#pm: luce

[slowburning-dumpsterfire]

wanna watch pjo so bAD BUT I HAVE UNI TILL 6 AND WONT BE HOME BEFORE 7 FUCKKKK

[saywhat-politics]

Taxpayers would likely foot the bill to retrofit President Trump's new jet, which could be more than twice the plane's $400 million value.

May 13, 2025, 3:16 PM MST / Updated May 13, 2025, 6:12 PM MST

By Dan De Luce, Tom Winter, Laura Strickler, Courtney Kube and Gordon Lubold

Converting a Qatari-owned 747 jet into a new Air Force One for President Donald Trump would involve installing multiple top-secret systems, cost over $1 billion and take years to complete, three aviation experts told NBC News.

They said that accepting the 13-year-old jet would likely cost U.S. taxpayers hundreds of millions of dollars over time, noting that refurbishing the commercial plane would exceed its current value of $400 million. The project might also not be completed by the end of Trump’s term in 2029, at which time the plane is expected to be handed over to Trump’s presidential library foundation.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Anything Can (And Will) Happen

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Chen!reader (Lucy's sister)

Summary: When Lucy tells you about Tim's eventful Halloween a few years ago, you use it to tease him. When he gets annoyed, the truth comes out.

Warnings: spoilers for The Rookie 4x5 "ACH", fluff!!!

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

You remember the day you met Tim Bradford perfectly. It was six months ago, and you haven’t been the same since then…

✯✯✯✯✯

6 Months Ago

The text you got from your sister Lucy this morning just said, “My place. 7 pm.”

You, of course, agree to visit her. It has been a long week, and you love spending time with her. When she adds that she found a new recipe she wants to try, your excitement level grows tenfold.

While you sit on her couch, listening to her talk about her day at work between prepping the recipe, it's easy to relax and smile. You hit the sister jackpot, you think. When Lucy falls silent, you glance over and ask what’s wrong.

“I forgot the spices,” she says with a pout. “The store at the corner should have them, I’ll be back in ten.”

“Luce, you don’t have to get the exact spices,” you point out.

“But then it won’t taste right! I’ll be right back, but can you let Tamara in if she forgot her key again?”

You promise to do just that, shaking your head as Lucy rushes out with another guarantee she’ll be quick. Five minutes later, someone knocks on the door, and you stretch as you stand.

“Tamara, I’m going to buy you a keychain for your birthday,” you call as you walk to the door.

As soon as you open it, you see it’s not Tamara.

“You’re not Lucy,” the handsome man standing before you says, leaning forward to glance over your shoulder.

“She just ran to the store; she’ll be right back. Come on in,” you invite.

“You’re letting strangers into an apartment that isn’t yours?” he asks as he closes the door.

You return to the couch and sigh. “You’re not a stranger; you’re Tim Bradford, right?”

He furrows his brows before nodding. Before he can ask how you know that, you answer, “Lucy talks about you a lot. Undersold your looks, though, so I’ll have to talk to her about that.”

“Wait- so, Lucy is…”

“My sister.”

“She never mentioned a sister.”

The door opens, and Lucy reenters with a bag in the crook of her elbow. “Tim? What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, Angela wanted me to ask if you’d be up to help with another UC op and I’m supposed to help you prepare. But, I see you are busy, so I’ll just go.”

“Officer Bradford?” you ask. When he turns to face you, you smile and say, “You should stay for dinner.”

“Oh, no, I can’t intrude on… this.”

Lucy looks at you, disappointed, as she shakes her head. You’re always willing to listen to stories about Tim, yet you ignored your chance to properly introduce yourself.

“Tim, this is my sister,” Lucy says, giving him your name.

Tim repeats your name under his breath, returning your smile as he agrees to stay for dinner.

“I’m going to regret this,” Lucy mumbles as she resumes cooking.

“I won’t.” You say it low enough that only Tim can hear, but his smile makes you think he wants to agree.

✯✯✯✯✯

Present Day - Halloween

“Good morning,” you call as you enter Lucy’s apartment. “And Happy Halloween.”

“Hey,” Lucy replies, hugging you as she asks Tamara to get the blueberries from the fridge.

“We don’t have any,” Tamara announces.

“Wha- I just went shopping. Hey, when you finish something, you need to put it on the shopping list.”

“I didn’t eat them,” Tamara argues. Lucy gives her a look she mastered for getting you to confess, and Tamara repeats, “I didn’t!”

 “Luce, I think you have a ghost,” you tease. “Am I still coming over tonight?”

“Don’t you have plans with Tim?” Tamara asks.

“He’s working,” you and Lucy answer together.

“Of course, you’re still coming over tonight,” Lucy tells you.

Someone knocks on the door, and when Lucy turns around, you steal a piece of fruit from the blender, winking at Tamara when she laughs.

“Hello,” Lucy greets.

“Hi. I’m Margaret from 604. You’re a cop, right?” the woman asks.

“Yeah. Uh, what’s going on?”

You follow Lucy, Tamara, and Margaret down the hall, surprised to see the argument unfolding as an older woman throws equipment out of her apartment.

“Whoa. Police,” Lucy calls. “What’s going on?”

“They robbed me!” the woman accuses.

“Okay, that is not at all true,” a man kneeling beside the equipment says.

“Mrs. Crouch hired us to rid her home of an aggressive spirit,” his partner adds.

“You mean a ghost? You guys are ghost hunters?” Tamara asks excitedly.

Lucy looks over at you, and you raise your hands in surrender. “I was completely kidding about the ghost thing.”

“Yeah, we are,” the man answers. “The spirit in Mrs. Crouch’s apartment is rather just stubborn, so we said that we would do a follow-up…”

“Hey,” you whisper to Tamara. “As entertaining as this is, I need to go to work, so, uh, keep me updated and tell Lucy I’ll see her later?”

Tamara nods distractedly, and you pat her shoulder before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Lucy wants to call you. You’re the only other person in the world who understands the emotions she’s dealing with right now. But, since you’re at work, she decides to tell Nolan and ask his opinion instead.

“Your mother did what?” he exclaims.

“She pre-paid for me to have my eggs frozen at a fertility clinic,” she answers.

“I thought you and your mother weren’t talking.”

Lucy scoffs before replying, “She’s definitely talking now. Seriously, what makes her think she has the right?”

She and Nolan fall silent as Grey and Tim walk in, preparing for roll call.

“Alright. Nolan…” Wade begins, pulling a piece of candy from an orange bucket. “Can you tell me what today is and what ‘ACH’ stands for?”

“Today is Halloween, and I have no idea what ‘ACH’ stands for,” Nolan answers, prepared to catch the candy.

“No candy for partial answers. Harper?”

“Anything can happen,” Nyla answers, catching her candy as she finishes. “Basically a reminder to be extra careful ‘cause today is Halloween and Halloween is unpredictable.”

“Correct. And since Officer Thorsen has range qualifications today, you’re back to riding with Nolan.”

“Oh, just like old times.”

“Yeah, without the fear of the whole blue-page thing,” Nolan adds.

“Uh, what kind of unpredictable can we expect today?” Lucy asks.

“Good question Chen.”

Tim continues, “Lot of liquid courage. Lot of 211s. Teenagers snatching little kids’ candy. Masked people running into liquor stores. Do they have a gun or are they just late for a party? Muzzle discipline is crucial.”

“And?” Wade presses. “Can you remind us how you got your uniform torn three Halloweens ago?”

“Uh… if, you get dispatched to a loud party, make sure they know you’re not the stripper,” Tim answers slowly.

Lucy laughs as the other officers cheer. He looks over at her, and she presses her lips together, trying and failing to stop.

“We’ll try to get you home on time, but its Halloween, so…” Wade begins before everyone finishes, “Anything can happen.”

“I need to go call my sister,” Lucy whispers to Nolan.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hello?” you ask, answering your phone.

“Hey, have you talked to Mom recently?” Lucy asks quickly.

“No. Why?”

“Because she paid to have my eggs frozen at a fertility clinic!”

“She did what?!”

“I know! I- why didn’t you get a call?”

“Because I have a boyfriend, so I’m the good daughter,” you tease. “But, Luce, that’s completely your choice. Think about it before you make a decision, okay?”

“I- I will, it’s just-“

“She shouldn’t have done it without asking, but she’s, well, she’s Mom and she’s borderline insane,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Lucy sighs. “Ooh, wait, I have something to tell you about Tim, too!”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I’m just saying, I am only 29,” Lucy continues. “My eggs are nowhere near their expiration date. But clearly, my mother thinks that I’m a pathetic loser who’s never gonna find a partner before her fertility clock ticks down.”

Tim looks to the ceiling, wondering why she is talking to him about this.

“Have you talked to your sister?” he asks.

“Yes. She thinks I should think about it before I decide what to do.”

“I agree. It sounds like your mom is just looking out for you, knowing how busy you are.”

“Wha- are you taking her side?”

“I’m not taking her side. It’s just—you know what, talk to your sister, I’m not doing this with you.”

“She didn’t make an appointment for my sister,” Lucy grumbles.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tamara texts you that Lucy and Angela are working on the case, you decide not to hand out candy with them. You know Lucy, and she’ll get distracted and go on a legitimate ghost hunt, so you let yourself into Tim’s house when you get off work instead.

You’re not expecting him to get off early, so when he walks through the door just a few minutes after you sit down, you’re surprised. When you see he’s still wearing his uniform, you remember what Lucy told you about the stripper incident a few Halloweens ago and start laughing.

Your laughter shakes your entire body, and you lean against the arm of the couch for support. Tim watches you, confused and slightly concerned about what is causing you to laugh so hard. He moves to stand at the back of the couch, but when you catch sight of his uniform, your laughter starts anew. Pressing your hand to your chest as it gets tight, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths.

“What is so funny?” Tim asks when you begin to quiet.

“I- I didn’t call a stripper,” you blurt out before laughing again.

“I’m going to kill your sister,” he says under his breath.

Between laughs, you say, “Not if the ghost does first.”

“What are you talking about?”

As you look up, you notice he’s unbuttoned the top of his uniform, and tears begin leaking from your eyes as you hold your laughter inside.

“I thought you were working late,” you say, wiping the tears away.

“Got off early. I thought you were going to Lucy’s.”

“They’re hunting ghosts.”

Tim wants to ask more but knows better. He’s heard enough about Lucy and her day. When Tim left work, he considered the prospect of spending more time with you, but now he’s unsure if that’s a good idea.

“Did you bring your own music?” you ask, chuckling again with your teasing.

“Stop,” Tim answers roughly before walking toward his room to change.

You’re laying it on thick, but the story is too funny not to take advantage of it at least for a while. When he’s well and truly annoyed, you’ll have to spend a long time and a lot of attention apologizing, but for now, you think it’s worth it. He reappears from the hall, dressed in a Henley and sweatpants.

“Boo!” you call. “Finish the show? Please?” You bat your eyelashes as you ask but Tim ignores you. “Hey, Tim, for- for scientific reasons: where is the best place to rip the uniform? Like, straight down the middle, or…”

“Don’t start,” he warns.

“Too late.”

His jaw clenches, and the fact that he hasn’t kissed you yet makes you realize he got annoyed way faster than usual.

“Tim, I’m sorry,” you say quietly, looking over the back of the couch at him. “Lucy shouldn’t have told me, but I shouldn’t have been so… so teasing about it.”

“You’re right.”

“Was today okay? At work? I heard about the zombie drug but I know Halloween is a rough day for cops.”

“It was fine.”

His short answers and inability to look at you make you sigh. You stand, walking to his side and leaning against the counter.

“I really am sorry,” you whisper. “I won’t do it again.”

Tim looks at you from the corner of his eye, and you amend, “I won’t take it as far again.”

“Sure you won’t.”

“Tim, why does it bother you so much?”

“Because- look, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I want to be more than a Halloween cop horror story to you.”

Your eyes widen as he speaks, and when he finishes, you ask, “Kiss me?”

“What?”

“Tim,” you whine, grabbing his arm with both hands. “That was the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Please kiss me?”

“Go find a stripper willing to kiss you,” he replies.

“Tim, please. If you break up with me my mom will freeze my eggs.”

Tim tips his head forward, sighing when it hits your shoulder. “There’s two of you.”

“Hey, you knew what you were getting into. Besides, aren’t I the ‘best thing that’s ever happened’ to you?”

Shaking his head, Tim stands to his full height, and when you open your mouth to say something else, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you. The teasing comment dies away as you kiss Tim.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too,” you say against him.

“Maybe you should remember that the next time Lucy tells you about something I say at work.”

[inkk-tv]

[ ꜰᴏᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘᴜʙ ɢᴏʟꜰ : ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ]

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair." "Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says with half a smile, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

in which: Lucy is reluctantly recruited into Chris' pub golf video at the last minute, but it turns out to be very worth it.

4.7k words [ masterlist ] [ part two ]

[oc x arthurtv x chrismd] [warnings: excessive drinking, sexual inudendos]

There’s a certain risk that comes with renting an office in a building full of youtubers. Mainly being ambushed in the kitchen by a camera for a reaction or her two cents on whatever challenge video was underway is not an uncommon occurrence. Although, being fully roped into a video is never too far out of the realm of possibility. 

