dinner?”

The leap in your chest at the word home was enough to make you breathless, the knowledge you now had that he’d chosen it just for you, in hopes you’d one day live with them. It was almost too much to bear. “Only if you’re making carbonara. And garlic bread.”

“I’ll make you anything you want if it means you’ll keep kissing me.” You hummed, pressing another peck to his lips before managing to disentangle yourself, despite his complaints and tight hold.

“I’ll see you soon, where we can continue this.”

“Don’t take too long, I’ll miss you too much.” He winked, looking messy and kiss-ruined as you stepped back to fully take him in. His shirt was rumpled, his blazer was a little askew, and his cheeks were flushed red, swollen lips to match. 

He was perfect. 

“Hurry home to us, darling.”

[bodhrancomedy]

Emmett and Sixsmith Reunited - Tocktick Bodhrán M.

Emmett stared in utter bewilderment.

If it hadn’t been for his friend’s distinctive accent or the birdlike tilt of his head and blink which meant he was waiting for an answer to a clever comment, he wouldn’t have known him.

Sixsmith had changed. It felt stupid to be surprised in the moment – five years was a long time when a man was approaching, no, just on the cusp now of seventy – but he’d been holding in his head that last image of Sixsmith standing at the corner, with a bag over his shoulder and flashing a cheeky salute. The last thing he’d seen before his oldest friend had been swallowed by the marketplace.

This Sixsmith’s hair was completely white and hacked close to his head, more an attack than a haircut. His stance was different: his left shoulder hanging lower than the other and he’d lost enough weight that his ribs showed eerily through his dark shirt, not helped by the prominent chest and shoulders characteristic of Taiyeks.

But it was his realising that it wasn’t paint on Sixsmith’s face which knocked the breath from his lungs.

Three long, puckered scars raked down the right side of his face, crossed by a shorter, thicker one from his eyebrow to his hairline. It twisted his face into a strangers’, a jigsaw not quite put back together right. It was almost as if someone had tried to keep a tally on his features and miscounted.

Sixsmith’s mouth twitched and abruptly curved into a wry smile. “I know ‘m pretty, Emmett, but not that much.”

“Six… I…”

“We dun’t have much time,” Sixsmith was pulling boxes and candles off the shelf, gaze flicking towards the door, “they start their little boxin’ matches in half an hour. Usually, they dun’t let me out of the –“

Emmett didn’t let him finish. Seizing Sixsmith in a frantic embrace, he managed, “They said you were dead, Six. I thought…”

He felt Sixsmith stiffen and he began to draw away in fear of having hurt him, but arms wrapped around his neck, keeping him close. An amused huff of air passed Emmett’s ear.

“An’ you believed them?”

“Well…”

“Idiot.”

A chuckle unearthed itself. “How long have you been here, Six?”

“A few months.”

Anger flared. Emmett shoved him away, heart thumping. “A few months? Months?”

“Emmett, please –“

“You’ve been here for months and you didn’t say? You let me think you were dead for months? What’s going on?

“Shhh!”

“Don’t shush me, Six, we’ve been sick with worry! Where the hell have you been?“

“Emmett, calm down –“

“Calm down? Four years of complete silence –“

“Shuddup!” Sixsmith clamped a hand over Emmett’s mouth. “Shuddup. You have to be quiet.”

Emmett, fingers tight about Sixsmith’s wrist, suddenly noticed that his hands were trembling.

Sixsmith bowed his head, inhaling deeply, and then spoke in a rush, “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everythin’, but right now, you need to be calm or we’re both fucked, alright? Understand?”

Tone had never been his strong point, but Emmett could read this one.

He nodded.

Sixsmith let go. “Sorry ‘bout that. But we really dun’t have the time.”

“Short version then.”

“I messed up an’ now if I dun’t get out of here soon, somethin’ really, really bad is gonna happen.”

“What? What’s going to happen?”

Sixsmith opened his mouth a few times and then looked away. “Bad. Just bad. Emmett, you gotta help me.”

Adrenaline surged through his veins. “How?”

“They’ve got me papers. Upstairs. Without ‘em, I can’t leave. I’d be picked up imm-im –“ Sixsmith worked his jaw, slamming a hand against his head – “at once by the coppers.” He smiled again, but humourlessly this time. “Not that that’s new.”

“Sixsmith, why do they have your…?”

“Dun’t worry,” Sixsmith clapped him on the shoulder, abruptly cheerful, “I think I’ve got a plan.”

[im-just-a-br0adway-baby]

Charlie and Vaggie always kept their sex lives as private as they could. However, whenever they needed advice for anything, they always went to Angel Dust. He had all the knowledge on the best positions and sex toys to use to spice up one’s bedroom life. He also knew the girls wanted to keep their sex lives private, so he knew they would not ask him for any advice unless they knew for a fact they were alone.

The girls had a question for Angel about different sex toys that he would recommend to keep them on their toes whenever they have sex. As much as they loved tribbing each other, which always led to an instant orgasm for both of them, they wanted to try some new things every once in a while. He decided to take them to an adult shop near the hotel that he frequents to show him some of his favorites.

“I’ve been going to this place ever since I started working for Val. Finding toys that worked for me was the only way I ever really got to blow off steam for real. The owner also gives me great discounts all the time,” Angel explained.

Charlie and Vaggie looked around the shop to see what kinds of toys they could use the next time they had their fun time together, which was more than likely going to be later that night. They looked around until the owner of the shop stopped them once he noticed Angel.

“Angel! Long time, no see! Do you need help with anything?” the owner asked once he walked up to Angel.

“Sure; this isn’t for me, though; it’s for my friends. They asked me about new toys they could try for themselves. They’re right over there.”

Angel moved slightly to the right to show Charlie and Vaggie looking around the shop at all the cool and strange sex toys that were on display.

“Isn’t that Charlie Morningstar? The Princess of Hell!? You never mentioned you were friends with Lucifer’s daughter! That’s enough for me to give you a seventy-five percent discount today.”

“Thank you; we became friends when I needed a place to stay and she and her girlfriend welcomed me in their place with open arms. We’ve all been super close ever since.”

“So, were you looking for anything specific?”

“Not anything specific; but maybe you could show them that double sided vibrator that I thought was super helpful for me. I let them try it one time and they liked it.”

The shop owner went to the back of the shop and Charlie came back to Angel after overhearing their conversation.

“You never let us use that vibrator before, Vaggie just took it from your room one time last year and you almost beat the shit out of us for that,” Charlie pointed out.

“I know; but I can’t just say that to people you just met. Besides, when you confessed, you both mentioned how it gave you a simultaneous orgasm that was so intense you didn’t think you were gonna get out of bed. You were very lucky I cleaned all my toys after every use, then I would’ve been angrier than I was.”

Vaggie walked over to Charlie and Angel with what looked like a small, pink breath freshener spray.

“Hey, Angel, what’s this? Do you spray this in your mouth or something?”

“Oh, that’s a mouth moisturizer. You’re supposed to spray it at the back of your throat so it moisturizes and numbs it during oral. It’s also strawberry flavored.”

“Have you tried this stuff before?”

“All the time; It’s my favorite thing to use before I shoot any oral scenes. I have this tendency to start gagging whenever I start sucking too deep. Val found it extremely unsexy so I started using this stuff and I stopped gagging on set during shooting oral scenes.”

“I don’t know if we need this, Vaggie, I feel like that’s only if something’s going to be scratching your throat, and that never happens when we do oral,” Charlie explained.

“I don’t know; I think it would feel pretty good to have something like this against our pussies when we eat each other out. Besides, who wouldn’t want their pussies to taste like strawberries?” Vaggie replied.

“Now that you mention that, I would love to use that now.”

The shop owner came back with the double sided vibrator that Angel mentioned to him. He gave it to Angel so Charlie and Vaggie can see if they like it.

“It’s going to need batteries, but this is the last one I have in stock.”

“Thank you! We’re gonna look around a little bit more,” Angel said before putting the vibrator in his bag.

“There should be some more strange toys that you know of that we could use some time,” Charlie mentioned.

“There is; one of my favorites is right in this corner.”

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel walked to the back of the shop to see a stock of rubber toys that are shaped like hammers.

“Vaggie! Look at this one! I’ve never seen anything like this before!” Charlie pointed out as she took one to examine.

“Are you familiar with this one, Angel?” Vaggie asked.

“I’ve seen a couple of ads for that, but I don’t have that one in my collection. I heard that many people have successfully got the entire vibrator inside them with only the hammer head sticking out.”

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other in disgust before looking at the vibrator again. “I don’t think we would even attempt that,” Charlie mentioned.

“You don’t have to; it’s a whopping eleven inches so I doubt most vaginas would handle that in the first place. I heard it gets the job done whether you rub it on your clit or stick it in your pussy.”

Charlie and Vaggie looked at each other, then at the vibrator, then back at each other. They shrugged at each other and put the vibrator in their bag. They did come there to find new ways to experiment in bed, so why should they not try this hammer head toy? The trio walked around the shop some more until Vaggie stopped to find a smaller rubber toy. This time, it had a little tip at the edge that looks like it is supposed to act as a tongue.

“I think I’ve seen this one before,” Vaggie mentioned.

“I think I have too. Isn’t that supposed to simulate oral?” Charlie asked.

“It is; I have one that’s somewhat similar, but it’s a little bit wider to fit me,” Angel explained.

“I’m guessing you like yours?”

“Yep; it depends on the parts and the size you want to get, but overall, this is perfect if you want an oral simulation.”

“An oral simulation sounds nice, but I don’t think any toy would replicate what you can do, Vaggie,” Charlie joked as she nudged Vaggie lightly.

“I’d say the same thing to you,” Vaggie joked as she nudged Charlie back and the girls giggled at each other.

Angel rolled his eyes and shook his head playfully when the girls stopped laughing. Charlie put the toy in their bag before going back to the front counter. He helped the girls take everything out of their bag and on the counter.

“Did you find everything okay?” the owner asked as he was checking everything out.

“We did; I told them about my favorite toys that I think they would like, and here’s what we found,” Angel answered.

The double sided vibrator, hammerhead vibrator, oral vibrator, and throat numbing spray were spread out on the counter as Angel paid for everything. Charlie and Vaggie put all the toys back in their bag once they were all paid for.

“I can’t wait to start using these toys tonight with you, Vaggie,” Charlie said as the trio walked out of the shop and back to the hotel.

“Why wait until tonight? We still have a lot of time before dinner to test these out,” Vaggie replied with a wink and a giggle.

Angel rolled his eyes again as the girls joked and giggled again. “I feel like I’m responsible for this and I created a monster,” he mentioned.

“Trust me, Angel, you didn’t do anything. We knew we had it in each other the whole time,” Charlie said as she looked at her girlfriend with that dreamy look in her eyes that she always has whenever she looks at Vaggie. 

Vaggie looked at Charlie back with the same dreamy look that she always has when she looks at Charlie. Angel shook his head again as the trio continued walking.

“Um… I think I should leave you two alone when we get back to the hotel.”

[gravityskittles]

Chapter 7: The Hands of Time are Fickle Things

Stan fidgeted nervously with the straps on his backpack. He didn’t like airports. He hadn’t been in one since his ill-fated trip to London back in the seventies. Even back then the amount of security had made him anxious. Now it made him feel a little bit like he was drowning.

A quick glance down at his watch told him it was just past two in the morning. Their flight out of Anchorage would be leaving in around an hour and they were waiting at the gate for the plane to arrive. Well, Stan was waiting. Ford had left a while ago to look for some coffee, leaving him alone with their bags.

Every five minutes some form of airport security would wander by, and every single time Stan felt like they were a moment away from grabbing him and hauling him off to some interrogation room somewhere and–No. That wasn’t going to happen, he was fine. He knew that it was okay. Ford had gotten him off the no-fly list, and had double and triple checked their luggage before they left the boat to make sure there was absolutely no reason for them to be stopped by TSA. He’d even made Stan put his brass knuckles in their checked baggage just in case. Stan didn’t think that the sleepy little False Pass airport would have cared very much if he’d had them in his carry-on, but Ford had insisted it was better to be safe than sorry. In the end he’d agreed only somewhat begrudgingly.

Another security guard walked by, and Stan felt his whole body stiffen in response. Cursing under his breath he pulled out his sweater project from his backpack. He almost hadn’t brought it. Their first plane out of False Pass hadn’t left until midnight so they had spent a few hours cleaning up the Stan O’ War II. Mostly they were making sure she was weatherproofed for the potential of at least a couple of months at anchor.

Then, Ford had gone off into the marina to settle up their advanced mooring payment, while Stan packed for both of them. The knitting project had been one of the first things he pulled out, but just looking at it made him feel a wave of fear and grief for Mabel and Dipper. In the end though he shoved it in, telling himself that bringing it meant he believed everything was going to turn out okay. Bringing it along meant he was planning to give it to Mabel. A healthy, living Mabel who was going to make it to her seventeenth birthday.

Besides, at least it was something to do with his hands. He took a deep breath and began to work slowly, doing his best not to drop stitches as he went. By the time Ford appeared with a cup of coffee and a breakfast danish for him, he’d gotten lost in stitch counting and the tinny elevator music playing over the speakers in the concourse.

“Apologies, that took longer than I had anticipated.”

Stan jumped slightly, and then cursed himself silently as he saw Ford take a worried step back.

“No worries. You jus’ startled me is all. Forgot where we were for a moment.” He responded gruffly, shoving the knitting supplies back into his bag and taking the coffee from Ford’s hand. He glanced up at his brother and sighed as he saw genuine fear spark in Ford’s eyes. “I don’t mean actually forgot, Sixer. My memory’s fine today. I just got a bit caught up in stitching, the security was makin’ me nervous.”

“Oh.” Visibly relieved, Ford sank down into the chair opposite him, and pulled out their laptop from his bag. “We should be able to start boarding soon, I just want to see if we’ve gotten any word from Fiddleford.”

Stan shook his head, amused. Someday he really needed to teach his brother to hide his emotions better. He took a sip of his coffee and gave an appreciative hum, it was sweet and light, exactly how he liked it. Back when he was still regaining his memories, Ford had tried to trick him into believing he’d always liked black coffee. He was sure it had something to do with sugar being bad for him or whatever, but he had remembered on the first sip that he hated it. Instead of telling Ford though, he had started serving Ford coffee with increasing amounts of sugar in it. He told him that he remembered one of them liked it sweet, so if it wasn’t him, it must be Ford. The idiot had continued to drink it too, probably feeling guilty about either the mind wipe or the lying. Dipper had put a stop to it in the end, telling them both off like a disappointed parent, and Stan had gotten to go back to drinking his coffee with enough sugar in it to rival Mabeljuice.

He smiled to himself. He wasn’t quite ready to let himself believe that things were going to turn out okay. Up until four summers ago his life had been one long series of bad calls and traumatizing losses. He still wasn’t ready to accept that things were different now. But in the back of his mind, just far back enough that he was able to pretend it wasn’t there, the joy of imagining Dipper and Mabel living with them full time, glimmered.

Ford snapped the laptop shut and the happiness dissipated. Stan knew that to get that future the first thing they had to do was actually find their niblings. From Ford’s annoyed expression Stan assumed that there was still no word from Fiddleford. He glanced at his watch, ignoring the sick feeling as he noticed that the kids time was still stuck on midnight, he said, “Ford, it’s like four am their time. McGucket is probably asleep still.”

Ford sipped at his coffee sullenly. “Soos responded to you when you emailed him.”

“Yeah well, Soos doesn’t have deathbots to distract him in his spare time. Anyway, the kid still has a weird obsession with me. Probably has some sort of alarm hooked up to his computer that tells him when I email him.”

Soos had responded almost immediately to Stan’s email earlier in the night, asking him to pick them up from Portland when their flight got in. They had decided that, since they didn’t know where the kids were, their best bet was to go back to Gravity Falls for the time being and try to figure out next steps from there. Stan had advocated for flying straight to DC and knocking some sense into Mike and Martha, but Ford had talked him out of it, telling him it wouldn’t solve anything for the twins. It probably wouldn’t, but Stan still felt like it would make him feel better. Eh. He still had connections in the American underworld that probably didn’t hate him. Maybe he’d call in an old favor or two once they had the twins safely home.

“Perhaps Fiddleford doesn’t want to help.” Ford groaned. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame him. I did destroy his life, I have no real right to ask anything of him anymore.”

“Ford, stop. You being mean to yourself solves nothing. Also, aside from some of his problems being his own damn fault, he forgave you years ago. The man didn’t kit out our boat in the latest and greatest alien and McGucket labs tech ‘cause he hates ya.”

Ford blinked at him, owlishly. He looked exhausted, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and he had stubble growing in that he hadn’t had time to burn off before they left. His hands were shaking a bit, either out of anxiety or because this wasn’t his first cup of coffee since they had gotten here. Stan suspected it was likely the second option. With the addition of genuine shock on his face he looked a little bit insane.

