#*it actually took 3 and a half hours because of traffic

[lesbicosmos]

"who would travel 2 hours* just to go to a forest that's dumb"

ME BITCH!! MERLIN FOREST!!!!

[mercvry-glow]

Stop making this hurt

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary. jack knew he didn’t want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

warnings. pitt fest incident, guns/shootings, hospital setting, blood and gore, reader gets hurt, death (not reader), medical inaccuracies and not show accurate but i tried my best, jack and robby are stressed af, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. finally my first pitt fest fic, hopefully this is angsty enough for ya'll and pleases all of my anons who asked for this! I love all of you, thank you for almost 300 followers and as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3600+

You knew it was a long shot trying to convince Jack to come with you to Pitt-Fest.

Crowds were never his thing, not even before his time as an Army medic. Too loud, too many moving parts, too unpredictable. Add a decade of trauma medicine on top of that, and the thought of shoulder-to-shoulder festival traffic was enough to make him visibly tense. You didn’t blame him — not even a little.

And as much as you loved your husband, you weren’t going to fight him on this one.

“Go have fun,” he’d told you that morning, standing in the doorway in his usual worn t-shirt and sweats, a coffee mug in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist. “Text me when you get there. And text me again when you leave. And maybe don’t lose your phone this time?”

You’d rolled your eyes, kissed him once, then twice — and promised to behave.

Truly, it was better for him to spend his one of his days off actually resting, not galavanting around the venue with you and your friends, half-drunk on overpriced cider and yelling about pierogi trucks.

So you let yourself enjoy it. The chaos, the music, the warm breeze coming off the river. You danced with your friends in the middle of the concert to some college band playing covers too fast. You tasted six different kinds of barbecue and took a picture with a guy dressed like a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup. And every couple hours, your phone buzzed with a little check-in from Jack — usually short, always a little dry since he wasn’t a big texter.

JACKY [1:14 PM] You hydrated today or just vibes?

JACKY [3:06 PM] Hope the pierogi truck is worth the foot traffic.

JACKY [4:11 PM] Home if you need me. 

You were smiling at that last one about to respond around 5pm, standing in line for boozy lemon slushies with Emma and a few others, when it happened.

At first, it was just a sound — one that didn’t register immediately. A sharp crack in the distance. Then another. Then screaming.

The crowd surged before your brain caught up. Someone dropped their drink. Someone else shoved you sideways. Your phone slipped out of your hand and hit the pavement.

“Is that—” Emma started to say, eyes wide.

You grabbed her wrist and pulled. “Run.”

You didn’t know where the shots had come from. You didn’t stop to look. You just moved — through the panicked chaos, toward the edge of the crowd, ducking behind a food truck with a group of strangers just as another round cracked the air like lightning.

Your chest was tight. Ears ringing. People were yelling. Crying. Calling for help. And your phone—your phone was still on the street.

Jack.

You couldn’t call him.

But he’d know. You didn’t know how, you just knew.

And however a mile away, as police scanners lit up and trauma alerts pinged on hospital radios, Jack was already on his feet — keys in hand, work boots half tied—and heart racing faster than he’d felt since he returned to US soil.

He didn’t wait for a callback. Didn’t care that he wasn’t on the schedule. He grabbed his badge and his trauma bag and was in the truck before the next dispatcher finished her second sentence.

Because something had happened at Pitt-Fest.

And you were there.

It really sounded like a firecracker at first — maybe someone messing around near the alley that ran behind the Pitt-Fest booths. But then came the second, then the third. Screaming followed.

You turned your head just in time to see another wave of people running. And then—

“EMMA!!”

She was beside you one second, and the next, she was down.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just dropped to your knees, catching her head before it hit the pavement, your mind going a mile a minute.

“Hey, hey—Em—look at me,” you said, your voice louder than you realized. “Where were you hit?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her hands were pressed to her stomach, blood already soaking through her shirt and fingers.

“Fuck,” you hissed. “Okay. Okay, pressure. Emmy, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely noticed the searing pain until your legs buckled and you were on your side. A sharp, ripping sensation tore through your ribs like glass.

Shot. 

You had been shot too.

Someone was shouting. A vendor nearby had flipped a table and was screaming for people to duck. A stranger—a kid, maybe barely twenty not much younger than you—ran toward you both through the chaos, eyes wide.

“Are you hurt? I have a truck—”

“Help us—please!” you said, trying to sit up, trying not to black out. “I’m a doctor—ER. Trauma. She needs a hospital now.”

He nodded, panicked, glancing at the blood now pooling on the concrete. “We’re like five blocks from PTMC—I’ll drive!”

You helped haul Emma up with shaking arms, biting back a cry when your chest screamed in protest. She groaned as you dragged her toward the curb, her weight nearly toppling you.

The kid had his pickup pulled up half on the sidewalk within seconds.

“Put her in the bed!” you ordered. “It’ll be faster to lift her in!”

Someone else joined—another panicked bystande —helping you hoist Emma into the truck bed as gently and as quickly as possible. You climbed in after her, teeth gritted, your once cute outfit sticky with blood.

“Go!” you screamed as the tailgate slammed shut behind you.

The engine roared and the truck peeled off, tires screeching. You barely held on, your legs braced against the wheel well, one arm clamped across Emma’s wound, the other pressing against your own side to slow the bleeding.

“You’re okay,” you told her, voice tight, even though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. “Emma, you’re gonna make it. You’re not fucking dying at Pitt-Fest! I won’t let you.”

Her eyes fluttered, and you cursed under your breath, checking her pulse. 

Thready. Too fast.

You knew you had minutes. Maybe less.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Jack was at the Pitt. On shift or not, he was always there when it mattered.

He had no idea you were on your way. Or that you were bleeding out in the back of a stranger’s truck, racing through downtown Pittsburgh.

But if you made it… if you could just hold on a little longer…

You’d see him again.

The truck rattled like it was going to fall apart with every pothole it hit on Carson Street. The shocks weren’t built for this kind of weight or speed, and the stranger behind the wheel didn’t care. He’d barely said a word since he’d skidded to a stop at the edge of the chaos. Now, you could barely hold your head up.

Emma was curled in on herself across from you, clutching the side of the truck bed like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Her glitter jacket was soaked through—Msot of it hers, some of it not—and her ponytail had come loose, curls hanging limp against her face.

You turned your head toward her, everything in you aching.

“Em,” you rasped.

She didn’t answer.

“Emma, look at me.”

She did, finally. Her lip was split, her eyes glassy. She was holding her side with one hand, the other shaking where it pressed against her stomach. Blood oozed through her fingers.

“Hurts,” she whispered.

“I know.” You reached out, hand slick and trembling. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side sharp and spreading, warm and wet and endless. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re almost there.”

She nodded—but then her gaze dropped to your side, and her eyes widened. “Babe… you're—”

“Don’t look at me.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Just breathe, Em. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure if that was true. The blood loss was getting worse. Your top was drenched. The bullet had torn low, near your hip, and every bump in the road sent fresh agony lancing through your whole body. You tried to apply pressure but your arm wouldn’t stop shaking.

The guy driving honked again, swerving around a city bus. Ahead, PTMC’s trauma bay came into view, the red trauma flags flapping against the gray building. Almost there. Almost safe.

Then Emma made a sound that shattered you.

It was small. Wet. A choking breath followed by nothing.

You lurched forward, dragging yourself toward her with everything you had left. 

“Emma—Emmy. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Her head lolled. Her eyes were still open, just barely. “I’m really cold,” she whispered.

“No, baby. No, you’re not.” You gathered her into your lap, tried to shield her with what strength you had left. “We’re here. You’re okay.”

The truck hit the curb at full speed, rocking the bed. The brakes screamed as it slid sideways, stopping half a second before it would’ve crashed into the wall of the trauma bay. And then hands—at least half a dozen of them—were yanking open the tailgate.

Chaos.

“Two critical GSWs in the back—Jesus, they’re both going out!”

“She’s losing consciousness!”

“Someone help me get her—”

“She’s coding!”

You heard all of it like you were underwater. You were vaguely aware of someone pulling Emma from your limp arms. Someone else catching you as your head dropped back, limp, blood seeping down your spine.

A nurse’s voice rang out as she tried to open your airway.

“Who is she—anyone got a name?!”

No one answered.

Inside the trauma bay, Jack was elbow-deep in yet another chest wound, barking orders, adrenaline humming through his veins. He didn’t hear the commotion at the ambulance bay over the noise of suction and a flatline monitor. Didn’t look up when the bay doors slammed open again.

Didn’t know.

Didn’t know that somewhere down the hall, two trauma rooms were opening side by side—one for your best friend who wouldn’t make it, and one for you, his wife, who just might.

Not yet.

But he would.

He always did.

Now rushing inside to the hub, “Her BP’s eighty systolic and dropping—she’s hemorrhaging fast.”

“Pulse is thready. Pupils sluggish.”

“Get Dr. Robby in here, now!”

The trauma bay was already spinning into motion when Michael stepped through the sliding doors, hand dragging down over his messy brown hair. He was halfway into his  new trauma gown as he crossed the room.

“What’ve we got?”

“GSW to the lower abdomen. Entry left, possible exit—can’t tell through the bleeding. She was brought in non-EMS, unknown downtime.”

Robinavitch’s eyes tracked the chaos instantly, sharp and assessing. He reached the foot of the bed and froze just long enough to squint at your face beneath the mask of blood, dirt, and bruises. Something flickered across his expression.

“…Is that—?”

“Yeah,” one of the nurses whispered. “That’s our second Abbot.”

He didn’t react. Not outwardly. Just snapped his gloves tighter and stepped in, voice calm but commanding.

“Alright. Let’s move. I need two large-bore IVs, type and cross, four units O-neg hanging yesterday, and someone page trauma surgery—now.”

A nurse slid a face shield over his head as he pulled the curtain closed behind him.

“Pressure dressing’s soaked through.”

“She’s crashing, Dr. Robby.”

Michael leaned in over your body, catching the faintest movement of your chest. He knew your voice, your laugh, the way you snapped off one-liners at Jack and him in the hall. And right now, none of that mattered. You were just another patient bleeding out on his table. And he was going to keep you alive.

“Hang another liter. Let’s get a FAST scan going—we need to find that bleed.”

A tech slid gel across your abdomen. The screen flared to life, the grainy black-and-white image revealing what they were dreading.

“She’s bleeding into her abdomen,” someone said.

“No kidding,” Robby muttered. Then louder: “Alright. We don’t have time. Prep her straight for the OR. I want her there five minutes ago.”

He pressed down on the wound with both hands, hard. Princess to his left winced.

“She should seee Jack,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “Jack needs her to still be breathing when he finds out.”

He looked down at you, your face pale and growing colder beneath his fingers.

“You hang on,” he said under his breath. “You do not die on me. He will never recover.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes fluttered once, lips barely parted. A sound escaped, too soft to decipher as Mikey leaned closer. 

Not as a doctor now, but as a close friend. 

“What was that?”

Your mouth twitched. “Tell… Jack…”

But then your body jolted under his hands—heart monitor screaming into v-fib.

“Code!” someone shouted.

“Start compressions!” Robinavitch was already moving, calling for paddles. “One of you get Abbot!”

“But he’s still in Pink—”

“I don’t care if he’s in surgery or nott,” he snapped. “Tell him it’s his wife. Tell him she’s coding.”

Across the hospital floor, Jack looked up—something in his chest going cold before he even knew why.

The Pink Zone was chaos, and Red was a shit show. 

Jack had blood smeared to his elbows and the kind of tension in his jaw that only came from running full tilt on no sleep. His short, curls—streaked at the temples with silver—were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and quick, were laser-focused on the wound in front of him.

“Clamp—now,” he barked, voice low and lethal.

The security guard on the table had been fine for the minute, eventually turning critical. Shrapnel to the chest. He’d already coded once in triage. Jack had cracked him open right there on the gurney, and there was no room in his world for anything else.

Until—

“Dr. Abbot!”

He didn’t look up. “Hold pressure!.”

“Jack!”

That voice. Too familiar.

He finally looked.

One of the new night shift  interns stood just inside the trauma bay doors, Jacob’s own scrubs stained and his expression wrecked. And he never looked wrecked.

Jack straightened, adrenaline still coursing, brow furrowed. “What?”

Jacob’s mouth opened—but nothing came out at first. He took a breath. Another. Then:

“She’s here. Your wife.”

The words didn’t land right at first. Jack blinked, frowning, like he hadn’t heard correctly.

“She what?”

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Came in the fourth or fifth wave from Pitt-Fest,” the young man said, voice tight. “They stabilized her. She was hypotensive on arrival. Tachy. Someone named Emma was with her—they were in the back of a civilian truck.”

The name Emma barely registered.

Jack’s pulse went sideways.

“She coded once—Robby sent her to the OR.”

“No,” Jack said, too fast, shaking his head. “No, she wasn’t even—she said she’d text me when—she wasn’t—”

The air felt thick. Too heavy. Too loud. His fingers curled into fists, shaking beneath his gloves.

“Dr. Abbot,” Someone said, stepping closer. “She’s still alive. They got her back. But you can’t leave right now. We need you here.”

Jack didn’t move.

“She asked for you,” Jacobs added quietly.

That broke something open.

Jack’s hazel eyes—usually unreadable—flashed wide. For half a second, pure panic. He turned, looking toward the hall that led to the elevators, toward OR.

But he couldn’t go. He knew it. The man on the table in front of him was dying.

And his wife… his wife was being cut open upstairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut once, breathing like it physically hurt. When he opened them, they were steely again. Grounded by sheer force of will.

“Tell Robinavitch to get me when she’s out,” Jack said. His voice was barely steady. “And tell him if she crashes again—he calls me. Immediately.”

“I will,” Jacob promised.

Jack didn’t answer. He just turned back to his patient like his spine was made of iron. Like his heart wasn’t bleeding under his ribs.

But his hands trembled—just once—before they found the scalpel again.

And he didn’t say another word about it, because what was there to say you could be gone before he even got to see you. 

Eventually the world returned in fragments.

A slow, stuttering beep. The soft rustle of hospital sheets. The sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. Everything hurt—but not sharply. Not like it had. Now it was dull and heavy, like your body was made of stone, barely yours.

You blinked against the overhead light. It took effort. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand.

A shape moved beside you.

Jack.

He was hunched forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight. His short, silvery curls were flattened on one side, sticking up in the back like he hadn’t moved in hours. His hazel eyes were fixed on the floor, red-rimmed, dark and distant.