Luckily, there’s only one person with the gaul to break into her office, and that’s Chris. 

It’s been affectionately nicknamed, ‘the fishbowl’.

Sitting right on the hallway's bend, with two walls and a giant door of nothing but glass that means anyone who steps out the lift can see right into her office. Hence the name. Once she showed up to find someone had stuck fish and bubble stickers all over the windows- she’s pretty sure it was Sam, who does all her captioning, but she’s never gotten him to confess it.

It’s a pretty decent workspace despite the lack of privacy. Lucy’s desk is off to one side, and the three desks for her London-based employees are in a little cluster to the right of it. Only Shelly, the head editor and Lucy had been in today, but it’s nearing five pm and Shelly had headed off about twenty minutes prior, so it’s just Lucy hauled up alone working on a script as she hides from the rest of the building.

Chris invites himself in. As always. For some reason, the wall of glass just doesn’t present the same barrier to him as it does to everyone else. 

She glances up as the door hinges open, the soundproofing scraps against the carpet before closing with a soft click. There’s something a little frantic in his expression- not exactly panic, but stress maybe- and he’s got a white monster energy can that's dripping condensation in one hand and a takeaway bag from the fish and chip shop two blocks over that uses the perfect amount of salt, in the other.

Lucy is no fool. She knows a bribe when she sees one. "No."

All the tension leaks from his shoulders as Chris heaves a defeated sigh, falling back onto the two seater couch just inside the door. "But I haven't even asked yet."

"But you brought me an incentive." She points out and Chris leans over to thunk the can down on the corner of her desk he could reach. Lucy scrunches her nose up at the ring of water that settles underneath it. "You didn't even do that last time and that involved having footballs booted at me for three hours."

Objectively, Lucy has fun on the ChrisMD channel. She’d always been an active person and while the dreams of being a professional athlete did not work out for her like many others, she does still like sports, especially if they’re team based. Chris’s videos are perhaps the most fun variant of them she’s experienced since quitting her Sunday league team back in uni. 

But Lucy drew a hard line in the sand after the break up.

The problem with having fun on Chris’ videos, is that somewhere along the line, wires got a bit crossed. Lucy isn’t really all too sure when it happened, but she remembers realising. Looking at Chris, and realising she fancied him. It was four months before, and she spent all of it agonising over every conversation they had, kicking herself for liking a taken man, beating herself up over every word or glance as the guilt of it all ate away at her. 

Then he was single and the biggest motivator for Lucy to shut her fucking mouth and stomp down her feelings, she got a little worried things would run away from her. She wasn’t keen to make a mess of things, in private or on the internet, so she took a step back. 

It does help that in her last appearance on the ChrisMD channel, she took a particularly solid shot from Simon Minter to the stomach during the World Cup Ball video. A few days later, Lucy's flatmate had bullied her into going to A and E where they found out she’d managed to acquire a cracked rib. 

Simon- bless him- still apologises every time she runs into him. 

Lucy doesn’t know how to thank him for giving her a reasonable excuse to avoid Chris for an extended period of time.

"You had fun." Chris points out with a roll of his eyes, unpacking the takeaway bag to set two boxes on the coffee table in front of him, opening one and digging into a calamari meal.

"And a broken bone."

Another sigh. "This isn't goal keeping."

Lucy's hands still over her keyboard, little cursor blinking on page is of what was going to be a 12 page script. She huffs a breath, telling herself that she will at least hear the man out. 

It was a stupid thing really, fancying him. It’s probably one of those prolonged exposure things, she spent so much time with him that things got blurry in her mind. But the controlled exposure has been working. No more nights out if he was going and no one on one hang outs for the past few months have really helped her get a handle on things. Make the lines of platonic and romantic a little clearer in her head. 

Even if he’s grown a beard that looks annoyingly good on him. She’s allowed to appreciate it without fancying him. Or at least, that’s how she tries to tell her flatmate. 

Lucy had put measures in place, a little bit of distance to get over her puppy crush and they had been working. 

The little bubbliness she used to get has been smothered in the past few months. They’d done Chip’s karting race together just fine and she’s been significantly more invested in the occasional hinge date she secures. Lucy’s building her way up towards nights out again, knowing that he’ll be there and trusting her mouth to not run away from her. Maybe filming with him would be good- keeping her contained to the version of herself that the internet is allowed to see, the version that never fancied one of her coworkers. 

When she pushes her chair out from the desk and turns to level Chris with a look, considering it for a few long moments before sighing and looking up to the ceiling, already regretting what she hasn't agreed to yet. There's a smile on Chris' face - he knows he's won. Apparently, Ciaran Carlin managed to snag himself a case of food poisoning the day of Chris' 'pub golf' shoot ("thought you did football content" - "Its football themed.") so they were down one whole player. Hence why Chris was there, a few moments from dropping to his knees to beg. 

Lucy is, admittedly an outlier amongst the office. At least in terms of content creation. It's actually the Fellas Studio building, but those who invested in the business to help the boys get it up and running, like Chris and Lucy, have their own office space inside. She makes video essays with the occasional social commentary video mixed in - a far cry from Chris' football challenges or the min-maxing style of videos that seems to have taken over the platform in the last few years.

So their friendship has stayed mostly off camera, as she doesn’t often have people on her main channel, posting occasional vlogs on her second channel but he’s only ever made the cut once or twice. The most the internet knows of Lucy Bell and Chris Dixon is that he’s roped her into a few football challenges over the years. 

When it comes to Chris’s channel, Lucy does make for a good feature. She’s just tipped over four million subscribers in the last few months, with almost a completely different audience, so it brings in a lot of new viewers. She’s not half bad at football either, a few years playing football in uni meant she could keep up with most of the UK YouTube scene if Chris begged nicely enough. 

"Alright, but it’s an extra twenty quid for each time you bite me." 

The biting gets her every time. She’s always had a bit of a thing for it, teeth marks and hickeys. It’s a condition that Lucy adds to save her own sanity more than anything.

See, there’s something about Chris when he’s drunk that just makes the man want to bite. Sink his teeth into whichever friend is closest after a pint or two. Doesn’t matter where, hand arm or neck- he’s even gone for her ear once. He’s not handsy per-say, because none of it was sexual really, but it couldn’t be called clingy either because he got way too mean.  

Cuteness aggression seems to fit the bill. But no matter what someone was to call it, the fact is, Chris gets his teeth out when he’s drinking.

Maybe charging him for it will be enough to remind him not to.

Chris grins. "Done." 

Turns out, the pub golf ‘night-out’ she had been lured into starts at one pm. 

Admittedly, it's only when she's standing in the park across from the first pub that she realises exactly what she's gotten herself into. "This feels unfair."

The line up was clearly in no way designed for fairness. With the 'English team' consisting of Lucy, Chris and Arthur-TV, going against the 'German Team' of Stephen Tries, Bambino Becky and Harry Wroetoshaw.

Now Lucy isn’t a lightweight- at least not proportionally. For a woman of five five, she could hold her drink. But Chris Dixon on the other hand, who was the same height, most definitely was a lightweight. There was not a whole lot of faith to be put in their alcohol tolerance.

"Aw, come on Luce," Arthur says, swapping his t-shirt for their team kit. "Have a bit of faith."

She ducks her head to hide the quick frown that flashes over her face. There’s only two people who call her ‘Luce’ and that’s Chris and her flatmate, Spencer. It’s obvious where he’s picked it up from and the thought of Chris chatting about her to one of his friends with such familiarity is enough to make her stomach flutter. Today was not going to be good. 

Lucy's met Arthur before, in passing. At parties or events, seen him at the office once or twice when he'd presumedly come to film with someone. He’s good friends with George and Arthur Hill too. She knows him and Chris have been mates since school, and that he's one of the most frequent victims of the ChrisMD channel. Miraculously, she's never ended up on a set with him before.

She hopes he holds his drink well.

"A little hard to have faith when Becky and Harry are gonna drink us under the table." She says, thumbing at the team jersey she’s been given.

It’s soft, more so than she expected. 

Football has never much been Lucy’s thing. She was on a team during her uni years, but that was more social than competitive. She owns a couple of kits, her old uni jersey that was mainly a work shirt and the Brighton Jersey her brother bought her for Christmas one year- Lucy makes sure to wear it whenever she watches a game. But that’s about the extent of it, she’s never had much reason to go buy an official kit. 

But apparently for the football-ification of pub golf, team jerseys were a must. 

The tag says it’s their away kit from the 1990 world cup and the fabric is so abrasively red, Lucy feels like a stop sign when she pulls it on. It doesn’t help that it was originally bought for Ciaran, so it’s two sizes too large. Sadly it completely tanks her outfit, the black skater skirt and platform mary-janes with lacy white socks had gone so much better with the cosy white knit sweater she’d started the day in, but it does sort of work. Even if it makes her look like a pick-me girl. 

The collar slips about on her shoulders and Lucy pulls the collar about a little, trying to make it sit properly, which apparently, Chris takes as an invitation. 

He comes up from behind and drapes his arms over her shoulders- not exactly unusual behaviour from him, but it does typically take a few more drinks. There’s not even a moment of hesitation before Chris sinks his teeth into the meat of her shoulder, biting down. Not hard enough to hurt exactly, more like a pinch. 

She doesn’t yelp but grunts a little, swatting at his hair to duck out of his grip. When he backs off, there’s a dark semi-circle on the jersey, highlighting where he’d bitten at the material. “Right. That’s twenty quid then.”

Chris blinks, then rolls his eyes. “What? No, come one. We haven’t even started filming yet.”

He’s smiling though, watching as Lucy digs a black marker out of her purse and bites the lid off to draw a thick line on the inside of her right forearm. “A deal is a deal, Chris.”

“We’ll if we’re keeping track like that, someone else has to be in charge of the pen.” He plucks it from her fingers and Lucy goes to swipe it back but he pulls it up high above both their heads. 

She could snatch it back. They’re about the same height; every time someone whips out a tape measure they end up with a different answer to who is taller, so it always depends on the shoes. Today, she’s even wearing platforms with more than enough heel to beat out Chris' white air forces but Lucy’s not sacrificing a single sliver of her dignity to jump for the marker. 

Perhaps realising that she’s not taking the bait, he holds it out to Arthur instead, who has been watching them with a raised eyebrow. “What’s this then?”

“Lucy agreed to be in the video, if I paid her twenty pounds each time I bit her.” Chris says, looking a little proud of himself for some reason, as if wrangling her into a video was some sort of impressive feat. “But I don’t trust her to not just draw a bunch of lines.”

“Damn. That’s smart, you’ll make a couple hundred quid today, easy.” Arthur plucks the marker out of Chris’ fingers and looks at it a little funny. “Will you give me twenty every time you bite me?”

The marker is tucked away into the pocket of his shorts with a grin. 

“You were coming no matter what.”

“With you looking like that, damn right I was.” Arthur holds his hand up for a high-five, probably more of a reflex than anything. Chris doesn't go for it, but Lucy does, swinging up to her tiptoes, to clap her palm against his.

“Come on,” He grins at Lucy, keeping their hands clasped for a few seconds with the momentum and it has her feeling a little better about the afternoon ahead.

One of the film crew, Sam she thinks his name is, waves Lucy over to mic her up. They make their way through the ‘before game interviews’, with the warning they will be spliced with the aftermath that was to be recorded at the last pub.

"Are you going to enjoy today?" Chris pokes the mic against the tip of her nose and Lucy scrunches it up a little at the feeling of scratchy foam.

"Considering I was bribed to be here, no." She plays the reluctant friend well, but they both know she’d been happy to help Chris out in his time of crisis and that she probably wouldn’t end up chasing him up about the money she was supposedly charging him per bite.

The first two holes (“It’s Goal, Luce. Use the right terminology.”) left their team with a rather bleak outlook.

Lucy’s played enough drinking games in her life to be able to down a pint in one go, so that isn’t a problem. She chugs the IPA, so while it’s down in one, Lucy is left with a bitter taste in her mouth, complaining to the table that if she was forced to drink beer, it should at least be lager. Arthur and Chris both down theirs in one, but are cautioned for shit jokes and chose to do a shot each instead of taking the additional points. 

The second pub is no hands, white sambuca shots, but they get a bench so it’s not much hassle to lean down and get her lips around the glass rim and knock it back.

But when they’re done, and Arthur’s wandered off, her, Chris and Harry pounce on his backpack to turn it inside out. It makes her feel like she’s back in secondary playing silly pranks when someone leaves their bag unattended. Tragically he comes back with the news that he’s thrown up. Twice. There’s an attempt to blame the McDonalds wrap he’d scranned a bit too quickly but Calfreezey is not a forgiving referee and they are penalised three points, leaving them at seven as Chris has failed to down his shot in one. 

“We are not winning that dominos pizza.” Arthur whines, frowning down at his inside out bag.

Lucy holds her hands out, an unspoken gesture that he accepts with a smile and starts piling his belongings into her hands. “Cheer up Mr.Television. I’ll Deliveroo one to the last pub.”