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“You have,” Stan responded drily, “but you get a lot harder on yourself when you’re tired and have multiple cups of coffee back-to-back.”

Ford winced and set down his coffee guiltily. “I apologize. You’re correct. I know I’m being irrational but truly the coffee was just because I’d prefer not to sleep until we’re safely back in Gravity Falls.”

Stan frowned at him. “Why, Poindexter? Staying awake on a plane where we have no internet or way to contact the kids seems a bit silly.”

Ford fidgeted with his hands, pulling repeatedly at his extra finger, and distinctly not looking at Stan. Almost without meaning to, Stan started cataloging the actions. Learning peoples’ tells had become second nature to him on the road. In some ways it had been even more important in the years he spent running the Mystery Shack. Knowing enough about how people work means knowing exactly which buttons to push to get them to buy overpriced merchandise. Fidgeting meant anxiety, fidgeting with his fingers specifically meant embarrassment, and not looking at Stan could mean a couple things but, in this instance, probably meant whatever was bothering Ford had to do with him.

He sighed. “Spill, Ford. I know you’re anxious about something that has to do with me, but you’re embarrassed to tell me. Probably because you think I’ll tell you you’re bein’ silly or something.”

There was that surprised owl look again. Ford stopped fidgeting with his hands and picked up his coffee instead. “Look Stan, it’s just. You haven’t really been on a plane in years. I’m just worried it might cause memory resurgences, and we aren’t exactly equipped to deal with those in the air.”

“We’ve flown on a plane once today already.”

“It was a tiny plane and a relatively short flight. This flight will be packed and much longer. Also, you’ve been spacey since we got here. That type of derealization tends to occur prior to memory resurgences.”

He took a breath, probably about to continue his anxious ramble, but Stan cut him off. “Look Ford, I’m pretty sure I’ve only been on a plane a couple times in my life and I already remembered the London trip years ago.” Ford opened his mouth again, but Stan continued, talking over him, “More importantly, it doesn’t matter. We have to get on the plane and if I have another memory thingy, we’ll figure it out. Can’t be harder to figure out in the air than it was when we were fighting the Arctic Kraken that one time.”

Ford shuddered at the mention of it. Stan wasn’t too fond of the memory himself; he didn’t like having memory lapses in general, but it’s much worse to suddenly not know who you are or where you are while in the process of being picked up by a very violent squid. He knew he was right though, and after thinking about it for a minute Ford seemed to relax a bit.

“Okay, okay. That’s a fair point. Just let me know if you feel anything coming on, okay? I’m still worried about how out of it you’ve been today.”

The announcement for boarding crackled through the staticky concourse speakers and Stan stood, pulling his backpack on and offering a hand to Ford. “Don’t worry about me, everything’s gonna’ be just fine.”

…

Everything was not fine. Oh, his memory was fine. Absolutely no hiccups there. But Stan had decided he still really didn’t like heights. A ladder was probably fine, hell he’d probably even be fine standing on the water tower too. The first flight had been over water. A dark void that gave no real indication of how high they actually were. He had spent the first flight looking at constellations out the window and pretending they were in a car driving down the highway at night. The thrum of the engines was close enough to tires, and there hadn’t been any turbulence. Now though, they were flying over major cities. Even worse, the sun was starting to rise, making it increasingly clear just how far away from the ground they actually were.

He quickly slid the window shade shut, trying to block out the dizziness that was building in the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and leaned back, trying his best to re-convince himself that this was actually a car. He’d almost managed it too, when Ford suddenly grabbed his arm and hissed “He found them!”

Stan looked over blearily at his brother. Ford had been typing away on their laptop since the plane had reached cruising altitude, but he initially had ignored it. After all it wasn’t like they had an internet connection up here, so whatever Ford was doing was likely not that important. But oddly enough he seemed to have his email open.

“What are you talking about?”

“Fidds got back to us! He found a police report from Page County, Virginia!”

“Ford, there isn’t internet on airplanes.”

Ford waved his hand dismissively. “Things have changed since you were last on a plane, there is internet, you just have to pay for it. It’s a little slow but works well enough.”

Stan shrugged, pulling the laptop towards him, and started to read the email from McGucket, which had a copy of the report attached to it.

At 23:30 last night officers responded to a break-in alarm from the Luray Caverns entry gate. Upon arrival to the parking lot at 23:45 officers spotted two teenagers in a purple Toyota with vanity plate WADDLES. When the suspects saw officers approaching, they left the parking lot quickly and officers pursued to ascertain any potential connection to the break in alarm. The purple Toyota did not pull over or slow down for the pursuing patrol cars and proceeded to speed and drive recklessly, while fleeing the scene. At around 00:00 officers reported seeing a woman in the road, directly in front of the purple Toyota. The Toyota appeared to collide with the woman and then officers lost track of both the vehicle and the pedestrian. No wreckage or remains have been found at this time. Officers are on the lookout for the purple Toyota or any reported sighting of the teenagers or the woman involved in the disappearance.

There was more to the report, something about a picked lock on the entry to the caverns and damage to a national monument. But Stan couldn’t seem to get himself to process the rest of it. The words kept blurring out, and a strange ringing noise was beginning to fill his mind. Officers lost track of both the vehicle and the pedestrian. He shook his head trying to clear it, and tried to push the laptop back to Ford but his hands didn’t seem to be cooperating with him. A woman in the road.

A

Woman

In

The

Road

He felt the laptop fall to the floor, then everything went white.

…

Stan was driving. He wasn’t entirely sure what state he was in currently. He’d started driving in North Carolina but he wouldn’t be surprised if at this point he’d crossed into at least South Carolina if not Georgia. He normally tried to be more mindful of where he was, never wanting to accidentally end up in a place he wasn’t supposed to be, but all he had cared about today was putting as much distance between him and Jimmy as possible.

He absently rubbed at the bruise he could feel forming under his eye. He’d gotten enough of that shit from his father, he didn’t need to put up with from his, well, whatever Jimmy had been, he didn’t need to put up with it from him either. Of course Jimmy had thrown him out when he had said that ‘cause when had standing up for himself ever actually worked out well for Stan Pines. The second he stopped letting himself be everyone’s punching bag or doormat was the same moment when everyone decided they didn’t need him anymore. The worst part was he’d actually thought Jimmy cared, actually thought for a moment there that Jimmy might apologize, might try and make things right. Serves him right for believe people cared about him. That’s what happens when you get attached, he reminded himself angrily, that’s what happens when you pretend to be worth something to people.

The Stanleymobile hit the rumble strip on the roadside and Stan jerked the wheel back center, heart pounding. Fuck, he really needed to stop somewhere. He’d been driving for too long; he was starting to get lost in his head instead of focusing on the road. He knew from experience that meant he was getting dangerously close to falling asleep. He squinted into the dark searching for some sort of exit sign or rest area. All he really needed was a safe place to pull off, it wasn’t like he actually had the money to stay anywhere. His prize money from his most recent boxing match was back in the apartment with Jimmy and he knew he wouldn’t be getting that back.

He rubbed at his eye again. Damn, that bruise really hurt. He hoped Jimmy hadn’t fractured something, that wouldn’t be fun to deal with while it healed.  Suddenly there was a shape in the darkness ahead of him and Stan reflexively slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt just before colliding with a young woman standing by the edge of the road.

She looked like she couldn’t be any older than sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was dark and curly, with a couple of small braids at the front. Even though it was January she was wearing sandals and a short yellow sundress with a denim jacket covered in patches. She didn’t seem to have a bag with her or anything and as she looked up at him she stuck out her thumb like a hitcher and gave him a gap toothed grin that reminded him somewhat painfully of himself at her age.

While most parts of his mind were screaming that it was a trap, the rest of him felt an intense rage that someone had let a child wander around alone on a highway in the middle of the night. He could have killed her if he hadn’t been paying attention, and he damn well wasn’t going to let anyone else do the same. Anyway, he could use the company, it would stop him falling asleep.

He rolled down the window and unlocked the doors, “Where ya headed kid?”

“I’m just trying to get home. Can you help me?” She gave him another nervous smile and the part of Stan that was longing to ask, “What’s in it for me?” softened.

“Of course, kid. Hop in.” He cleared empty chip bags and cigarette cartons off the seat and surreptitiously shoved a half empty handle of vodka under his jacket in the back.

They started driving again and he glanced over at her, in the weak light from the occasional streetlamp she looked almost transparent at times, and she seemed to be shivering a bit despite her jacket. He fished around in the back seat for his red hoodie and handed it to her, hoping she wouldn’t mind the holes in it which he hadn’t had time to patch up yet. She shrugged it on happily and he was pleased to see that her shivering stopped fairly quickly. “What’s your name?” He asked quietly.

“Daisy. Daisy McAll.”

Stan paused for a moment rifling through his various aliases but something in her face stopped him and he sighed. “I’m Stanley Pines, it’s nice to meet ya. If you don’t mind my asking, what’s a kid like you doing all alone out here at night? It’s dangerous for you to be walking on the side of a highway in the dark, I almost hit you.”

She shrugged, “I know, but you didn’t, so it’s okay. I was at a party with some friends, and they were driving me back home, but they’d had a bit too much to drink.”

Stan nodded knowingly. “So, you told them you’d rather walk? Smart kid.”

She smiled a little sadly. “Yeah, something like that.”

They drove in silence for the next twenty minutes or so before she directed him down a series of small backroads near the town of Woodcliff Georgia. Stan knew something was wrong the moment they reached the house. There was a for sale sign in the front yard that was rusted and bent, and several windows in the old house were boarded up. Weeds choked the driveway and the yard was overgrown save for a spot under the large willow tree near the house which seemed to have a gravestone of some sort next to it and a bouquet of flowers on it, although they seemed old and dry.

“Are you sure this is the right house kiddo? It doesn’t seem like anyone has lived here in a while.”

Daisy stared at the house with an expression of such intense sadness and longing that Stan wanted to reach out and give her a hug. He didn’t because he didn’t want to invite a second punch to the face today, so instead he settled for gently patting her hand where it rested on the center console. It was freezing cold despite the fact that she was no longer shivering, but Stan didn’t pull his hand back.

“Is there somewhere else I can take you? You don’t have to tell me what’s really going on but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.”

She turned and smiled at him sadly. “Thank you, I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it helps to come here every so often.” She pulled her hand out of his and ran it through her hair, giving a tired little laugh. “What do you say I get you a meal? I know a great diner close to here.”

Hoping it wouldn’t be an abandoned diner, Stan followed her directions back out of the neighborhood to the highway. At some point there was a weird flash, almost like a car behind him had flashed its brights in his rearview mirror, but there was no car there. The diner appeared around the next turn and he pulled into the lot.

He and Daisy each got a burger, and she ordered him a chocolate milkshake as well. He hadn’t had chocolate in a long time, and it made him think of days spent on the boardwalk with Ford growing up. The memory hurt. He didn’t finish the milkshake.

He must have fallen asleep at the booth, dozing off in the warmth and low murmurs of conversation from around them. When he woke up, it was morning, and he was asleep in the front seat of the Stanleymobile. For a moment he thought he had dreamed it all, until he looked to his right and saw his hoodie folded neatly on the seat next to him. Sitting on top of it was a to-go box of fries and a single yellow daisy.

Later that day he drove back to the house Daisy had directed him to last night. In the light of day the gravestone was easily visible and, after spending a while in his car, waiting to make absolutely sure no one was currently living in the house, he walked up to the grave. It read:

 Daisy McAll 1955-1972  Loved By All, Gone Too Soon.

Something tightened in his chest as he did the math. She’d only been seventeen, and she’d already been dead for three years. He placed the bouquet of daisies he’d purchased in town on the grave stone, clearing off the old one. The florist had laughed when he had asked about it, telling him every few months or so someone would come in asking for one and he had no idea what made them so popular. That had made Stan smile a bit, good for her, hustling people for flowers. She deserved it.

He stood there for a while, in silence. Then he turned and walked back to his car. He didn’t believe in God, hadn’t in a long time, but as he sat in the car before pulling away, he found himself giving a small prayer up to the universe that wherever she was, Daisy could eventually find peace. No one deserved to wander the roads for their entire life – or afterlife as it may be. He headed back out for the highway, and then his vision dissolved into darkness and lots of overlapping voices.

…

Stan was back on the plane again, with an absolutely splitting headache. It was most certainly not being helped by Ford and what he assumed was a stewardess and several passengers having a loud argument next to him. He groaned and slowly uncurled himself from the position he had collapsed into, half on the floor and half in his seat. His bones really weren’t made for airplanes, he decided.

“Can everyone please stop yellin’?”

He hated how fast a hush fell around them. He wanted nothing more than to go lie down for a while and process this information, preferably alone in the dark on a bed. But given that that was impossible, at the very least he wanted to not be made a public spectacle.

Ford gently placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles into the portal scar with his thumb. “Are you okay, Stan?”

A slightly hysterical passenger standing in the aisle gasped out, “Of course he’s not okay, he just had a seizure!”

Stan cast a glance over at Ford who gave a shrug, he was letting Stan take the lead on this one apparently.

“‘M fine.” He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I’m fine,” he said again, turning on the Mr. Mystery charm and rifling through his head for a suitable story. “I haven’t had a seizure in a while, so it was just unexpected is all. Normally I have a service dog with me, but due to a family emergency we had to fly out on short notice and weren’t able to bring him with us.” He glanced around at the pitying worried faces, and brightened the confident smile on his face, time to reel ‘em in. “I appreciate your concern, but I truly am fine now. My brother has plenty of experience with my condition and it's extremely unlikely I'll have any other issues on the flight.”

Nodding to themselves most of the passengers dispersed. Ford pulled the flight attendant back to ask for water and some aspirin, promising to call her right away if anything else occurred, then turned back to Stan.

“Shows over.” Stan grumbled, massaging his temples with his hands. “Fuck, that hasn’t happened in a while.”

“I told you I was worried about this, Stanley.”

Stan stiffened for a moment, but Ford didn’t sound annoyed or upset with him, and his hand stayed reassuringly warm on Stan’s shoulder. He just sounded worried.

“Well.” Stan looked over at him with a half-smile, “It had nothin’ to do with the plane, so you were at least half wrong. Anyway, it wasn’t a bad memory exactly. More just kind of sad. You’ll probably find it fascinating though.”

“Stan!” Ford sounded reproachful. “I don’t think your sad memories are fascinating! Just because I write them down—”

“Didn’t say you did, Sixer. Now be quiet until the aspirin kicks in. I promise I’ll explain everything once this damn headache goes away a bit.”

He leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes, determined not to look at Ford. It hadn’t been a bad memory. In fact he was pretty sure he’d forgotten that memory long before he’d, well, lost them. That was another part of his memory loss he hated. Some things he’d lost on purpose, long before the memory gun, and at least most of his other bad memories were dulled by distance and time. But regaining them was like living them over again. It felt real in every possible way. Sometimes it was very difficult for him to actually remember that they were just memories, that the here and now wasn’t just a dream he’d cooked up for himself on the run, or in prison. In the end Ford or the kids always pulled him back out of his head and set him right again, but sometimes the lingering wrongness of it all could last for days. After all, this had been his dream for so many years that he’d given up on it ever being a possibility. He couldn’t be blamed for having trouble believing it was actually real.

He was a little surprised he’d forgotten that particular memory though. He’d forgotten a lot of stuff to do with Jimmy on purpose, and the weeks he’d spent on the road after leaving for the final time were still lost to the memory gun. He could feel the holes in the story, burned like long scars into the timeline he had been piecing back together for almost four years now. He truthfully would be happy for them to stay lost, but he could feel them drifting around just out of reach, brought back to the surface by the memory of Daisy McAll. They’d probably start trickling back in bits and pieces over the next week if previous experience was anything to go by. No, he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t remembered leaving Jimmy’s place, what shocked him was forgetting the first truly weird encounter he’d had on the road.

He knew there had been others after that, he remembered not being surprised the first time he chased a gnome out of Ford’s trash cans a few days after the portal incident. So, he knew that he’d brushed up against weirdness enough times to know there was more out there than the occasional ghost and the Jersey Devil. He just couldn’t seem to find any of the memories at the moment, and without anything more to go on than a gut feeling of weirdness, he knew he was unlikely to get them back anytime soon.

The headache faded as they began their descent into Portland. Stan kept his eyes resolutely shut however, until they finally touched down on the tarmac and rolled to a stop at the gate. The headache may have faded but the nausea at the idea of falling out of the sky certainly hadn’t, so he didn’t actually begin to explain things to Ford until they reached a small café near the baggage claim.

Soos had texted letting them know he was around a half hour away due to traffic and the plane landing a bit earlier than expected. Ford had collected their suitcases from the baggage claim, and there was a steaming mug of hot chocolate sat in front of both of them. He supposed he couldn’t really put it off any longer.