Your heart monitor ticked just a little faster. He looked up immediately.

“Hey,” he breathed, already at your side.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hi.”

Jack let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and reached for your hand. His touch was careful, reverent. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

“Me too,” you rasped.

He gave you a sip of water, helping steady the cup as you drank. When you pulled back, your throat still felt raw—but the words came anyway.

“Emma?”

Jack’s face changed.

The crack in his expression wasn’t obvious, but you’d seen it before—on the battlefiel, in different red zone code blues, in the quiet moments after a loss. He didn’t answer right away.

You already knew.

“…She didn’t make it,” he said softly. “They couldn’t even try. She was gone in the truck.”

Your breath hitched.

“She was getting married,” you whispered, tears already brimming. “She was twenty-eight, Jack...”

“I know.”

“She was going to try out for th-that promotion. She just bought her wedding dress last week—she wanted to show you, and—and she was finally gonna ask David to move in with—”

Jack didn’t try to stop your rambling grief. He just leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said again, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “She died in my arms...”

His hand tightened around yours.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he murmured, guilt and grief bleeding into his voice. “I was a couple zones over. We were shoulder to shoulder with victims. I didn’t know until after they took you up to surge.”

You blinked fast. “Were you there when I came in?”

“Robby got you stable. Barely. Everyone just said it was bad. Said  one of ours went down.” His voice caught. 

“Jack.”

“I couldn’t go up,” he whispered. “They were still bringing bodies in. And you were already in surgery. I had to keep working.”

Your vision blurred again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re the one that got shot.” His hazel eyes were fierce now, even through the exhaustion. “You did everything you could. You kept Emma safe as long as you could. And you lived. That’s all that matters right now.”

You didn’t feel like it should be enough. Not with her gone, and the fate of the rest of your friends unknown. But the way Jack looked at you—like the entire world had stopped spinning until your heart started beating again—it made the pain settle differently.

He reached up and brushed your hair back, his touch gentle. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

Since the first shots rang out at Pitt-Fest, you let yourself feel the weight of everything that had happened. 

Your fingers twitched under his, slow and aching, but deliberate. Jack noticed immediately, shifting to cradle your hand in both of his, as if he could anchor you there by touch alone.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “Thank you for staying with me…”

Jack’s eyes closed, lashes trembling. His head bowed as his grip on your hand tightened, pulling it gently to his chest.

“I’d stay a thousand times,” he murmured. “I’d go through hell a thousand times if it meant getting you back.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest—because you believed him. There was no part of Jack Abbot that ever did anything halfway, least of all when it came to you.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “In that truck. I-I knew Emma  was gone and—I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything hurt. I didn’t know if you’d even know…”

Jack leaned forward again, resting his forehead against your hands, breathing you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real. “I know now,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve got you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the way his body trembled just slightly with the force of holding himself together.

“I kept thinking—‘he’s gonna be mad,’” you whispered. “Because I went without you. Because I didn’t duck fast enough. Because I let one of the girls get hit.”

“Stop,” he said, voice firm but thick with emotion. “You don’t need to carry that. Not even for a second.”

You nodded faintly, tears sliding into your hair. “She died, Jack. Emma died. And I couldn’t save her.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, then moved to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, like he could pour every unspoken word straight into your skin.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll carry that with you. Every single day.” The monitors continued their slow, steady rhythm. Jack stayed at your bedside like he’d never leave it again.

Outside, the world kept spinning—grief, news headlines, recovery, chaos—but inside that quiet room, wrapped in his presence, you finally let yourself rest. Because you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

And you knew, in the deepest part of yourself, that Jack would keep holding on enough for the both of you—because that’s the type of man he was. 

mercury-glow 2025

[areyouwell]

Hi!!! I really love your work- photophobia is my favorite piece of fanfiction ever!!

I don't know if your requests are still open but if they are and you feel inspired I'd like to request a one-shot where Logan and reader are caught having sex by a member of the x-men (you can decide who!!) I'd love to see your take on it <3

Like Animals

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: im sorry this took so long ;-; work's been driving me crazy and i've been creatively constipated BUT i really liked this request and ngl i was laughing to myself when writing it hehehe. also not sure if this counts as a oneshot or a drabble since it's kinda short but i hope this is what you had in mind!

Taglist: @fries11 (i had a taglist for Phobophobia but this is a more general one if anyone wants to be on it lmk <3)

How many steps could one person do in a single day? It was a question you idly entertained whilst pacing across the floor of the kitchen, having been asked to politely remove yourself from movie night by a mildly irritated Kitty when you were unable to sit still. You’d spent most of your day like this. Anxiously, mindlessly marching from place to place, your body humming with anticipation since yesterday evening. 

It was the longest you and Logan had been apart since the start of your relationship a year and a half ago, and fuck you missed him. It had been roughly three weeks since he’d left, Charles trusting him with gathering intel on some new fucked up mutant slave trade just south of the school. He’d called you, of course he had, and you knew it was purely just to hear your voice, but his calls were few and far between. He was busy, incredibly busy. And whilst you tried to keep yourself busy too, it was hard not to think about him constantly. Not to wonder how he was doing, whether he was okay. If he missed you just as much as you missed him.

But you were pacing because he was supposed to be coming home today. Supposed to, if everything had gone well. Scott was almost as excited as you were, but only because he was happy to finally have his bike back. He was almost inconsolable when he went into the garage to see his prized possession had once again been stolen, and you tried everything you could to hide your amused grin. It was so typical of him, for his last act before he was gone for three weeks to be something that would piss off Scott. 

Fuck you loved him. 

You checked the clock on the wall for the thirtieth time that minute, the hands mocking you with the rhythmic clicking. Quarter past nine. He was supposed to be back an hour ago. Hence the anxious pacing. You resisted the urge to call him, hoping that maybe the traffic was just bad, or he got held up for some reason. He was okay. Of course he was okay. This was Logan you were thinking about. He was always okay. He had to be okay. 

Your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip cursing lowly as you didn’t focus on where you were going and smacked your hip into the corner of the table. If only he knew the things he id to you when he was away. 

With a brief pause, you debated whether or not to go back to movie night. Whilst you had no idea what was happening onscreen, being unable to focus, you think you could understand the fairly basic premise of Night at the Museum. Some guy spends a night at a museum. How complex could that actually be? But remembering Kitty’s flat stare of knowing, you thought better of it. She’d been helpful in distracting you for the last three weeks, but clearly, you’d worn down her patience. Not that you could blame the girl. She called you out for being too codependent on him, and whilst at the time you refuted the claim, you couldn’t help thinking she may have had a point. Maybe.

You weren’t codependent. You just loved him. A lot. Enough to constantly be by his side every minute of every day. And it wasn’t like he was any different. 

Another minute ticked by and you clenched your jaw. Had he gotten lost or something? Why was he making you wait longer than you needed to? Of course it wasn’t deliberate, even if he wanted to, you don’t think he had the strength to do that, deprive you both of the other’s presence, but he really picked a time to be an hour late. 

You crossed to the window, pulling back the curtain for the umpteenth time and waiting for longer than you should for the peek of headlights around the drive. But there was nothing. Just the moonlit grass and silhouette of trees. You huffed, throwing the curtain back into place. Footsteps echoed through the hallway towards the kitchen, and you dragged a hand down your face. 

“I’m fine, Scott. Just… getting kinda worried now. He should have been back an hour ago.” You couldn’t help pulling back the curtain again, as if anything would have changed in the last twenty seconds. 

“Scott? Seriously?”

Oh. That was not Scott. 

You whipped around, heart soaring as you knew that voice instantly. You could be deaf and still know the sound of his voice. Your lips split into a broad grin as you saw Logan standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, brow raised with a wry smile pulling at his lips. 

“Logan!” You beamed, racing across the room to all but tackle him. He dropped his leather bag to the floor, wrapping his arms around around your middle, spinning with the momentum of your jump. Your legs anchored around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back as you let yourself bask in his presence, inhaling the familiar scent of cigars and wood smoke. 

“Hi darlin’. Sorry ‘m late.” He breathed, tightening his hold on you more for comfort than anything else. The tightness in his chest finally eased with the feeling of having you back in his arms. Logan always thought of himself as a lone wolf. An outsider. Someone who didn’t need anybody else. That was until he met you and fell absolutely head over heels. Now he could barely stand to be on his own for longer than five minutes before he’d find himself sorely missing your presence. So the last three weeks had been as torturous for him as they had been for you. 

Removing your face from the crook of his neck, you schooled your expression into a scowl. “Where the fuck have you been? An hour, Logan. I haven’t seen you in three weeks and you make me wait another hour?!”

He rolled his eyes at your dramatics, smirking as your furrowed brows deepened. “Roads were closed. Fuckin’ tree blocked the way so I had to turn back n’ find another way round.” He explained, and you reluctantly accepted it. “Not that you missed me or anythin’.”

“Me? Miss you?” you quirked a brow, your scowl dissolving into a mischievous smirk. “In your dreams, Howlett.”

Before he had a chance to quip back, you wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging tight as your lips crashed into his, dragging a quiet groan from his throat as he tasted longing passion on your tongue. His hands slid from your back to your thighs and oh how you missed the way he would grip them, leaving little purple bruises where he dug his fingers into your soft flesh. 

Your brows pinched as he shifted to pin you against the wall, palms kneading your ass whilst he ground his rapidly hardening cock against your clothed heat. You whimpered lightly as his touches became desperate, your teeth tugging at his bottom lip, eliciting a sharp gasp from the depths of his chest. Shifting from his neck, your nails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders, leaving little crescent dents across the sinewy skin before you the brown flannel from his arms. It was barely clinging on anyway, so why not assist the fall?

“Where’s everyone?” He ground, lips fanning against your lower jaw as he moved to pepper tingling kisses and aching bruises along the column of your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin above your pulse point. You angled your head to the side, allowing him easier access, the scuff of his beard scratching deliciously against the hollow of your throat.

“Movie night– Logan…!” you gasped his name as quietly as you could when his hands left the plush of your ass, using your grip around his waist and the wall to hold you aloft whilst he pawed and kneaded at your breasts through your t-shirt, braless nipples hardening almost instantly. He pinched the pebble through the fabric, tugging slightly and silencing your whine with a burning kiss, hungrily devouring your mouth before you alerted anyone in the living room to the new show playing in the kitchen. 

He growled a gravelly “Good” against your lips, removing your arms from his shoulders to raise above your head, pulling your shirt up and off in a hurried frenzy, almost snarling to himself as you bared yourself for him. You shivered slightly, though not from the cold, quite the opposite. The heat radiating off him kept you warm as you scrabbled to return the favour, your nails scratching at his naval before pulling up the white singlet and discarding it to the ground alongside your own shirt. Your hands fell to his belt, his mouth delivering little bites to your collarbone. Fuck, you needed him now. You needed him yesterday. Hell, you needed him the day he left, because fucking yourself with your fingers wearing his flannel was nothing in comparison to the ecstasy of fucking yourself on his cock. 

“Need you,” you breathed, popping open the button atop his jeans and pulling down the zipper over the incredibly obvious and likely extremely uncomfortable tent in his pants. Logan groaned slightly against your neck in relief, the tip of his cock pulsing and leaking with need. He hadn’t been this desperate for you since–

What the fuck was he saying? He was always desperate for you. In any way, shape or form. For whatever you were willing to give him. Though, luckily enough, you were usually willing to give him everything. 

“Fuck princess, ‘can smell you. Smell so fuckin’ good.” he growled directly into your ear, hot breath sending shivers down your spine. You really didn’t care that you were in the kitchen, nor did you care when he carefully tore through the crotch of your sweatpants with a single claw. Your arousal clouded his senses, the sweet scent of need making his hips buck into you. Especially when he dipped his hand through the tear to find you were naked beneath. “No underwear? You did miss me.” He grinned the same smile as a predator, and you clamped your lips together to stop your own disobedient smile. 

“‘Was in my pyjamas… at least, they were my pyjamas.” You hissed, brows pinching as a curious, delicate finger softly grazed through your slick folds, gathering your dewy arousal on the tip of his fingers before bringing them up to his mouth. A carnal groan rumbled from his chest as he tasted you, his eyes rolling before they closed. Your mouth fell open, chest rising and falling in rapid pants as one of your hands shoved the elastic of his briefs down below his hips, just far enough for his desperate cock to spring from his confines. 

“Impatient?” He smirked darkly as you attempted to grind against him, having to clench your jaw to stop yourself from whining. You shot him an equally wicked look, earning yourself a brow raise before his jaw slackened, your hand circling his length in a tight palm, jerking him from base to tip and using your thumb to slather the head of his cock in his own yearning. He bucked into your hand, a gasp flying from his lips before you slid him through the tear in your sweatpants. But before you could coerce him to drive home, he pulled you from the wall. 

With a small squeak of surprise, your nails clung to his back, tearing angry marks up his spine as he set you back down on the table, leaning over you until you were lying against the solid wood. 

“Say you missed me,” he growled with a smile, clearly deriving pleasure from the way you huffed in frustration. You only responded by raising your hips into his, grinding your now-soaked crotch against his throbbing cock. “C’mon baby, just say it, ‘n I’ll give you everything you want.” he bargained, though finding it incredibly difficult to deny you. He grunted a soft curse when you locked your legs tighter around his waist, forcing his sensitive tip to graze through your aching heat. Fuck he wanted you. But at the same time, he really wanted to hear you say it. “C’mooon, say you missed me. Can’t really deny it.”

“Fuck, yes I missed you. Of course I missed you. Now fuck me already!” You spat through gritted teeth, but he still didn’t claim you the way you wanted him to. 

“How much?”

“Logan?!”

“How much? How much did you miss me?” He grinned and you groaned in frustration. Trust him to find the worst times to wind you up. With a deep breath, you leaned up, holding both sides of his neck as you took the shell of his ear between your teeth. 

“I fucked myself wearing your clothes, whining your name, imagining my fingers were your fingers. Imagining that stupid silicon cock was your cock. That’s how much I missed you.” You whispered, earning yourself a needy groan from the man above you. 

His hips moved as if they had a mind of their own, his hand guiding himself through the ruins of your sweatpants to sink into your leaking cunt, and you both gasped airily at the sensation. Incrementally, Logan pushed inside you, savouring the pulse of your silken walls, the pitch of your trapped whines behind a wall of teeth and lips. Oh how he wanted to hear you, but somewhere in the back of his pleasure-addles mind, he was glad you were keeping quiet. At least one of you was still aware of the time and place. 