“And ruin Chris’ incentive? Where’s your competitive spirit Miss Bell?” He quips back, grabbing a fist full of his bag’s canvas and turning it back out the right way, shoving his pencil case and jacket back into it. 

There’s an instinct to roll her eyes at the last name but fair is fair. She did sort of do it to him first. “I think winning for us is already a lost cause. Becky and Harry can outdrink us all.”

Arthur zips his bag up and swings it over his shoulders, heading for the door but glancing back at her as he speaks. “Not Stephen?”

“He’s more of a mascot I think.” Lucy muses, skipping up to his side and out the door as he holds it with one hand. “Like Chris.”

“Fair enough, they are the two lightweights.” He says, jutting his chin out to where Chris and Stephen were squabbling a good hundred metres up the footpath. “You seem a bit better at handling the beers than Chris to be honest.”

She can’t quite stop the way her nose scrunches at the memories of parties and chundering in bushes out the front of train stations. Lucy hisses through her teeth. “Yeah, I had a few too many nights out in Uni. Spiked my tolerance.”

There’s this little quirk of Arthur’s head, like he’s a curious cat that’s been offered a toy mouse to play with. “I didn’t know you went to uni, what did you study?”

“Journalism. Hence the video essays- if you know what kind of videos I do.”

“Not to brag, but I'm kind of subscribed.” He puts on a little bit of a voice, an impression of the typical ‘nice guy’ when he says it with an exaggerated roll of the eyes that earns a smile.

“Really?” This time it’s Lucy who’s tilting her head, peering up at him a little from under the few loose strands of hair that hang over her forehead and it makes Arthur sort of sheepish. 

“Oh yeah,” He pulls out his phone and opens the youtube app. She’s in his subscriptions tab, along the top bar even. “I really like the rage bait one. And the one about the barbie movies.” 

“You actually watch my videos?” He must do. The rage bait one was recent but Lucy’s deep-dive into the animated barbie movies of the early two-thousands was from her uni days, buried under six years of more recent uploads. 

“Yeah, they’re good. Informative, funny.”

Lucy blushes. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Arthur. I’ll check out your channel after today, promise.”

“It’s not much, a lot of reality TV content- hence the name. I started with Airline freakouts and ended up with ninety-day fiancé.” He holds out his phone for her to take with his own channel pulled up. 

She flicks though, and it is admittedly a lot of ninety-day fiancé, but when she flicks the ‘popular’ filter on, some of the thumbnails look kind of familiar. “Wait, like the old ‘Airline UK’ show? I used to watch some of those.”

Arthur grins. “Really?”

“Yeah, just compilations of the passengers screaming at the easy jet desk.” 

There’s a mental note to watch them when she gets home (pr depending on how drunk she ends up, tomorrow) and see if they’re familiar. 

It happens every now and then, watching a video then realising years later you’ve just met the person who made it. A couple of months after meeting George Clarkey at the gym she realised she’d watched him chase a beep around his garage on tiktok a year earlier.

“Maybe you saw some of mine.” Arthur offers a little shyly, as if he’s nervous about suggesting it. “They did decent numbers. It’s how I got started with youtube.”

“Yeah?”

He hums in agreement. “Needed something to pay the bills in Uni and youtube ended up being way more fun than Law.”

Lucy can’t help the judgemental tone that sneaks into her voice. “You studied Law?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” He scoffs with a smile.

“No you’re just nicer than all the other law students I met while in Uni. Most of them were right pricks.”

Especially the one she’d dated in second year. He’d been good at first, but after a couple of pints he was anyone's. The guy played up on her all the time and it wasn’t until he tried hitting on the first year who’d just moved into Lucy’s student Accommodation that she finally called it off. 

After that, all the law students who tried to chat her up at the Uni bars left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

Not Arthur though. He isn’t quite a law student, she supposes, he’s a youtuber and Lucy does get on well with most of the UK scene. They were a good bunch and any of the dickheads were pretty easy to weed out- there is a couple she fully avoids, simply because she couldn’t be arsed putting up with them. Lucy scribbles Arthur’s name on the mental list of people she wouldn’t mind chatting to at the next party. 

He’s got decent chat, certainly better than some of the dull people she’s put up with out of politeness and when he smiles, it’s a flash of pearly white. Teeth that all line up perfect- save for his pointed canines. She could stand to see it a bit more often, carve out some space for it in her chest amongst the fluttering of butterflies. “Flattery gets you everywhere, Luce.”

“Hurry up you two, stop dawdling!” Chris shouts from out the front of pub number three. 

They wave him off with a few jeered ‘yeah, yeah’s but do pick up the pace a little. 

“I meant to ask earlier,” Arthur says. “Want to put your purse in my bag? it looks like it’s bothering you.”

Her purse has been bothering her. It was the one she’d taken into the office and was more for fashion than function, a little black leather crossbody bag that she’s had over one shoulder so it doesn't make her boobs look weird on camera. It’s only really got her phone, earbuds and keys in it. She’s been keeping it at her hip with one hand but it’s getting tiring. “Yeah, thanks Arthur.” 

He tucks it away gently, with much more care than he’d had with his own portable charger and pencil case a few minutes earlier. Arthur’s sweeter than she expected. 

Not many of the youtube boys were sweet. Nice, friendly even, but part of being amongst them meant she could take the banter and hard hitting. Catch hurled comments that strangers would say border on cruel with her bleeding hands and hurl them back. There’s an added layer, being a woman online appearing on channels with a male dominated audience. A thick oily sheen that taints the comments of collab videos. 

But Lucy has managed to find the youtubers she could stomach, some of which she spends more time with than others. George is her gym buddy, even if he’s been slacking lately. Will lacks enough of a social life that he tends to rot in the office just as late as she does so they always end up ordering Deliveroo and shit talking for an extra hour or two. She doesn’t mind the occasional pint with Harry or Tobi either. They’re all sweet, but sweet enough that it's threatening to make her blush? Well, only Chris made that far. 

Lucy tucks that thought away and settles into the seat at the end of the table, tapping the toes of her shoes together idly as the production team set up go-pros and camera angles.

Pub number three was goalie rules. Six seconds to down a pint and it had to be done with keeper gloves. 

All six sets set on the table are Large and it looks utterly ridiculous when they all don the gloves. Black and green leathery material that’s oddly padded on the inside, it feels weird enough that it sort of captivates her for a few moments, the new sensation against her hands. Lucy keeps balling her fists up then splaying her fingers again, listening to the scrunch of them before pressing her hands flat against the table to feel the padding compress and spring back up slightly when she released the pressure. 

Arthur has a similar reaction, although he just starts running his hands over everything. From the wooden table to his own legs. Down Lucy’s right forearm where it rests on the table, over Chris’s head. The latter of which, he does so much that it actually gets a reaction, which Lucy is starting to think most of Arthur’s oddities don’t.

“Stop rubbing my head!” Chris squeaks, ducking away from Arthur’s widespread palms that are messing up his quiff. “Rub the head I want to be rubbed!”

Lucy snorts into her keeper glove when Chris gestures rudely to his crotch and Stephen goes to kick it from under the table. 

Thankfully, before things can devolve into more dick jokes, a member of Chris’s team brings over a tray of pints. 

Lucy and Arthur both get it down in one, but Chris fails- laughing after about an inch and having to set the drink down. Easy to say, no one is impressed and he earns them a yellow card for time wasting.

“How have you done worse than the females?” Arthur jokes, setting Chris’ still half full glass between Lucy and Becky’s empty ones. 

“We’ll take ourselves back to the kitchen.” Becky declares, raising a hand for a high five that Arthur meets- an assurance that it’s all jokes- before leaning in to stage whisper to Lucy. “There might be pints in there.”

Despite England's mostly good performance, Calfreezy once again proves that he’s out to get them as he issues two yellows and a red card. Lucy and Chris take the penalty shots- tequila upon request- and there’s three points added to their tally as well. 

It burns the back of her mouth and stings against her tongue. Whichever production member had fetched their shots did not return with the curiosity of a chaser. Still, it’s easier to down than a pint so Lucy takes what she can get. 

Although, everyone seems to be under the impression that it’s going to finish her. Probably because she keels over coughing after getting it down. It’s the closest Lucy’s come to spitting out a drink all afternoon, which is saying something considering the IPA at the first pub was utter shit. 

Her reaction has Steven so confident in his team’s performance that he starts demanding forfeits, anything from shots of the winners choice to public spankings in ‘piccadilly square’.

While Lucy focuses on not tripping over the drag of her platform shoes, the taste of tequila lingers on her tongue and haunts her all the way to the next pub. 

[ masterlist ] [ part two ]

ink note: and we are underway! thanks so much for reading! feel free to send asks about the fic or check out the notes at the bottom of Lucy's masterlist to see how this fic is going to develop.

[ if you would like to be added to the fic's tag list, let me know in an ask and you'll be tagged when each chapter goes up :) ]

[laundryandtaxesworld]

Pregnant Tommy my savior. Okay but what if Buck has him blocked??? And like Tommy’s seat in a bad place, so he doesn’t really try to fight back. And Lucy?? Lucy is right there all along with him, being his sole support system

oooh the angst, i love it.

——-

Today 12:30 PM

Tommy: Evan, can we talk? I have something important to tell you.

Tommy waited, anxious. His eyes flitted back and forth between the pregnancy test and the unanswered message. He knew that Evan probably wouldn’t answer, but he just needed an answer just this once.

Evan: No, we can’t talk. You did all the talking you needed to do. [2:30 PM]

The message broke Tommy’s heart when he read it, but that was the price he had to pay.

Tommy: Okay, goodbye Evan. [2:35 PM]

Sent as a Text Message

Tommy closed his eyes. It was going to be okay. Tommy pressed a hand on his flat stomach. It was just going to be him and the baby.

“It’s okay munchkin, it’s all going to be okay.”

——

“What’s going on with you?” Lucy leaned against the lockers. Tommy sighed as he closed his locker.

“I’m pregnant.” Tommy looked over at Lucy.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant, Luce.”

“Have you told Cap?” Tommy shook his head.

“Not yet,” Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“I will!” Tommy insisted.

“Okay, just make sure to tell him soon.

“I will.” Lucy gave him a smile.

“If you need anything I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

——

“Congratulations Mr. Kinard, it’s a boy.” Tommy smiled, he looked at the ultrasound, there he was, there was his baby boy.

“Do you have a named pick out?” The technician asked as she cleaned up.

“I’m thinking about Eli.” Buckley as a middle name went unsaid.

“Eli is a lovely name.” Tommy smiled as he gathered his coat and left the office.

——

The duffle bag dropped to the floor with a thud.

“What do you have in there rocks?” Tommy joked, as Lucy began to unzip the bag.

“That and millions of clothes.” Tommy’s smile faded.

“You really don’t have to do this, I’ll be perfectly fine.” Tommy waddled towards Lucy.

“I want to do this, okay? I want to help my friend.”

“Are you sure, cause that baby might not come for a bit.”

“Or he could come tomorrow and you’d be in a pickle cause no way you can drive yourself safely to the hospital. So just let me stay here and help. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you Luce.”

“Anytime Tommy.”

——

FIRST: Eli MIDDLE: Buckley LAST: Kinard

SEX: Male DATE OF BIRTH: June 7th, 2024

TIME OF BIRTH: 12:04 AM

BIRTH WEIGHT: 7. 0 LBS

TRIPLETS, TWINS, SINGLE, ECT: Single

CITY OF BIRTH: Los Angeles, CA, USA

PARENT A: RELATIONSHIP: Father

LAST: Kinard MIDDLE: John FIRST: Tommy

PARENT B: RELATIONSHIP:

LAST: MIDDLE: FIRST:

Tommy signed the birth certificate, as he kept glancing towards the blank “parent B” spot. He gave the certificate back to the nurse and looked over at the sleeping baby. It was all going to be okay.

“Knock, knock.” Tommy looked up to see Lucy who had been with him throughout his labor, holding a box of sushi.

“Come in, you really didn’t have to do that Luce.”

“I did, someone needs to take care of you after you gave birth to a whole human. Tommy smiled.

“I did that, didn’t I?”

“Yeah you did.” Lucy set her bag down on the couch and then sat on the edge of the bed.

“I’m proud of you Tommy. You are going to be an amazing father.”

“I love you Luce.” Lucy kissed the top of Tommy’s head.

“I love you too Tommy. You and Eli.”

“Just don’t spoil him rotten.”

“That’s the point of an aunt and don’t tell me he hasn’t had you wrapped around his little baby fingers since that moment you found out.”

“Fine… he has,” Tommy sighed as he looked over at his sleeping son. “I just love him so damn much.”