He retold the story as accurately as he could. He left out the parts about Jimmy, not that he really thought Ford would care, but he didn’t want to give Ford something else to try and blame himself for today. As if Stan’s poor taste in men or women had ever been anything but his own fault. Everything else he was honest about though, including leaving the daisies on the grave, which made Ford smile at him and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “softie” into his hot chocolate.

When he finished Ford didn’t say anything but pulled out their laptop and typed away for a moment before turning the screen towards Stan. It was a photocopy of a newspaper clipping on some archive website. The photocopy was grainy, but the headline was still readable. Drunk Teenage Driver Collides With Guardrail, Killing Himself and All Four Passengers. The date on the clipping read April 1972, and the photos of the five victims were printed below the story. Most of them were too blurry to make out much detail, but the final one felt familiar to him, he didn’t have to read the name printed beneath it to know it said Daisy McAll.

Something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was tight, released. He had known this was real, after everything in Gravity Falls, hell, after everything he and Ford had encountered in the last few years, it had to be real. But some tiny part of him had wondered back then if he was going crazy. The loneliness, the years of travel and running away, every time he’d seen something like this, he’d felt just a tiny bit closer to losing himself.

He smiled and passed the laptop back to Ford. “That’s her.” Ford took the laptop then reached down for something in his bag before hesitating. Stan could see the gears spinning in his brother’s head. He knew Ford wanted to write all this down more than anything, but he also knew that there was a ritual to how they did this; Ford may not like the ritual very much but he followed it anyway. The ritual had been established early on, when it became clear the memory recovery was going to be a process and not a quick fix. First, he explains the memory when he’s ready, Ford listens and does not interrupt. When he is finished talking, Ford can ask questions and, if he wants to, Stan can answer. Then, when Stan leaves the room Ford can write everything down, but he has to wait until then. Stan understands the value of recordkeeping, especially when the stability of his memories is still less than solid, but he doesn’t like sitting there and being Ford’s specimen.

Ford sat back up and drums his fingers on the table. “Okay, what exactly sparked this memory, Stan? You’re correct that it doesn’t have anything to do with planes, but I’m not entirely sure what on earth caused it.”

Stan frowned at him, “Isn’t it obvious, Poindexter?”

Ford looked even more confused. “No? I don’t think so anyway, we were just talking on the plane, and you were reading the email from Fiddleford—”

“Correct.”

“Stan, Fidd’s email didn’t say anything about ghosts.”

“Not directly, no.” Stan gazed at Ford for another moment before sighing and tugging the laptop back out of his brother’s hands, pulling up the police report. He handed it back to Ford saying, “Read it again.”

He saw the moment the lightbulb went off. Ford’s eyes widened and he lurched for his backpack, pulling out his journal and flipping through the pages frantically. “You think the kids—you think they picked up a hitcher?”

“Well, not exactly? I don’t really know how these things work but I’m pretty sure that diner I told you about wasn’t exactly a real place so to speak? Like maybe it was a ghost diner? I know that sounds stupid but—”

“That’s not stupid Stanley, that’s brilliant!”

“It is?”

“Yes! The ghost roads are a huge part of American folklore, but I’ve never paid very close attention to them because it always felt too vague to be real. Similar to the myth of the American cross-roads devils, no clear reason they come, no clear way to get to them, just anecdotes passed down through oral history. But with what you’ve just described to me Stan, and the way that the police report describes them just vanishing, I think it's entirely plausible that they managed to use a ghost to pass into the ghost roads to escape the police!”

“Do ghosts make your phones stop working?”

“It’s possible! There hasn’t been a lot of research on it but it's likely that the general aura of weirdness that surrounds things like that would have a strong adverse reaction to more modern technology.”

“Gravity Falls never seemed to have much of a problem with it.”

“Eh” Ford shrugged, “Gravity Falls has been steeped in weirdness since its very inception, I wouldn’t be surprised if the technology just adapts to the weirdness there over time. You said when you woke up you were back on the road right, and it was the next morning?”

Startled by the sudden conversation change Stan paused, sorting through the memory again before answering. “Yes, I think so. Maybe when the sun rises, or when enough time passes the living are forced back into the real world?” He trailed off and stared at Ford for a second, then they both simultaneously checked their watches. Sure enough, their time read 8:30am and the kids time slot read 11:30am. Wherever they were, time was moving correctly again.

Stan and Ford pulled their phones out in sync but Stan got there first, dialing Mabel's number while Ford froze, staring at his phone screen. Stan ignored him, heart pounding as he waited. The phone rang and rang before eventually cutting to voicemail. Stan almost hung up, but something stopped him so instead, he waited through the cheery voice of his niece until the beep. “Hey sweetie, call us back, okay? We love you both and just want to get you home.”

He hung up and glanced at Ford who was still staring at his phone in silence. “You gonna call Dipper or what?”

Ford shook his head then slid the phone across the table. On it was a single notification, unread message from Mabel Pines. It was dated from yesterday afternoon. Ford pressed play:

“Hey Grunkle Ford. It’s Mabel. Dipper is also here but he’s driving right now. We tried to call Grunkle Stan too, but his mailbox was full. We should have called you both earlier, like a lot earlier, and I know you’re probably really mad at me for just leaving and not calling you. We’re really sorry about that, it’s mostly my fault anyway, I was just worried that—Well, nevermind, not important right now.” She took a deep breath before continuing. 

“What is important is we’re on our way to Gravity Falls! Sort of. We’re in West Virginia right now anyway. I’m calling now because we need help. And to be honest I don’t know if it’s something you guys can help us with but, something is wrong with time? Because everything says it's New Year’s Eve, 2015. And it shouldn’t be!!” She was speaking faster now, voice blurring with panic and a slight hysteria that set Stan’s teeth on edge.

“It really shouldn’t be, because yesterday was New Years Eve, and we found a Hide-Behind and a Grimadillo and got chased by the cops and I—I called you! We called you at midnight and then. And then everything went wrong. We don’t know what to do, and our clock is broken as well. And I don’t know that it's relevant, but Dipper said it might be ‘cause he knows you guys put alien tech stuff in it to link to your watches. But it broke last night when we ended up in the ghost world, all the hands stopped where they were at midnight our time.”

There was a long silence and for a moment Stan thought the message was over. Then there was a long sigh and a sniff before she kept talking, it was clear that she was crying.

“We don’t know what to do. We’re going to keep going to Gravity Falls and just sort of hope that we figure it out. I don’t even know if this message will get through but, we love you guys and we’re so sorry for everything.”

There was a click, and the message ended.

[ghcstlies]

✦ ・ the yawning seagull. terry & ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴀ. [ @rococovariations ]

God only knows why this place has regulars. Andrea’s forced to be here — she works here, for nickels and dimes and a place to sleep, and she doesn’t necessarily make things better with how creatively careless she gets with the stove top sometimes. Recipe books are meant to be followed, you know, Dave had said to her incredulously the first couple of unfortunate instances, and Andy had done little else but pout up at him pathetically and apologize again for her inability to ‘follow basic instructions.’

It’s a miracle that still works. She imagines Dave must be a terribly lonely man.

She’s not complaining. It’s not her business whether or not people enjoy being miserable. No, she’s just here for a laugh and a couple of bucks, then she’ll be on her way to some other small town somewhere in Jersey, maybe — Michael hates Jersey, last she recalls. Maybe it’ll deter him from spamming Andy with as many texts as he has been, as of late.

And anyway, some of the regulars are interesting. There’s Paul, who leaves the building to smoke in between every five bites like he’s got a compulsion of some sort, and Roger, who’s told Andy he lost his taste buds years ago ‘in the war,’ though he never exactly specifies which war, or how one loses their taste buds in it. There’s Lea and Dorothy, two women in their seventies who’ve been coming here every week since they were in their forties, apparently, and some new shitty cook who doesn’t know her ‘salt from her sugar’ isn’t going to change that. She admires their stubbornness almost as much as they detest the mere sight of her.

There’s Terry, too. Only reason Andy really knows their name is because they do eventually hand their card over to pay for the shitty food they’re eating — and she’s found it difficult to get a read on them. Thrice a week, like clockwork, nearest table by the entrance, right next to the window, same unmistakable aura, often with a craving for poached fucking eggs, Andy’s favorite thing to fuck up. Once in a while they’ll come in with someone else — professional-looking, at times, and not, at others. 

Andy notes their presence in a different way than she notes the other regulars — Terry has a side profile made for the rule of threes, with light that seems to fall on them like it’s following their trajectory around Aluma Lake. She wonders if the sun and Terry have a relationship that allows this to happen, oftentimes in the middle of burning a pancake or two. (How do you fuck up pancakes?! Dave had shouted the first time, and Andy had blamed it on the heat, then the flour, then the eggs, then eventually she got away with shrugging and touching Dave’s arm in a way that promised a promise of a promise of something.) 

Today, she’s decided to wave Alma off when she shuffles inside the kitchen, looking drained and annoyed as she often does. “I’ll take this one,” Andy tells her, and Alma glances behind her for a second before meeting her gaze again.

“But you’ve got—”

Andy’s already on her way out of the kitchen, the words a boiling pot on lost to the sound of the obnoxious indie-folk-country-rock-jazz-rumba music blasting from the speakers. She makes a beeline for Terry’s table, dropping the plate almost comically carelessly in front of them before crossing her arms over her chest, smirk tugging her lips. 

“Now I’ve got a question for you,” she drawls, her Puerto Rican accent only donning about a third of her inflection nowadays. “You and me, we’ve got this thing, right? You’ll order your eggs poached. I’ll make them a mess,” she gestures at the eggs in front of them. “But neither of us will say a single thing about it. Why is that?” She tilts her head curiously, eyeing the other’s features against the warm orange hue of the outdoor light. Presses both palms against the table and leans in slightly, casually. “You’re not enjoying the food, are you, Terry? You got a kink for wasting your hard-earned cash?”

[kwisatzworld]

Vale's Last Year in 250cc - 1999

Malaysian GP, Sepang “The winter was fun. Usually I don’t like the winter because it' s too cold, but where I live, near the Adriatic coast, there are so many people in the summer. That didn’t used to be a problem, but now everyone recognises me, so it’s Rossi! Rossi! Rossi! all the time. I don’t like it!” “I spent a lot of time with my friends, as that’s when I’m happiest. We went skiing a few times, a big gang of us. Mad! Snowboarding is more fashionable nowadays but I’m faster on skis, so it’s better! Melandri came with me once, he’s my best mate in the paddock, plus Alessandro Brannetti, a new Italian 125 guy.” “I moved into my new house just before Christmas and that was great, though my mother came with me! I wanted to live alone, but she said no. It’s okay living with her, I’m so busy it’s good to have her around.” “My girlfriend Eliane came out to Malaysia with me. We’ve been going out for almost two years now, though she doesn’t come to so many races. Women need a lot of attention, so having her with me at races is both good and bad!”

Spanish GP, Jerez “Halfway through my victory lap I knew I’d never make it back to the pits without a piss, so I had to stop in that marshal’s toilet, otherwise disaster!”

French GP, Circuit Paul Ricard “I got into some big trouble for my celebration at Jerez. The GP bosses fined me after I won the race and then stopped at the toilet on my slow-down lap, but you’re not allowed to stop on the track after the race. But I was right off the track, so I wasn’t being dangerous. I don’t care if they fine me anyway, because Aprilia pays! Seriously, they should worry about really improving safety and also improving the show. For sure I will do the same thing again because I like to amuse the fans.” “I think the GP bosses want to make motorcycle racing like F1 cars and I don’t think that’s right. Sure there is more money in F1 and there are more fans, but bike racing is more fun and more exciting. The bosses don’t seem to understand that bike fans are very different from car fans, maybe they’re a little more crazy. I don’t like F1 because it doesn’t seem like a real sport to me. It seems that everyone in F1 is only there for the money, while motorcycles are about passion.” “You may have noticed I had some new stickers on my bike in France, they are insurance and tax stickers, just like you have on the street. Just for a joke!”

Italian GP, Mugello “Races in Italy are always difficult for me, so much pressure, so many people. But fun also. I’m used to all the fans coming after me now, the only way I can get around is to ride my scooter fast, and don’t stop; otherwise I get a hundred autograph hunters. Of course, I sign a lot, but I wouldn’t have time to ride my bike if I signed them all! A big gang of my fans camped out at Curva Casanova at Mugello. They made a lot of noise, but not as much as the crazy fans who rev their engines all day and night at Mugello. You cannot believe the noise!” “They liked my special paint job and leathers, it was a homage to the seventies, the age of love and peace: Valentini Peace&Love! I think they were good times and they were also the times when my dad won some 250 GP races. Respect!” “I crashed twice at Mugello, once on Friday morning and then once on my victory lap. It was crazy, the fans came on the track and tried to take my gloves, helmet, anything. Then I ran into Gigi [Soldano], one of the Dorna TV cameramen, and toppled off my bike. I guess he was looking through his lens, so he didn’t see how close I was!” “Before Mugello I spent some time at home, riding my 250 road bike and going motocrossing. I have a new motocross bike at home, but I can’t tell you what it is, because it’s not an Aprilia!”

Catanlan GP, Catalunya “People are already asking me what I’ll be doing in 2000. I’m not sure at the moment but I think I’ll stay in 250 for a third year. If I win the title I’ll probably stay, and if I don’t I’ll definitely stay. I’m not worried about running the #1 plate before I change classes again, #46 is better than number one.”

Dutch TT, Assen “After Barcelona I drove my camper van with my friend Uccio to Assen, but we broke down because the engine lost all its oil and water. We got it fixed and then carried on to Euro Disney. We spent a day there, very funny. I’d already been there once, back in ‘95 between two European championship rounds and I like it, it’s for kids and big kids like me. It’s a lot of fun, but you spend too much time waiting in queues for the rides.” “My favourite? The space mountain rollercoaster, it’s very, very, fast and turns left and right really suddenly and you’re in the dark so you don’t know which way you’re going to go next. I wouldn’t say it’s more fun than riding a GP bike, but you can sit there and enjoy the ride without worrying about your lap times.”

British GP, Donington Park “I like Donington Park; the only thing I didn’t like was the weather. I still don’t like racing in the water, so I just asked God to make it dry for the race. He did what I wanted, but only just!” “Me and my girlfriend Eliane dyed our hair bright green for Donington. Why? Because I like green! I’m almost running out of colours now, I’ve had my hair orange, yellow, grey, blue, yellow and black and the colours of the Italian tricolore. Tell me if you have any other suggestions!”

German GP, Sachsenring “I have been doing a lot of thinking about my future over the past few weeks. It’s not easy to decide what you want to do, especially when you have so many people offering you jobs. Number one, I know I am very lucky to be in this position and it’s very flattering to have so many people wanting me to ride for them. I’ve even been approached by Mick Doohan who wants me to ride for his Honda 500 team. Mick has talked with my father Graziano and my manager Gibo Badioli, and to get a job offer from a five-time World Champion is incredible.” “Basically, there are three offers open to me. The first is to ride a 250 again with Aprilia, who I’ve been with since 1996, and then two from different Honda 500 teams, Mick’s new team and the official Honda Racing Corporation squad. Everyone expects me to move up to 500 one day and I suppose I will some time, but I’m in no hurry, I’m not obsessed with doing 500. I love riding the 250 and this is only my second season in the class. Also, I’m still quite young so I believe time is on my side. Ideally I want to win the 250 title before I go to 500.” “That’s a problem because all the people who have offered me a ride want me to decide much sooner than that, whereas I would prefer to finish the championship and then think about next year during the off-season. Anyway, at the moment I feel like the three offers are in this order of priority: Aprilia, the official Honda team and then Mick’s team. So I think I will stay with Aprilia in 250s for 2000. I have a good relationship with the factory and I see no reason to leave them in a hurry.” “Now we have a four-week holiday, hooray! All I really want to do is sleep. During the break last year I went to Tunisia with a bunch of friends like Melandri, but all I want to do now is stay home and rest. My home is near a holiday resort anyway, near the Adriatic Sea, but to be honest I don’t like the sea so much. I prefer snow...”

Czech GP, Brno “I did pretty much nothing during the four-week break after Germany, just stay home, stay quiet and sleep very much! I did a bit of motocross with my friends, also some water skiing and a few parties. On weekends when I’m not racing, I never go to bed before six or seven on Sunday morning. If it’s a party, maybe even later, but going to bed at six in the morning is quite normal for me!” “Even when I was 14 I used to go to bed at 4am. Quite often I’d be riding around the local minimoto tracks until after midnight! If I go to sleep at 11 or 12 I just lie there, my eyes wide open. Maybe I would be good at 24-hour racing!” “Next race is Imola, another home GP for me, so big stress from all the media and all the fans. But that’s okay. As usual for an Italian race I will have a special paint job on my bike and special leathers, but I can’t tell you what they’ll be because I don’t know myself! We never plan this kind of thing, I’ll sit around with my friends, having a few beers, and someone comes up with some crazy idea and that’s what we go with!”