Slowly he bottomed out, pressing the coarse hairs of his pelvis against your clit. Taking your hand in his, he trapped it by the side of your head, knuckled turning white as he fought to resist the urge to cum there and then. You felt so fucking good. How did you always feel so fucking good?

“F-fuck, Logan… move.” You hissed, your hips undulating in desperate pumps as you attempted to get him to do something other than just fill you. It felt incredible, but you needed more. What you didn’t realise was that he was hypersensitive. He’d been without you for the last three weeks, with nothing but your voice on the other side of his phone and his own fist to satisfy his craving for you. And it did nothing but make it worse. Did nothing but make him harder for you. 

“Easy, princess. Not– fuck… not goin’ anywhere.” He swore as you deliberately clenched around him, slowly pulling back until only his tip was submerged in your heat, before pushing back in, having to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder to muffle his loud groan of ecstasy. You clawed at his closed fist, sharp nails digging into the three spaces where his claws would slide out—an unknown erogenous zone.

Until now.

His cock jumped inside you, shivers of pure electric honey quivering down his spine as he slammed his hips into yours, momentarily losing control of himself. “Shit… shit! Fuck that was– what did you–” 

You did it again, watching his features fall completely slack, mouth agape as he bucked into you uncontrollably, as if searching for a deeper place to reach. Your chest inflated with a sharp gasp as the leaking, throbbing tip of his cock brushed that little bundle of pleasure nestled inside your walls, the tight leash you were holding on your voice loosening slightly as he thrust into you sharply, having found just the right angle. 

“Yes… fuck, yeah, there, right– shit, right there!” Your eyes fluttered closed, your body set alight as he set a determined pace, the table shifting slightly with each delicious thrust, your ecstasy climbing higher and higher and you let yourself be completely consumed by pleasure. 

“Yeah?” he growled, gasping into the side of your neck as your other hand scratched up his back as if you were trying to get past his regeneration and leave lingering marks. He loved it when you got rough, it drove him fucking crazy when you tried to leave your marks on him. There were times he hated his mutation for that because nothing would push him higher than knowing he could look in the mirror and see your desperation sucked into his neck or torn into his back. 

“Fuck! Logan, I–”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

At the first sound of a foreign voice outside of your bubble of rapture, your mutation flared, blinking both you and Logan out of sight. Though, if you could teleport, that would have been a whole lot more beneficial. Because now poor Scott had to bear witness to your spontaneous kitchen table tryst. 

Had to bear witness to Logan’s bare ass. You almost wished you had his perspective…

“Maybe he didn’t see us…” you whispered as quietly as you could, and though you couldn’t see Logan smile, you knew he was grinning from ear to ear. 

“I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

“I can fucking hear you. On the table? Seriously? Everyone eats there. I eat there!” He lamented, and you craned your neck to see he’d covered his already covered eyes with his hands, his face a nice shade of bright pink. 

“Like you and Jean are any more discrete in the danger room, Summers.” Logan barked, and you snorted a laugh which quickly turned into a gasp when he shifted slightly. You couldn’t even hide the way your cunt pulsed the moment you heard him walk in, and you knew Logan would have given you a look of intrigue. 

“That’s not– You’re still going?!”

“You kinda walked in at a bad time.” You could hear just how hard Logan was trying to keep his shit together whilst still being under the influence of your arousal, like a siren to a sailor. 

“Exactly. It’s rude to walk in on a lady without knocking, I could have been naked!” You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud as Logan shifted again, deliberately this time. Oh, how you wished you could see his face right now. 

“In the kitchen?!” 

You snorted a laugh, earning a low groan from Logan as your walls convulsed around his cock, your thighs tightening around his waist. You could almost hear his teeth grind together as he continued his battle to stop from pounding into you there and then. 

“You might wanna go, Scott. Logan’s getting impatient.”

“You can’t even see him, how’d you kn– OH FUCK’S SAKE!”  He huffed, turning on his heel and storming from the room, no doubt to tell Kitty and Ororo he’d just caught the two of you fucking like animals on the kitchen table. 

When you were certain he was gone, you released your grip on your mutation and the visage of Logan’s sweat-slicked face greeted you, a crooked grin pulling at his lips. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, nipping at your jaw. “Could feel you gushin’ around me, princess. You liked it when he walked in. You liked it when we got caught.” Feeling boneless, Logan pulled you up with him as he stood, sliding his still-hard cock from your twitching cunt. 

“Shut up…” You mumbled, attempting to latch your lips to his. But he pulled back from you, that same shit-eating grin still shining. With a huff, you hopped off the table, stooping to snatch your t-shirt from the ground. 

“My little exhibitionist. Who knew?” Logan wrapped his arms around your naked waist and you leaned back into his chest, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you felt his cock press against your ass. “‘M not against extending invitations. Just to watch. Nobody gets to touch you but me.” He growled, a possessive edge cutting into his tone, one that made you slightly weak at the knees, as if you weren’t already struggling to stand. A fresh wave of arousal curled in your lower gut, and you turned in his arms, eyes like heated coals.

“Bedroom. Now.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Now, Logan!”

With a dark chuckle, he bent to pick you up, hands braced against the backs of your thighs much like he had when he first walked in. 

“Yes ma’am.” He murmured, before finally letting you capture his mouth with your own, teeth clashing and tongues dancing as he blindly carried you up to bed to finish what you both started. 

[hellvst]

OFFSEASON – quinn hughes

featuring ; quinn hughes x fmc (sydney gray)

✮⋆˙ warning & content ; swearing

✮⋆˙ word count ; 3.5k

✮⋆˙ previous chapter – series masterlist – next chapter

a/n ; woohoo chapter three is here! also what's up with the hughes brothers getting hurt within the last 48 hours...hope they're ok :c also thank you all for the recent support, means a lot! uh this isn't proof read, but happy reading <3

CHAPTER THREE

QUINN

The bell above the café door chimed as I stepped inside, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries hitting me almost instantly. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy, but I definitely needed it today.

The place was an average size for a café, cozy, slightly packed with students hunched over laptops and the occasional older couples chatting over mugs of tea.

Conor, who trailed behind me with Brock next to him, actually suggested this spot, claiming it to be one of the best coffee in this side of Vancouver. It wasn’t my go-to energizer. Still, after the morning skate we had, I could use something to wake me up.

After coming off a big-time loss, post-practice was always tougher.

If people thought we’d been left off the hook to start the off-season early the following day. They have never been more wrong. So fucking wrong. Just because we were out of the game, did not mean that it was over.

Everyone on the team had been anticipating that text from our coach and told us to “Get your asses in the rink. Now.” Knowing Tocchet, he was ready to give us hell–more specifically Simon and I. And we got it.

The skating and puck handling drills were relentless. I don’t think we’d ever been pushed like that before. They were much more intensive, fast-paced, more difficult targets to hit in the goal post. I tried my best to keep up, which I did, but I would be lying if I had said it didn’t wear me down to the max. My body absolutely felt like I was checked over and over again.

Not the best feeling in the world. Trust me, I would know.

Conor and Brock stood behind me, still joking about the brutal morning skate we had to endure. “Man–I need something strong.” Brock said while his eyes wandered the menu. “I swear, if we have another skate like that, I’m gonna need a new set of legs.”

Conor huffed a laugh. “Better legs wouldn’t make a difference for you, buddy.” 

I smiled while Brock gave him a look, “Whatever–” he waved his hand before looking at the menu again. “So, what do you usually get here Gar?”

“Yeah, Garland. You’re the one who said this place was good.” I muttered.

“Because it is. And you need some caffeine in you, Huggy.” Conor shot back, nudging towards the counter. “Maybe then you’ll stop looking like you wanna skate into oncoming traffic.” 

I ignored him since it was probably true, and not a terrible idea considering what I had to deal with in a week or so.

My mind was stuck on last night’s game and the conversation with Tocchet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. The rest of the team didn’t hound me after figuring out what transpired in the coach’s office between me and Simon. They knew not to press me on it–I was glad that they did as I was already in a bad mood. I doubt that Simon kept his mouth shut about it to some of the guys, ranting to them per usual. 

Conor and Brock continued on with their banter. I was only half-listening as I stared at the menu, pretending I knew what any of the drinks meant or how–

I blinked and before I could react, as soon as I took a step forward, the person in front of me turned around–colliding straight into me. I watched as the girl’s cup tipped forward, brown coffee spilling all over her grey hoodie.

“Fuck!” She let out a sharp and frustrated voice under her breath.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t good.

I staggered back, looking at her. The girl in front of me–who I had just completely steamrolled–stood frozen and appalled, coffee staining the front of her hoodie. The brown liquid spreads rapidly across the cotton like wildfire. 

Her jaw clenched, a mix of annoyance and disbelief flashing across her face.

“Shit, I–” I started, but the words barely left my mouth before she snapped her gaze at me, clearly about to let me have it–then she froze.

I watched her expression shift, something unreadable flickering her chestnut-colored eyes. Her pupils softened, but still held that glare. Her gaze swept over me in a quick assessment. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

Oh, she was pissed.

Looking at her, she was strikingly beautiful. Dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, long eyelashes, very light freckles dotting her nose across her tan skin, the kind of natural beauty that didn’t need any effort. But it was the look in her eyes that got me–like she had already sized me up and made her judgement. 

And from the way her mouth pressed into a tight line, it wasn’t in my favour at all.

“I, uh–” I looked at the sight in front of me, wincing at the view. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Shit. Not the best first impression.

I grabbed napkins from the counter and held them out to her. She took them but didn’t seem all that convinced they would be much help. I watched as she tried to dab at the stain, her expression growing more annoyed by the second. Yeah, the napkins weren’t much help.

It was only right that I offered to buy her another coffee–although, I figured it would make matters worse–so I opted to at least buy her a new hoodie. 

She shook her head to refuse, still working with the napkins. What she said next had caught me completely off guard. “I don’t need anything from an NHL player, alright–”

Then she stopped, her own words registering, her eyes widened slightly.

My brows furrowed. “So, you know who I am?”

Maybe she was a Canucks fan.

She met my gaze again, unimpressed. “Yes, I do.” The tone in her voice made it clear that wasn’t exactly a compliment. 

Alright, maybe she wasn’t a fan.

That surprised me. Most of the time, when someone recognized me, there was some level of excitement. But her? She didn’t seem impressed in the slightest. If anything, she looked more annoyed and pissed than before.

A strange mix of amusement and curiosity flickered in my chest. What the hell, that was new.

“Can I at least get your name or number?” I asked, then immediately realized how that sounded. “To replace your hoodie or pay for dry cleaning, anything to fix what I caused.” 

I had no other intentions behind that statement. For all I cared, I just wanted to make a things right. Not just because there were now a couple of eyes watching us, but it wouldn’t be fair for her to leave this place without anything in return to help her. Then I’d feel like a complete asshole. 

Sure. She was pretty. Beyond her looks–and her built up frustration–she carried herself with grace and poise. Even in a stained-hoodie, black leggings, and white sneakers, there was still that elegance to her like no one else had–you just had to be born with it.

Wait. I couldn’t be like this.

“I’m not making you buy me a hoodie. I can take care of this–” she gestured down. “–myself. So, I think I’ll respectfully pass up on that offer of yours, but thank you though.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned away.

Don’t look like an asshole. Don’t look like an asshole.

On instinct, I reached out, lightly catching the material of her sleeve. “Hey look, I’d feel really bad if I left here without making it up to you.”

“Oh, really?” She paused, raising a brow at me.

Of course I’d feel terrible. She could have gone off on me in front of the entire shop, but she hadn’t. And now I was weirdly determined to fix it.

But she smirked slightly. “I think I’ll survive without your help, but thanks.”

I stared, absolutely stunned, but a tinge in my lips dared to curve. And just like that, she walked off, returning to her table with another woman–most likely her friend–before I could even respond.

Well that caught me off guard. I don’t think I’ve ever been let down like that. Strangely enough, I was not bothered by it, but just fascinated. It’s not everyday I get these kinds of interactions.

The sound of laughter brought me back, and I turned to see Brock and Conor watching the whole thing unfold with shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. I forgot they were here for a moment.

“Dude,” Brock said, he shook his head in disbelief. “Did we just witness the Quinn Hughes talk to a girl?”

Conor was quick to add, whistled lowly. “Not just talk. Get rejected.”

I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t a complete rejection, noting she ‘respectfully’ declined.

“She didn’t reject me.”

“She literally just rejected you,” Brock deadpanned.

“She didn’t even let you buy her a new hoodie,” Conor mentioned the obvious, also shaking his head in mock sympathy. “That’s tough, Huggy.”

“Maybe she saw last night’s game and watched us play like shit and–”

“Shut up.” I said under my breath. 

Given she knew I was an NHL player, there was no doubt that she knew about last night’s game. I wondered if she had even watched it at all. Better if she hadn’t, the sight of us losing on our home turf was not only embarrassing but rather disappointing.

If I were a fan, I would be feeling anything but happy. That realization crashed down on me a lot more than I thought it would.

Brock’s laugh brought me out of my short trance. “No, no, this is big,” he said, grinning like an idiot. “Quinn, do we need to have the talk? You know, the one where we tell you how to approach women like a normal person?”

“You two are the worst.” I wasn’t completely paying attention to them. 

My gaze drifted towards the exit, just in time to watch the same coffee-stained hoodie girl leave the cafe alongside her friend. 

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t even get her name. But, there was that feeling down my gut that told me this wouldn’t be the last time I was going to see her. 

And usually, my gut-feeling has always been right.

I had two weeks of freedom. A glorious, responsibility-free stretch of time before I had to start this personal hell.

And I spent it the only way I knew how: watching hockey, reading new books that I got a few weeks ago, hanging out with some of the guys, and watching more hockey. 

It was the perfect balance of nothing and everything. Until now. Until this.

I pulled into the Lumé Wellness parking lot, stared at the building through my windshield like it was about to swallow me whole. The building itself was tucked in the center of downtown Vancouver, which was near the Rogers Arena. The area around the studio wasn’t too busy or lively, I didn’t have to worry about the media at this time.

If I could put this mandatory cross-training off another week, I would have in a heartbeat just to prepare myself for this moment. Hell, I would have put it off forever if it meant I wouldn’t have to do this with Simon.