“I know you do Tommy, I know you do.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 38

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Friday, January 15th; 5:00 PM - Lucy's Apartment

We’ve just arrived safely at Lucy’s apartment. I drove well, but I noticed Lucy seemed relieved to arrive at her private parking lot. On the way, I felt my new phone vibrate. Lucy had to dig into my pocket to answer it. It was obvious it was one of the girls since I had just changed everything. It was Mapi, letting us know that they were out shopping for tonight’s gathering. To my surprise, Lucy only asked them not to overdo it with the shopping. I didn’t say anything, but I’m worried Lucy doesn’t know who she’s entrusted with this task. I hope Ingrid can restrain my best friend's impulses. She tends to go overboard with things she shouldn't, like alcohol. While they were gone, we took the opportunity to bring up all the stuff from the car. I brought my suitcase and Mapi's into the guest room since we're going to share it. When everything was sorted, I joined Lucy, who had settled on the couch. She was engrossed in a book, leaving me free to watch whatever I wanted on TV. Her mood had slightly calmed down, which reassured me. I still have no idea what came over her earlier. It was the first time she had expressed her bad mood so clearly, and I’m not used to it. 

The minutes ticked by, but the girls still hadn’t arrived. Lucy didn’t seem worried, unlike me. Plus, I couldn’t find anything interesting on TV and was starting to get bored.

"Hey, Luce?"

"Hmm?"

"I still need to put the tempered glass on my phone. Can you do it for me? I can never get it right."

"If you want. Grab it, and I’ll do it."

I smiled and quickly went to get it. I had left the bag on the desk in my room. When I returned, her book was on the coffee table, and she was waiting patiently. I handed everything to her and sat back down. She laid everything out on the table and began cleaning my phone. Then she pulled out the glass and paused to look at me.

"Do you want the glass to be crooked or with bubbles?"

"What? No, why?"

"Then could you please move away from me? You’re distracting me."

"Sorry," I mumbled, sinking into the couch. "It would just be payback. You distracted me at the store."

"That’s different," she smiled. "That was just for fun. Plus, you have something to lose here."

"For fun?" I teased, crossing my arms. "If you say so."

She said nothing more and focused on applying the screen protector with great concentration. I watched her work from a distance, and she quickly finished, checking my phone afterward. She finally handed it back to me with a proud smile.

"There you go, princess. It’s done, and with no defects."

"Thanks."

I kissed her cheek to accompany my words and then opened one of my social media apps. I hadn’t done that in ages. The strange thing is, I didn’t even miss it. Ever since I’ve been at school, it’s like I’ve been disconnected.

"Hey, I didn’t let you get a new phone so you could spend all your time on it."

"You sound like my mom. And in case you're wondering, that’s not a compliment."

"No, it’s not, but that doesn’t stop me from forbidding it."

"Oh, come on," I rolled my eyes. "Let me at least check what’s happening on my social media, and I’ll stop afterward."

"Hmm... Can I see too?"

I nodded, seeing no reason to refuse. As I kept my eyes glued to the screen, she caught me off guard by lying down, pulling me down with her. A small yelp escaped my mouth as she laughed in my ear. I didn’t dare move, given our position.

"Sorry, I’m really exhausted and needed to lie down," she confessed. "You can get up if I’m bothering you, or you can stay and be my pillow."

"You just surprised me, that’s all," I replied. "I just need to lie down better if you want me to stay."

Without saying a word, she sat up so I could get comfortable. I took the chance to put a pillow behind my head. Then, she let herself fall back, wrapping her arms around me. She seemed to need affection, judging by how she held me. I wasn’t about to refuse, especially since she’d been giving me all the affection I’ve needed these past few days. I started stroking her back with one hand while scrolling through my Twitter feed with the other. She sighed at my touch, seeming to enjoy it. We stayed like that for a while, to the point where I didn’t even dare move. It had been a long time since I’d ended up in such an intimate position with someone. 

Eventually, I dared to glance at her. Her eyes were closed, and her body was rising and falling slowly with each breath. I quickly realized she had fallen asleep. I bit my lip, noticing that I’d forgotten the remote at our feet. I tried to move slowly, but I immediately stopped when I heard her groan and felt her head burrow into my neck. I stared at the ceiling, deep in thought. It’s my fault she’s sleep-deprived, so I should let her rest. To pass the time, I looked for games to download on my phone. Minutes passed, but I did nothing but play. I appreciated being so close, so I decided to enjoy the moment. Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted half an hour later when the doorbell rang. I panicked as I heard her groan.

"Damn, they’re so annoying," she muttered in a raspy voice.

I removed my hand from her back as she propped herself up on her elbows. Our eyes met for a moment, but Lucy quickly stood up when she realized our position. She suddenly seemed almost embarrassed, but she didn’t say anything. She just walked over to the intercom as the doorbell continued to ring insistently. She immediately pressed the button to silence it. I stifled a laugh when I heard Mapi ask if she had missed her. Lucy didn’t even bother to reply and pressed another button, rolling her eyes.

"If you don’t calm her down, there will be a murder tonight."

"She’s just teasing you," I giggled. "I promise she’s not usually this bad."

"I could’ve done without it. Anyway, do you want something to drink?"

"I’d like some iced tea if you have any."

"I think I can find some."

She left the front door slightly open before heading to the kitchen. I decided to follow her and sat on one of the bar stools while she filled our glasses. Just as I took a sip, the door flew open, and Ingrid and Mapi entered with two huge shopping bags. It’s obvious Mapi’s bag was full of alcohol bottles. They clinked loudly when she dropped it in the middle of the living room.

"Oh my God," she murmured. "What kind of sick apartment is this?!" she finally exclaimed.

"Don’t start yelling. I have neighbors, remember?" Lucy grumbled.

Mapi didn’t seem bothered by Lucy’s remark. She simply placed her bag on the table next to Ingrid’s, all the while looking around with admiration. Lucy took the opportunity to check their purchases.

"Good thing I told you not to go overboard. How many bottles of alcohol did you buy?"

"A few. We couldn’t agree on the choices!" Mapi dared to respond.

"I’m warning you, the first one to puke on my floor will be cleaning it up, no matter what state you’re in."

"No one’s forcing anyone to drink."

"Don’t try that on me, Mapi. I’ve figured out what kind of person you are."

"If you say so," she laughed.

It’s a good thing Lucy was never aware of my high school parties. She would’ve realized how much Mapi pushed me more than she thought, and she would’ve never allowed me to hang out with her.

"Can I give her a tour?" I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yeah, very good idea," the apartment owner replied.

I left everything behind and led Mapi down the hallway. I made sure to close the double doors and move away. I’m not sure what’s going on between them, but there’s definitely some tension on Lucy’s side. I’ll take the chance to clear things up with Mapi, who doesn’t seem interested in making an effort either.

"Is she like this all the time?" Mapi asked me.

"No, she’s just sleep-deprived because of me, and it seems like she doesn’t appreciate your teasing. It would be nice if you tried to be less... expressive. Could you?"

"I’m not doing anything wrong," she defended herself. "She’s been on my case since the start. If I’m messing with her, it’s to try and lighten the mood."

"Well, your attempts are failing miserably. They’re just making her angrier, you see."

"And since when do you defend someone against me, huh? You were always on my side before. You really like her, admit it! You wouldn’t be reacting like this otherwise."

"We’re not starting this discussion again, Mapi, and definitely not here," I said as I opened the first door on the right. "Just remember that she agreed to host us, so try to make an effort."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, stepping into the bathroom. "Wow. It’s not just her living room that’s awesome! She has a killer apartment! No wonder you like spending time here

I rolled my eyes before continuing with the tour. I showed her the door across the hall where Lucy told me there was an office. I had never been in there, so I wasn’t about to now. It’s her private space, in my opinion. I finished the tour by showing her Lucy’s bedroom, then the bathroom, and finally our guest room where we’ll be sleeping tonight.

"So we’re sleeping together then?" she asked when she saw our suitcases.

"Yeah, it seemed obvious."

"I just thought you’d be sleeping with Lucy."

"Well, no. Why?"

"I don’t know, you’ve been sleeping with her lately, right? You told me she helps you with your restless nights."

"That’s true, but you can help me too, so I might as well sleep with you since you’re here."

"Lucy didn’t say anything?"

"Why would she? She’s the first one who would want me to sleep in a different bed."

"Okay, if you say so... Anyway, I’m really glad to be here," she changed the subject. "I thought I was going to go crazy in Barcelona."

"I’m glad to see you too, Mapi. By the way, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Since when are you so close with strangers?"

"Strangers? Who are you talking about?"

"Ingrid. You seem to get along really well with her."

"Oh, Ingrid. She’s not a stranger," she giggled. "I got her number on New Year’s. We’ve been texting a lot, and she’s actually the reason I haven’t gone completely crazy since you lost your phone. She’s been a great support this week."

I blinked several times. I was afraid I’d misunderstood. She got Ingrid’s number? What’s this madness? How did I not know about this?

"Wait, wait... Are you telling me you’re flirting with one of my instructors?!"

"Do you think I have a chance with her?" she surprised me by asking with a big smile.

"Wh-what?! No, are you serious?! You’re joking, right?"

"No. I know I can joke about a lot of things, but not right now. I like Ingrid, and she’s really cool, funny, and super nice. You’re not going to get jealous, are you? You already have your instructor."

"Stop bringing everything back to Lucy!" I snapped. "Do what you want with Ingrid. If you two like each other, I’m not going to interfere. I’d even be happy for you, but stop talking about Lucy like she’s my future girlfriend too. That will never happen. I’m not interested, and I probably never will be, so please, just stop because it’s giving me false hope."

« Ona—"

"Stop, be quiet. I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve answered you, and the topic is closed."

That was really the last straw, and I couldn’t take any more for today. I felt like everyone was playing with my feelings, and I hated it. Between Lucy’s unhealthy games and Mapi’s provocations, it just gives me false hope when I know nothing will ever happen. To truly end the topic, I left the room to go back to the girls in the living room. The only one I found was Lucy in the kitchen. I looked around for Ingrid, but she seemed to have vanished, just like the shopping bags on the table.

"Where’s Ingrid?" I asked as I approached Lucy.

"She went home. I offered for her to stay here, so she went back to get some things."

"Oh... Can I help you?"

She agreed and handed me a wooden board and a knife. She asked me to wash my hands before touching anything, which I did quickly. She was cutting cheese into cubes when I interrupted her. She came back to me and handed me a salami.

"Slice it into rounds, please."

"TV snacks?"

"Um, sort of. Where’s Mapi?"

"No idea. I thought she would follow me."

She shrugged and continued with what she was doing. The atmosphere between us had calmed. I could live in this pleasant situation forever. We shared the preparation of the appetizers before spreading some toast together. Lucy also added several types of chips that the girls had brought. Mapi finally reappeared when Ingrid returned. We exchanged an awkward smile. No one noticed, but we knew it meant everything was forgiven. I watched her sit at the dining table across from Ingrid. Lucy offered them the couch, but they wanted to be as close to us as possible. I still have a hard time believing she’s considering something with her. I didn’t see it coming. I don’t even know if Ingrid is a lesbian, but I think I’ll soon have the answers given how well they seem to get along. I just hope Mapi isn’t using her as a fling . I can’t see how I’d explain that to Lucy. I doubt that’s the case. Their relationship seems serious. Anyway, all that matters to me is that I won’t have to pick up my best friend with a spoon. When we finished with the toasts, Lucy and I brought the glasses and drinks to the table. The music was playing softly in the background, just loud enough not to disturb our conversations. Mapi had taken care of bringing the alcohol bottles. They had brought everything: beer, vodka, tequila, Baileys, and even whiskey. I sat in the same spot I was in last week, across from Lucy and next to Mapi, who was deep in conversation with Ingrid. Automatically, Mapi prepared my first glass of vodka after hers while Ingrid opened two beers. Once done, my best friend didn’t wait for the green light to start digging into the food.

"Do you remember the first night we spent together?" she asked me.

"How could I forget?" I mumbled.

"What did she do?" Ingrid asked.

"You better not tell," I warned Mapi with a dark look.

"She couldn’t handle her alcohol and ended up doing a striptease on one of the tables."

"You’re really not cool," I hit back. "It was your fault. You kept refilling my glasses."

"A striptease, really?" Lucy asked. "I wouldn’t have thought that of you."

I blushed deeply when I met her amused gaze. That night was a real disaster. I didn’t know what I was doing for the first time in my life. I had trouble understanding why I received so many invitations from suitors until someone told me about the striptease. I was mortified for weeks. I was lucky to have Mapi at that time. She was turning away everyone who approached me because she wanted me for herself back then.

"I was sixteen!" I defended myself.

"Still, I could make you do anything back then," Mapi snickered.

"You still can..."

"That’s true!" she said with a big smile. "Come on, finish your drink so I can make you the second one."

"Oh, hold on there," Lucy retorted, taking my glass. "After what you just said, I don’t really want her ending up on my table tonight or worse, with her head in the toilet."

"That wouldn’t be the first time..."

"Shut up, Leon ! They don’t need to know everything! Remember, they’re my instructors."

"Instructors with whom you’re sleeping," she laughed. "Very professional!"

"Believe me, when it comes to getting fired, she’s very professional!"

"Did you get fired again?" she laughed.

"Yeah. We couldn’t stop chatting."

"I doubt that’s the only reason," Lucy retorted.

"Well, of course I was replying to her," I rolled my eyes. "Anyway, you managed to make me regret it."

"Oh yeah? How so?"

"She’s depriving me of a weekend in the Alps with her friends, where she would have taken me."

"Seriously?" Mapi asked. "And you’re not even thinking of me?"