Imola GP, Imola “As always, I had to do something special for the weekend because it was an Italian race, so I had my hair done exactly like my chief mechanic, Rossano Brazzi. He’s a great guy, fantastic to work with, and he does such a great job on my bikes. I shaved the top of my head just like him, because he’s all bald up there, and you could hardly tell us apart! He’s quite old, but so am I nowadays. Twenty isn’t so young!” “Everyone was asking me at Imola about what I will do next year. If I got a few thousand lira for every time someone says ‘Valentino, what bike will you ride in 2000?’ I think I would be a very, very rich guy! Anyway, I’m planning to decide very soon and, of course, I’ll let you know as soon as I make up my mind.” “I’m looking forward to heading down to Australia, I like the place and the people have a lot of spirit, maybe that’s why they also seem to appreciate us Italians. My only worry is the weather. You always think of sunshine when you think of Australia but the race is too early in the spring and it can be really cold. The track even has a corner called Siberia!”

Australian GP, Phillip Island “As well as the cold, the other big thing about Phillip Island is jetlag. I arrived in Melbourne on Tuesday and you’re really tired for the next few days, waking up at four in the morning and all that. A lot of people use sleeping pills but you can’t really do that if you’re a rider, your head feels a bit dizzy the next day, which isn’t good at 280km/h. I was better by the time the GP started but still tired.” “Last year I was so tired I fell asleep during dinner at a restaurant in Cowes. It’s funny because we go all the way to Australia and everyone thinks it’s a very hot country, and it’s maybe the coldest GP of the year. They have penguins down there too, so maybe they should rename it the Grand Prix of Antarctica!”

South Africa, Welkom “We got to South Africa on Tuesdayand went straight to Welkom. This was my first time in Africa and I have to say I didn’t like it so much, though maybe we didn’t visit the best place. A few days before practice we went to a small safari park, not a zoo and not a game reserve. Some of the animals were in cages and some weren’t, the lions were. It’s better that way!” “Before I go to Brazil next week I’m going to spectate at the Italian round of the World Rally Championship at San Remo. I love rallying, it’s a fantastic sport and maybe I’ll have a proper go it if I ever get bored of bikes. I already do some rallying every year, in November I’ll be competing in a rally at Monza, probably in a Subaru. I know [Carlos] Sainz and Liatti, they’re great guys.” “Everyone says I have signed to ride 500 for Honda next year but it’s not true. Honda has made a great offer but the Aprilia offer is still more money, not that money is the most important thing. The big thing with the Honda is that it’s the best bike in 500, so I have a great chance to enter the 500 class with a really good machine and a great team.” “The Italian press is already going crazy about the whole thing, they make a big casino, a lot of noise about it! This is because I will be racing against Max for the first time, if I go to 500s. For sure Max would be difficult to beat, especially in my first year. He’s one of the best few 500 riders in the world but at the end of the day he’s only another rider.”

Rio GP, Jacarepagua “I am the champion! It' s difficult to compare this with the 125 title I won in ‘97 because while the 250 title is obviously more important and more difficult to win, the 125 was my first world title and it will always be special for that reason.” “Aprilia organised a big party at a Rio yacht club on Sunday night, right near the Sugar Loaf Mountain. It was fun because I paid for 20 of my best friends from my home town of Tavullia to fly to Rio. The guy who came around with me on my victory lap, dressed as an angel, was the 21st of my friends. He paid for his own ticket! I’m sure Aprilia will arrange another big party when I get back to Italy, but for sure the best party will be at my house, with all my friends!” “For sure there was even more pressure on me over the weekend, with the championship ready to be mine. But I don’t have a big problem with that kind of thing. So long as you can keep your concentration, nothing else matters, because you don’t let anything bother you when you’re on the bike. Life definitely gets easier when you’re on the bike, because you can stop worrying and get on with the fun part: riding!” “Before I went to Rio I spent a couple of days at the San Remo round of the World Rally Championship. I had a lot of fun there, even though I had to get up at 6.00am two mornings in a row, and as you probably know I hate getting up early.” “I spent some time with (Didier) Auriol, the French Toyota driver. He’s a crazy guy with a crazy face, he has really wild eyes, but he’s a good guy, very friendly. I also did some motocross during the break after South Africa. I’m much faster on a motocross bike than I was last year but I have to be very careful, especially because of the championship. I know how easy it is to hurt yourself doing motocross because I injured myself like that in ‘95 and I was in so much pain that I lost the next round of the Italian championship I was fighting for. My father was very angry!” “As far as next year goes, the situation is still the same, and I’m not going to make up my mind until I get home to Italy after the Argentine Grand Prix. I’m getting a lot of advice about what I should do from a lot of different people, but in the end it’s only me who can make the right decision.” “I have to be careful. I know that if Honda offer me whatever I want, the money I want, the team I want and so on, and I turn them down, maybe they won’t ask me to ride for them ever again. But if we can’t agree on which team, money and that kind of thing, maybe we can talk again another year when I’m ready to make the move.”

Argentine GP, Buenos Aires “So long as I’m up there fighting for the wins I don’t care if I’m on a 125 or 250. Or a 500! The biggest difference for me is off the racetrack. Every year there’s more journalists and television guys that want to talk to me. One day it will get to the stage where I won’t have any time to go out and ride the bike! I guess in some ways I preferred life when I wasn’t famous, but if I wasn’t famous it would mean I wasn’t winning races. So maybe I have no choice but to like being famous.” “I’m probably going to have my championship celebration party at my house in the middle of the month. It’ll just be my team and my friends, not a big press event like the one we had at Rio. Parties are more fun without cameras everywhere.” “The Rio party was a bit crazy, we had it at a big yacht club and everyone got thrown in the pool, fully clothed. I got thrown in twice and thought I was going to die of pneumonia.” “Then when there’s some snow I’m going to do a week’s skiing somewhere in Italy. And I want to go somewhere hot too, maybe Miami or somewhere in South America, so long as there’s sun, sand and sea, I don’t really care. I’m just going to spend seven days on the beach asleep. Perfect.” “As you know I don’t like riding under the water. I feel my wet-weather riding is improving and that’s important because it seems to rain at pretty much every GP these days.”

[shesstoppardingonmytom]

A Rehearsal for Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

ACT I (The only Act necessary)

The PLAYER paces with a binder in hand. ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN are on center stage with the horse’s HEAD and ASS both in costume as the pantomime horse. Other actors are strewn about the theatre and set designers work on various projects.

PLAYER: From the top! Action!

ROS: (flips a coin; catches it) Heads

PLAYER: Stop! Rosencrantz, you have to show conviction! Wonderment at your predicament! A coin just doesn’t land heads up seventy times in a row.

ROS: It doesn’t? It’s been landing heads up this whole time, that’s almost a hundred and twenty now.

PLAYER: Believing the coin is landing heads up is a great start but coins don’t land heads up that many times in a row.

GUIL: He’s right though, it has been only landing on heads this whole time.

ROS: See! It’s not impossible that a coin could land heads up that many times because it’s already done that and more!

GUIL: Is the coin weighted?

ROS: Why would someone weigh a coin?

GUIL: Why would a coin land head up a hundred and nineteen times in a row?

HEAD: Maybe it’s a gambler’s coin.

ROS: (taking a step back) The horse speaks!

ASS: You know who we are Rosencrantz

GUIL: What creature can speak words from their behind?

PLAYER: Enough! Let’s move on to another scene.

(The TRAGEDIANS walk on the stage, and so does the PLAYER)

GUIL: I thought you were directing.

PLAYER: (still standing where he was in the beginning and certainly not on stage) I am, now action!

PLAYER: (on stage) Halt! It’s lucky we caught you.

GUIL: Were you looking for us?

PLAYER: No but we certainly need you! (he turns to his troop) Places everyone!

(The TRAGEDIANS start setting up a makeshift stage)

PLAYER: We are the Tragedians, and we are glad to come across you lest we grow rusty. For extra coin you may participate in debauchery, otherwise, we can perform any genre you would like to see.

(The TRAGEDIANS bow)

ROS: What kind of debauchery?

PLAYER: (off stage) Cut! Rosencrantz, that’s not your line!

GUIL: I didn’t say anything.

ROS: Didn’t you?

GUIL: No, you’re Rosencrantz

ROS: Can’t I ask questions when I have them Player?

PLAYER: (on stage) I’ll be happy to answer them.

PLAYER: (off stage) You aren’t supposed to follow that line of questioning until later

GUIL: When’s later?

ROS: What line of questioning?

PLAYER: (on stage) Player, maybe we should show them later

PLAYER: (off stage, sighing) Altright (he claps once) Speed it up.

(The TRAGEDIANS run offstage while OPHELIA runs onstage, chased by HAMLET. He grasps her hand before they split apart and take off in different directions. CLAUDIUS and GERTRUDE enter.)

CLAUDIUS: (to ROS and GUIL) We have need of you.

GERTRUDE: Visit my son.

(They exit the stage swiftly. POLONUIS enters, chasing after CLAUDIUS)

POLONIUS: Sire, I have found out why Hamlet acts so strangely!

(POLONIUS exits)

ROS: I want to go home.

GUIL: Which way did we come in?

ROS: Why is everything so fast?

PLAYER: (off stage) Resume normal speed!

GUIL: Why are we here?

ROS: For Hamlet, we’re his friends, aren’t we?

GUIL: What’s wrong with Hamlet?

ROS: How should I know?

GUIL: Didn’t the King just tell us?

ROS: Did he?

GUIL: That’s the same question.

ROS: Statement!

GUIL: Since when were we playing questions?

ROS: Isn’t it in the script?

GUIL: What script?

ROS: Hamlet’s father died!

GUIL: Of course he did, you fool.

ROS: Isn’t that why he’s upset?

GUIL: Should be.

ROS: How would you feel if you were Hamlet and your father died?

GUIL: How long ago did he die?

ROS: Not too long

PLAYER: (off stage) Play!

(The TRAGEDIANS rush back on stage, bringing another stage with them. PLAYER (on stage) lounges on a couch while he plays the flute.)

ROS: We’ve seen this before, haven’t we, Guildenstern?

(GUIL does not respond)

ROS: Rosencrantz!

GUIL: This looks familiar

(The TRAGEDIANS rush through the next few scenes, depicting what has happened and what has yet to come.)

GUIL: I’ve got it! They played for us in the woods.

ROS: I thought they didn’t

GUIL: We met them there though

ROS: Then they must have

GUIL: But did they play for us?

ROS: They most certainly did.

GUIL: I don’t remember them playing.

ROS: Statement!

GUIL: Questions was a different time.

(The TRAGEDIANS exit the stage and bring their stage with them. HAMLET enters as crew members roll a boat scene on stage.)

ROS: Where are we?

GUIL: We’re on a boat?

ROS: Since when?

GUIL: Since now. Do you have the letter?

ROS: What letter?

GUIL: (patting his pockets) Oh, I have the letter.

ROS: From the King?

GUIL: Yes.

ROS: Well we better protect it. What do we tell him?

GUIL: Well we say we’re here to deliver this letter.

ROS: And then what?

GUIL: And then he reads it. (GUIL opens the letter and scans the words).

ROS: What’s it say?

GUIL: Hamlet is to die.

ROS: That’s not what the letter says.

GUIL: This is the first letter.

ROS: But Hamlet doesn’t die

GUIL: He does

ROS: No he doesn’t

GUIL: You’re right, he doesn’t

PLAYER: (on stage) Everyone marked for death must die.

ROS: I thought you were directing

PLAYER: (off stage) I am!

GUIL: We aren’t meant to die

PLAYER: (on stage) Were you not paying attention?

GUIL: To what?

PLAYER: (on stage) Me

ROS: You?

PLAYER: (on stage) Yes, me

ROS: No you aren’t

GUIL: He isn’t?

PLAYER: (on stage) Yes, I am

GUIL: The letter changed

ROS: Where’s Hamlet?

GUIL: Why’s everything so fast?

PLAYER: (on stage) We have a skimmer in our midst

ROS: Are we dying?

GUIL: We aren’t supposed to die.

ROS: We are.

GUIL: What’s the point then?

ROS: Why should there be one?

PLAYER: (on stage) There’s always a point in tales

GUIL: Not this one

ROS: No, there is a point to this one.

GUIL: Not with us though.

PLAYER: (off stage) Cut! That’s all the time we have for today. See you all tomorrow bright and early!

ROS: Why’s it ending?

HEAD: You don’t need to stay in character

GUIL: But this isn’t how it ends.

PLAYER: (on stage) No, it isn’t

PLAYER: (off stage) This time it does.

(Everyone files out except for GUILDENSTERN and ROSENCRANTZ. The lights turn off and they remain on stage standing in the dark.)

[ohblackdiamond]

black and gold (kiss/endgame crossover, part 19 of ?)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

Prequel to “the end of the world tour.” Four ex-bandmates and even-more-ex-superheroes reunite in the aftermath of Thanos’ snap, and attempt to adjust.

In this chapter: "There’s shit I gotta get over. That’s what she’s telling me. I gotta do better. Be better. But I keep fucking up, you know? I keep fucking up."

After all their travels, Paul and Gene finally make it to Peter's house.

“FEMA Beneficiaries: Refugees and Rockers”

Associated Press, Chicago, Illinois

Celebrities have been the last thing on anyone’s mind lately. 

Some are tweeting-- apocalypse claims, government conspiracy theories. Some are donating, most especially Tony Stark of Stark Industries. But most have stayed silent, and stayed put.

Most. The road warriors of rock and roll, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley of KISS, in what may be the most telling sign of the times yet, were seen in a FEMA breadline, both bearded and almost entirely unrecognizable. 

They paid for the food, before you ask. They’re traveling, they say, to Connecticut. Their path has been as fraught as any ordinary American’s; their tragedy is the world’s. Simmons and Stanley aren’t returning to their families. They have no families to return to.

Simmons is talkative enough, though Stanley is more aloof as they settle in to take a bite beneath a FEMA tent. Neither is dressed for the below-freezing weather, the seven-inch heels have taken a backseat to worn-out athletic shoes. Simmons notices my glance down.

“You like them? I was going to throw these to the crowd on the cruise,” he says. “They’re serving me better on my feet right now.”

Cruises may never happen again for years. The me-generation, franchise-heaving seventies excess that KISS once represented has never been more blatantly out of reach. Two weeks ago, I might have asked about album plans and tour stops, about Simmons’ recentish marriage and Stanley’s painting escapades. That’s irrelevant now.

I feel like just by spotting them beneath the tent, I’ve pulled the mask off the Lone Ranger. KISS exposed is just another reflection of the brave new world we’ve been saddled with, half a population struggling to survive. And yet, I’m craving. Maybe I want something to believe in among the ashes. A lunchbox superhero to greet me at the last days. Plastic-wrapped and pre-packaged. They can’t oblige-- their last crimefighting stint was in 1980-- but I’d like to see some vestiges. I’d like a little comfort.

Simmons scolds me, gently. The real heroes, in his opinion, are the FEMA workers, the healthcare workers, the law enforcement-- anyone, and everyone, who’s stepped up in the wake of the devastation. Not KISS. “We’re very ordinary, ultimately.”

“Like everyone else, we’re just trying to go home.” Stanley looks a bit surprised at his own words, then, quietly, elaborates. “We’re going to see our old bandmates.”

And what then? For once, even Simmons doesn’t have an answer. I can speculate-- Simmons in particular is known for charitable donations-- but I don’t know. At the end of the world, maybe going home is the best that they, or any of us, can do.

-- 

The road went on. Paul would drive for five hours at a time, then an hour of rest, then another five hours, then they’d sleep in parking lots or FEMA campsites or national parks. Once, they were able to wash their clothes, and twice they got to shower. 

They had run out of cash before they’d hit New England, but that didn’t matter much now that their cards were working again. They’d been eating mostly peanut butter sandwiches and whatever else they could pay for over the last several days. Gene was feeling himself falter, in odd, funny ways. Sometimes, with the lull of the motor, he could almost make himself pretend they were just on tour for a few foolish seconds, before he’d see a campsite or a pile of abandoned cars or a burnt-out building and remember. Pure escapism. 

“Gene?”

Paul reached out, patting his thigh. It was midmorning, and he was driving again. Gene stirred.

“We’re about three hours from Peter’s place, if the traffic doesn’t get any worse.”

“We better call him.” 

“Yeah. You… you go ahead and call.”

“Put it on speaker?” 

Paul inclined his head.

“Hey.” Ace’s voice was tinny.

“Hey. We should be here in about three more hours.”

“Good. Good. Lemme get Peter.” Ace didn’t cover the phone, though Gene hadn’t expected him to, and he could hear Ace yelling Peter’s name. Could practically feel Paul stiffen up as Peter’s voice came through the speaker. 

“Three hours?”