But no, that wasn’t an option, not if I wanted to come back at my best instead of my ass being glued to the bench next season.

My fingers drummed against the steering wheel. I was about to hop out when I glanced around the lot and realized that Simon’s car wasn’t here yet. I took the liberty of keeping track of his cars whenever I could, just to avoid bumping into that prick at random places. 

I was expecting him to be here, especially considering his whole ‘I’m better than you, I know everything, and I make the shots you would have   missed’ complex. But, who was I kidding? Simon didn’t want to be here, and so had I. If he didn’t show, then I wouldn’t blame him. Since he wasn’t here yet, that either meant he was running late on purpose or–worse–he was about to show up here with his sister.

The hoodie girl at the café popped into my head before I could dread what was about to come. 

The thoughts of our interaction weeks ago lingered in my head, which was strange, because usually I didn’t dwell on these things. But the reminiscence of spilling coffee all over her and interacting with her, it had been itching at my brain ever since.

She looked so annoyed, so unimpressed. 

It also didn’t help the fact she knew exactly who I was. I had no idea if she hated me or not, but she probably did now. Not that I cared what people thought of me on or off the ice–except, for some reason, with her, I kind of did.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, got out of my car and walked towards the entrance of the studio, pushing open the glass door. 

The foyer was empty, which was unexpected. I came prepared to see a lot of people here, but it was quiet–too quiet. The scent of essential oils idled in the air, a mix of eucalyptus and lavender, almost enough to make me forget how much I didn’t want to be here. 

I made my way past the front desk, my gaze roaming over the sleek, modern with contemporary wooden interior. Soft lighting, smooth hardwood floor, and floor-to-ceiling arched mirrors in every studio room.

Great. That meant I’d have to watch myself struggle through whatever the hell was about to happen here.

As I wandered further into the hallway, I passed more studio rooms, each one either empty or locked. Then, as I turned the corner, I caught the faint sound of music–Michael Jackson.

I slowed my steps, glancing toward the slightly opened door at the end of the hall. Inside, a single figure was stretching in front of the mirrors.

My feet stopped moving. It took me half a second to realize why.

No. There’s no way.

The café girl. 

She looked the same as the last I saw her. Brown chestnut eyes, her hair in a braid instead of a loose ponytail. Rather than a stained grey hoodie, she wore black yoga pants and a matching fitted jacket. 

I traced her face through the reflection of the mirrors, watched as she moved fluidly, adjusting her position with practiced ease. She was focused, lost in whatever she was doing–until she wasn’t. 

I hadn’t realized how long I was like this for. She must have sensed me, because she suddenly straightened up, her eyes snapping to mine through the mirror. 

“What are you doing here?” She turned to face me, looking just as surprised.

I blinked, clearing my throat. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Her lips quirked, but it wasn’t a smile. “I asked first.”

Okay. Fair enough.

“I, uh–” I scratched the back of my nape. “I have a session today.”

She tilted her head in amusement, probably found it hard to believe that me, Quinn Hughes, would be at a Pilates studio. I also found that reality hard to grasp around my head. “I’m sure you don’t see a lot of guys here, right?” 

“Well, believe it or not Hughes, I see a few male athletes here and there for Pilates. So, don't go around thinking you’re all that special now.”

Great, it looks like she hadn’t forgotten me after all. I couldn’t tell if I should be happy or worried about that. “So, you remembered me.”

She only nodded, but not in a way that meant it was a good thing. “Well, duh. You’re the reason I had to throw my favourite hoodie in the bin.”

I saw that coming, there was no way she would look at me any other way than this. I wasn’t just an ‘NHL hockey player’ in her eyes, instead I was now dubbed ‘the guy who ruined her clothes’.

“I offered to buy you another one or pay to get it cleaned–”

“I’m just kidding,” she chuckled, ever so lightly, waving her hand. “It’s a good thing washing machines and laundry detergent exist. It took a few cycles and extra scrubbing to get it out, but it’s all gone–good as new.”

That weight I have been carrying on my shoulders for the past two weeks, instantly lifted after hearing that. So, she didn’t hate me in the end. I dodged a bullet there.

“Oh, good–” I huffed out in relief. “I am sorry about that, again.”

All she did was smile. Who knew that a single smile would ignite something beneath my chest. There was that feeling from the cafe again. And I wasn’t sure why it only kept happening around her.

Taking that she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I took a few strides into the room, inviting myself in. I have never been to any Pilates studios, so I have never seen what was inside one–although, I had a good idea of it. 

One side of the walls were large arched floor to ceiling mirrors, the opposite side were windows that overlooked outside, multiple pilates reformers in one neat row, and the other end were laid out yoga mats and more equipment.

“Do you come here often?” I asked.

I figured she was in her twenties, but I could be wrong. I guessed since most Pilates’ clients were either young adults or middle-aged. I did some research prior to coming, and I would know a bit about it since my mom picked it up a couple years ago.

She gave me a vague shrug, “Something like that.”

I exhaled, shifting my weight as I walked around the reformers, taking in my surroundings, still keeping my distance from her. “I should’ve known you did Pilates.”

I recalled from the café; she stood so close that I noticed the small flecks of sweat glisten against her skin. She most likely earned them after being here.

Her brows lifted, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Now that I realized it, I sounded awkward just then. I mentally face-palmed myself for my ‘game’–more like lack thereof. Maybe that talk Brock and Garly were referring to on that day might have come in handy for times like these. I sound like a fucking idiot in front of her.

But, I wasn’t trying to flirt with her. This was simply to make conversation. That’s all.

She stared at me for a moment before she shook her head with a laugh–like she wasn’t sure if I was complimenting her or just making shit up.

I was about to say something else, anything to save me from my impending doom, when Michael Jackson’s voice blasted through the speakers again. I recognized the song immediately.

“Beat It?” I said, more to myself than anything. “Solid choice.”

She turned her back to her bag on the floor, kneeling to grab her water bottle. She glanced at me, amused. “Yeah, you a fan?”

“I know good music when I hear it.”

That earned me a small smirk on her pink tinted lips. 

I didn’t know why, but I felt the need to keep talking to her. I wasn’t usually like this–I didn’t go out of my way to make conversation, unless I had to–but, especially not with strangers. But, my mouth was already moving before I could think about stopping.

“What's your name? You know, since it's only fair because you know mine.” I asked, looking at all the equipment surrounding us.

She exhaled a short scoff, “You ask a lot of questions.”

“You’re not answering them.” 

She twisted the cap off her bottle and took a sip, like she was debating on whether or not she wanted to humor me. Before she said anything, though, another voice cut through the air.

“Let’s not waste time and get on with it.”

I knew that voice all too well. Fuck.

I turned my head just as Simon strolled into the room like he owned the place, then tossed his bag to the side by the wall.

The café girl–her entire posture shifted. She walked over to the speaker where the music came from and turned down the volume. Her head snapped toward him, her expression tight. “Took you long enough. Didn’t I tell you to get here earlier because of traffic in the area?”

Simon barely looked fazed. “Turns out you were right after all. There was traffic. Duly noted for next time.”

My stomach twisted, and I wasn’t sure why. Simon has a wife, I knew that, but it did put me on edge to see her and Simon talk to one another. They spoke casually, so effortlessly, like they had known each other forever. Not that I was jealous or anything.

It seemed like I was invisible and there was a wall between myself and the two of them. 

I cleared my throat and interrupted their conversation. “Do you guys know each other?”

Simon shot me a look, one of those ‘are you the dumbest person on earth?’ expressions he was always good at–towards me specifically.

“No shit, Hughes,” he deadpanned. Then he jerked his chin toward her. “She’s my sister.”

all rights reserved © 2025 hellvst. please do not copy, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[ronearoundblindly]

happy sleepover lexi!! 🥰✨️🌼 may i ask for 3 times he didnt cry + 1 time he did for steve?

(if you have too many steve asks, it could be ransom instead 😶‍🌫️)

So--you asked for it, remember that!--this is angsty and a smidge dark. Warnings for canon-level trauma, mentions of gun-violence, (unintentional) animal neglect, and mental health struggles, but we end on a happy note, actually, a very happy note! There is no pairing or Reader mentioned, btw, it's only Steve and his experiences. (In my opinion, this work is not suitable for all ages, so I'm putting the banner on.)

Not after the Battle of New York

The young waitress Steve personally saved from (watch again), the one who gave TV interviews about how grateful she was to Captain America and the Avengers, died in a traffic accident only a few weeks after. No drivers were drunk, the city was had barely started to recover a normal feel and schedule, but bad weather left small-debris-filled roads flooded and slippery. The waitress was one of four pedestrians and five cars involved in the pile-up yet the only casualty.

He read about her death in the newspaper, and that disconnect, the slow dawning of "what's it all for," kept him silent and contemplative for hours. He shed no tears over her. He felt worse because of it and sent a wreath to her funeral.

She was 24 years old, and that was the 67th flower arrangement he'd ordered...so far.

2. Not during the trial

Wherever they go, death follows...and follows...and follows.

A man's wife died in an attack on them--which is an unfortunately common story--but when there are no repercussions, the man gets angry and shoots up his local courthouse. He's tried, publicly and passionately, in front of dozens of cameras broadcasting to millions of people.

Steve sat in the gallery, listening to the man, the defendant, the murderer's testimony. He listens to the story of their lives, their love, his loss of her, and the fury that took this man over, the vice of hopelessness that dragged him into a dark place with two guns and six magazines of ammo.

Steve was reminded of wars that never end and ripples on a pond. There's waves and waves of death, then the waves start somewhere else of the surface.

He can't cry about it, though, because of the cameras, because Steve knows he did nothing wrong that caused this, but he makes himself sit and listen and share some burden of pain.

3. Not for the clean-up

After the Snap, there were half of everything, but somehow not an even half. Some communities lost three-quarters of their doctors or cops. Whole households disappeared; some parents dusted while their children did not. In an attempt to help supplement places with diminished emergency services, Steve volunteers to do 'home visits' to find any kids who cannot fend for themselves.

He's fast--fast enough to cover lots of homes with registered children,--but Steve wasn't prepared for the pets.

Dogs and cats, bird, guinea pigs, rabbits, rats, fish...each one hits him like raindrops until it's just pouring death on top of dust.

Humans are depressed, understandably, but many stop going to work for a time, long enough and in enough places that it keeps happening. Steve goes by shelters, boarding facilities, and vets when he sees completely empty parking lots.

He breaks windows, smashes through doors, rips apart cages, but Steve doesn't cry.

The burden is too heavy. There's too many cars piling up. The war has ended and death still keeps following. He can't feel the rain or the waves anymore.

Weeks after the Snap, he buries that last pet in a field of wind flowers and doesn't cry.

4. For a wedding

He thinks it's one more bit of bad luck: Maria Hill's father has a stroke a week before her wedding. The world had been down a long road with a lot of loss, and this small but happy event is meant to keep him afloat--or, at least, Steve is using it that way.

So when Hill asks Steve to fill in, he jumps at the chance, anything she needs to go forward.

Miraculously (by his own stubborn disposition), her dad recovers in time, and Steve watched them walk down the aisle, tears freely streaking his face. The floodgates opened when a balance was reached. The scales weren't even, there was no rhyme or reason, but drop by happy drop, Steve saw what it was all for: a beginning. He embraced this.

He didn't have to save everyone. He didn't have to shoulder the whole burden. He didn't need to fill in every empty space.

He could just begin. He could just try. Being ready and willing to step up, step in, step forward...that's plenty.

Steve takes one step, and the next step follows and follows and follows.

[Main Masterlist; Sleepover Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots]

[sunny374940]

WIP... Thursday :D

@spinfins, @lavender-tea-fling, @mercars-musings, @starfleetteddybear, @redheadsramblings, @sorrowsfallallaround

Hi guys, sorry to summon you onto a post that's not fanfic, but I would really value your opinion. I have been GRIPPED by the beginnings of writing an original story and am wondering whether there's any merit in pursuing the thing further. So I'd be grateful for your thoughts, but no hard feelings if you don't want to look at this <3 (also consider yourself tagged if you wanna share any of your wips)

The story is shaping up to be a modern fantasy romance / adventure / something and it's v. gay. It's about a half-elf researcher who is assigned a bodyguard (he doesn't want a bodyguard and definitely doesn't need one, thankyouverymuch) and there will be much pining and peril and feelings from the look of it.

So if anyone wants to look at the thing, it's down here (this is the first page and a little, working title is Damn Sky Whales).

The doorbell rang, startling Fern out of his research. Was it the time already? Surely not, he'd been at this only for - he checked his phone - four hours now. Damn. It was the time.

He threw on whatever clothes he could manage to locate in the mess that was his bed, grateful to Past Fern for the great idea of taking a shower before settling down to more work, and ran to the front door. He opened it in a rush and found himself eye to chest with a stranger. The chest was quite wide, he couldn’t help noticing, bordered by well muscled arms. He took a step back to look the man in the face, which was some way up. Fern wasn’t that short, surely?

“You are not my driver.”

The man was giving him a curious look and Fern could feel his mismatched socks staring accusingly from his shoes. His hair was probably a terrible mess too.

“I’m your bodyguard, sir,” he said, as if that explained anything.

“I don't have a bodyguard.”

“Well, now you do. But I can drive, if that helps.” 

Fern could tell from the amused glint in his eyes that he definitely noticed his ogling, as well as his socks. And he was human. Of course. No self-respecting elf would take the job of safeguarding a half-breed like him. 

“I am certain I don’t need a bodyguard.”

He was being a bit childish, arguing like that, but the way he couldn’t dissuade him was getting annoying. 

“Your mom made the arrangements on your behalf.”

Ah. His dear elven mother. She did enjoy taking over his life. But for all her faults, her support put him through university, when it wasn’t easy for a half-elf to even be admitted to study. Though his academic success was entirely his own, she wouldn’t take the credit there.

It seemed that there was no point in arguing with the bodyguard. His bodyguard. Why would he need one, anyway? Yet another of mother’s idle fancies, most likely. He wouldn’t be able to protect him if anything went wrong today, but she probably felt better for doing this.

“Ugh. Alright. What’s your name?”

“Gareth, sir. So, where we going?”

“We will be inspecting a dragon's lair today. Their numbers have been dwindling over the past few years and I will get to the bottom of this. They are thaumivores and the background magic-”

The bodyguard was watching him with a stony expression.

“You don’t care about the dragons, do you?” he sighed. Why did he even bother?