"Why should I think of you, exactly?" Lucy replied.

"Because Ingrid likes me, at least. She would have certainly liked me to be there."

"Wow, don’t involve me in this," said the person concerned.

"I never said I didn’t like you," Lucy simply replied.

- But you can't say you're all that fond of me either, she insists. You've been shutting me down ever since I got here.

- Mapi, that's enough, I say softly.

- It's fine, Ona. She's right, she shrugs. You're a chatterbox, and I'm just tired. Sorry if you took it personally.

- Lucy can be very grumpy when she doesn't get her sleep, laughs Ingrid.

- Sorry, it's my fault, I plead awkwardly.

- It's fine, don't worry, she smiles at me. Anyway, she returns to Mapi. Since we're talking about it, I want to tell you that I don't like it when you push Ona to go to parties.

The gesture is slight, but I see Ingrid give her a nudge on the thigh, as if she would have preferred her to be quiet. I look up at them, but neither of them shows anything.

- Oh, but you know, you don't need to worry about that, Mapi responds. She's become very reasonable since she met you!

I groan, hiding my head in my hands as she starts comparing our recent parties to our high school parties. I had explicitly avoided doing that so she would never know. Although she doesn’t specify, it’s odd that she’s bringing up our past together. It’s been a long time since we talked about that period, out of fear of making things awkward between us.

- How about we play "Never Have I Ever"? she eventually suggests at the end of her stories.

- You should stop now, I growl in annoyance.

- I think it’s a good idea, comments Lucy.

- Are you serious? I ask in surprise.

- At least we get to know each other better. That’s what you wanted, right?

Now that she mentions it, the game doesn’t seem so silly.

- Do you have something to hide? she challenges me with a little smirk.

- Not at all, I roll my eyes. Let’s go, if that’s what you want.

- Cool, Ingrid replies. Let’s spice up the game, no soft drinks allowed.

I press my lips together, unable to back out now with everyone’s enthusiasm. Lucy doesn’t seem against the idea, as she brings out shot glasses. Ingrid fills them while Mapi reminds us of the rules.

Now that she mentions it, it might not be so stupid after all. She challenges me with a little smile to refuse. I eventually agree, as does Ingrid, who looks just as enthusiastic as my best friend. Mapi decides to spice up the game with plastic shot glasses she bought earlier. It seems like they had everything planned from the start. Ingrid fills the glasses while Mapi goes over the rules.

- So we’re agreed. We take turns saying a phrase that starts with "Never have I ever," and everyone who has done what was said must drink.

- Do you think we’re beginners? Ingrid replies. We’re older than you, remember.

- Yeah, well, find something else to say, she retorts. Start, then.

- Gladly, she smiles sweetly.

And we’re off... In reality, I’m not a big fan of drinking games. I tend to end up in a bad state. Luckily, we start with basic phrases. For my part, I began with phrases that kept me from drinking, such as "Never have I lived in an apartment," etc. I was often the only one who didn’t have to drink. Mapi had to drink to that one since she’s living with a girl from her class. My tactic was flawed because the girls quickly moved on to phrases that forced me to drink. Also, Mapi’s hand has been under the table with her phone for a while. I’m almost sure she’s cheating by telling Ingrid what phrases to say. Being a good sport, I don’t mention it. For now, I’m handling the few drinks I’ve had, but I’m starting to feel tipsy. As the game progresses, everyone begins to get comfortable. The questions start to shift to very personal, even sexual topics.

- Never have I ever slept with a guy, Mapi says.

- Seriously, Mapi? 

- Well, what? It’s a basic question. And you two aren’t drinking? she asks the two girls across from us.

- Never with a guy, Lucy replies with a shrug.

- What, seriously? Never with a guy? Mapi repeats with wide eyes.

- Never, she says cheerfully. I’ve always preferred breasts to hairy chests.

She takes a sip of her beer while I laugh at Mapi’s reaction. The alcohol seems to be affecting me. Lucy gives me a small smile, raising her eyebrow.

- A problem, Batlle?

- Yeah! Not all guys’ chests are hairy, I retort.

- That’s true, but you should know I prefer to stay in control and be dominant, she replies with a wink, referring to this afternoon.

- Just words. I’d like to see some proof.

The first to react is Mapi, laughing. Her reaction makes me realize what I just said, and embarrassment quickly overtakes me. The alcohol has clearly taken over at this point, whether for Lucy or for me. I glance at my best friend on my left. She’s the only one who knows about my recent confessions regarding Lucy. I hope she’ll just give me a “I told you so” when we’re alone rather than commenting now. She seems to be opting for that as she brings her drink to her lips, just like Lucy, who is drinking her beer. I’ve noticed that Lucy always takes her time drinking her beers, as if she’s trying to enjoy it to avoid drinking too much. She doesn’t like alcohol, I’ve figured that out over time. Still, she agreed to play the game and considering the number of shots she’s had, her reaction is understandable. I know the alcohol has affected her. At least, she’s become much less grumpy since she started. However, I can’t say the same about her teasing. Although I prefer her this way, I don’t know what she’s playing at since this afternoon. If she knew what I really think, she surely wouldn’t be doing this. That would be intentionally hurting me. Deep down, I know there will never be a chance, no matter how much conviction I put into it. I have in my mind the idea that she’s comparing us to Alexia and Jenni and doesn’t want to make the same mistake. This conclusion comes from the fact that she has always maintained her professionalism with me, and you can’t say she’s fond of Alexia. I could continue to think about this for a long time, but Ingrid clears her throat and resumes the game.

- Never have I ever slept with someone in this room.

I sigh and down my drink that was just refilled. They really want me to get drunk. When I put my glass down, I realize that wasn’t the point of the question given Ingrid’s shocked expression.

- No way... You two together?! she points at Mapi and me. You knew about this? she asks Lucy.

- Of course I did.

- Of course I did, she mimics in a high-pitched voice. You could have told me!

- I didn’t see the point, she replies with a shrug and a little smile. It was a secret, too.

- Tsss.

She gives her a reproachful look. I really wonder what happened between them for her to react like this tonight. They must have had a conversation that we’re not aware of.

- Anyway, Lucy concludes. Never have I ever had a brother or sister.

I’m still the only one drinking. If she joins in, I’m never going to make it through the night!

Saturday, January 16; 1:50 AM - Lucy’s Apartment

I can’t stop laughing. I think I’m drunk. I don’t even know what time it is, but I’ve discovered that fatigue and alcohol don’t mix well. Yet, I’m not ready to go to bed. It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a good evening. We’ve moved on to board games after "Never Have I Ever," and I’ve discovered that you can have just as much fun with them. Right now, we’re in the middle of a game of Pictionary. They probably didn’t think it through when they chose it because it’s clear that I’m unbeatable at it. Lucy is on my team since our best friends wanted to team up together. The goal of the game is to have your partner guess the word you’ve drawn. Let’s just say it’s child’s play for me. My senses might have taken a hit, but not my artistic talent. Lucy and I are incredibly efficient together. I only failed at our eleventh round where I didn’t guess Lucy’s drawing, but considering the incompetence of our opponents, it wasn’t a big deal. At the moment, I’m mocking Mapi’s drawing, which really doesn’t look like anything.

- You’re terrible, Lucy mocks next to me on the couch.

- Not everyone has an artist on their team! Mapi grumbles.

- You should have chosen the right teammate, she retorts, sending me a smile.

I clumsily return the smile before letting myself lean against her shoulder. Fatigue is starting to take over. My eyes close for a moment, enjoying the gentle rocking of Lucy's body as she breathes. However, this moment doesn’t last long as someone gently shakes my thigh.

- Don’t fall asleep here. You’d better go to bed, Lucy advises.

I shake my head negatively, burying my face in her neck. I’m so comfortable that I don’t want to move. She sighs and tries to get me to react, but I no longer have the strength. It seems our friends’ round was the last straw.

- Come on, princess. It’s time to go to bed.

- Just a little longer... Please, I mumble.

- No. You’re falling asleep.

- Then take me there, I negotiate.

- If I come with you, you won’t let me go.

- You can sleep with her, I hear Mapi suggest. I don’t want to risk waking her up by going to bed, and I don’t mind sleeping with Ingrid.

- Fine, Lucy mutters.

I groan as Lucy gets up. My head falls to the side, but they catch my body before it falls off the couch. They pull my arms, but the attempt to lift me fails miserably, causing a sigh. In the end, it’s hands under my thighs that lift me off the couch. I try to see what’s happening, but the light is too harsh on my eyes for me to keep them open. All I can see are strands of brown hair. I know it’s Lucy by her scent. She adjusts me comfortably in her arms before I feel her move.

- I can walk, I mumble.

- I have no doubt, she teases.

I groan as she sets me down on something soft, moving completely away from me. I almost regret her warmth but eventually roll onto the bed when I recognize it. 

- Oh no, stay there, she giggles, holding me back. Don’t move until I come back.

She’s lucky I don’t have the strength to fight her. I sigh as I fumble with the duvet, looking for a pillow. I find it quickly and pull it close to me to hug like a stuffed toy. There’s noise in the room, but once again, I don’t have the strength to open my eyes. I know it’s Lucy. She gently shakes me.

- Don’t fall asleep, you need to put on your pajamas.

- Hummm... N-no, I groan. I want to stay like this.

- No, absolutely not, she laughs. It’s not comfortable. Come on, just a little effort. I’ll help you if you want. You just need to sit up.

I sigh but let her pull me by the arms to sit up. I rub my eyes before lifting my arms as she asked. My sweater disappears quickly, along with the straps of my bra, which she takes off my arms. She must have figured out that I never sleep with it from the many times we’ve slept together. I know she doesn’t wear one under her pajamas either. I groan as she puts a t-shirt over my head. I slip my arms into it before wanting to fall back, but she holds me.

- Wait, she says with an amused tone. You need to take off your bra.

- Just do it, I mumble.

She does it immediately, unfastening the clasp with a deft motion before letting me go. I take the chance to finally lie back down.

- You’re unbelievable, she giggles. I guess I’ll take care of your jeans too.

I would have preferred to keep them on, but I don’t have the strength to react as she starts to remove them with little difficulty. My socks follow the same path, and then she lets me slip under the duvet. I don’t need any encouragement to crawl under it this time. It’s when I smell her scent everywhere that I realize we’re in her room. I’m not quite sure what’s happening anymore.

- I’m sleeping with you?

- Yeah. The girls are still up.

I pull up the duvet to hide underneath as she turns on her bedside lamp.

- You’re such a princess, she laughs.

- Shut up, I reply with a smile despite myself.

I turn towards the wall to escape the blinding light. It takes a few minutes before I feel her presence behind me.

- I thought you were tougher during nights out.

- I usually am.

- I need proof to believe that. Isn’t that what you said earlier?

- Next time... In the meantime, hold me.

- Is that the alcohol talking?

- Maybe.

The reality is that I appreciate her holding me. Her presence reassures me at night. I feel safe. Not only does she chase away my bad dreams, but she also dispels the fear of something happening to me at night. After all, we’re all vulnerable while sleeping. I smile against my pillow when I finally feel her arms wrap around me after the light is turned off.

- Too many bad habits, princess...

- I love that nickname.

- It suits you pretty well, indeed, she giggles.

I open my eyes and bite my lip when I feel her lips against my collarbone. Reflexively, I give her space to reach my neck. If I have one weak spot, it’s definitely that one. I hear her chuckle softly before feeling her breath create a thousand shivers.

- Too demanding, Miss Batlle.

- Too teasing tonight, Commander.

- Is that bothering you?

I press my body against her chest as one of her cold hands meets the flesh of my stomach. This gesture does not leave me indifferent. I would have certainly pushed her away if I were sober, but desire and alcohol have other plans at the moment. She seems to understand and play with it as her fingers venture over my stomach with a gentle and controlled touch. She stops just short of my intimacy each time. It’s a very strange but pleasant sensation. My brain and heart are no longer listening to me, and my fatigue quickly disappears. I should ask her to stop, but none of that comes out. She finishes me off by planting little kisses on my exposed neck that I’ve left available. Suddenly, as if realizing what she’s doing, she pulls her hand back and carefully adjusts my t-shirt before placing her hand above it again. I release the breath I had been holding when she buries her head in my hair. She does this every time, but this time I think she’s inhaled my scent from her sigh right after. I don’t dare move, so comfortable yet frustrated at the same time. I couldn’t even say if it’s good or bad frustration. It’s the first time someone has touched me like this since Feli, but it’s also the first time she has touched me. My mind seems to have agreed with what escapes my lips.

- Y-you’re joking.

My trembling voice betrays me, but it’s the least of my concerns.

- No...

Her tone is serious, but her smile on my neck betrays her as well. I don’t know what to think, especially with her next words.

- Sorry. Good night, Princess.

- W-why? Why give me all this affection?

- Because I wanted to and I’m pretty sure you won’t remember it tomorrow morning.

- I’ll make sure to remind you if I do...

- We’ll see then. Sleep now, Ona. You’re tired, and so am I.

- Good night, Luce... I comply, agreeing with her.