“Yeah. Hopefully.” Gene felt his lips start to raise in a battered attempt at a smile. “Don’t roll out the red carpet.”

“I won’t. Ace told me about the fucking truck.”

Paul mumbled a curse barely below his breath. 

“Do you need anything?” It felt a little stupid to ask. “We weren’t sure how much you’d been able to get out.”

“We ain’t been out at all, Gene.” 

God. Gene glanced sidelong at Paul, who didn’t glance his way. They both had to be going completely stir-crazy. They both used to get so antsy on tour when KISS had been stuck, really stuck, in their hotel rooms. Even Paul had succumbed once or twice to the standard rockstar antics, throwing all his furniture out the window in a fit of pique (and, Gene suspected, drunkenness).

“Is it really that bad out there?”

“You’d know better than us. Wouldn’t you?”

“Petey…” Ace again.

“Ace just won’t leave me here alone. I didn’t figure he’d be playing fucking nursemaid out here.”

“’M just trying to help.”

“Trying to–”

“We’ve got some loaf bread and canned goods, but we don’t have very much else. We’ll be bringing those. If there’s anything you need, we can try to get it.” Gene didn’t elaborate on how difficult it was to really get even basic staples, between the rioting and looting. The help from FEMA had been sluggish at best.

“We don’t need any–”

“Oranges,” Ace said.

“Oranges?” Paul, incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

“You don’t gotta go out of your way for ’em–”

“What do you want with oranges?”

“Well, I wanna eat ’em, Paul. Open my mouth and chew and swallow.” Ace’s tone was unusually dry. Not even the hint of a laugh in his voice. “They’re healthy.”

“You don’t ever  fucking quit, do you?” Peter snapped out.

“Peter, I didn’t mean–”

“We’ll try to get some oranges,” Gene said quickly. “We’ll see you soon.”

–

Paul was quiet from then on. It took longer than the three hours he’d been vying for. For whatever reason, Paul had gotten hellbent on those oranges, stopping in five different areas before he was able to garner a plastic bag full of them. 

“What’d you pay for those?” Gene asked, once they’d gotten back in the truck. Paul just winced and started up the motor.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Why did you care that much about getting them?”

“You don’t wanna know that, either.”

“Try me.”

“She said there was a call for me if I wanted it.”

Gene started to ask who she was. Then he realized he probably knew. Paul must be in bad shape again, thinking of her, thinking he’d heard from her.

“I was trying so hard to figure it out. I was always figuring with her. She was like that.” Paul’s eyes were on the road. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? The only calls I’m ever going to get now are from them. There’s shit I gotta get over. That’s what she’s telling me. I gotta do better. Be better. But I keep fucking up, you know? I keep fucking up.”

“Paul–”

“You know it’s true. I can’t help myself. Here I am about to stay at Peter’s house and I haven’t even talked to him one on one. What the hell is wrong with me? I know that guy. I-I know him. I fucking lived on the road with him for over ten years. God, I–”

“Paul–”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him.”

“You’re overthinking it. Stop.” Maybe it was too much of a brush off, but he thought, in his way, Paul might have appreciated it. He didn’t stiffen up the way he normally did when offended, at least, and after a bit, Paul reached over, touching Gene’s knee.

The road went on. The pavement’s endless stretch. Highways and interstates, on and on, in the hopes of something eternal. The road took Gene back, too, back to thinking about Peter, less abstractly now that the journey was ending.

Peter had always had the best taste. Which was funny, looking back-- the high school dropout of the group, who’d grown up the oldest of about half a dozen kids in the middle of Brooklyn, able to pick out the hippest outfits, the best designs. The best-looking women, arguably. The best-looking houses. His mansion in Greenwich, easily dwarfed though it was in comparison to Gene or Paul’s places, or even Ace’s old home in Wilton, had a class that nobody else’s place could even hope to have. It looked like it came out of a storybook, tucked within four acres of Connecticut forest. In the winter it looked like Currier and Ives; in the summer, it-- in the summer, it looked just as radiant. 

At least, that was how it used to be. 

The first thing Peter had done once the Reunion tour had started was buy that place back. That was Peter for you. Sentimentality incarnate. Everything like it was before. Paul had joked once, cruelly, that he’d been surprised Peter hadn’t done the whole damn house back up in wood paneling and shag carpets once it was his again. Even at the time, Gene had thought it was a hell of a thing for Paul to say while painting himself up in the makeup from twenty years prior.

Paul had turned off the GPS maybe fifteen minutes before they’d pulled into his driveway, evidently knowing the route far better than Gene would’ve ever anticipated. Peter’s place was on a private drive, though that had ceased to matter over the last few weeks. Looking at the house’s exterior now, it wasn’t dilapidated or even unkempt. Just older. The styling was giving its age away.

“You ready?”

Paul had already parked, but he hadn’t moved to even unbuckle himself. He had pulled down the vanity mirror, was staring at himself in silence. 

“We look like shit,” he said. 

“Ace and Peter aren’t gonna look any better.”

“We should’ve tried to get razors after shiva was over.” Paul ran his fingers over the heavy, coarse facial hair on his jawline, the gray streaks surprisingly far outnumbered by black, even now. “They’ve never seen me look this bad.”

“Paul, they aren’t gonna give a fuck right now.” 

“I do.”

“You are absolutely the vainest man I’ve ever met in my life.”

“It’s not just that. Gene, Ace hasn’t even left the house yet because of Peter. If Peter sees me looking like this, if he thinks I can’t hold it together, then– then maybe I can’t, maybe I won’t be able to–”

“You don’t have to. All you have to do is get out of the truck.”

Paul bit his lip and unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of the truck in silence. Gene helped him take their luggage out of the back.

He’d thought it would feel so much more definite. Like all those moments where his life had turned on the tiniest hinge. The sight of Bill Aucoin in his smart suit, offering them a record contract inside of two weeks. The sight of his firstborn in the hospital, that head full of dark hair, those bright eyes.

The sight of four talismans in a velvet box. 

Paul was behind him, luggage handle in one hand, bag of oranges in the other. He was dragging the luggage carelessly up the brick front porch stairs, the wheels rattling against them in protest.  Gene hadn’t so much as reached for the door knocker before the door swung open. 

Ace. 

Ace, in jeans and a t-shirt and socks. His goatee was somewhat unkempt. No sunglasses– not that he expected him in them, but it had been years and years since Gene had seen him without them. No makeup, either. Ace’s skin was as bad as ever, sallow and scarred, a couple of pimples right on the side of one cheek. The poor alien bastard still had acne at sixty-three. 

Gene hugged him. Fully. It was the first time in years he had, without there being a show or a ceremony or a pile of fans with their phones trying to record the moment. Just shoved himself against him, arms wrapping tight around him. Ace buckled a bit, thrown off-balance as always, but he hugged him back in turn, face pressing briefly against his shirt, then pulling away. Gene felt Ace clasp a hand briefly against his back just before he let go. 

“Hey, Gene,” he said. “Hey, Paul. C’min.”

They stepped inside. Gene made room for Paul, who put an arm around Ace for a brief, quiet moment, and then pushed the bag of oranges into his hands. Ace’s expression changed a little then, became almost searching, before it faltered. 

“Where’s Peter?”

“He… he’s in the kitchen. Paul, he’s not–”

“I know.” Paul strode past them both, going past the entranceway and the dining room, heading straight for the kitchen. Ace followed a bit behind, then Gene, a weird quiver somewhere in the tips of his fingers, and in his throat. Peter’s place was still too familiar, even with some newer decor. Enough remnants of the past remained. A set of raku tea bowls Lydia’d bought him on tour in Japan was still in the armoire in the dining room. A faded photo of Peter from his First Communion was on a buffet table. And there behind the sink, next to the windowsill, was a tarnished silver ring dish in the shape of a cat, one paw up, its tail covered in an assortment of rings. Peter had had that since their third tour, a memento, though Gene couldn’t remember where he’d received it. His eyes were darting everywhere– the clean stovetop and microwave, the print of The Last Supper on the wall, the dirty plates on the table– everywhere except for at Peter. 

Peter, who was sitting down against the fridge, wrapped up in a blanket. He had shaved, but badly, white stubble peeking out in patches across his chin. He only barely lifted his head when they walked in.

“Pete,” Gene started. Peter shifted, putting out a hand against the floor, like he was about to brace himself and get up. But Paul got there first. Gene could barely believe it as he watched Paul crouch down, squat at first, before getting on his knees and putting an arm around him, there on the floor. 

Peter was crying. Gene had seen it a hundred times at least, but never like this. Not a shudder, barely a sound, just the tears. Paul held him there, rubbing his shoulder, without a murmur. Gene glanced at Ace, realizing suddenly that this was what Ace had been dealing with all this time, why Ace didn’t want to leave him alone. He was afraid for him, terribly so.

Paul let go once the tears seemed to stop, standing up a bit awkwardly. After a moment or two, Peter stood, too, after unraveling from the blanket. The effort of getting up made him grunt a bit, rubbing his back. He was in a t-shirt and pajamas. Gene hadn’t seen Peter in anything quite that casual in more than ten years. 

“You made it.”

“We made it.”

“You… Gene, you…”

Then Gene was holding him. Peter had never felt fragile to him before now. He was thin, those drummers’ arms all but gone when he grasped Gene’s waist. Gene could feel those shuddering breaths against him, but as Ace had done with Paul, Peter let go abruptly. 

(you’re feeling it)

(aren’t you?)

Gene didn’t know. All he knew was a peace and security that he thought he’d lost forever. All he knew was that he was sure he could make it now. Sure this was what they all needed. They had scraped together before. They could do it again. They would do it again. A few days together, maybe even a week or two, to… to get settled, to start to… reckon with themselves, with the world, to maybe… to maybe start to heal. Warmth melded with exhaustion in his bones as he pulled up a chair, sinking down into the seat. 

“Y-you can tell us the whole trip later,” said Peter quietly. “But you gotta shower first. Both of you stink.” 

“It’s Road Warrior,” Gene said, feeling the wobbling remnants of a smile skirt the edges of his face. “Very unique aroma, for the discerning traveler.”

“It’s B.O.,” Ace said, laughing harder than the statement merited, that old cackle, reaching over to clasp a hand on Gene’s back. “Ain’t got an excuse now, Geno. Get washed up. We’ll, we’ll make you some sandwiches or something, we…” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” As quickly as he’d come into the kitchen, Paul was darting out again, already headed for where Gene vaguely remembered the master bed and bath being. But he turned, calling over his shoulder, voice wobbling slightly. “You’re okay with us, right? You’ll let us–”

Ace shook his head.

“Christ, after all that, you want an invite, Paul? You were let in forty years ago.”

[lucerodiehards]

Lucero at The Metro, November 9., 2007

"Old Sad Songs"

"That Much Further West"

"I Can Get Us Out of Here"

"Nights Like These"

"Kiss the Bottle"

"Nineteen Seventy Nine"

Sixteen

"Sweet Little Thing"

"Joining the Army"

"Last Night in Town"

"Drink 'Till We're Gone"

"Hearts on Fire"

"Summer Song"

"Chain Link Fence"

"Slow Dancing"

"Noon as Dark as Midnight"

"She Wakes When She Dreams"

"Colorado Girl"

"All Sewn Up"

"Which One Broke?"

"Tonight Ain't Gonna Be Good"

Bikeriders

"I'll Just Fall"

"Tears Don't Matter Much"

"The War"

"Sweet Home Alabama"

"Nobody's Darlings"

The bloodied but unbowed South-erner has been a recurring figure in rock ever since a Canadian named Robbie Robertson had the audacity to write The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down as seen from the perspective of a fallen Confederate soldier’s brother. Almost 40 years later, the Memphis band Lucero and Nashville singer-songwriter Bobby Bare Jr. are still setting tales of devastated characters to rousing music.

Lucero’s Ben Nichols (second from left in photo) writes and sings about men haunted by guilt and lost loves, barroom brawlers, his World War II–vet grandfather (who made sergeant and got busted back to private three times), and a girlfriend’s father who “lost everything on horses, whiskey, and wedding rings.” Meanwhile, Bare, the son of a country singer who scored hits in the sixties and seventies, favors oddballs such as a man so heartbroken he gets turned into a robot. 

“There’s truth in the lovable loser,” Bare explains. “You can find some real doubt and hopelessness, and that makes for a good song.” Nichols and Bare agree there’s a Southern fascination with the underdog that traces its origins all the way back to the Civil War. “You’re fighting to prove yourself,” Nichols says. “That’s a common feeling for anyone raised in the South, and it runs very deep in Lucero. We definitely feel like we’ve had to scratch and claw.”

Nichols’s battle-scarred voice passionately conveys his characters’ hard times and hard living, while Bare’s sad-sack drawl suggests lifetimes of passive-aggressive behavior, but both men refuse to surrender to the losses that permeate their songs. Lucero’s grinding, country-rock guitars and surging rhythms give the music a back-against-the-wall combativeness. Bare consistently finds dolorous humor in unlikely situations, while showcasing his versatility through a mix of boisterous R & B, mariachi fanfare, clamorous alt-rock, and steel guitar–drenched weepers.

There’s pathos in these tales of the fallen and forlorn, but also perseverance. “There’s a time to be sad and nostalgic,” Nichols says, “and a time to fight for what you need.”

DAN BILLMEYER AUDIO

[thecuriositydesk01]

Digital Blackboards Are Revolutionizing Teaching

Digital Blackboard for Teaching

Technology has become an important piece of equipment in the classroom in recent years. The use of technology in education went from blackboards to digital blackboards. Students aren’t the only ones who have had to adapt to such technology – teachers have too. So, we’ve assorted a short list of digital and interactive boards that we think would be great for your classroom, no matter your level of tech knowledge and ranging in price to fit your classroom requirements. 

Gladwin Smart Classroom Board for Education

This Gladwin Smartboard is a recent model of board, meaning it’s up to date with the latest technologies. It is currently priced at around 85,000 and is available on IndiaMart, but ships to several large countries. We chose Gladwin Global Inc, the company that created it, is a well-known tech company that also makes computers. In its description it’s said to be made for classrooms, proving that it is a great use for that environment.

Although pricey, you get what you’re paying for. With a 1-5th smart class service and 1-12th smart class service, this is a highly regarded brand. The Gladwin Smartboard also teaches English speaking and has a high power consumption, especially in comparison to other boards on the market. However, we know it is an expensive choice, so we’ve got some cheaper alternatives for the same impeccable quality.

Finger touch and Stylus Pen IR Interactive Ceramic Board Pentagon Tech Fusion

Introducing the Finger Touch and Stylus Pen IR Interactive Ceramic Board by Pentagon Tech Fusion – at almost half the price of the first on our list! Despite being slightly smaller, the Pentagon Tech Fusion board is still robust and multi-functional, perfect for the classroom. With an aspect ratio of forty-three and a patented sensor, what more could you need? What’s unique about this board, in particular, is that the board has several touchpoints, a large internal speaker and a seventy-eight-inch active area, which is why we chose it! It can even take up to four touches at once!

Available on Indiamart for around 45,000, this board comes with high-speed rates and hot keys on both sides. This product is known to have good customer service too, so if you stumble into any problems with the device, you can depend on them to get back to you quickly with an easy fix! Another reason we chose it was because of one incredible feature – their displays in-store. You can go in-store and test the exact product you want in all its wonder before even purchasing it to ensure it’s precisely what you’re looking for. Your students will find this board easy to interact with and colourful to the eyes, a great feature of your classroom.

Ceramic Interactive Digital Board Future Tek Solutions

Finally, the Ceramic Interactive Digital Board by Future Tek Solutions. Although the cheapest of the lot on our list, there’s no reason to disregard this board which still has some wonderful perks. See it as a mix of the two boards above – at 35,000 you get a ceramic base with 150 power consumption and is directly advertised towards teachers and classrooms. With a background in tech, Future Tek Solutions are known for its interactive classroom devices, making them a trustworthy company.

Future Tek Solutions prides itself in clear, concise communication with its customers, to quote; ‘We direct all our activities to cater for the expectations of customers by providing them excellent quality products as per their gratifications. Moreover, we follow moral business policies and crystal-pure transparency in all our transactions to keep healthy relations with the customers. This company is slightly older than the others we’ve mentioned, so they know what they’re doing, establishing themselves for a prolonged period. If you like their Ceramic Interactive Digital Board, you can also get their other products such as their BENQ Projectors to go perfectly alongside it!

Digital Blackboard For Online Teaching

Since the pandemic, online teaching has been a common occurrence. We all had to adapt to it, including the technology we use during those lessons. Although the higher-priced boards would be the best quality for online teaching, all the boards listed above will do. However, it’s also possible to use online boards during online lessons, it’s all down to preference.