“Sorry, never given much thought to the sky whales, sir.”

That damn comparison! Just because they floated calmly through the skies and allowed the magic to pass through them, everyone considered them to be useless annoyances that meddled with air traffic. He was being unfair to actual whales right now, but that was besides the point. He could feel the beginnings of a rant coming on.

“They are much more complex than that! They are not mere krill-feeders, the thaumic ecosystem itself is dependent on their presence. They harmonize the magical frequencies, do you know how many wild magic storms there would be without them?”

The corners of the bodyguard's mouth were quirked up just the slightest bit. He was trying to get a rise out of him! Fern deflated. He hadn’t really slept last night, he’d been too caught up in poring over maps of thaumic interference to notice that it was getting late and only nodded off for a few hours amongst the papers spread out on his bed.

“Let’s just go, it’s a long drive.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Could you dispense with the ‘sirs’? I’ve had enough for the whole week already. I’m Fern.”

He didn’t argue, to Fern’s surprise.

“Alright. And why do you need a driver? Your hands too soft for the steering wheel?”

“I don’t like to drive, simple as that. So this is the one thing my mother’s wealth allows me that I take advantage of.”

He didn’t have to tell him that his mother actually insisted on him having a driver after the last time he made a brilliant breakthrough in his research while driving to work and nearly killed himself by slamming the car into a lamp post when he got lost in thought.

[parkingsunghoon]

Special to you

Idol heeseung x f reader

[chapter 1]

Summary: you were working at one of enhypen concerts as a security guard. You didn’t really know enhypen and you only got the job because your friend had worked there the year prior. You never would’ve imagined you’d become someone special

Fluff, series

———————————————————————————

It was just another day for me. Get up, got to work, come home and rot in bed. Unfortunately it wasn’t the rot in my bed hour instead, I have to get up and get ready for work. I enjoyed being a security guard. I don’t know how I got the job, I have the build of a lasagna noodle but hey it’s money.

I got up and got ready in my usual outfit, long black pants, my black shirt with my name embroidered in it and my belt that holds all my necessities. I slicked back my hair in a bun before brushing my teeth. Today a band called enhypen are playing, I hope they’re good. The last concert I was a security guard for was honestly not my cup of tea.

Once I finished getting ready I grabbed my bag and keys and headed out the door. I got in my car and started making my way to the stadium.

“God the traffic is horrendous” I spoke to myself. I hadn’t even gotten half way down the road from my house and there is already a long line of cars.

……………………………………………………………………………………

I waited in traffic for half an hour before arriving to the stadium. I parked my car and booked it to the front door. I can’t risk being late.

I got inside quickly and made my way to the lounge room for employees. I hung my bag up and quickly clocked in. This band must be huge, the amount of people here was more than I’ve ever seen in my 3 months on the job.

I quickly equip all my necesites like my walkie talkie and water and I head out to the floor. Today I was positioned directly in front of the stage. I settled in and observed as fans begin to spill in. These fans must be here for VIP exclusive since the concert didn’t start for another hour.

Once all the fans had made their way to their designated areas, a voice came over the speakers.

“Hello engene! Are you guys ready for soundcheck?” A voice that sounded distinctly Australian spoke. All the fans screamed. Honestly I don’t know how I am going to survive the screams when all the fans are in here.

Enhypen and fans talked a little before starting sound check. Let me tell you when these guys started singing I felt like I could fly. Their voices were breath taking, it took everything in me not to turn around and watch myself.

That’s one of the worst parts about being a security guard, we have to keep our eyes on the crowd at all times.

Some time had passed and it was now time for the actual concert. A part of me was excited for it after listening to their soundcheck.

The lights turned off and the stage lights came on as fans screams shook the stadium. The energy in here was amazing. I could tell everyone was very excited.

“HELLO EVERYBODY!!!” A voice high pitched yet super smooth voice announced. I heard this voice a lot during their sound check. I assume he’s one of the lead singers and his adlibs were to die for.

Fans yelled back hello in response to his. I thought it was cute. I hadn’t attended a concert as a fan in a while so seeing others do it warms my heart in a sense.

Everyone went quiet before the song came over the speakers. Once the music hit their ears everyone went crazy. I watched in amazement. Fans jumping up and down, smiles painting their faces. The pure joy shown around the stadium was beautiful.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I was standing there watching them before the girls in front of me started going ballistic. They looked at me then behind me. I was really confused until I felt a breath brush against my ear as the person sang into their microphone.

I wanted to turn around so bad. I had to fight the itching urge at the back of my head.

“You can bite me, you complete me” he sung the words so smoothly next to me. I felt my body almost give away. I understood now why these fans go crazy over these men when they give them fan service like this.

I resisted the urge and he went back to performing I assume because I no longer felt his presence behind me.

More time had passed and the members were now walking off the stage to give high fives to fans as they sung their final song of the night.

Fans screamed and reached their arms out in hopes to be one of the lucky ones. It’s was such an adorable moment, and it was also a moment to finally see what they look like.

I analyzed all of them. They were all so tall and slender, perfect representation of vampires. None of their faces disappointed either. Their beauty deserves to be framed, maybe even sculpted and placed in a museum.

As I was analyzing them, one made eye contact with me. He was tall, with a cold yet warm demeanor. He had the prettiest doe eyes a girl has seen and his cheeks reminded me of a hamster.

I quickly looked away, I’d rather not become the center of attention. My luck seemed to fail though as he began walking in my direction. I acted professional none the less.

He looked at me one last time before climbing onto the barricade. I mentally cursed myself before going and grabbing his waist lightly feeling weird about it. It was apart of my job, to make sure none of them got hurt but something about grabbing and attractive man by the waist felt dirty.

He eventually stepped back down and looked at me once more. He smiled and bowed ever so slightly.

“Thank you beautiful” he said before walking away. I contained myself and went back to my spot. I couldn’t lie though, that one sentence did things to me. It was like my heart became liquid.

They all bid their goodbyes and reassuring fans that they’ll see them for their second concert here tomorrow. Then I realized, I will be working AGAIN tomorrow. I don’t think I can’t handle another day.

As my coworkers helped fans out of the stadium I went back stage to throw away trash left behind. As I was heading to the trash I bumped into someone.

I quickly apologized before realizing it was the same guy. I gave him a sheepish smile in hopes he won’t try to get me fired to this inconvenience.

“So we meet again?” The man said with a playful smile.

“I guess so I respond anxiously” I was not one to talk to men. I get flustered way too easily.

“My names heeseung..”

[altruistic-meme]

sometimes a little bit of help is all you can do. i spent a little under an hour standing in the hot sun to help direct people who were trying to get gas in SC. i was only there to get gas too! but someone else helped direct me to a pump (right when i was on the edge of a complete breakdown cus i was almost out of gas entirely) and i half-jokingly offered him one of my hi-vis vests and he took it. so as soon as i finished getting my gas, i parked my car, got out, put on the other hi-vis vest i had, and started to help him. there were people who had been waiting in that line for 3 hours because the line they were waiting in was only flowing into one of the gas pumps. but people at the end of that line had no way of knowing that! that's what prompted the first guy to start directing people, and with my help in under an hour the line was significantly shorter and people were starting to actually figure out the flow on their own.

it was no where near enough, in the end, because there was traffic backed up 5+ miles on the highway when i finally left, but it was all we could do at the time. we weren't getting paid for it; we weren't getting ANYTHING out of it, actually, since both of us had already gotten our gas. but it was chaos, and i had personally almost broken down trying to just get a tank of gas, so i wanted to help even that little bit to get people to the pumps as soon as I could.

but anyway. I've been thinking about this all day. something about community. because both me and the other guy weren't even from SC—a lot of people there weren't, ofc, but neither of us were. we just stepped in because we saw how bad it was, regardless of not knowing each other, or any of the people we were helping, or the gas station employees who were also struggling inside.

it was so bad. idk. there wasn't really a point to this post aside from saying "anything you can give is more than enough, even if it doesn't feel like it". Carl saved me from a breakdown when i was alone and more than 30min from home, with an empty tank of gas. i hope i helped someone the same.

[misfitwashere]

Strong winds

ROBERT REICH

DEC 12

Friends,

I’m sitting in the United Airlines terminal at the San Francisco airport. The plane I was scheduled to travel to Newark, New Jersey, has already been delayed three times. It was scheduled to depart at 1 pm. It’s now departing at 4:40 pm. 

They’re blaming strong winds in the Northeast. But another United scheduled to depart at 2:30 pm just took off on time. I asked the service attendant why the 2:30 pm to Newark had departed despite strong winds. He explained that the real problem wasn’t strong winds; it was a lack of air traffic controllers in Newark. My suspicion is United is trying to minimize the number of late flights; rather than risk two, it sacrificed my 1 pm. 

I asked the attendant if he thought my flight will actually depart at 4:40, because I have to get to a Hilton Hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey by early enough to get a few hours sleep before attending meetings tomorrow morning. The attendant said “there are no guarantees. This flight could depart anytime, or it could be cancelled.” 

When I phoned the Hilton Hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey, to tell them I’d be checking in very late tonight, I got a menu that told me to “press 2” to change or modify a reservation. When I pressed 2, an automated voice said I could not change my current reservation but could make a new reservation. The automated voice also said if I was experiencing any difficulty I should go to the Hilton website. 

I found the Hilton website, which asked me to fill in reservation number. But I didn[t have a reservation number. When I reserved a room, Hilton had given me a confirmation number but not a reservation number. I typed in the confirmation number but the website said the confirmation number was incorrect. 

I spent the next half hour trying to find a human being at the Hilton Hotel to ask them to keep the room for me despite my lateness. Finally, I connected with someone who didn’t understand what I was asking. I asked them where they were located. They said they were not permitted to say. 

It’s now 3:35 pm and I’m still sitting here in the United terminal in San Francisco. The customer service person I just spoke with told me the plane “may or may not take off.” I’m about to phone the people I was to meet with tomorrow to tell them I won’t be there. 

I relate this to you because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the frustrations that might drive people to vote for a strongman who promises to “shake things up” even if he’s intent on destroying our democracy, or might cause people to cheer for someone who murders the CEO of a giant health insurers. 

United Airlines is one of four remaining national carriers (there were ten in 2000). In the third quarter of 2024, had pre-tax earnings of $1.3 billion, with a pre-tax margin of 8.7%. In other words, it’s doing fabulously well. 

Hilton Hotels is almost as profitable. In fact, its net operating profits have shot up from what they were a year ago. It’s also doing fabulously well. 

Big American corporations are doing better than ever. The stock market has hit record highs. CEO pay is hitting new highs. 

But American workers and consumers are being shafted with lousy service at ever more expensive prices. 

Something’s got to give. Right?

[mysticalsadgirl]

3, 7, 9 for fic writer asks?👀

3.What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

So when I was writing lose on losing dogs, I remember researching which trees would be found in the San Fernando valley in 1987 (which took around 45 mins to get accurate-ish answers) all so that the trees Daniel (LaRusso) was using for his bonsais were accurate. A literal throwaway sentence. More recently there was the absolute time sink of the Bobst Library for the Devil's Minion ballet fic. I couldn't find lay out information for 1979 or now (I.e. Where the sections are, bathrooms, elevators etc.) and had to be vague 😭

7. Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

This from a yellowjackets post rescue fic that I ended up scrapping.

"The sand is soft, sucking Charlotte in deeper while the tide licks at her ankles. This has been the routine for the year and a half since she moved into the beach house. Not by choice, exactly, but her father has exquisite taste in cages. This one is much nicer than the one in Switzerland as well.

Charlotte's parents are currently living in Melbourne. They say it's because her grandmother is lonely after her husband -Charlotte's grandfather- died. Charlotte tries really hard to believe that they moved to Australia out of love.

The pocket of Northern California they picked is as stunning as it is remote. Charlotte looked at some old maps of the area and compared them to current ones, roads and towns have been gouged out and smoothed over with slick highways and nothing else. She's not that out of the way though, she's only a two hour drive from San Francisco when there's not much traffic and she remembers to take the right road. Charlotte has a habit of missing her exits when driving. She did this occasionally as a teenager but since Switzerland she does it all the time.

The gulls begin their morning chorus with the rising of the sun, the tame sea is tainted with splashes of apricot. Charlotte wiggles her toes and decides to head back inside. Northern California isn't cold enough for her, not even in January. In fact, Charlotte is certain she lost her ability to shiver around five years ago."

(I have so many cut snippets from so many things btw if anyone else is interested lol)

9. Do you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write? you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write?

No but I do enjoy writing/reading angst but I do need some happiness/glimmer of hope in it or else it makes me feel too down. But I very rarely find straight up fluff interesting 😅

[sirfrogsworth]

hey man, well done for getting out there with your camera when it must be unspeakably exhausting sometimes. i'm really enjoying all the urban photography! but i'm too shy to say it non-anon! keep it up though!

Thanks!

I've been challenging myself to go on a photography field trip once or twice a month. I realized if I scout a location on Google Maps and do some pre-planning with the street view, I can drive somewhere, set up and take my pictures, and be done within an hour or so.

For my bridge pictures I was looking for a good vantage point and street view had this...

And I knew I could make that work. So on my way to get more eggs I decided to take a detour. I timed it for sunset and headed over there.

Unfortunately there is a really confusing bridge you have to drive over to get there. There was a stoplight, but there was no intersection.

I could not figure out the purpose of this damn stoplight. I was sitting there for nearly 5 minutes and didn't understand why the light wasn't changing. So I thought maybe it was broken or something and just drove ahead.

Then I got to the middle of the bridge and realized my error.

The bridge only had one lane for car traffic. And the light had a sensor that told you if a car was coming from the other direction. And so I was face to face with a car in the same lane.

The area on the right is a bike lane. And there is a huge bump separating the car lane and the bike lane. And unless I wanted to do the world's longest drive in reverse, I had to hop that little curb into the bike lane. As I proceeded forward I could hear it just barely scraping the bottom of my car.

I was very embarrassed.

I'm really hoping I didn't damage anything. But I could tell it was just barely kissing the bottom of my car and only 2 or 3 times so I think it is okay.

But I learned an important lesson.

They don't put out random stoplights for no reason.

In any case, I was able to get my photos and my eggs and be home in about an hour in a half. And that is just about the limit of my energy.

It's actually easier than going to the movies. 3 hours being upright was just too much for me. And I get to spend the next week editing photos and feeling artistically satisfied.