She kisses the back of my head, which makes me smile even after this little scene. I place my hand against hers to intertwine our fingers. She surprises me by letting me do so. Her gesture is followed by one of her legs slipping between mine. This has become our new position since we started sleeping together. Finally, sleep returns when I feel her warm breath against my neck. I have more than positive thoughts after this crazy night, and I hope they’ll be enough to keep my bad dreams away for at least this night.

[rasolomonwrites]

It's crazy seeing like 12 year old girls try to have a perfect 'clean girl' life and being pressured to drink only apple cider vinegar by insane people on tiktok when I'm 33 and I just impulsively saw an incredible Columbian movie alone called yo ví 3 luces negras and felt so weird about it that i had 1 KitKat bar for dinner like stop going to sleep in 45 contraptions you are a child and so am i follow your impulses and see a film that gives you full body chills and eat a KitKat bar for dinner at 9:30 pm

[eternal-echoes]

By Courtney Mares

Vatican City, Oct 28, 2024 / 12:55 pm

Ahead of the 2025 Jubilee, the Vatican has launched a cartoon mascot unveiled Monday as the cheerful face of the Catholic Church’s upcoming holy year.

The mascot, named Luce — which means “light” in Italian — is intended to engage a younger audience and guide visitors through the holy year.

…

Clad in a yellow raincoat, mud-stained boots, and a pilgrim’s cross, Luce’s mission is to guide young pilgrims toward hope and faith with her trusty dog Santino at her side. Shells glimmer in her eyes, recalling the scallop shell of the Camino de Santiago, an emblem of the pilgrimage journey.

Speaking at a Vatican press conference on Oct. 28 next to a plastic figurine of Luce, Fisichella described Luce’s shining eyes as “a symbol of the hope of the heart.”

Luce, he said, will also be the face of the Holy See’s pavilion at Expo 2025 in Osaka, Japan, where she will represent the Vatican’s pavilion theme, “Beauty Brings Hope,” alongside Caravaggio’s “The Entombment of Christ,” a painting that will be temporarily on loan from the Vatican Museums for the expo.

…

Luce’s yellow sailor’s raincoat is a nod to both the Vatican flag and to journeying through life’s storms. The mascot’s muddy boots represent a long and difficult journey, while her staff symbolizes the pilgrimage toward eternity.

I'll do a fan art later.

[1562738]

Esa extraña sensación de anhelo cuando estás en una estación de tren, en un mercado abierto 24/7, cuando estás comprando una Coca-Cola en la máquina expendedora, viendo las luces de la ciudad brillar desde tu ventana, cuando estás caminando sin rumbo por una calle concurrida después de las 5 pm, esa sensación como si algo faltara en tu vida y nunca volverá, aunque nunca estuvo allí en primer lugar; esa tristeza urbana inexplicable.

[chaotic-catholic]

As you can tell by my username I'm a catholic and normally I'm ashamed of my religion due to the idiots on the Internet spewing hate and going against Jesus's teaching of love and acceptance. But not tonight (it's 8 pm for me) cause I found out about the Catholic Church has a mascot, her name is Luce

AND SHE SO ADORABLE I LOVE HER 🥰 SHE'S ONE OF THE MOST PRECIOUS THINGS IN THE WORLD 🥺 And she also has friends <3

[madameraccoon]

Falling hard (Rhycien) | Part 1

(Masterlist)

Rhys and Lucien have been in a loving relationship for years, but something seems off. Lucien feels distant and Rhys is determined to understand why.

They were lying in bed, the window open to feel the cool night air after a stifling day in the city. All the concrete around breathing the heat of the day back out.

The silence in the room was strange. Not really oppressing, or hurtful just... unusual. Where there would usually be easy words and lazy fingers tracing circles on the skin, now there was silence. Rhys didn't really know what had changed and could not pinpoint when this had started, but he wasn't going to keep ignoring it.

"You're thinking awfully loud," said Rhys. "And don't say it's nothing, love, because you're a bad liar and we all know it."

Lucien remained silent, maybe offended by his impression of an American accent. Any other day he would have bitten right back with a witty comment. Something along the lines of I'll have you know I don't speak like that, not anymore or if Dick Van Dyke just played a Uno Reverse Card. Thinking about how things were, made Rhys's heart hurt a bit.

He softened his tone and turned to lay a hand on his boyfriend's heart.

"Hey, Luce, I'm serious. You haven't been yourself lately."

The other one sighed but at least he put a hand over Rhys's. It wasn't an answer, but at least it was something.

"I'm sorry, Rhys. I didn't want to kill the mood," he finally whispered.

"Not really killing the mood, per se. At least you waited after sex to get all mopey. It's just... I don't know what's gotten into you. Is it work?"

In the blue light he saw the angles of his mouth twitching a bit, fighting off a smile. "Yeah, at least we got a good fuck."

"I'm serious, though. I know you've been under a lot of stress, lately, with the new stuff you're working on. Or is it the new team from Boston? Maybe I ca-"

"Don't, Rhys. Don't go full PM mode. You don't have to get back to the office. You have your first solo project to finish, and we both know that being in the office would not help at all. You would get antsy and then start chiming in, because you have tons of good ideas."

"So... you are distant because you want for me to concentrate on my personal project?" To Rhys that didn't make a lot of sense, but he was sure there was more to it. Determined to get his answers, he didn't relent. Doubt started creeping in the back of his mind. "You... don't want me in the office?"

Lucien rose on his elbows and watched him in disbelief. "What the fuck are you saying? Of course I'd very much prefer to have you there all day."

"Then what?" said Rhys. He sat up. "You've been distant and, as it's natural, I'm bloody worried. You keep saying nothing is wrong, but I can see you, love. So, tell me, what's bothering you?" He did his best to get his tone back to the soft one they reserved for pillow talk, but the spell had already been broken.

Lucien slouched back down and interlaced his fingers behind his head. The pose highlighted his lean shape, and Rhys fought the urge to touch him.

After a long pause, Lucien sighed again. "You mentioned the Boston team. There's something in the Boston team that's been bothering me..."

Progress, at least.

"Is it that tosser... what's his name? Tamlin? "

The other scoffed. "Did I tell you he is not only a tosser - he said the last word mocking his boyfriend's british accent - but also a homophobe?" That didn't surprise Rhys. The blonde hunk looked stupid enough to be, with his ridiculous haircut that screamed "Thor wannabe" and the backhanded comments. Fragile masculinity at its best. No wonder his girlfriend dumped him just before his departure for the UK.

"Did he say anything... untoward to you?"

"Untoward? Rhys, he asked me what turned me gay, one day, casually over lunch. That guy is so dense. But no, that's not what's bothering me. Something else, someone else."

Rhys hadn't met the team in person, since he hadn't been in the office for some time, finishing his first solo star project at home. The firm was pumped at the idea of having a future Starchitect working with them. He had a vague idea thanks to Lucien's office tales.

"So... it's not Tamlin the Tosser, not Bron, since apparently he doesn't speak to you. I didn't take Alis for the dramatic type."

And then it hit him. The redhead noticed.

"Yeah. I guess you get it, now."

Lucien had indeed told him about another one of the team. Fiona, Farah... ah, no, Feyre.

"What's with Feyre?" Rhys asked, tentatively. The first week, Luce didn't shut up a moment about her. About her brilliant ideas, her sharp personality, eye for details and, of course, about her fantastic power suits. He realised then that he had stopped talking about her right before shutting him out.

"I don't know. I'm finding her... so attractive. She's gorgeous, talented and fuck, those legs. But then I feel guilty every time I have these thoughts. I'm with you, I shouldn't find a coworker attractive!"

"You've always had a keen eye for beauty, aesthetic beauty. I don't understand why it's hitting you so hard. I'm not jealous, love. If you want to rant about your excessively attractive co-worker with me you can. We can even comment on her together if it would make you feel better" Rhys reassured him. He scooted closer and intertwined their legs.

He seemed to open up a bit. "I know you're not jealous, Rhys, and I appreciate it. But I don't think mine is just aesthetic appreciation. I can't stop thinking about her. I think I might be crushing on a woman."

"Need I remind you that this is exactly what being bi entails?"

Luce finally huffed a half-laugh. "I know what being bi means, smartypants. Didn't you hear that I have a crush on another person? I'm with you, why do I have a crush on someone else?"

"I thought you were bothered by the fact that she's a woman, soz." Rhys answered.

"So? No answer to that?"

"Luce, having a crush and acting on it are two completely different things. You had this crush for how long... a month? And yet, for every single day of said month you chose me, every day," he explained and then he started tracing circles on Luce's shoulder. "We boast having very open communication so much-"

"That's just because it's easy, compared to what your brothers have with their girlfriends," joked Lucien.

"Don't interrupt me, foxy. I mean, we have very good communication. You can talk to me about anything, so thank you for telling me about what you feel. Aside from that, I know that sometimes people who have relationship can have crushes on others, but we've been together for four years. We live together. We have a life together. Fuck it, your mum is probably waiting for us to elope. I trust you to choose freely who you want to be with. I will not get mad because you like a pair of long toned legs."

"You should really see those legs..."

"Maybe in one of those pinstriped power suits you can't shut up about" he joked and Lucien turned abruptly to him. "What? I listen when you talk. I understand why you find her so attractive."

"You'd like her. Yesterday she showed up with this killer pumps. I had some thoughts that were not safe for work."

Rhys felt lighter finally knowing what was going on in his boyfriend's mind. And he really did understand. He had been surprised it had never happened to any of them. He laughed and closed the space between them capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

"You know, I'm glad you're not jealous, but I also want you to know that I will distance myself from her. It doesn't sound fair towards you. Unless you have a super-hot colleague you want to ogle, then we would be even."

Gosh, he loved him so much. He was willing to distance himself from the only decent person in the team he was working full time with just to make him comfortable. Out of respect for their relationship. He started kissing him again, well aware that if they kept going, they would not fall asleep for a long time. Lucien melted against him, understanding the love declaration behind every nip at his bottom lip.

When they parted, Rhys felt the need to add something. "I don't want you to me miserable at work. You work well with her, you get along, she's fun and a talented coworker. Just, don't shut me off again. Let's face this together, as a couple."

"Okay" sighed Lucien before leaving three light pecks on his neck. Rhys groaned when the fourth became an open-mouthed kiss right under his ear.

---

Hi there! This is my first ever fan-fiction in English! Writing this has been so much fun!

I'm 7 (8?) year late to the fandom? Yes. Do I care? Not really.

If anyone ever reads this, I would love some feedback.

Inspired by A Completely Inappropriate Series of Events by @illyrianrhys and The Lucky Ones by @bibutterflies

[under0-0s]

The 300 Million Con. A Solo-Stark Mission. (From the Journals.)

( Listen to the music to enhance the reading experience. )

The wind on the coast of Tuscany tasted expensive—like it had passed through too many cigars and too many closed deals before it ever touched the sea. Somewhere below, laughter twisted out from the thousand lights of Villa Luce d’Ombra, perched like a jewel with a rotten heart on the cliffs above the Tyrrhenian Sea. The villa had been silent for years, but tonight it breathed like a beast—each flicker of a chandelier a heartbeat, each echo of laughter another shiver of muscle under velvet skin.

It was Don Emilio Cavazza’s birthday. And while the world pretended he was a harmless tycoon with a fondness for rare art and rarer wine, Tony Stark knew better. Because somewhere under the layers of music, marble, silk gowns and billion-dollar egos, hidden in plain sight like a secret whispered in Latin, sat the thing Stark was here for—the painting. The one veiled behind gold-thread curtains, guarded by ex-SAS mercs wearing diamond-studded cufflinks and tailored suits.

But it wasn’t just any painting.

Beneath that canvas, locked behind what Cavazza had so poetically dubbed “La Profeta Silenziosa,” were seven of the rarest, most dangerous, most illegally acquired diamonds in the world. Stark had nicknamed them "The Seven Sins"—each one stolen from a separate high-security transfer. They weren’t just gems; they were war potential. He knew because he built the sensor tech buried in them. Stark-grade mineral refinement. Nanocarbon lattice weaves. These weren’t pretty stones. These were weapons. And Cavazza was giving them to himself as a birthday gift, fused into the canvas like offerings to a false god.

The irony?

Stark had built the transport armor they were stolen from.

He didn’t tell Pepper. Didn’t call Nat. Didn’t so much as ping Rhodey. This wasn’t a team mission. This wasn’t world-saving. This was a man looking at the cracks in his own legacy and deciding he was done letting monsters wear his mistakes like medals.

At 11:42 PM, Tony hovered at 15,000 feet above the villa. His HUD cast sharp, surgical light across his face. Below, the world looked soft and stupid—full of glitter, music, and lies.

“FRIDAY,” he murmured. “Update.”

“Guests in place. Twenty-four armed guards inside. Six snipers in rotating positions, two drone sentries overhead. And yes, the birthday boy is still bragging about his ‘gift.’ He made a toast about how even the devil needs art.”

Tony’s breath steamed in the chilled titanium of the helmet. “Cute. Put a bow on my entry. Make it noisy.”

“You sure you don’t want to—”

“FRIDAY. Drop the bass.”

And with that, he dived.