Digital Blackboard for Teaching Price

As to pricing, the average seems to be from 30,000 to 90,000. There is a good variation within this price range, so whether you have the highest or lowest price range, you’ll still be able to get something of good quality. What’s also great is that all of these are accessible on IndiaMart, so you don’t have to scavenge to find your perfect fit. IndiaMart is a great place to discover more boards that shape your needs, so if these don’t do it for you, there is certainly one that will. Let us know how you get on with our picks and which you like the most! Be on the lookout for more ICT suggestions from us soon to change up and level up your classroom!

[avintagekiss24]

leave out all the rest | c. beck

→ pairing: chris beck x black!reader

→ word count: 5387

→ warnings: 18+ ONLY, smidge of angst, smut, sex, breeding kink, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, hand job, explicit language

→ square filled: @badthingshappenbingo

flashbacks

→ request: chris beck + breeding kink + "babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that" + "I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that"

→ author note: dr. space daddy is finally here! this is also the first of my 5k celebration fics! all fics will be tagged #5k...holy god. thanks so much for the request @thedarkplume​! title from linkin park leave out all the rest (i loveeee this song); line divider by @firefly-graphics​; flashbacks are in italics. i also formatted this with the beta text post editor on desktop... so hopefully nothing looks weird and the italics/bold actually work... it is tumblr after all.

oh, hey, there’s a bit of a marvel crossover in this too!

Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel in this moment. Your stomach hasn’t been settled since you got the call two days ago. It’s been flipping and twisting ever since. Sleep hasn’t come easy either, but you’re used to that. Ever since Chris left, you haven’t slept well. It’s been almost seven hundred and thirty days— well, just three days short.

You follow the two tall military men, decked out in their dress blues, through the secure facility, your black leather combat boots thudding against the tile floors. Everything is white— the walls, the floors, the coats of all the scientists and doctors milling about— except for you and your flowery, thigh length sundress. Dark eyes wide, teeth nibbling on a sore, often bloody bottom lip from all the nibbling, small purse bouncing off one hip as a duffel bag bounces off the other.

Winding through corridor after corridor, pausing as the men lift their badges to keypads to get door after door to click open. An eerie quiet looms throughout the entire building, nothing but random beeps, your breathing, and footsteps.

Nervous doesn’t begin to describe it.

The walk gives you too much time to think about the last seven hundred and twenty seven days. All of the crying. All of the anger— the screaming. Chris trying to calm you down, assure you that they were okay— that he had to do this.

"It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?" You sobbed into the phone, staring up into the stars, knowing that he couldn’t but secretly hoping that he could see you.

"This is not easy for me," he choked back tears, his tongue heavy, "Leaving you is never easy but I have to do this, baby. We have to go back for Mark. We have to."

You didn’t answer his calls for over a week. And when you did, your words were quick and harsh.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m moving in with my sister."

Chris was silent on the other end of the phone— too silent. He sighed after a while and just said, "Ok. I understand."

That was day four hundred and sixty three.

So you moved in with your sister. Got a job at the local bar, picked up every shift you could, sometimes working sixty, seventy hours a week— just so you didn’t have to think about him. It didn’t work. You’d still stare out the window at night, up into the big black sky and through the twinkling little stars, wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was thinking about you.

Unbeknownst to you, Chris continued to call your sister. Just to check on you.

Day seven hundred was when two Air Force officers walked into the bar as you were cutting up lemons and oranges. Your stomach, in a perpetual state of tight and sour, dropped to your feet. It’s never good when the military comes knocking on your door.

“He’s dead,” you spit out, eyes watering, chest starting to heave, “He’s dead, isn’t he? They’re all dead.”

When they removed their hats, your hands flew to your face, covering your mouth to muffle the sobs. You just knew they were all dead. Humans can’t stay in space for this long. It’s not natural.

“No ma’am,” the taller, brown skinned man answered, a small smile breaking onto his face, showing off the distinctive gap between his two front teeth, “They’re back in our orbit. They’ll be landing within the next seventy two hours.”

It was a flurry after that. Phone calls, you moving back onto the base, protocol gatherings, interviews with local and national media. None of it mattered. You just wanted to see him— you needed to see him.

Not before his mandatory three week quarantine that is.

Day seven hundred and twenty five is when they called to let you know that he was ready to move onto the second phase of his integration back on earth. Two weeks cohabitating with another person of his choice, just to make sure that his body and cells can still tolerate, you know, earth— and that he doesn’t give off anything that could make earthlings sick.

They called to let you know that Chris chose you— if you wanted to, of course. If not, he could call his sister.

You were packing your bag before the call even ended.

After two days of getting tested for everything known to man, it’s now day seven hundred and twenty seven and here you are, passing through the last set of doors and stepping into a large observatory room. One of the General’s starts talking, but you don’t hear a word. You just blink slow, lips falling open as you stare back at Chris as he stands at the little square window of his living quarters. He smiles soft, running his hand through his short, dark hair before waving and placing his palm on the window.

Tears cloud your vision. Your chin trembles as a sad smile spreads on your face. A sob chokes in your throat and a warm tear streaks down your cheeks. Despite the talking man, you step up to the window and press your much smaller hand on the glass, spreading your fingers to match his. Chris rests his forehead to it and you do the same as you really start to bawl— shoulders shaking, face breaking, breath rushing fast and hard.

"Baby, don’t cry. Come on pretty, don’t— don’t cry."

Chris’ voice is muffled by the thick glass, but just hearing it— so close, so familiar— after so longs it’s just… it’s almost too much. It is too much.

“Ma’am, we can’t let you in there like this. We need you to calm down.”

Dense thuds shake the glass as Chris pounds on it, "Open the door, Sam!"

Sam grabs your bicep, gently, guiding you towards the door— Chris following you both, still talking to you through the glass.

"It’s okay baby, I’m right here. I’m right here."

“We need you to calm down,” Sam starts again, “He hasn’t been around—”

"Sam! Goddamn it, leave her alone! Open the door!"

“Beck! You cool it in there!”

"Don’t be an asshole! Open the door! She’s scared!"

You hear a scoff, “Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.”

"I swear to God—"

“Step back from the window, Dr. Beck.” Sam is stern now, pointing his finger towards Chris. 

Sam pauses for a few long seconds, blinking slow but keeping his hand around your bicep— and thank God, because you honestly need it, “I’m going to badge you into the hallway, okay? You take this keycard,” he presses it into your palm, “And put it up to the keypad at the second door after I close this door behind you. It’s only good for one passthrough— once you’re in, you’re in until the medical staff clears you both. Understand?”

The second half of his speech is softer, his thumb rubbing the back of your arm. You like Chief Master Sergeant Sam Wilson. You nod quick, rubbing at your face with the back of your hand, sniffling hard and focusing a shaky breath out through your teeth as you step in front of the door. There’s a loud click and the metal pops, Sam reaching past you to push it open.

Your body, on autopilot, takes three steps to the second door, eyes staring at the keypad on the wall beside it. Chris is still talking to you through the windows, one hand pressed to the glass, the other on the door handle.

"Just a few more seconds baby. You’re doing so good."

There’s another click— Sam closing the door behind you. Water fills your eyes again, emotion choking up in your throat at the gravity of it all. All of the screaming. All of the crying. All of the hating him and loving him and missing him for seven hundred and twenty seven days all culminating right here, right now, while he’s just three feet away from you. The sky used to be the thing keeping you apart— now it’s just a wall. A door— that you can’t walk through.

"Baby, Chris says gently, "Come on baby. Open the door, honey."

You’re frozen. Eyes locked on the keypad, fingers gripping the keycard so hard they start to burn. Open the door, honey takes you back. Takes you back to the day that he told you he was going up— that he’d be gone for a year.

“Open the door, honey. Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You sniffle, staring at your reflection in the mirror in your small bathroom.

“You knew this was coming. I don’t know why you’re so mad.”

“A year? A year, Chris? I’m just supposed to put my life on hold for you for an entire year?”

He sighs through the door, “I’ve worked my ass off for this, you know that.” You do know that, you’re just being selfish. Needy and selfish, “I know we’ve got plans baby, but it’s just a year. One year and then I’m all yours—”

“Yeah, until the next time you decide to go up there. This is what Melissa warned me about. You get addicted to it.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” you retort, “I know you.”

That makes him laugh, and then you’re laughing because he’s laughing, “Open the door, please.” Chris sighs again.

As soon as you turn the knob, he’s pushing through it, lifting you up off your feet and twirling you around— to make you laugh again.

You were standing on a precipice that night and neither one of you knew it. Your lives, both individual and combined, would change forever and that was the night that set it all in motion.

The keycard digs into your fingers and palm, bringing you back into the present. Back into the hallway, back in front of Chris. You blink, linking eyes with him again, finding them soft and down turned, his head tilted as he presses his fingers to the glass.

"Let me hold you," he says soft. So soft that the glass between you gobbles it up. But you just know that’s what he said. You just know.

The door clicks in your ear, a breeze is in your face as Chris throws it open, and then you’re consumed. Arms wrapped around you, hard chest against yours as you’re lifted right off of your feet. He’s so warm— he’s always been so damn warm.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, leaning back a little as you push your face into his neck, “This moment was the only thing keeping me going.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, pushing your face into his shoulder, your tears wetting his NASA sweatshirt, “I’m so sorry, I was so selfish,” the words are clipped and broken, heavy on your tongue, “Chris, I—”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, it doesn’t matter.” He sits you back on your feet, rubbing your back with both of his large hands, “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

You cry openly into his chest, wrapping your arms around him and pushing your hands up into his sweatshirt, under the thin t-shirt underneath— just to feel his skin, “I missed you so much.”

One, two, three, four pecks of his warm lips on the top of your head before he rests his cheek there, holding you tight as he takes a deep breath, “All that’s over now, hmm?” you can feel the smile on his face, “We don’t have to miss each other anymore.”

-

A yawn pushes out of your mouth as you stretch out tight, sore muscles screaming. Eyes flutter as you shift, another deep breath pushing out your nose as you nuzzle your face into the pillows, body cocooned in warmth. You’re drifting again, quick, when an abrupt panic races through your veins without warning. Your stomach drops, skin instantly flushing with heat as you spring up, eyes as wide as saucers as your breath rushes.

That’s when you hear it, an all too familiar sound. A pencil, tapping slowly, methodically, against something. It calms you instantly. It’s real, you’re real, Chris is real, and you’re here. He’s here.

You swing your legs over the edge of the small bed, tucked in the corner behind a small partition. There’s a soft light glowing underneath it and a single red blinking dot emanating from the corner of the room— a camera. You push your hair out of your face but keep your fingers on your cheeks, closing your eyes as you focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, in, out. There’s a murmur, Chris mumbling to himself and you can’t help but smile.

You stand and start moving towards the noises, padding soft and slow as his mess of brown hair and hunched back comes into view. He stands, switching out an X-Ray on the viewer before he plops back down into the swivel chair, staring at it for a second before he starts flipping through the large, open text book just to his left. There’s a little white board off to the right, leaning against the wall, the days he’s been “gone”, seven hundred and twenty seven, scribbled in his messiest of messy handwriting.

The little slice of time watching him sends you right back to your college years, waking up in his dorm room, finding the bed empty and him huddled over a too small desk, furiously flipping through a thousand page text book. You’d sneak up on him, just as you are now, barely dressed and sleepy eyed. Dig your fingers into his hair, scratch his scalp slow. Giggle as his shoulders slump and his head falls back a little, him moaning all the while.

“God, that feels good.”

“You let me fall asleep.”

“You cried yourself to sleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you… you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

“Hmm, more like two. What are you doing?” you ask, pushing around his side and crawling into his lap, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Looking at our X-Rays from earlier today. I’m working on another paper for the Institute.”

“Trying to see if you guys are still earthlings?”

He laughs, the sound rumbling through you, making you smile, “Kinda, yeah. Our body masses have changed dramatically— our bones are longer, I’m not shitting you.” You giggle again at the enthusiasm in his voice, “It’s just a few centimeters, but still. Our brain waves are a little different, metabolism has sped up… it’s incredible.”

You keep the small smile on your face as your fingertips drift over his chest, rubbing slow as you feel his eyes fall to you, “You should get back in bed,” he says, squeezing your knee gently, “You look so tired, baby.”

“Not without you.”

He laughs again, “My circadian rhythm’s all fucked up, I can’t sleep.”

“Then it looks like you're stuck with me,” you kiss his chin and then cuddle back into him, “Don’t mind me.”

Mind you, he doesn't. He just goes about flipping pages and scribbling down random thoughts, marking up his pile of x-rays and fumbling through his and the rest of the crew's medical charts. You push your hand up into the arm of his navy blue NASA sweatshirt, raking your nails up and down his forearm absentmindedly as you breathe him in. Your other hand wanders too, tracing the band of his dark sweatpants before skipping up into his sweatshirt, brushing over his stomach and up to his chest.

The pads of your fingers outline the muscles that are still there, his pecs, down and across his soft abs, before back up and over a cheeky nipple. He jumps slightly, crinkling his nose as he smiles big and hard, “Babe, I’m never gonna finish this work if you keep doing that.”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

“Oh, is that so?”

You bat two big eyes up at him, the weight of going almost two years without catching up with you right at this moment. A hum vibrates in your throat as you stand, taking a few steps away from him before you toss your eyes over your shoulder, licking your bottom lip before sinking your teeth into it. You hold out your hand, wiggling your fingers after a few moments, watching him drag his big eyes down your bare legs and then back up over your powder pink satin shorts and matching camisole.

“Come to bed, Dr. Beck.”

He’s up and on his feet before the words are out of your mouth. Warm fingers interlace with yours as the two of you move back towards the bed, falling onto the soft twin size mattress. His weight dips into the bed as he sinks his knees into it, pulling his sweatshirt over his head as you crawl towards the headboard. You draw your legs up, swaying them gently back and forth, palms flat on your thighs as you inhale deep, watching as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

The smile on your face grows larger as he crawls over you, pushing your legs open with his soft hands before he settles right between them. Chris takes his time looking at you, smiling soft as his eyes drift over your face, his index finger dragging down the bridge of your nose, over two full lips, and down your chin and neck. You let out a quick breath when the pad of that sneaky finger dips just inside your tank top— right into your cleavage.

He cups your face, his thumb resting on your lips, brushing gently, “I’m never leaving you again,” he whispers, blue eyes filling with earnest as they bounce between yours, “I mean it.”

You turn your head into his palm, pressing your lips into the soft, warm skin, planting kisses, “You promise?”

The delivery is breathless. Quiet. Small. Almost begging him to mean it. He takes a deep breath, pushes it out slow before leaning in, closing his eyes as he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. That’s when he kisses you— slow. Deep. Tongue pushing through your lips and into your mouth.  Massaging the roof of your mouth before sliding along your tongue. He even moans a little, lets his body— muscles, bones, brain— relax. Lets himself melt into you because it’s just been so damn long.

It ends slow, the kiss. Chris grabbing your lip with his teeth and pulling gently before he rests his forehead to yours. Eyes closed, his big, skilled hands and fingers flirting with your calves—pushing over your knees and then down your thighs to come to rest on your sides and hips.

“I promise.” You slide your hands up and down his sides, letting your eyelids flutter as he continues, punctuating his words with more gentle kisses, “We can start that life you’re so crazy about,” he laughs when you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, “Buy you a house.”

“On the base?”

“I thought you didn’t like the base?”

“I don’t… but I kinda... do.”

“Then yeah, on the base if that’s what you want.”

Your eyes are still closed as hot lips press against your face— the crook of your nose, underneath one eye, cheeks, and then chin. You push your fingers up into his hair as he forges a path with his lips and tongue— down your neck, over two collarbones, down your arm— all the while his hands move upward. Up into your silk top, nimble fingers playing with two tight nipples before he rucks the silk top up to your chin.

“Wait,”

“What?”

“What about them?”

“Them, who?”

Pointing with your foot towards the blinking red light in the corner, “Them.”

He laughs and you laugh, covering your face with your hands until Chris pries them away, “They’re nerds, babe. We’ve already made them so nervous they’ve left the control room.”

You honestly can’t remember the last time you laughed this hard. Not since he left you suppose. It’s a nice sound, for both you and him, filling up the small space, making it alive and lived in instead of clinical and dry, “That’s not nice, Chris!”

He shimmies the thin material up over your head, casting it to the floor, “It’s the truth! I should know. Remember the first time I saw you naked? I couldn’t look anybody in the eye for a week.”

The memory makes you laugh, soft and dreamy-like, “That was so long ago.”

Chris catches the tone. It makes him halt, for just a second, his eyes shifting away from you. Guilt. For holding you at an arm’s length for so long. For making you number two. For making you wait for him for so damn long.

You tilt your head, eyes searching his. Gentle hands claim his face, pulling him back into your strong gaze, “Stay with me,” you whisper, eyes bouncing between his, “You’re buying me a house.”

“Ah, yes,” with one fell swoop, your shorts are pulled down your legs, right over the tips of your manicured toes and thrown to the floor, “One story? Two?” He asks, back up on his knees.