So my photo field trips have been a big help to my mental health and usually only have a day or two of post-exertional malaise. Which is pretty manageable. Going to the movies was usually double that. Which is problematic because I am thinking about going to see Dune 2... which is a 3 hour movie. So 4 hours out and about including driving and whatnot.

I've picked out my next photo field trip already.

This may look like a boring highway, but if I go at night every single one of those cars will leave a long bright light trail that will probably span all the way to the horizon. My only issue is I could really use a companion to go with me. I don't feel safe going by myself. But hopefully I can get that figured out by the time I am ready to go.

I took over 250 photos at the bridge the other night. And I am having trouble choosing which ones are best to share. So I have decided to do some very interesting edits to make them all a bit different. I will be sharing one of those shortly. But I'm a little worried you all are going to get very sick of this bridge.

Thanks for writing in. I hope you have a lovely day.

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Part 6!! Steddie Vegas AU. This one is long and so so stupid. Apologies in advance.

Part 1 -- Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 -- Part 5

The drive to Rachel was perfect. Minimal traffic, clear blue skies, the wind flowing through his hair and Eddie's hand in his. Thrilling in the way Eddie played with his fingers tapping out the beat of the songs and absentmindedly twisting his wedding band as he crooned along with the gentle jazz, soul and blues of the fifties that drifted through the speakers; seemingly unaware he was even doing it until the girls joined in. 

Steve knew better than to get involved, he'd never been able to hold a tune, but good ol' Frank was infectious, and by the fourth verse all four of them were belting out My Way. He knew he must have sounded awful but his carmates didn't seem to mind, they were all beaming with unadulterated joy, the girls collapsing into the backseat giggling together at the silly car insurance advert that was on its twelfth circulation, their elation contagious. 

He couldn't help but wonder how he'd ever made it this far in life without having this kind of moment every day, couldn't stop himself from pondering how he'd ever manage to live without it because he couldn't remember ever having a more wonderful morning, and he couldn't imagine ever having one again without these beautiful people to brighten his every moment, but he couldn't stop thinking that he had to keep grounding himself; couldn't keep from reminding himself that they were on holiday that this would eventually end, and he'd have to remember how to smile without it being because Chris was making Robin's eyes light up or because Eddie's voice was floating through the air, close enough to reach his ears.

The drive felt like it took no time at all, between the tinkling of pianos and laughter and the endless beauty of landscapes, the sun was already high in the sky by the time they arrived. They hadn't been out of the car for long before he was thanking his lucky stars that he'd chosen to wear his white linen trousers and pale blue cotton shirt because it was at least doing something to stave off the blistering heat, but Robin had definitely regretted her decision to wear all black. He wasn't sure whether it just felt hotter than on The Strip or whether the temperature was actually higher, but it was definitely warmer than either he or Robin had expected it to be; he couldn't believe he'd packed jackets, he didn't think even the darkest clouds could stifle the heat of the sun scorching the desert.

She didn't last more than half an hour before she was begging Steve to "do something!" The only thing he could think to do in the middle of nowhere was to borrow Eddie's penknife to turn her dark jeans into shorts. Of course, she then bemoaned that they had been brand new and "did they not know about malaria?!" even as he spread sunscreen liberally over her pasty calves, wordlessly handing her the bug spray out of the backpack, returning her grateful smile with a reassuring one of his own.

Chrissy, as it turned out, knew a lot about malaria; her stepdad had actually had it along with a myriad of other tropical diseases from his stint in the military before he'd met Chrissy's mum and when he learned of Chrissy's desire to go into medicine he'd told her all about it. It'd swung her career path toward pathology, then to biomed, but her mother wouldn't hear of it, telling her that girls didn't belong in science. Chrissy had ended up waitressing at the country club while she was waiting to pick a career path, then like Eddie had gone into the Carver family business, selling silverware because godforbid the snooty bastards have a waitress and a mechanic in their family.

The detour conversation seemed to have its desired effect, Robin was officially distracted from her spiral down tropical disease lane and Eddie and Chrissy earned themselves some much-desired and much-deserved PDA for their hardship, not that it could actually qualify as PDA when there wasn't another soul to be seen for miles around, not a human soul anyway, although Steve was sure the local reptiles had bigger problems than four queers canoodling.

So despite the mishap with her brand-new jeans, Robin did end up having the time of her life like Steve had hoped, really getting into the Area 51 atmosphere and treating the three of them like she was their personal tour guide, taking them to rarer sights, rattling off facts and telling endless stories. In all the time they'd known each other, Steve had never seen her smile so much, especially the few times she refused to stop for breath, when Chrissy would stop her rambling with a kiss that Robin pulling away from with a dreamy far off look, completely forgetting what it was that she'd been telling them.

He was actually quite impressed with himself when he'd actually managed to capture the moment on camera, immortalising Robin's "sorry this person is unavailable, please leave a message" look on film. That, as well as a couple of hundred other photos, the many opportunities to capture their adventure permanently being a major highlight of the trip because as beautiful as Rachel was, it didn't hold a candle to his three companions; Robin overjoyed with her destination, Chrissy overjoyed with Robin and Eddie, well, Steve didn't want to presume, but he liked to hope he'd had an enjoyable experience, the beaming smile on his face suggested he did.

Steve knew his luck wouldn't last, though, and it wasn't long before Robin insisted on taking his photo; they were standing on an obscure bit of road, signposted by a random boulder that was apparently distinguishable from all the other random boulders surrounding them. Robin demanded Steve was in the photo with said boulder, and as much as he was panicking, who was he to dampen her enthusiasm? Except he quickly realised he didn't really know what to do with himself because other than school portrait photos or the odd family-style holiday-card kind his mother organised, no one had ever really taken his picture before.

He'd felt incredibly lost as he'd stood awkwardly by the rock, but his sweet Eddie, his wonderful mind-reading Eddie, quickly came to his rescue. He and Chris had been dorking around cha cha chaing on the tarmac singing to Love Is Strange, which had been the last song they'd heard on the radio before Steve had cut the Cadillac's engine. Not even breaking character or their bit, Eddie telepathically checked with Robin that it was okay, boxstepping towards Steve as Chrissy called "Sylvia!" 

Eddie paused, looking coyly over his shoulder at his best friend, "Yes, Mickey?" he asked, resuming his slow movement toward Steve.

"How'd you call your loverboy?" Chris asked, waggling her eyebrows at Steve.

Eddie paused and pretended to think of an answer before shouting, "C'mere loverboy!" grinning smugly at Steve and beckoning him with a curled finger.

"And if he doesn't answer?" Chrissy asked.

Eddie put both his hands over his heart, fluttering his eyelashes, "Oh, loverboy!" he called flirtatiously.

Chrissy was grinning so widely and so indelibly, she had to bite her lip in order to ask, "And if he still doesn't answer?"

Eddie skipped the rest of the way to Steve, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist, looking up at him through his lashes, "I simply say. Baby!" Eddie sang, wiggling his hips to the guitar only Eddie could hear, trailing his way around Steve, sticking his chin over his shoulder, "Oh baby!" he crooned. Switching to his other shoulder and kissing his flushed cheek, "My sweet baby! You're the one," Eddie finished, snuggling into Steve's back like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Like he was just waiting for Robin to take their photograph, like he hadn't just serenaded him and rocked Steve's world, like Steve wasn't grinning like a buffoon, like he wasn't blushing from head to toe, like Steve's heart wasn't racing faster than was probably wise out in the desert and all Steve could do was shake his head, sharing a look with a bewildered Robin that said, did that really just happen?

And Steve might've been in a state of shock, but he still couldn't help relaxing into Eddie's grasp, interlinking their fingers around his waist, because Eddie may be a ridiculous man who did weird enactments of songs that no one else could hear, but he was Steve's ridiculous man. 

Robin finally managed to come back to herself enough to bring the camera back up to her eyes, Eddie smiling infectiously in Robin's direction, yelling a drawn out "Cheeeeeese!" 

Steve heard more than saw Robin snap the picture because he was too busy just staring at the awe at the crazy, goofy man that was his husband, and he knew he must've had the gooiest eyes in the photo because Robin snapped out of her stupor enough to start faux gagging, demanding they take another she could actually stand to look at.

Of course, the next one Eddie kissed him on the cheek causing Robin to complain loudly, then he'd spun Steve around to stare lovingly into his eyes and the next one getting ruined was Steve's fault because Eddie couldn't just act like that and look at him with that look in his eyes without getting kissed senseless, Steve feeling slightly better about his reaction to Eddie's performance when Eddie looked rather dazed as Steve eventually pulled away. 

Chrissy, probably sensing Robin's frustration, stepped in at that point, before the camera got thrown at the newlyweds or Robin's head actually exploded, yelled a sharp "Eddie!" which seemed to bring him crashing back down to earth. He looked over at the girls then down at the rock and suggested, "Piggyback?" Steve shrugged and spun around, so Eddie could climb onto his back, but Eddie just called him a silly goose in the gentlest tone, hoisting Steve into his arms, holding Steve bridal style, and Steve had never in his life been so thankful to be a Disney Princess.

He spent the whole day in a general state of bafflement, Steve had never been with someone so openly affectionate before, not just in a physical sense, meaning that Steve and the girls were often covered in flurries of hugs and kisses whenever the mood seemed to strike him. But Eddie was emotionally affectionate as well, and not just with him and the girls but with perfect strangers, too. There were times throughout the day when Steve just couldn't tear his eyes away, his heart soaring, his cheeks aching with the effort of smiling for so long because Eddie was just like a walking ray of sunshine, exuding a joy that made everyone around him feel warm and elated.

Steve knew they must've taken hundreds of pictures, each of them taking their turn behind and in front of the lens, photographs taken with landscapes and bits of debris and a lizard Eddie had named Chico who Steve had to admit was a pretty cool dude; he didn't try to eat anyone's toes and when he flicked his tongue out to lick the tattoo on the back of Eddie's ear (that Steve could only assume Chico thought was a fly) Eddie pulled the cutest face Steve had ever seen. It was the same face little kids pull when a puppy licks them for the first time, and honestly, he could only hope the picture came out clear, because if not he would be buying Eddie a lizard when they got home, so they could replicate the experience.

They all took plenty of candids too, especially given Robin's hatred of posed photos, despite her forcing the other three into a mix of terrible stock photo poses, there were photos of laughter when someone said something funny, and the adorable face Chrissy pulled whenever she was listening to Robin talk, pictures of Eddie attempting a cartwheel when Chrissy inadvertently started a competition, Robin sticking her tongue out in concentration as she attempted to follow the white line in the road perfectly, the look of adoration on her face when she inevitably fell and Chrissy knelt by her side to check she was okay, photos covered in sunscreen when Steve had accidentally got a blob on Robin's cheek while he'd been rubbing it into Eddie's neck, inadvertently causing a sun lotion war.

They took best friend photos and coupley shots, Eddie even managed to get a couple of professionally posed photographs of Robin and Chrissy with both of them actually grinning or laughing down the lens. And the more Eddie made them laugh and smile, the more he used his natural ability to capture it forever without making Robin pull her grimace photo face, the more endeared Steve became. Chrissy of course took one look at Steve watching Eddie and insisted on taking their picture, and honestly, wrapped around his husband or having Eddie wrapped around him made being in front of the camera a lot less painful than it'd once been.

In the end, they ran out of films for the camera, Area 51 ran out of attractions and Robin ran out of stories to tell, and suddenly they were all just kinda hungry, Chrissy emphasising the point when her stomach rumbled loudly. And as luck would have it, the closest place was a diner that happened to be run by believers. 

Fascination was always a good look on Robin, and amazingly the owners, Betty and her husband John, had a few stories she hadn't heard before. Just the fact that she was actually sitting still told Steve she was listening intently, long before she started asking more questions than either Betty or John had time to answer.

Chrissy seemed to just be basking in the glow of a captivated Robin, only snatching her eyes away when they were joined by other people, other believers who'd heard their conversation and wanted to join in. Steve marvelled at his three companions' ability to hold three separate conversations from the same table. He knew he personally had nothing to contribute, but that was fine with him, that just meant he could sit and listen and watch their brilliance in awe. 

Eddie was grinning wildly as he chatted with an older man who looked a little like a thin Santa named Phil, and Steve couldn't tear his eyes away, he didn't think he'd seen Eddie stop smiling once all day, not that Steve was complaining of course, he was ecstatic he was having a good time and was delighted to learn that the uncle who raised him was a believer as well and that Eddie was excited to take all their new stories home to him as Phil regaled Eddie with his own personal experience with Martians.

They'd stayed late, mainly because Chrissy had this uncanny ability to make friends with anyone and everyone. Steve could've sworn they must've got to know everyone in a fifty mile radius by the time the summer sun fell below the blinds, lighting the diner in golden hues. They'd heard and shared so many stories, that these people who'd been strangers just a few short hours before suddenly felt like friends, so much so, it felt hard to leave them. 

The foursome had to be literally ushered out the door by Betty, insisting that they take the picnic she'd made for them and go down to the summit to enjoy the sunset. Steve smiled as he waved goodbye as he drove them out of the parking lot even though it brought with it an intense feeling of sadness; a few hours in the grand scheme of things was no time at all but the diner patrons had made them feel like part of the family and the fact that he knew deep down that he'd probably never see any of them ever again just dug a hole in his heart.

The drive down to Coyote Summit was as short as Betty had promised, but she had been absolutely right, it was definitely worth it. The climb to the top wasn't difficult, even laden with enough food to feed a small army and the view from the top, honestly, it was nothing short of spectacular. Just a vast nothingness for as far as the eye could see all around them, it felt like being the only people in the universe, just them and the slowly setting sun. 

Between the four of them they got organised pretty quickly, the girls had pulled the beach towel out of the backpack and laid it out on the rough surface for them to sit on, Eddie lounged against the formation, leaving room for Steve to settle into the v of his legs, the bags of food between him and Robin within easy reach for all of them. Resting his head on Eddie's shoulder, Steve sighed contentedly, it'd been a long but glorious day, and he hadn't felt peace like this in a long time, especially when Eddie wrapped his arms around his middle, pressing a distracted kiss into his temple. 

Chrissy was happily curled under Robin's arm, the two of them chatting animatedly with Eddie, retelling the stories from the diner that the other two had missed, but Steve had already heard them and between the vibration of Eddie voice and laugh, and the serenity of their surroundings, Steve's body was being lulled into a deep sense of relaxation he hadn't felt since his last spa day.