There was no ceremony. No flourish. Just raw, beautiful, deafening descent. The suit ignited, streaking like a meteor. The wind howled. The air ripped. Then—

CRACK. The first pane of security glass gave way with a hiss and a scream, shards flying outward like a shattered halo.

CRACK. The second pane followed. Thicker. Reinforced. An obsidian-black screen meant to repel rocket fire. It collapsed under him like sugar glass, catching sparks that trailed after him like the tail of an angry comet.

CRACK. The final layer—Stark-tech composite. Invisible until you were too close. Stolen. Reverse-engineered. Cavazza’s people had used it to wrap the painting in an energy barrier built to resist Stark weapons.

Tony hit it with everything.

The sound didn’t register like a break. It registered like a judgment—a full-bodied, choir-level roar of vengeance and metal, splintering the last shield and driving Iron Man downward—

Into the champagne pyramid.

Glass rained. Champagne sprayed. Forty levels of imported crystal shattered upward and outward in a single operatic moment, and Tony landed in the middle like a fallen archangel, standing as the last tier exploded across his chestplate. The bubbles fizzed out in slow motion, reflecting firelight, moonlight, and absolute rage.

He didn’t speak.

Not yet.

Not as the stunned crowd screamed and scattered. Not as men reached for guns, or whispered frantic orders into earpieces that now only crackled static—FRIDAY had already taken them offline. Not even as Don Emilio Cavazza slowly turned, eyes wide, realizing the devil had RSVP’d after all.

Tony’s faceplate hissed open.

His hair, soaked in Dom Pérignon, clung to his forehead. His eyes weren’t joking. There was no quip in the line of his jaw.

“I’m gonna ask real slow,” he said, voice the calm before the atomic storm. “Where. Are. My. Diamonds.”

A pause. Cavazza recovered quickly. He smiled, the kind that politicians and mobsters wear in court.

“They’re mine now. Art, Stark. You wouldn’t understand. What’s legacy without—”

BOOM. Tony’s pulse beam shot sideways, obliterating a gold-framed mirror. Glass snowed down. Screams echoed.

A single pulse shot from his hand, knocking three guards backward into a piano, which exploded in discordant horror. Screams erupted. Guns fired. The party devolved into madness.

“I said where.”

Guards opened fire. The orchestra panicked. Tony moved like lightning in a bottle—repulsors lighting up the floor, micro-missiles knocking men backwards into dessert tables and marble fountains. One poor bastard got sent flying straight into a twelve-foot ice sculpture of Cavazza’s face, reducing it to a cold smear across the tiles.

The room erupted. Weapons drawn. Bodyguards swarming like flies. Someone screamed in Russian. Another in Neapolitan. Tony ducked left, fired off a kinetic pulse that took out two guards and sent a third flying into a birthday cake the size of a Smart car.

Bullets began flying. He deflected them lazily with micro-shields, strolling toward the painting like he was window shopping. The guests scattered, cowering behind marble columns and caviar stations. Over the comms, FRIDAY piped up. “Should I inform the Italians?” “I am informing them,” Tony grunted, repulsing a merc through a violinist’s cello. “The hard way.”

As chaos bloomed, Tony pushed forward. He punched a man so hard he hit the wall and slid down like melted wax. Lasers danced. One of the drones tried to engage from above—FRIDAY hijacked it midair and turned it on its owners. Blood sprayed in arcs against white columns.

And in the center of it all—still standing—was the veiled painting.

Tony danced through it like a storm—repulsors flashing, micro-drones slicing through weapons, EMP bursts disabling communications in a 200-meter radius. He moved faster than rage. Cleaner than war. He kicked someone through a wall. Threw another into the fondue station. One of the snipers tried to draw a bead from the chandelier—

Boom. Stark sent the entire fixture crashing down.

The air was thick with smoke and glitter and spilled vintage. As he neared the painting, Cavazza lunged toward him, knife in hand. Tony didn’t even look—he caught the wrist mid-air and crushed the blade like a toy.

He stalked toward it through smoke and broken violins. One guard lunged, screaming. Tony caught him mid-leap and tossed him like trash. Another went for the canvas.

“Big mistake,” Tony muttered.

He fired.

The repulsor blast didn’t hit the man. It lifted him and threw him backward into a chandelier, which fell in a golden crash.

Now there was only the painting.

Tony stared at it.

For a moment, he just breathed.

Then, slow, almost reverent, he reached out and pulled the veil away.

Beneath was a nightmare: a faceless angel weeping, its hollow eye sockets shimmering with seven perfectly mounted diamonds. Stark’s diamonds. Not just embedded, but wired. Each one connected to a hidden mesh of energy conduits, designed to power something. A message? A weapon? A sick form of poetic justice?

It didn’t matter. Tony didn’t flinch. Didn’t marvel. He just muttered, “FRIDAY. Extraction protocol.”

From his gauntlets, precision magnetic claws extended. He removed each diamond with surgical skill, depositing them into a vacuum-sealed chamber embedded in his chestplate. The gems clicked into place with quiet finality, each one reducing the scream in his head by a fraction.

Then he turned.

Cavazza lay on the ground, bleeding, staring up with hatred.

Tony knelt.

“You stole from me,” he said, voice low, helmet off, face lit by fire and reflection. “You stole something that could’ve broken the world. That’s not art. That’s suicide in a nice frame.”

He leaned closer.

“Happy birthday.”

Tony didn’t look back. The Seven Sins rested in his chest, humming quietly. Legacy reclaimed. Mistakes avenged.

And somewhere, deep in the cold between stars, Tony Stark allowed himself a breath.

The moon above him stared through the ruin he’d made of the glass ceiling.

“FRIDAY,” he said, chest heaving, “I’m going home. Get me a toothbrush. And a dry-cleaner who won’t judge.”

He hovered upward, repulsors roaring to life. The suit hummed like a beast coming down from a frenzy, soot and smoke curling off his shoulders as he ascended past the dripping chandelier ruins, past the slumped bodies, past the flutes and fountains and the shattered empire of a man who thought he couldn’t be touched.

And as he disappeared into the Tuscan night, a soft laugh echoed in the HUD, FRIDAY’s voice faintly amused. “Successful mission, boss?” “Define ‘success,’” Tony replied, flicking a shard of glass from his wristplate. “I ruined a party, stole a billion-dollar painting, got sprayed with 200-year-old champagne, and didn’t kill anyone.”

Pause.

“Yeah. Classic Stark.”

TAGS BECAUSE I HOPE THIS LIVES: @oh-to-be-a-murderer @strange-little-spy @sillybigbird @itzzkaylaaa @crazyinlovewithfandoms @thatone-midgardian @insomniac-lifestyle @multiverse-peterbparker @over-bi-the-wayside @the-winter-soldier-official @lunamarvels @hydra-failure @strange-little-spy @the1-and-only-peggycarter @clintbarton-thearrowguy @thund3randrain

[saywhat-politics]

Pro-Russian accounts are spreading baseless claims, from Mexico fomenting the protests to a secret leftist cabal tied to Democrats orchestrating them.

June 12, 2025, 12:32 PM MST

By Dan De Luce

Protests against immigration raids in Los Angeles have triggered a flood of falsehoods and conspiracy theories online, and Russia has sought to exploit and amplify them, experts say.

Russian media and pro-Russian voices have embraced right-wing conspiracy theories about the protests, including one that alleged the Mexican government was encouraging the demonstrations against President Donald Trump’s immigration policies. Mexico has strongly rejected the accusation — which was repeated by Trump’s chief of homeland security — as utterly false.

[mjauqeen]

Lucy's problem pt.3

Hi guys, so pt.3 is finally here. I planed for this to be the last part but it looks like there will be at least one more. Like always if you have any criticizam pls tell me but pls be gentle. Hope you guys enjoy. (ps. I didnt relase that my asks were closed, but i fixed it and they are open now so be free to send anything).

Few days have passed since I finished my talk whit Alexia and I’m feeling a bit better now. In the end I just jumped to conclusions to quickly and got a bit lost in my head.

Alexia and Lucy weren’t even close to dating in fact Ale blushfuly admitted that she was actually seeing someone and that she was helping Lucy get thru something. Now that I solved the whole problem, I feel like an idiot to be honest and I still have to talk to Lucy. And I have no idea how to talk to her about this without admitting my feelings in the process.

The worst thing is that I have to explain this to Lucy soon, like preferably tomorrow but that leaves me whit little time to think of a plan… but I also think that Alexia will kill me if I don’t tell Lucy soon.

 I didn’t even notice that me not talking to her affected Lucy this much since I was so in my head. Unfortunately, this also meant that I also started hoping that Lucy likes me back since she was so upset when I wasn’t talking to her.

Ugh all this thinking is making my head hurt, why is this so complicated. She usually didn’t have so many problems whit talking and flirting whit girls she liked.

But Lucy was different, she was so carefree and confident but she could also be serious when the situation asked for it. She was kind and competitive but also shy and she would get lost in her thoughts every now and then. And Lucy was just so attractive, she was basically perfect and Ona couldn’t get enough of her. She didn’t want to admit it, but she missed her even if she was the one that started ignoring Lucy. She missed talking to her, and she missed Lucy hugs. At this point the only thing she could do is admit her feelings to Lucy and hope for the best, I mean Lucy probably won’t ignore her and stop being friends whit her even if she doesn’t like her back.

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

 Lucy wasn’t even sure why she was crying, she knew Ona wouldn’t like her back. Damn it why did she let herself believe what Alexia told her. She debated calling Ale to come over but she didn’t want to seem pathetic. She was pretty sure she was also a bit drunk since she started to drink about an hour ago but she just couldn’t help herself.

 She felt miserable Ona had been ignoring her for more than a week now and she doesn’t know why. If Ona would tell her what she had done Lucy would just apologize but every time that she tries to talk to her about it, hell even when she is just trying to talk to her Ona just makes an excuse and says that she can’t talk now.

 After an hour of debating on calling Alexia, she just decided to swallow her pride, or what’s left of it anyway, call her friend and hope that Ale wouldn’t think any less of her for this.  

Alexia answered after the fourth ring.

“Hey Lucy what’s up”

“Hey Ale I hope I’m not bothering you”

“You are fine Luce I told you to call me whenever, what do you need”

“I was hoping you could come over to mine, I’m just…. I feel awful and you are the only one that knows about the situation”

“Yea Luce I’ll be there in a few”

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

When Lucy called her in 9 pm on a Sunday she kind of expected that the problem will be about Ona, she just wasn’t expecting it to be so serious. Lucy sounded miserable on the phone and also like she was a bit tipsy. Alexia tried to get to Lucys place as fast as she could, after all her friend needed her, but while she was driving the only thing she thought about was that Ona needed to hurry it up a bit whit that confession.

At this point she was ready to tell Lucy about Onas feelings herself but it wasn’t her place to do that and she kind of doubted that Lucy would even believe her. Now that she was talking to her a lot more Alexia could see the cracks in Lucys façade every now and then, whenever someone made any kind of joke or even compliment about her body Lucys face would kind of scrunch up a bit, and even tho she looked like she needed a hug basically every day now every time Alexia would try to hug her Lucy would just stiffen. Now that she thought about it any time she saw someone try and hug her she would always stiffen, the only person that could touch Lucy without her stiffening was Ona.

When Ona hugs her Lucy basically seems to melt into her. Alexia chuckled a bit, those two really were made for each other she wondered how none of her teammates noticed yet, hell she doesn’t know how it took so long for her to notice that Lucy had that awfully big crush on Ona.

After a few minutes of driving she came into Lucys driveway, parked and went to Lucys door to go inside.

“Lucy” Alexia called out.

“In here,” shouted Lucy. Yea Alexia was now sure that Lucy was at least a bit drunk.

“What’s happened Luce” Lucy was siting on the couch a bottle of whisky on the floor.

“I don’t know how to deal whit this”

“Deal whit what Luce”

“Whit all those feelings. I feel fucking pathetic, I can’t stop thinking about her and she wont even look my way anymore.”

“Lucy come on Onas probably just stressed, she will talk to you soon I’m sure of it”

“Bullshit Ale, I’m the only one she isn’t talking to, she even started talking to you again, don’t think I haven’t noticed. I just... “a sob tore its way from Lucy and her body shook” I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t even know why I’m so upset by this; I never felt this way for anyone, not even Kiera. And I already ruined it, she won’t look at me Ale” Lucy raised her head from her hands and looked at Alexia whit tears running down her face.

“I’m so pathetic I had to call you on your day off to comfort me. Jesus I’m such a mess.” “I don’t even blame her anyway, if I were her I wouldn’t look my way either” Lucy whispered.

Alexias heart completely broke, hearing her friend talk about herself this way was awful. She so wanted to tell her the truth, tell her that Ona liked her back but she couldn’t brake Onas trust like that. The only thing she could do is comfort her friend and that’s what she did.

“Lucy no, don’t say that don’t even think that. You are incredible, anybody would be so lucky to have you. And you aren’t pathetic for calling me I told you to call me if you EVER needed anything and I’m so glad you did. You aren’t weak for needing comfort everyone needs it. Hell, you would be super human if you didn’t need it. And even tho you are out worldly in many ways this isn’t one of them and that’s completely fine. I’m so happy to be your friend and to know you better now, you are such an amazing person and I won’t allow you to talk like that about yourself.”