“Umm, maybe just one,” You answer, sitting up, slipping your hands into the dark sweats still covering his bottom half, “A two story house is too much to keep clean.”

You pull, but not all the way. Just enough to see his hips and that little tuft of dark hair underneath his belly button. You can’t help yourself and lean forward, kissing his stomach, giggling when he jumps a little. When you do it again, kiss him, and then a third time, and a forth, he gives in. Sweeps your locs over your shoulders and pulls them into a ponytail in his hand. That’s when you hook your thumbs back underneath the thick band of his sweats and pull a little harder, pushing the material right over his hard cock, making it bounce.

Chris kicks out of the sweats, grabs your face in his hands and tilts it upward. Leans down and kisses you again— soft. Sweet. All while rubbing small circles into your cheeks with his thumbs. He stays there, forehead to forehead, eyelashes spread over his buttery, quickly blushing red cheeks as you palm him, dragging your hand from the base right to the tip.

It doesn’t take much— never has. After a few strokes, he’s wet and red all over. Chest, neck, cheeks. Mouth agape, pulling in ragged breaths as his eyelids flutter. He swallows hard, and then hums quick, deep and throaty before inhaling through his open mouth. You push upward, kissing him as you continue slow strokes, sweeping a thumb over his wet tip.

Fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh, down low, first by your knee. Then, slowly, they skirt upward, not groping or kneading, just brushing— flirting with your skin until they reach their destination. You gasp, mouth falling open as adept fingers— not only just in general, but with your body specifically— push through wet folds.

“One story it is then,” he breathes, hot, unhurried, “A dog and a,” he slams his eyes shut, hissing and grunting when you squeeze him, “Fuck baby,” he swallows again, lips trembling as he nuzzles in, rubbing the tips of your noses together, “A dog and a cat.”

Your free hand wraps around his neck, fingertips pushing into his hair as your head tips back, hips start to shove forward, eager for his touch— wanting those fingers inside. When Chris obliges, sinks his index and middle finger into your cunt—  touch starved and needy— you mewl. Making a real sound for the first time in seven hundred and twenty seven days. It enlivens you both.

Chris pushes you back, lays you back onto the small mattress, spreads you out. Keeps his fingers inside, pumping slow, curling, massaging. Thumb pressed against your clit, rubbing. He lays between your legs, coming face to face with your most intimate and blows gently. Warm air sticking to balmy flesh. Big blue eyes flick up to yours, then back to your sweet, licking his lips as a squelch fills the room.

His tongue darts out, slips along the inside of your thigh. Your hips react instantly, jutting upward as a sharp breath fills your chest. A long arm pushes up your body, fingers prodding your breast, tweaking a nipple before he palms the skin, but not for long. Within seconds, his fingertips are pushing into a willing mouth. Your tongue, swirling around thick digits as you grab onto his hand, holding it there.

Warm air tickles damp skin again as he blows on you, “Have some babies,” he offers quick, the words muffled by your flesh as he finally laps at you, tongue slipping through sticky folds, flattening against your slit as he massages the delicate, “How many you want, baby?”

Nothing but a bitten-off groan answers him. It comes for many reasons. His fingers somehow delving deeper, lips brushing over your cunt— the thought of babies. Little brown skinned, curly headed babies running in the backyard with that dog and cat. Wide smiles, complete with missing teeth, loud laughter, declarations of love as they jump into mommy and daddy’s arms.

“Oh yeah,” heavy words breathed into your ear, a hunk of man now laying on top of you, cock pressing at your opening, “My pretty girl wants babies,” the wetness makes it easy for him to slide in— all the way in— bury deep, “I’m gonna give them to you. You’ve been so good.”

He’s moving, hips pushing and pulling as he cups your face in his hands, presses his forehead to yours, “I’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, swollen lips brushing against yours, “Stuff you— full of— my, fuck,” a deep moan, another quick hiss as he bites his bottom lip, overcome by the warmth, the wet— the tight, “Fuck, you feel good.”

Feverish lips are on yours again, teeth nibbling as his hips shove into you. Soft and swift. A palm covering your breast, fingers pressing, kneading and working sensitive, responsive skin. Nipples hardening, heat blooming across an ardent canvas of skin, pulsing hips eager to meet his.

Chris cups your chin, pushes upward so you're forced to keep slitted eyes on him and him only, “You want my babies? Hmm? Tell me baby,” you can only whimper in response, digging your nails into his sides, drawing your legs up and around him as he plunges deep, “Come on honey, use those words. Tell me how much you want my babies.”

He fucks into you hard, jamming his hips just once— the sound of skin on skin slapping out loud and off the walls. It arches your back, the sudden, quick thrust. Sends you right up into his chest. Chris pulls you into his lap as he falls back on his ass, extending his legs, heels digging into the mattress as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close and tight, fingers spreading out on your back.

Hips roll into one another. Fingers grip his calf as you lean back, hot, sloppy lips on your chest, over and between bouncing tits. A taut nipple pulled right into his wet mouth. Slippery tongue swirling and flicking, teeth nibbling before he sucks on the tight nub, teasing it further.

Then he’s holding your hips, forcing you down onto his cock. More rushed, sticky words falling from swollen, red lips, “You want me to fill you up? Hmm? Tell me.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, overcome by it all. The emotion of it, the physicality of you and him tangled together— the words, how many years you’ve waited to hear those words.

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he purrs, thrusting harder, faster, “You want me to come in you, don’t you? You’d love it if I came in you, huh? Knocked you up? Gave you a baby?”

You kiss him hard. Cupping his face, moaning sweet into his wet mouth, “I want it,” it’s breathy— desperate, “I want it, Chris. I want it.”

“Then I’ll give it to you. I’ll give it all to you.”

It’s feverish after that. Pushing and pulling. Grunting, smacking— lips on lips, skin on skin. Large hands gripping, fingers pressing into the meat of thighs and calves and ass and tits. His fingers grip the meat of your thighs, your ass, slide up your back— around your neck as your head falls back. Those fingers find your mouth, push just inside as he wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling your hips closer, helping them rock.

His fingers are out of your mouth, cupping your cheek now. Smoothing hair out of your face as it strains. You try not to get loud, slam your eyes closed, purse your lips as your toes curl and stomach tightens… heart flutters.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your closed eyes before prodding at your lips, “Don’t do that, honey. I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that. Come on, let me hear you.”

“No, I—“

“Don’t be modest,” his tone shifts, going stern and deep, and that’s all it really takes for the noise to flow, “I wanna hear you.”

But he knew that.

It’s a sweet little hum, and then a gasp before it’s clipped by an obscenity— a shaky, desperate, filthy word that dissolves away into a loud groan and then… it’s all downhill from there.

You couldn’t hold it in if you tried. It’s been too long. A pent up aggression, a nervous need all finally working its way out of you. You pull him close— crush your chest against his, wrap two liquid arms around his neck, press your face right against his. Chris loops an arm around your waist, squeezing your opposite hip, pressing his fingers right into the soft skin until it hurts.

But it’s good, the pain of the squeeze. It helps you right over the edge, makes you finally cum after seven hundred and twenty seven days. Slow at first. A warmth just taking its time as it spreads. The feeling sort of foreign because it’s been so long— your brain hasn’t caught up just yet.

When it does catch up, brain and body finding each other, dormant synapses kicking on with a jolt, it’s not just a warmth. It’s molten now, searing and stirring, passing through veins and muscles and skin and bone— it’s that deep. Toes curling so hard they go numb, fingertips digging into his shoulders as you throw your head back.

You’re sure the scientists and military guards can hear you three floors down.

Chris leans in, hot, wet, shiny lips pressing against your chest, over your tits with sloppy kisses, hips still churning into yours until they just can’t. Wet walls closing in, clamping down as they spasm, that molten enveloping him. His hips freeze quick with the first spurt, but find a haphazard rhythm as he comes. Fills you up just like he promised.

He pushes those warm blooms of silk deep with now pointed, long strokes. Not a drop escaping— it’s all for you, after all. Supply and demand and all that.

The mattress is a dream beneath you. Inviting and soft as he lays you into it, still rooted deep as he rolls you onto your side. An arm snakes around your hip, a palm and long fingers anchoring in the center of your chest. A hot, flushed cheek presses against yours as lazy wet lips drag along the back of your neck. Languid thrusts at random intervals keeps you gasping as he tucks his knees and thighs into the backs of yours.

“Say it again,” you whisper after a few quiet minutes, breath still heavy, chest still heaving.

Chris plunges into you again, soft and sweet and deep, “Say what, honey?”

“That you won’t,” the words break off, a moan replacing them as he kisses a trail down your arm, fucks into you once, twice, three times, “That you won’t leave me again.”

“I’m not leaving you again.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, that little whiteboard with the days scribbled on it is erased. All it says now?

Day one.

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (24/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 1,137

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, funeral

masterlist

a/n: Damn. So this is it, the end of FAF. So many of you have stuck with me through when this fic started (literally almost exactly two years ago) and have been waiting for me to get the motivation to finish it. This is the fic that first got people to notice me, to give my writing a chance. I love you guys so, so much. Thanks for being on this journey with me. I hope I lived up to your expectations.

“Jamie!” You called out as you hung up another shirt, looking around the room. The coat of paint you’d slathered on the walls the day before looked good. Really good.

You two had decided to do most of the decorating yourselves, instead of hiring a company. You wanted your home to be entirely you and your family. Bucky and you had ‘bought’ the Stark family cabin off of Pepper, wanting to make it your permanent home. But Pepper never stayed there, finding it too difficult with all the memories she had of Tony there. She didn’t want to drown in the sorrow of losing her husband.

“Yes, malen’kaya?” He called out as he carried in another few boxes. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his concern, even though you had been completely safe and sound in the cabin.

Especially considering the new state of the art security system.

“I’m okay,” you insisted as he appeared in the doorway, setting the boxes off to the side. “It’s just been at least thirty minutes since you last kissed me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, even though the pink that dusted his cheeks said he was anything but put out by your neediness for his affections. “Oh, yeah? What do I get if I give you kisses?”

You’d be lying if you said you hated how mushy gushy of a couple you two were.

But in all honesty, it was addicting. Being so affectionate and loving with each other even after two years felt like a feat. People kept telling you that you’d come out of the honeymoon phase eventually (everyone except your little makeshift family, of course) and you just kept proving them wrong.

The honeymoon phase never ended if you didn’t let it.

Sure, you two had little disagreements every once in a while. You were both human. But you weren’t having big blowout fights like people made it sound would happen.

“Well… I’ll do that thing you’ve been wanting to try,” you said, letting your voice drop to be deep and sultry as you took a few steps closer to him. You let your fingers trail up your chest as you bit your lip, slowly looking him up and down.

You knew just how to play your boyfriend, how to get him hot and needy for him.

Not that it took much.

Sometimes you just looked at him or asked him if he wanted chocolate chips in his pancakes or not, and he was ready to jump you.

Not that you minded at all.

Bucky’s brows slowly moved closer to his hairline. “You mean… the thing… Number seventy-two?” He asked quietly, his hands moving to your hips.

“Number seventy-two,” you said with a definitive nod.

He brought you in for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. “Don’t mind if I do,” he growled against your lips. “That damn list was the best idea we’ve ever fucking had.”

Ah, yes. The list. The list of things you two wanted to try in bed that you’d compiled and kept adding to.

There’d been some definite winners, including semi-public sex and roleplaying (turns out Bucky really enjoyed playing dress up with you.) But there’d also been some definite losers, such as cockwarming (though that had only failed because James Buchanan Barnes did not have the willpower to have his cock inside of you and not move.)

“But… There was something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said softly as he kissed down your neck. “Something important…”

A moan fell from your lips as you let your head fall back. “Mmm… Are you wanting to talk about the fact that you’re very happy to see me?” You asked teasingly as you felt something hard—most likely an erection—pressed against your thigh. You were already reaching to yank off his shirt.

“Not quite… though maybe after,” he said softly, pulling back. He looked… tense.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly as you cupped his face. “Baby, what’s wrong? Talk to me…”

“There’s nothing wrong. I’m just nervous,” he said quietly, letting out a weak laugh.

Your head tilted to the side. “Nervous? Jamie, you know you never have to be nervous with me…”

Your heart stopped inside your chest as you watched him sink to the floor on one knee, reaching into his pocket. “Malen’kaya,” he whispered as he looked up at you with sparkling blue eyes. “You know how much I love you. Or at least, I hope you do considering how often I tell you… how often I try my best to show you. And I’ve known that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you since we were on the run.” He couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, under different circumstances, us hopping from country to country could’ve been really romantic.”

“Maybe we’ll have to try it again,” you said with a snort, tears welling up in your eyes. “This time without me dating another man.”

“That does sound like a good plan,” he said, eyes bright. He slowly opened up the black velvet ring box, revealing a glistening diamond ring. “Will you—”

“YES!” You shouted, throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him over and over again. You knocked him over with the strength of your kisses, moaning as you straddled him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you.” Grinning against his lips, you blindly reached for the ring. “You wanna go right now? Find a little chapel? Or maybe straight to the courthouse. Just wanna be yours.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss as he somehow managed to slip the ring onto your left ring finger, before intertwining your fingers and squeezing. “You know if we elope, Pepper and everyone else will throw a fit.”

“We don’t gotta tell them we’re already married. We can have a wedding and just pretend that we were patient enough to wait,” you insisted with a smirk, kissing down his neck as you worked at tugging his shirt off. “I just don’t wanna waste anymore time not being Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes.”

Your fiancé let out a deep moan at the thought, his head falling back as his vibranium hand squeezed your ass. “I didn’t know that a marriage kink was a thing, but I think we might need to add it to the list,” he said.

“I love you,” you murmured as you finally sunk onto his length, the diamond reflecting beautifully in the early winter sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“I love you, too, malen’kaya,” he said, lips trying to catch one of your nipples. He finally succeeded, giving it a teasing bite before he grinned up at you, laughter in his eyes. “Though… I do gotta ask. What the fuck is up with us fucking on the floor of this cabin?”

[ordinaryschmuck]

If Eda Found Hunter Instead (Part Seventy-Three)

The demons leave the stand as satisfied customers.

Luz (as Eda): Thank you, come again!

Hunter (as Luz) is counting up their snales.

Hunter (as Luz): I’ll admit, this is the most money we’ve made in, like...years. We might actually be able to afford food that doesn’t reek this time.

Luz (as Eda): You’re welcome.

A man in a shawl walks up to them.

Man: Excuse me. Are you Eda the Owl Lady.

Luz (as Eda): That depends. Are you a fan of--(Pulls out smiling flowers) magic!

Man: No. But I am a fan of--(Reveals he’s a Coven Guard) the law!

The flowers wilt in Luz (as Eda)’s hands, as both she and Hunter (as Luz) look back in horror. The Guard clasps a chane around Luz (as Eda)’s wrist.

Hunter (as Luz): And I’m out.

He turns to run, but gets stopped by another Coven Guard who holds him by the scruff of Hunter (as Luz)’s dress and held him up.

Guard #1: We finally found you Owl Lady! And your human pet too!

Luz (as Eda): Hey, I’m not a pet! ...Er, I mean, she’s not a pet.

Guard #2: It was pretty easy too. Thanks to these flamboyant lights of yours.

Hunter (as Luz): Wow. It’s almost as if someone warned us that was a bad idea!

Luz (as Eda): (To Guards) Gentleman, this is all a mistake. I’m sure once we talk things out, you’ll--AMNESIA SPELL!

Luz (as Eda) draws a spell circle. But all it does is stick a comically large binkie in one of the Coven Guard’s mouth.

Hunter (as Luz): (Sarcastically) I...am so happy...that I got stuck with you...

[somanywords]

First line tag game

Thanks for tagging me @sam-i-am-100! What a fun game

Rules: copy the first few lines of your last ten fics, note any fun observations, then tag a few more friends!

I’ll tag @turtle-steverogers @greyhavensking @thedamageofherdays @tessabennet @between-a-ship-and-a-hard-place and hide the rest of this as it’s going to get a little long 😭

1. A Hundred Paragraphs

The shield slides to the floor and Steve tips his head back. The fake wooden paneling of the elevator is cold to the touch, but he doesn’t really notice. The cold in his chest is more consuming.

2. Clintasha Family Dinner

“I need your advice.”     

Bucky’s voice is amused, which really stinks, because Clint doesn’t have time for a long string of seventy year old jokes. “Don’t you always, Barton?”

3. Unnamed De-aging fic

“Was that supposed to happen?” Sam asked as Steve Rogers sat up on the floor and started bawling. 

“Obviously not, you unhelpful bird,” Tony yelled, disappearing behind the machine that was responsible for a bawling Captain America.