A tranquil silence settled over the four of them, as the sky lit up in stunning pastel colours, leaving them to merely observe the beauty of nature. He'd taken Nancy up Weathertop once upon a time because he thought she'd find the sunset romantic, and she had, it was one of the few times a date with her hadn't ended in a raging argument, and it was nice, but it could never compare to a Nervada desert evening. Weathertop had been like puppy love, but the Summit was something indescribable, something like joy, like peace, like love.

Steve sighed contentedly and laced his fingers with Eddie's, pulling his arms tighter around himself, Eddie quickly taking the hint and dragging Steve closer. So close, he could feel Eddie's heartbeat against his back, the steady rhythm matching his own. So close, Eddie could tuck his chin over Steve's shoulder, the bits of Eddie's hair that had strayed from their tie tickling his face and neck. So close, all he could hear and smell and taste and touch was Eddie, all intermingled with something so ordinary yet extraordinary as the setting sun. 

He knew that it was a moment he'd never be able to forget, that from then on every time he saw the sun he'd think of sitting under the desert sky with his husband.

Husband! Steve thought gleefully, distractedly kissing Eddie's cheek.

It got dark faster than Steve had expected it to, but it was a night of a new moon, so the soft pastels turned quickly to a deep indigo and then an inky black interspersed by the blanket of stars, tiny diamonds twinkling for as far as the eye could see. The majesty of the universe sat before their very eyes, making him feel simultaneously like a giant in the silence of an empty desert and like he was no bigger than a speck of dust. 

It wasn't like it didn't get dark enough in Hawkins to see the stars, he just couldn't honestly say he'd ever bothered to take the time to look, not like this. And seeing it, really seeing it, for the first time, safe in Eddie's arms, felt as close to heaven as he thought he'd ever get.

Steve wasn't sure how long they stayed there staring at the sky. They had talked for a while, Eddie pointing out constellations, murmuring mythical legends into Steve's ear. Robin eventually dragging the two boys into their quiet discussion of what the world would be like in five years time; a philosophical discussion that turned into hushed admissions of hopes and dreams for their own futures, of childhood career aspirations, of growing up with the two-point-four ideal and the realisation that that wasn't their destiny, of first kisses and heartbreaks and gay awakenings.

It was only when something howled too close for any of their liking that they gathered their things and headed home. Steve as thrilled as he was the first time to be back behind the wheel of the Cadillac with Eddie, wrapped in Steve’s hoodie, his hand grasped in his own. They were barely ten minutes into their journey, when Steve glanced in the rearview mirror to see Chrissy fast asleep on Robin's shoulder, only the depths of the darkened landscape keeping Robin alert, her hopes of seeing something stronger than her desire to nap, her denim jacket draped over them both.

He couldn't help smiling to himself, he knew his best friend was in love, there was no other explanation for her behaviour because as much as she enjoyed affectionate she also liked her own personal space, normally Robin would’ve laid her girlfriend gently against the window of the car or the arm of the couch if they fell asleep on her, but she was perfectly content with Chris curled into her side, drooling on her new Metallica t-shirt that she'd got from the concert the night before. 

The radio was on but at a much lower volume than the drive there, the songs had changed from the fifties to the sixties, sad country songs finding their way into the soulful mix reminding him of quality time with Hop. Eddie had started off the journey singing quietly, almost to himself, which slowly transitioned to humming along, Eddie eventually going silent altogether, Steve glanced over to see why he'd stopped, wondering if he'd nodded off upright, but he was just staring out the window, silent and almost pensive, holding Steve's hand so tightly that Eddie's rings were digging into his skin, effectively cutting off the circulation to his last two fingers. 

What A Wonderful World drifted through the speakers, Steve squeezed Eddie's hand gently and began to mutter the lyrics under his breath along with the music, glad that Louis didn't make him sound too much like a squawking parrot; stealing another quick glance at his husband, pleased to see him smiling and mouthing the lyrics back at him. It didn't last though, the song changed and Steve could feel Eddie staring at the side of his face, almost like there was something on it or like he was trying to imprint it in his memory. He thought about joking that a photo would last longer but thought better of it when he glanced over and saw the look of devastation on Eddie's face, he looked like he was about to cry.

"Y'okay?" Steve murmured, squeezing Eddie's hand twice in quick succession which seemed to snap Eddie out of it because when Steve chanced another glance at him, he was grinning at Steve, but it just didn't quite meet his eyes, and it might've fooled someone else, but Steve knew something was amiss.

"Never better," Eddie muttered, lifting Steve's hand to kiss his knuckles just over his wedding ring. Steve knew it was a lie, but he didn't want to call Eddie out or start an argument after the amazing day they'd had, he just had to hope Eddie would talk to him when he was ready. All Steve could do was cling on, pulling their hands to his lips and kissing the back of his hand, and hope everything would be okay.

The drive back from a destination always seemed shorter for reasons Steve never understood, but it didn't seem to take long before they swapped the light of the stars for the lights of The Strip; the evening just barely starting in Sin City even though it had long since gone dark. Eddie asked if they could eat before heading back to the hotel; they’d enjoyed their picnic, but that had been a few hours ago and when Steve saw a shining golden M lighting up the sky, he had a sudden craving for burgers. 

Upon his carmates agreement, he pulled into the car park, already mourning the loss of driving his beloved Cadillac but enjoying the chance to finally stretch his legs, except the restaurant was loud and hectic, filled with merry revellers and being surrounded by the banality of hen dos and 21st birthday parties just felt wrong. In the fluorescent lights Steve could see how dead on her feet Robin looked, her eyes were red whether from straining or crying, he wasn't sure, but he knew the last thing she needed was idiotic chaos. Eddie didn't look much better, and Chrissy looked like she wanted to tear herself in two to take care of them both.

Crowding the other three back towards the door, Steve said, "Go back to the car, I'll get dinner." Feeling the appreciation of his companions in their grateful smiles, "What does everyone want?" Steve asked, trying his hardest to remember their muttered orders before they disappeared back outside. Steve ordered their dinner then nipped into the bathroom, washing his hands and splashing cold water on his face. He was exhausted and worried about Eddie and Robin but knew getting stressed wouldn't help any of them. Sighing heavily, he waded through the mania, collecting their food and heading back to the car, getting to enjoy the night air, being in the other's company and Elvis' soulful voice floating through the radio. Almost feels like we're back in the sixties.

Steve sat twisted in his seat, tangling his legs with Eddie's in the footwell, his arm thrown over the back of the seat, so he could keep an eye on Robin. Not that she was paying any of them any attention, she was just staring at the food in her lap, deep in thought. Steve knew better than to interrupt her, but Chrissy's concern was written across her features as she tried to stealthily catch his attention. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and when she flicked her eyes at Robin he could tell she was asking if her being so quiet was normal, which was fair, other than sleep, Robin rarely stopped speaking. Steve didn't think he'd ever known her to be quiet for two solid hours before, but they’d shared a lot back at the summit and over the years he'd found that heavier conversations tended to take it out of her. He couldn't know for sure what exactly was going on in Robin’s head, but he knew she'd let him know as soon as she had it figured out.

He smiled as reassuringly as he could at Chrissy, trying to let her know that it'd be fine, that Robin was probably just processing, and she'd be back with them when she was ready. And the spooky thing was Chrissy seemed to understand him, sighing in relief, she sagged back into her seat, letting all the tension out of her body as she glanced around, soaking in the atmosphere. Up until a few days ago the only person Steve had ever been able to wordlessly communicate with was Robin, he always assumed it was because they were soulmates, two halves of a whole, sharing one brain most of the time, but both Chrissy and Eddie had managed to understand Steve and at times he'd been able to understand them too, and it made him wonder if maybe they weren't halves at all but quarters. 

Eddie had noticed their silent conversation and smiled gratefully at Steve, taking his hand to kiss each of his knuckles, then the back of his hand, then up his arm, getting grease and salt all over his skin. Robin finally looking up and giggling at Eddie's antics, some of the sparkle coming back into her eyes, Steve pulling Eddie closer, so he could kiss him on the forehead, smiling appreciatively at the love of his life.

He'd never had a partner who cared as much as Eddie did, who made life fun, who was willing to be silly just to make someone smile, and honestly, Steve couldn't quite believe he was real sometimes. Just the amount of tiny things Eddie had been doing in the short time they'd been together that made Eddie so perfect, he just blew Steve's mind and by this point, he was under no illusions, he was already head over heels in love.

He was on the verge of freaking out about the consequences of that particular realisation when Robin broke his train of thought, "Evie!" she singsonged.

Parking his emotional crisis until later, he gave his best friend his undivided attention, "Yes, Bobs?" he asked.

Robin looked so serious, he assumed she was about to tell a joke. It was just what she did, like she had to think hard about something awful in order to get through the whole joke without bursting into hysterics. "I want a tattoo!" she declared, throwing Steve completely.

He wasn't sure where she was going, if she was joking or not, it was disconcerting. He blinked owlishly and with a nervous giggle said, "Okay?"

Of course, Robin didn't appreciate that, she scowled at Steve, "I mean now," she insisted.

Steve was surprised, it wasn't something she'd ever mentioned, and over the years they'd talked about near enough everything there was to talk about. The last thing he wanted her to do was to make a spontaneous decision on something so permanent, "Oh! Don't you have to research that kinda thing?" he asked, trying to make sure he sounded curious and not judgemental.

Robin wasn't fazed though, she just snorted, "Like you should research wedding venues?" she snarked.

Chrissy and Eddie burst into hysterics and all Steve could do was blush, fair point, "Touché!" he chuckled.

Eddie smiled gently at him, putting his hand on Steve's knee and reassuringly rubbing his thumb back and forth, "What're you after, Songbird?" he asked her.

Robin shrugged, "I dunno, lights? Stars? I want it here," she explained, showing Eddie the inside of her middle finger, "So something small, y'know?"

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

Eddie nodded intrigued, looked excitedly at Chrissy and exclaimed, "Don't worry, I know just the place!"

Part 7

Tag list @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @hbyrde36 @dolphincliffs @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington feel free to lmk if you want removing 💖

[pbandjesse]

I am very hot all of a sudden. Bathing a baby is hard work I guess. Honestly it was actually really calm. She cried when we got her dressed but that's mostly because it's hard to get her head in the shirt hole. Today was mostly a really good day, with a happy baby.

Last night was not the best. Sylvie was way to awake after napping to late and got up at 1130 wanting her bottle. And then again at 215. So we were just a bit off. I was very very awake and didn't even attempt to sleep before James took over. I read for a while. I played a puzzle game on my phone. It was a nice night, even if it wasn't the most restful.

James would take over at 3 and I would sleep fine. And when I woke up I felt okay. A little nauseous but okay enough.

I got up and dressed and was really ready to just go do something. And it was decided that thing was a walk. When I got downstairs we discussed the day and my only thing was a meeting at 330. So a nice morning walk would be good.

Sylvia was awake and happy. We did a lot of playing and talking today. I'm trying to teach her to blow raspberries. And she was awake for the first half of our walk. We tried to have her wear the sun glasses but they are just slightly to large. So we just tired to block the sun with our own shadows best we could.

I was in a good mood and just wanted our awake baby to experience nature. We had her touch grass and trees. We stopped under particularly good canopies. We walked the boardwalk I love. We saw turtles and many many baby fish. Even saw a bird catch one! It was an absolutely beautiful day. And I was really happy.

I would periodically carry Sylvia. Sometimes James would. Sometimes she was in the stroller. Eventually she fell asleep in my arms and I transferred her back to the stroller and she slept the whole rest of the walk home. Over fairly bumpy terrain so you know it was a deep snooze. Cutie pie.

When we got home she woke up. And we would all hang out. James made me rice and nuggets for lunch. I sat on the porch swing until I got to hot. And then I was just inside holding Sylvia. Hanging out with James. It was a nice day.

James would go for a ride after lunch. And I decided to work on another square quilt. I would cut 80 squares over the next two hours. They are all about 6x6. And I am very happy with the colors. And as I was finishing the last fabric, James came home.

Sylvie had mainly been in her bouncer chair kicking her flower toy. She did that for a while. Just calmly playing. They she screamed twice and promptly fell asleep. And right before James came in the door she woke back up and I held her for a bit before putting her on the play mat for a little while.

But when James came back home she was like. Oh now I must be held. And James took over to spend some time with her while I placed my cut fabric squares on the ground in the order I think I want them. I numbered the rows so hopefully when I get back to sewing them they will be in the right order. It's hard to make sure none of the blocks are the same next to each other!

I would leave here at 3 for my meeting. I sent Joe and Zella a message letting them know I was on my way. But Zella had a conflict with school and wasn't able to come anymore. But that was okay, I was glad to just talk to Joe.

And I really felt like a lot of my concerns were at least acknowledged. About how the job functions and the relationships we have with upper management. And it was just a really good discussion. Joe bought himself a coffee and me a vanilla frappachino. And we just talked about how we are going to approach the next meeting. I don't feel as full of dread anymore. Like I'm still anxious but that's mostly about having to miss days of camp for the meetings that will happen in the summer. But overall I feel a lot better.

I headed out of there at 430. And was home before 5. Traffic wasn't amazing but it wasn't the worst either.

When I got home I moved the trash cans and went to find my family. I was really happy to see them.

We would spend the evening on the couch together. Sometimes I was holding Sylvie. Sometimes James was. Sometimes she was on a pillow. She was awake. She was asleep. She was babbling and smiling at me. It still doesn't feel on purpose but it's more on purpose for sure. She just looks straight into my eyes now. And she seems to be tracking things as of a few days ago. So I really think she's hitting those milestones, even if they might be slightly delayed.

I would take a shower and got ready for bed. We would give Sylvie her bath and read her a book. And now we are having her 9pm bottle before we all split up for the evening.

I have some stuff to do for camp on my laptop so I'm going to do some of that. And hopefully get some sleep. I am just a little overheated. Hopefully I cool down.

I hope tomorrow is a good day. I love you all. Goodnight!!

[anabdaniels]

Flufftober 2023 with Agent Whiskey- Day 3- Lap pillow

Paring: Agent Whiskey x Gender Neutral Reader

Word counting: 740

Rating: General audiences

Everything about Jack would make everyone believe that he was the toughest man in the world and that he would be that kind of cold partner that doesn’t show affection or refuses to be soft around them, your first thought was this one when you two first met, but after a couple hours of him being the most tender gentleman, your found out that things weren’t exactly like that.

When you two were dating, he was always adorably excited every time you met. After he proposed to you, you two agreed that was a good moment to move in together, and you were sure that his constant happy state every time he saw you would calm down with you two living together and seeing each other every day, but you couldn’t be more mistaken. He kept acting like a happy puppy every day he went home after work, hugging you tight and giving you a long kiss.

That was one of those days when Jack had a horrible time at the distillery and went home completely drained, even being completely exhausted, he tried his best to be caring towards you, but it was obvious that he was destroyed.

After dinner, he tried to convince you that it wouldn’t be a big deal if he worked a bit before sleep, but you were even more persistent in stopping him. Finally, you two got upstairs. While Jack was brushing his teeth, you sat on your side of the bed with your back resting on the headboard while deactivating the alarms on both of your phones, the last thing you wanted was a 6 a.m. alarm interrupting your sleep on the Sunday. When you were putting your phones back on the nightstand, you felt a weight on your thighs, already aware of what, more exactly who, was there.

You looked down with a smile, Jack looked like a little kid, grabbing your waist with his head resting on your lap, looking at you with those adorable brown puppy eyes, silently begging for your attention. You brushed his hair back with one hand and placed the other on his chest, caressing him softly.

“What’s the matter?” You asked quietly, caressing his scalp with the tips of your fingers, and it was more than enough to make him start to uninterruptedly talk about how everything that could, actually went wrong at Statesman on that day. Knowing your husband, you were aware that he had solved everything and already had the solution figured out for the pending matters, but even when he was clueless about what to do, which was rare, he never vented to you seeking advice or a solution, on the contrary, he just wanted to be allowed to complain about everything and everyone without care about professionalism while receiving some head pats. After around fifteen minutes, his complaints went from reasonable things, like how the people responsible for managing the label production simply left the distillery run out of labels of a specific type of bourbon, to most not-so-reasonable things like how much he hated the number of traffic lights on a random street or how he should’ve chosen other tie because the one he picked up had bothered him all day.

Even if you wanted to, you didn’t laugh about his childish complaints, after all, you used to do them a lot too. You just focused on caressing his hair, noticing him getting more comfortable using your thighs as his pillow at each passing minute. When done with his complaints, Jack was back to his usual soft state around you, playing with the fabric of your pyjamas and kissing your belly while enjoying your fingers on his hair and your soft hand soothingly rubbing his chest.

Not surprisingly, it took less than a half hour till Jack was snoring in your lap, his face slightly squished against your body and his mouth slightly open. You knew that after having fallen asleep Jack could be taken out of the bed and wouldn’t wake up, but you couldn’t avoid being careful while placing his head on the pillow. You got up quickly just to turn off the lights and settled back on the bed, nestling against him and smiling when he moved an arm to hold you and, even being deeply asleep, buried his face in your neck and let out an adorable noise, making you surer that give him your lap to vent would always worth every second of it.

Flufftober masterlist

[amarantine-amirite]

It’s Just A Burning Memory

Sometimes, when I try to go to sleep, I have this long lost childhood memory playing in my brain on loop. I was in the car with Seger Ellis’s “Heartaches” playing on the radio. My parents went on an explosive rant containing the sentence, “What about the talk we had about privilege and responsibility?” I hadn't the foggiest idea what they were talking about.

One day, I found the following note on my IEP: Margaret doesn't cope with getting stranded

Reading that note made me realize the truth. The memory of that car ride happened a lot more recently than I thought. And I got half of it wrong.

It started when my mom's boss asked me to babysit his 3 month old infant grandson. I had other stuff to do, so I asked Julia, my lab partner from AP Chemistry, to cover for me. 

Everything was going great until I My phone rang. I just ignored it because I thought it was yet another loser pretending to be the Pondicheri traffic authority, so it went to voicemail. I picked it up after I recognized who it was. It was Julia.

“it's all good,” she said, “Yeah, I may have only gone 96 hours without any sleep, but I got the goose in the oven”

I froze. “the goose?” I interrupted.

Julia responded, “I'm running on fumes, but when your mom's boss comes back to the house for supper, it'll be worth waiting for that roast goose. Unrelated, but that baby has been awful quiet”

I hung up after that. We didn't have a goose. What if she put the baby in the oven thinking it’s a roast goose? 

In a frantic blast, I called my mom to pick me up. I called 6 times, but to no avail. When I finally got mom on the other end, she didn't get a chance to talk. It sounded like Mom was in a meeting of some kind and an upper level personnel confiscated her phone. 

In the end, I had to get a ride home with some girl in a Georgetown shirt. I wasn't worried because based on her conversation that she had about her economics final, I think she actually goes there. I understand that my parents have a rule against me getting in the car with a random teenage driver, but I wasn't worried. This person was a very sensible college student.

Or so I thought. The drive started off okay, but GG shifted into a fury unexpectedly. “Did you see that?” she barked

“see what?” I asked.

GG slender hands on the steering wheel and gestured aggressively at the road. She pointed to a powder blue Mini Cooper that had a stick figure family with a tiny mother and seven monster kids. “That guy just gave me the finger!” she hissed.

I hadn't seen anybody flip the bird. “Are you sure?” 

“positive” GG replied before stepping on the accelerator and following them. She pulled out her phone, took a picture of the license plate, and then turned somewhere unexpected.

This started to freak me out. “where are we going?”

“the DMV. I got a picture of their license plate, so we're going to the DMV to run the plate and get his address”

I seemed very unsure about this. “so, we're following him home?”

“exactly.”GG replied. “He gives us the finger, we go to his house and kick his ass!”

I honestly can’t think of a worse idea. The minute we get there, it’s gonna end badly. The guy who gave us a finger could easily come to the door with a gun and shoot us. I don’t see an upside to hunting him down and harassing him because he gave us the finger.

That turn to go to the DMV ended with us getting on the highway where we got stuck in traffic. And we ran out of gas. It doesn’t take long for a car stuck in traffic with all the windows closed to turn into a sweat lodge.

I didn’t realize how screwed I was until I heard “Heartaches” come on the radio. It didn't start from the beginning, but from some random point in the song. It sounded unfocused and nostalgic, like an old guy ambling around oblivious that something is wrong with his memory. 

The song played on loop. The second time it looped, it had less instruments, more slowed down and had a despair-laden tone. 

The radio then channel-hopped to a different part of the song. It either sounds like it's screaming in pain or the melody sounds like it’s melting. The static sounds like a crackling fire.

This is not normal. Something is wrong, and not with the radio. What was on the radio began to distort because I was suffering from heat stroke from being left in a hot car. The traffic, the heat, and everything aren't going to get better, so we can only hope that they don't get worse. 

“You know it’s hot outside when what’s playing on the radio starts burning.” I snickered.

GG didn't think it was funny. Instead, she got angry and she said something completely out of left field. “that's what you get when you burn the Earth so you can go on a summer road trip where you’re locked in a car for 10 consecutive days, non-stop with no bathroom breaks. Enjoy it, bitch.”

“we need to cool the car down”

“You should’ve thought of that before you got a car.” At this point, she's just assembling words together at this point without any thought as to what they actually mean.

“I'm serious,” I responded, “We’re at the point where I could reasonably die. Can you at least go out and get a can of gas so we can at least put the AC on in the car?”

GG shrugged. “No,”

“Can we at least open the windows?” I asked. Would be better off if we could let some of the heat out.

“not if you value your life, you dumbass”

This doesn't change that I can only perceive faint snips of reality drowned out by a blurry haze, and what's visible through the fog is distorted beyond recognition. It doesn’t change that neither one of our bodies can cool off efficiently. Both of us lost our grip on reality because the car got too hot for the human body to function properly. 

I pointed to the door. “OK, then, gas can it is.”

GG finally got out of the car to get a can of gas. She walked onto the road, only to get mowed down by a truck. GG exploded all over the road like a bag of meat soup. 

I laughed. Like, shoot tea out your nose laughed. I laughed because it didn't seem real, and there was a very good possibility that I hallucinated it. She was probably just meandering timorously to the gas station. 

I waited for about an hour. She didn't come back. Maybe she really was dead after all? 

I got an idea. I'd open the door and exit the car on my own terms. If GG isn't coming back, then this car isn't going to get fueled up anytime soon, which means I'm just going to be stuck here. Besides, I have no reason to stay put. Not my car, not my problem.

I didn't walk out of the car. I stumbled. I had to hold on to the overheated metal of the car bodies so I could move without collapsing onto the road. 

Good news, the traffic was so congested that nobody had any room to run me over. Bad news, I had to stop twice; once after I clambered over the guardrail, and again after I got to the top of the hill in the green space on the other side of the road.

I stood up. I felt my blood pressure fall out of the sky like aircraft landing gear that wasn't installed correctly. I surveyed the landscape and saw hordes of ghosts in the sky, demonic reflections in the skyscrapers, and a sidewalk leading to a business park with a Bed Bath and Beyond next door to a GameStop. If I were that property manager, I would be worried about having so many meme stocks in my plaza. 

I can't remember how I got to Bed Bath and Beyond. All I remember is one minute I was walking on the sidewalk on a bridge and the next, I passed out on a piece of patio furniture. I don't know what would have happened if Julia's sister hadn't spotted me and took me home to my lab partner's parents and my mom's boss' wife giving her a long speech about responsibility while she freaked out instead of listening. They really should have given her a speech about getting enough sleep at night. This wouldn't have happened if she hadn't gone for 96 hours without sleeping.

Mom still wasn't home yet. She's never been this late before. 

@apromptadaykeepstheblockaway

[ayliamc]

Italia

Day 5 - The Smell of the Ocean

Steps walked: 16,283

Flights climbed: 13

Vehicles ridden: 3 (two by land, one by water)

Points of interest visited: 3

Leonardos spotted: only bastardizations in tourist swag

We took our time having breakfast and checking out of the hotel, opting for comfort and taking a taxi to the train station rather than the metro. We got to marvel at the skill and audacity of Italian drivers as he cut through solid walls of traffic to get us to the station with plenty of time to spare. We strolled directly onto the train for the nearly three hour ride to Venezia. ‘Twas a relatively uneventful train ride, mostly pleasant, aside from the little boy who sat next to me for 30% of the ride who watched stuff on his phone with the volume on.

We arrived in Venezia, a sinking city, hungry. We tried two cafes at the train station who reportedly sometimes had vegan croissants but no such luck. Dan was noticeably worried because as my hunger grows, my moods become more mercurial. I insisted I’d be ok and that we could head to our hotel and maybe we’ll find something on the way. I was determined not to be the problem, as I usually am.

It was a half hour walk through Venezia to our hotel and along the way we passed a Chinese restaurant listed on Happy Cow (our vegan restaurant finder app, a necessity for every traveling vegan). I was not about to resist another break from Italian food so we had a very satisfying lunch there and I have no regrets about our first stop in Venezia being to a Chinese restaurant.

The rest of our walk to the hotel was uneventful, providing us a nice walking tour of the city, encumbered only by our luggage.

Some observations/thoughts about Venezia:

* For all intents and purposes, there are no roads. No cars. No vehicles. We walked exclusively through alleys, for lack of a better word. Ranging from wide to impossibly narrow, weaving with no apparent rhyme or reason thru the multi-story ancient buildings housing apartments, hotels, restaurants, and shops. Modern kitsch sold from crumbling brick store fronts and tourist traps next to local markets.

* How could anyone live here? It’s just fine to visit. Kind of surreal to experience. But people live their lives in this city where Amazon deliveries are brought by rolly cart and courier and emergency services take a boat to the nearest canal. Their day-to-day is spent navigating through a sea of tourists who seemingly outnumber them.

* It feels less like a real place where people live as it does a run down amusement park where there’s only one ride: a 30 minute gondola ride that costs €80. It’s all in need of a good scrubbing to get rid of that algae/fish/sea salt smell.

* You pay for water at restaurants here. They don’t do tap water.

Our hotel was directly next to a canal and gondola “start point”, of which there are many. The gentleman who ran the hotel greeted us at the door and was outrageously friendly and nice and Italian. “Buongiorno! Ciao! Welcome! You have-a my favorite room-a!”

‘Twas indeed a very nice room with windows that overlooked a canal. We unloaded our bags and went for a walk to the Piazza San Marco and the Doge’s Palace and meandered around, taking in the sights and sounds. Without having much interest in actually paying for admission to any of the museums or historic landmarks, there wasn’t a whole lot for us to do.

And here we are sighing at the bridge of sighs.

We eventually found ourselves in a gondola not far from our hotel (but not the one right next to the hotel entrance). I’d noticed that all the gondoliers were male and I did a bit of googling to confirm that in Venezia’s history, only one “female” gondolier has ever existed, and even then not really. Alex Hai became the “first female gondolier” a few years before he came out as trans. As far as I can tell, he still works as an occasional gondolier but by appointment only. He also works as a filmmaker. So we couldn’t support any women or trans-men, and were left with a traditional gondolier. He was still great and pointed out a few things on our half hour tour. My initial thought that 30 minutes was too short a ride was replaced after about 20 minutes when I decided “yeah, 30 minutes is plenty.”

Many of the gondoliers chat with each other as they pass, their long oars on the right of the boat while they use their left leg to kick off the building walls on either end of the narrow canals. It seems like an exhausting job. I don’t know how they do it. But it’s fun to watch.

We had some time to kill before our reservations. (Too late we discovered there’s exactly one vegan restaurant in all of Venezia and it was far and required reservations which we had not made. An email revealed to us that they were fully booked for the night. Our next best option was a very expensive restaurant that had a vegan menu.) We wandered aimlessly through our little corner of the city while I marveled at some of my aforementioned observations and went to our reservations a half hour early. They seated us immediately on their patio* and we immediately became aware that we were much too poor for this restaurant. We ordered two dishes each, aware that one dish would not be enough food despite the cost. Anyway it was all good. Not as good as the best meal I’ve had, and not good enough to justify the cost. But quite tasty. We had a nice leisurely dinner, hampered only by the French woman sitting next to us who lit up a cigarette right after we had our appetizers. Europeans, amiright?

I’ve also been starting to respond to every dog sighting with an ever increasing yearning for our babies back home. The best part of a vacation is knowing you’ll be ready to finish it at the end. We’re about halfway there, and that feels right.

Our hotel had given us a complimentary bottle of wine which was a sweet, mild Chardonnay which we happily enjoyed before bed, falling asleep to the sounds of splashing water and boats passing by in the canal below our window.

*the alley behind the restaurant