4. Someone Should Pay Sam More

Sam takes the tea offered to him and settles back against the sofa. The lamp next to him casts a warm glow over the living room, and he’s gotta admit the place is pretty nice. Who would’ve guessed that Steve Rogers could’ve decorated a house so tastefully? Although, he’s an artist—maybe he has the eye for this. A night spent at the Rogers/Barnes apartment in Brooklyn—what could go wrong?     

Wilson, what the hell. Why on earth would you jinx it like that?

5. Late Night Early Mornings

“It’s almost time.” Natasha stands up and fiddles with the shockers on her wrists; they glow blue in the dim light of the jet. A new, and extremely terrifying addition to her weapons arsenal. “You ready?”

6. Howlies fic

It’s not that Gabe figures it out first, it’s not that exactly. Maybe he’s just the only one with the right amount of brains. He wouldn’t doubt it some days, not in the early morning when the fellas stumble out of their tents with their boots on the wrong feet.

7. Unnamed Wartime Pining Fic

“Thanks a lot, Agent Carter.”

“Peggy,” she says, laughing red lips and tousled brown curls and a small hand reaching out to shove him gently. “I told you, Rogers, that we’re not one for formality, not out here.”

8. Scottluis fic

“You gonna be okay there?”

Scott turns around, wobbling slightly, and ends up half collapsing against the side of Hope’s car. Ow, his leg really really hurts. “Don’t you worry about me,” he says with a grin. “Just gonna get inside and fall down on the couch and not move for three days. Next time, Cap’s on his own.”

9. Bucky and the art of storytelling

Bucky is two years old when he learns to talk. Nothing fancy at first, just a word or two, a Mama, or a Papa. Blanket, or maybe apple, said slightly confusedly but proudly in both English and Yiddish. Then he learns to string words together into sentences and there’s no stopping him.

10. Unnamed idea

“We should get married,” Bucky says one day, when the sky is vibrant blue and sunlight makes a hot home in his hair.

Well, let’s see. Some of them are certainly more suspenseful than others, lol. There does seem to be a recurring theme of a short line of dialogue followed by a huge paragraph, which is neat. We’ve also got more variation on POVs than I would’ve guessed, hooray for me! Also, wow everything except one is present tense. Huh. Well, that’s about all this brain’s gonna give me now...

[myhockeyworld87]

Not So Dangerous Liaison - Sidney Crosby - Part 27

Word Count: 3,429

POV:  Reader

Warngings: Language, NSFW, Smut

Notes:  Here we are again. I think you all might kill me in future chapters so for now, let’s enjoy this one...haha. As always love your feedback and Happy Reading! Let me know what you guys think.

Not So Dangerous Liaison Masterlist

It was less than two weeks after your conversation with Mario that you and Sid were traveling to Los Angeles for the All Star game. Geno and Anna were supposed to be with you, but because of an injury, they had to back out. It was better for him to rest up anyhow. For Sid, it was more work than fun, though he did have a more carefree attitude than when he's normally on the ice. The two of you did sneak in some nice alone time over the few days.

Once you were back in Pittsburgh, it was business as normal. Well, maybe normal wouldn't be the right word for you, as you were busy helping with the Stadium series game that would take place at the end of February against the Flyers. Your hours were a little later when you were in town, which Sid didn't mind as he just spent extra time on the ice or watching films while he waited for you. You insisted that you could just take separate cars, but he wouldn't hear of it. It was really quite cute of him. 

The days leading up to the game were packed. The guys were doing media and squeezing in practices with their new equipment, while you worked behind the scenes with the rest of the crew setting things up. You wanted Heinz Field to feel just like PPG Arena did for them. The weather had everyone in a tither as Pittsburgh had got a bit of a warm front. Days leading up to the game saw temperatures in the seventies which was almost unheard of, for a February in Pennsylvania. In fact, on the day of the family skate, you were all literally wearing jeans and lightweight sweaters as you stood around watching the guys practice. 

"Will you hold Scar for me?" Vero asked. You were watching the guys practice with the ladies today, instead of by the bench. It was a rare occurrence that you got to take a game in with them, so it was a nice change of pace. She handed baby Scarlett off to you while she bent down and put on Estelle's skates. 

"Hello, sweetness," you said to the one-and-a-half-year-old, kissing her little cheeks in the process. "Do you see daddy out there?" You pointed out where Marc Andre was and Scarlett smiled. 

"Hi, daddy!" She yelled, but you weren't entirely sure he could hear her, as he was all the way down in net. "Unc Sid!" She exclaimed when Sidney came by and tapped on the glass. 

"Hi Scar!" He waved at her then gave you a look. One you weren't entirely sure you'd ever seen, before skating away leaving you to wonder what was going through his head. Practice ended soon thereafter and you all joined the guys out on the ice. Though most of them shed their pads due to the heat of the afternoon sun. 

"Ice looked a little slushy," you commented to Sid when he skated over to you.

"It's not bad. They said the temperature's supposed to drop tonight and tomorrow so we'll be ok. Come on." He grabbed your hand pulling you out onto the ice with him. It was something you still weren't comfortable doing. Sid could literally skate circles around anyone, while you still had to concentrate if you wanted to go backward. He recognized that and always made sure he held onto you so that you wouldn't fall. "You looked good out there." He said offhandedly as you made your way around the now shiny surface of the ice.

"Huh? I wasn't doing anything. I'm pretty sure I should be saying that to you."

"That's not what I meant."

"Obviously," you said hitting him playfully and losing your balance at the same time. Sid righted you with ease so that to the casual onlooker they never would've seen you stumble. 

"I meant holding Scarlett."

"Oh well, she's easy to love that's for sure. I'm going to miss them when they go." With the expansion team coming to Vegas, it was already widely known within the team that Flower would be the member they would choose. It was crushing, not only to you but to Sid as well. Your friendship with the Fleury's was one of the things you both treasured most; they were the reason you were with Sid right now. And while they would always be some of your best friends' things wouldn't be the same in Pittsburgh without them. 

"I know," Sid replied wistfully. "But we've still got them for now." You skated around a few more times, before he let you go, only so that he could wrap his arms around your midsection and skate with you from behind. It was definitely intimate and you were surprised with all the media around that Sid was into such a public display of affection. Sure there had been the parades, but usually, he tried to keep your relationship out of the public eye if he could. "I just think you really looked good." He whispered in your ear.

"You've seen me in this outfit before."

"Not that, you know…" You had to crane your neck back to look at him, but you noticed he was turning a bit red and it had nothing to do with the unseasonably warm temperatures. "Holding Scarlett." He finally spit out. "It makes me think about having our own."

"OH!" The word came out a little louder than you intended. Of course, Sid had confessed that he wanted kids with you. It just seemed like something that was further away in the future and not something that he'd been thinking about recently. 

"I know you're going to tell me it's too soon, and maybe you're right. I just can't help but think about it on days like today." You looked around then, watching all the guys skate with their significant others, some with kids while others had kids on the way. You could see the allure. As the two of you continued to glide around the ice, you let your mind wander to what it would be like. It was easy to picture, especially after watching Sid this summer with his Little Penguins camp. He'd be holding your son's or daughter's hands, much like Flower was doing now with Estelle, helping them navigate the ice. When Sid's hands tightened around your waist you couldn't stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to be growing his child inside you. You found yourself relaxing more into Sid's embrace as you daydreamed about your future. 

"It's definitely a nice picture," you finally sighed, letting him know that you weren't opposed to the idea.

"Yeah, yeah it is." His voice took on a dreamy quality and you knew he was imagining the same thing as you. It seemed like one minute you were caught up in your little fantasy and the next you guys were having to leave the ice and it was back to reality. Not that your reality was a bad one, you still had Sid and for now, that's all you needed. 

Sid was right temperatures definitely cooled down. By game time the following day, it was barely thirty degrees and falling. You were bundled up in a coat with the team logo on it along with a matching tossle cap on your head. Sid had been mad that you hadn't worn the one all the ladies got with their guys' number on it, but you had insisted that when you were on the clock you were rooting for the entire team and not just him. At the moment you were wishing you had it so that you could put it on top of your current one. Your teeth were chattering and you kept bouncing on the balls of your feet to keep you warm. 

Midway through the first Sid scored, which had you jumping up and down and cheering along with the team as well as the thousands of fans in the stadium. It did little to help get you warm and you were practically running to the locker room tunnel by end of the first. You grabbed a cup of hot tea while the players went over the first period and where they could make improvements. It went pretty much the same way in the second, even though Nick Bonino scored early the Flyers were able to cut the lead in half with a goal from Jakub Voracek. Again, you raced off to get warm as soon as the horn sounded. 

Your feet were numb by the time Cully scored a goal early in the third, and though the Flyers scored on a power play, Chad Ruhwedel sealed the Pens victory with over five minutes left in play. The stadium erupted with the win, though it did little to warm you up. You stayed long enough to watch the team skate around in their little victory lap, then headed back down to the nice warm locker room. 

Of course, Sid had to do media, which meant you were there even longer. He was afforded the luxury of a nice hot shower before the two of you headed home. "Can you please turn the heat up?" you whined once you were in the car. "I'm freezing."

"It was a bit cold out there, eh?" Sid commented as he turned the heat on your side of the vehicle to max. 

"Ya think? I thought I was going to freeze to death when the snow started to fly."

"Babe, it's all part of outdoor hockey." He grabbed one of your hands in his. "Fuck, you are cold. You should've worn thermals or something."

"Trust me I will next time. I think it's just worse because of how beautiful it was yesterday."

"Well, as soon as we get home, we'll get you in the tub."

"Uh, yes, please." The ride through the city, while mostly traffic free, seemed endless. 

"Head upstairs, babe and I'll bring you up a cup of tea as soon as I get rid of my gear." Not having to be told twice, you made your way up to your shared master bath and started running the water. You hated stripping out of your clothes, as it felt like the only warmth your body had at the moment but as soon as your toes touched the steaming water, you sighed as the warmth heated your skin. You were fully immersed up to your neck by the time Sid came up with a steaming mug full of tea. "Better?"

"A little," you answered taking a sip of the drink he'd prepared perfectly for you before setting it back down on the ledge of the tub. "Still a bit chilly." 

"Well in that case." Sid started to strip out of his clothes. Divesting himself of his suit that he'd worn to the game. He folded it over the chair you used to put your makeup on, so that it didn't get any wrinkles, then made his way over to you and the tub. "Scooch up, babe." You did and he scooted in behind you, easing you back against him once he was comfortable in the water. His arms wrapped around you instantly and you felt engulfed in his heat. "This better?"

"Mmm much." You were completely content wrapped up in your boyfriend's arms with the water lapping around you both, so you rested your head against his chest. "You played really well tonight," you mused shutting your eyes and just giving yourself over to the warmth that was Sid.

"It was a lot of fun. I love playing outdoors. It's so authentic." Only Sid would put it like that, but you knew what he meant. "Though I wish you would've dressed warmer baby."

"I'm fine now." You took another long sip of tea, the temperature perfect. 

Sid kissed your temple. "Good, can't have you getting sick on me." 

"God no, I'll have to sleep in the guest room, if that happens."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to be responsible for getting the star player sick." You told him, turning your head so that you could look him in the eye. "You will not be missing a game because of me."

"I'd still probably end up missing a game because I wouldn't be able to sleep without you in our bed." His arms tightened around you, almost as if you were going to run off to the guest room right then. "But we're not worrying about that now, because we are definitely sleeping in the same bed tonight." His lips captured yours then, stealing your breath away and heating your body all the way to your core. You could feel his erecting grow against you as the kiss went on. It was nothing to reach behind you and wrap your fingers around his length. He moaned into your mouth, before gently sucking on your bottom lip as he broke the kiss. "You know two can play that game." His hand stole down your stomach and slipped between your folds, the water making it easy for him to caress you there. Your hand stuttered on his cock as he slid two fingers into you. Sid took the opportunity to grab your wrist with his free hand so that you could no longer manipulate him as you liked. "Lean your head back and enjoy this for a bit."

"But…"

"We'll get to that." He told you as he settled you against him once again. He shimmied his legs so that they were in between yours but only for a moment so that he could spread yours wide; your legs now splayed on either side of his. Sid's fingers continued to toy with your pussy, alternating between pumping in and out of you and rubbing circles on your clit, while his other hand tweaked your nipples into taut little peaks. Before you knew it you were panting with need, the chill of the evening game completely forgotten as Sid stoked a fire deep within you. His lips came down on the nape of your neck, his tongue driving you wild just as his fingers were. It was all too much as the water gently lapped at your skin. You felt your body gently rise into his touch, yet he held you firm working you towards that peak you craved. It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit. It washed over you like a wave cresting on the sand as your body trembled, this time not from the cold but the pleasure of Sid's touch. "You're so fucking sexy when you cum." His warm breath sent a shiver down your spine.

You were so sated you almost didn't want to move, but then you wanted him to experience the same ecstasy that you'd just felt. "We should…" you went to tell him that you should move to the bed but Sid had other plans.

"We'll be fine here, just kneel for a second." Your legs were already on either side of him, so it wasn't hard. He adjusted himself a bit, sitting more upright in the tub, before bending his knees slightly for you to lean against. You turned your head to the side to see him stroke himself a couple times, before lining himself up with your pussy. "Now just come back a little." You did as instructed; your pussy engulfing his cock as you basically sat reverse cowgirl on him. With his knees bent you leveraged yourself against them and started to ride his cock. "Fuck baby, you feel so good." His hands were on your hips making sure you wouldn't slip in the tub, but controlling your pace as well. 

Water sloshed against the sides of the tub, some of it spilling over the sides. "Oh shit," you moaned out knowing that you were making a mess of the bathroom floor. 

Sid could see where your thoughts were going. "Forget it, (Y/N). We'll get it later." He accentuated his words by thrusting up deep inside you. The action making you groan with desire. "That feel good, baby?"

"Yes," you cried out as he hit your g-spot again. "Right there," you panted and he hit the spot over and over again until you were convulsing around him in your second climax. 

"Jesus, (Y/N)," Sid moaned as your pussy gripped him like a vice. The grip he had on your hips tightened as he rammed into your cunt. He was so close to falling off the edge and cumming with you but he wanted to hold off, make it last longer, give you one more orgasm before he sought his own pleasure. Sid slowed his thrusts then, as you relaxed momentarily against his knees. "So fucking beautiful." It took you a moment to catch your breath before you started to move again. His thrusts weren't as deep as before, giving you a moment's reprieve before he went at it again. You knew Sid, knew he could keep up this leisurely pace all night if he wanted. The water was cooling though, and even though your body was still on fire after two orgasms you had no wish to be cold again. It was then that you decided to move your hips, rocking in a motion that you knew would drive him wild. And it did. It wasn't long before he was bucking up into you again. The water going everywhere now. Some of it even hitting his designer suit which rested across the room on the chair. "Fuck, (Y/N)," he hissed out and you could tell he wouldn't last much longer at this pace. He let one hand snake around to your clit. His fingers applying just the right amount of pressure there, as he rubbed circles into the little nub. 

"Sid, I'm gonna…"

"Yes, baby, yes," he groaned on the verge of hitting his peak as well. You were both there with a few thrusts. His hot cum filling you up as you quaked around him. The pleasure so intense you swore you saw stars. Sid collapsed against the back of the tub and while you wanted to follow, the position you were in did not make it that easy. It took a little maneuvering on both your parts, but soon you were back to lounging against Sid.

"We should get out." The water was definitely cooled now and this time you shivered from it.

"You still cold?"

"A little."

"Well, let's get you in bed then." The towel you had laid out was completely soaked, so you just laid it across the floor as you moved to get out of the tub. "Careful," Sid warned as you stepped out onto the shiny marble floor. You moved quickly yet cautiously to the cabinet and grabbed both of you a towel while laying down a few more to soak up the water. 

You'd just finished wrapping the fluffy white towel around your body when Sid scooped you up and headed towards the bedroom. "Sid, stop! I need to clean up that mess."

"It'll dry." He must have been anticipating how the night would go for the bed was already turned down as he placed you in the middle of the mattress. He scooted in behind you, discarding his towel in one swift motion, before sweeping the covers over both of you. His hands made quick work of ridding you of the wet cloth that was helping you dry. "They say body heat is the fastest way to warm someone up."

"Hmm, is that so," you said turning in his embrace. 

"Mmmhmm. I'm sure I read it somewhere."

"I'm sure you did. I'm just wondering what else this book said."

His hands were roaming up and down your back and gliding across the globes of your ass. "Oh, lots more."

You kissed his neck wanting to return the favor he had given you a while ago, then you moved to his chest before saying, "such as?" You continued your path downward over Sid's abs.

"I'm sure there was…" he sucked in a breath as you placed a warm kiss on his pelvis. "Fuck I can't think of a word." 

You grinned up at him from beneath the covers. "Let me see if I can make you forget all together." Sid lost all train of thought as your lips connected with his cock. The night continued on like that for a few more hours before the two of you were so sated you could do nothing but sleep.