“I don’t know Ale…” Lucy whimpered tears still streaming down her face as she faced the floor. “Clearly the problem is me, with Ona, even with Kiera. They figured it out I’m pretty sure you will too soon enough.”

“Lucy you aren’t the problem. Hey hey listen to me, you yourself said that the brake up whit Kiera was mutual. You didn’t brake up because of something you did or because you weren’t good enough for her, you both just kind of fell out of love and that’s ok, it happens. It wasn’t your fault.”

Lucy just stared at her while her body shook with sobs.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of hugs but please let me hold you for a second, we will both feel at least a bit better.”

Lucy hesitated but still leaned into her open arms, and while in the first few moments she was quite tense she relaxed a bit as time went on and her cries calmed down a bit.

“How do you even know I don’t like hugs, I’m pretty sure I never told you that” Lucy whispered after a while of them just sitting.

“I noticed when we started talking more. You would always stiffen whenever someone hugged you and you would put a strained smile on. Well at least when that someone wasn’t our precious Onita then you would just melt.” Alexia laughed a bit and then more when she noticed that Lucy had gone completely red.

“Ha ha” Lucy grumbled while wiping her eyes “I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“Well, I did” Alexia chuckled” Now get up and go to sleep, its pretty late and you look exhausted. Ill clean up here and then go home”

“Ale you don’t have to do that, I’ll do it I already asked so much of you today.”

“Lucia go to sleep. I already told you that I don’t mind coming over and we still have training tomorrow and I won’t have one of my right backs dead on her feet.”

Lucy sighed but got up and headed to her room “Thank you Ale truly”

“Yea yea don’t sweat it go to sleep Bronzey”

“Good night, Ale.”

“Good night, Luce.”

[gotlostinfiction]

The Weeping Girl

When a miserable old man turns up at Lockwood & Co.’s door with the promise of £50,000 for an easy case, it's hard to refuse. But is everything all as it seems, or will this case be a lot more than they bargained for? 

TW: Mentions of abuse and murder, mild swearing.

SPOILERS: Mentions a case from The Hollow Boy.

(this is my first attempt at writing my own fanfic so any advice or tips would be very useful <3)

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

In front of me sat one of the most wrinkled old men I've ever seen in my life, and Lockwood & Co. have done a lot of cases for old people. He was a Mr Andrew Hallcock and he had come to us with reports of a crying girl heard by his younger servants, himself being way too old to sense ghosts. We, on the other hand, would be able to sense them easily. 

Just to catch you up, my name is Lucy Carlyle and I have been a part of a ramshackle agency called Lockwood & Co. as a Junior Field Operative for just under two years. Our agency founder and leader, Anthony Lockwood, was sitting on my right with a cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee. On the chair to my left was George Karim, the deputy and researcher of the trio. He held a plate of carrot cake and was munching noisily, much to our client's disgust. Oh, also, there’s one more. Not sure if he's a member or not but, there's the skull. A few months ago I figured out that I can talk to ghosts, and that we have a real Type Three in our house. No one likes him if I'm honest, due to his crude remarks, but I thought he should be mentioned (He’d get offended if I didn’t.)

Now that we're caught up, we can continue.

“Well then, Mr Lockwood,” Mr Hallcock began. “As I made you aware on the phone, some of my younger servants have reported to me that they can hear crying just before they are about to sleep. I've never had an issue like his before, and I can promise you that my house is not haunted!” He said with a tone of annoyance. Apparently, he wasn't fond of ghosts - or our furniture by the way he perched like a bird ready to take flight. 

Lockwood looked uncertain. “Have the servants described in more detail what they've heard?”

“Or has anyone seen anything?” I added helpfully.

Mr Hallcock locked his small beady eyes on mine. “I don’t know why you are butting in, young lady, I thought you were a mere serving girl.” 

I went to stand, but Lockwood's hand snaked out and rested on my thigh, pinning me down. “May you answer our questions, please? All three of us are agents and need to know what they may have seen or heard.” He said calmly.

“Very well,” Mr Hallcock began. “They have only reported hearing crying. I don't think any of them are talented enough to see apparitions. Not that there should be one! Anyway,” He continued. “I'm willing to offer up to £50,000 if this issue is resolved quickly and discreetly. The public cannot find out that my home may be haunted, I have a reputation to maintain!”

George reached out for another slice of cake but paused when he heard the figure. I felt Lockwood move his hand.

“Of course, Mr Hallcock. We can promise all that you ask.”

“Good.” He replied. “I'll be expecting you at 8 pm sharp tonight. I will ensure that the house is cleared of all staff, and I will occupy myself away from home. Good day, gentleman.” With a whiff of cigar smoke, he was out the door.

“What a dick, he didn't even say goodbye to me!” I said. I was the first to break the silence that had formed with his absence.

“He could talk for England, that's for sure,” George added.

“Yes, well, he wasn't a very pleasant person, certainly not to you Luce. But, we can't reject that kind of money. Especially not for an easy case like this.” Lockwood said, a large smile forming across his face.

“Here we go…” George said with a sigh.

“Here's the plan, George you go to the archives, find absolutely everything you can about the house and Mr Hallcock, I'll go to Satchels and restock, and Lucy you pack the kit bags,” Lockwood ordered; with a smile, he walked purposefully out the door. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

Two hours later, we were ready. Lockwood, George and I all bundled into the taxi waiting outside Portland Row. It was a small one, and George jumped straight into the passenger seat, dumping our kit bags in the back. This left me practically sitting on Lockwood's lap, squished close next to our kit and the skull. Great.

“Oh, it’s snug back here isn’t it, Lucy?” The skull piped up from the jar on my lap, and I could see a large smirk forming across the glass. “Lockwood looks like a tomato.”

“No idea what you're on about,” I replied sharply. 

“Has he given us anything useful, Luce?” Lockwood asked me, having to crane his neck down due to the angle. 

“Erm, said it’s not very spacious back here,” I replied, purposefully avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Well, quite,” Lockwood said and coughed awkwardly, his cheeks tinged with red. “So then George, fill us in.” He continued, changing the subject. 

“Well, Mr Hallcock is a bit of a dick, just like you said Luce. He lied to us about a violent death that occurred in the house to protect his ego and reputation. He-” George cut himself off. “Ooh, you two do look cosy back there!”

“Get to the point, George,” I said. This was mortifying; I could hear the skull's faint laughter in my head.

“Okay, well as I was saying, Mr Hallcock comes from a family of men who think they can do what they want. Specifically to women. At the archives, I found so many complaints to the police from female members of Mr Hallcock's staff about sexual comments and the sort. I mean, remember how he spoke to you, Lucy?”

“Yeah, he treated me like a piece of shit, the sexist bastard.”

“Exactly. Turns out, Mr Hallcock was involved in a murder trial of one of his servants, a 20-year-old girl called Rebecca Hughes. She died on his property in a bedroom upstairs, stabbed to death. One of her fellow servants was charged and hanged for it, and Mr Hallcock was brought forward to give evidence.” George continued. 

“You think that's the primary source of the haunting then?” I said, ignoring the teasing remarks coming from the skull.

“Has to be,” George replied. “No other deaths have been reported in the house or the area.”

Lockwood coughed again, his cheeks going redder still. “Well I'm glad I bought some extra protection then, you know how murder victims get. I brought another industrial flare.” Clocking George's concerned look he quickly added, “We’ll use it properly this time, not like Combe Carey.”

“I don't think Mr Hallcock would want us to damage his house either,” I said as we pulled into the long gravel driveway. Just in the distance, I could see the house looming over us. Well, I say house, it was more like a mansion. On its private lot, surrounded by woodland, stood Hallcock Manor. It had a regal-style entrance, with large stone columns and wide steps leading to a grand white door with gold accents carved into the sides. The home spread wide at the sides with small walkways at each end and then cascaded backwards, seemingly never-ending. Basically, it was bloody posh.

The taxi driver dumped us halfway down the drive, complaining that he couldn't be bothered to have to reverse all the way back. Safe to say that Lockwood didn't tip him. We all piled out and headed towards the house. Walking towards it was incredible, but also mortifying. I was in awe at the beauty of the place, but then apprehensive of the danger that could unfold.

As if reading my thoughts, Lockwood spoke. “This should be an easy case guys, no need to worry. Mr Hallcock said that there was no apparition seen and that it was just crying. We will be fine.”

“What about the fact that she's a murder victim? They’re always Type Two’s.” I asked.

“Well, at least we've got this.” Lockwood pulled out the flare and showed it to me and George. After our last use of it, I wasn't reassured.

“I think Lucy should keep a hold of it,” George spoke up. “You were reckless with it last time, you know, lobbing it at the well like that. Lucy will be more careful.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Lockwood replied, though I could tell he wasn't convinced. He passed it over to me, his long fingers brushing against the palm of my hand. I smiled weakly at him, and he grinned back. It was his reassuring smile, the one he used for worried clients. 

“Ooh, he almost held your hand!” The skull remarked. “The closest you’ll ever get.” I decided not to recite this one back to the boys. 

Lockwood then flourished the keys from one of his coat pockets and opened the door, ensuring that he didn't hesitate on the threshold. Being well-trained, we followed closely behind. The house was just as beautiful inside as out. Regent-style furniture filled the home in a classy sort of way. The walls were lined with floral patterned wallpaper and gold-framed oil paintings hung in neat rows. George pulled out his floor plan and assessed our surroundings.

“This is called the ‘Grand Entrance.’” He said, eyeing the decor. “To be fair, they weren't wrong.”

I closed my eyes and listened. I tuned out the low rumble of Lockwood's voice and the distant beeping of George's thermometer. But the house itself was silent, I couldn’t sense anything. 

“You got anything?” I asked the skull, which was fixed to my back. 

“Nope, absolutely nothing. I even think I just saw a tumbleweed, it's that boring.” 

“Through here should be the main kitchen where we can have some tea, but there are three if you want a choice,” George said, breaking through the skull’s rambling. We carried on walking, assessing the temperature as we went.

Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen was posh too. Marble countertops lined with gold engravings were spread out far against most of the walls. A matching table was in the corner, where George had plugged in a portable kettle. A few minutes later, we had made ourselves comfortable (as comfortable as we could on rock-solid marble chairs) with our tea and biscuits.

“I can't sense anything at the moment,” I said, hugging my tea close for warmth. It was cold, I had noticed, but not supernatural I didn't think

“Me neither,” Lockwood added, “I can't see any death glows. How’s the temperature, George?”

“A bit chilly, but not supernatural. This is an old house, and it’s winter.” He replied checking his watch. “I'm surprised, to be honest, it's 9:30 and there's been nothing so far.”

“We haven't checked upstairs yet though, that's where you said the girl died,” I answered.

“True, although we don’t know where she actually died. All I could find in the archives was that it was an upstairs bedroom. Well, in case you haven't noticed this house is huge, so it could be any of them.” George said in a huff. 

“I think we should get on then,” Lockwood said, getting up to leave. “Come on.”

“Go on, follow your boyfriend.” The skull cooed in my ear.

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

An hour or so later, we had explored the whole house. And believe me, it took a while. It was about 11 pm now and since the crying was reported “just before the servants went to sleep” it could be any time from now till 12. We had set up a large iron circle in the coldest bedroom on the second-story landing - the servant's quarters. Mr Hallcock had informed us that he slept on the top floor, leaving his servants free reign of the second. Like the rest of the house, it was spacious and included its own kitchen and living area. Despite being a bastard, he at least looked like he treated his employees well.

Sat on the floor with my legs crossed, I could feel the miasma building. I reached into my kit bag for some mints and saw George do the same. I closed my eyes and tried to listen again. There it was! A faint weeping, only a whisper, and I had to concentrate to pick it up. 

“You getting anything Luce?” Lockwood asked me. 

“Yep,” I answered, needing to stay focused. He took the hint and let me listen. 

The crying was still there, getting ever so slightly louder and more hysterical, but it had been taken over by repetitive thumping and banging. It was hard to decipher if it was someone's footsteps or things being moved around. Or maybe even someone's fists. I told this to the boys.

“You think it’s her?” Lockwood said

“Has to be, Lockwood. No one else died here.” George replied, chewing ferociously on a mint.

I stood up and left the circle, the miasma was strong as well as the temperature, but it was manageable. There was a grand fireplace, on a wall in the far corner, again embossed with gold accents on both sides. On impulse, I reached out and let my hands rest on the mantle. A wave of memory from the past hit me. I heard voices, a deep loud one that I recognised as Mr Hallcock. He was shouting at someone, and I could hear the weeping in the background. Was he speaking to Rebecca? Suddenly, there was a loud bang followed by a gut-wrenching scream, then silence.

I prised open my eyes and looked around. Nothing had changed, Lockwood and George still sat in the circle and I was still by the fireplace. The room felt different.

“Luce?” Lockwood walked over and gently touched my arm, “Are you okay? You've gone very pale, and you just stood there for 15 minutes.”

I looked up at him, then around the room. “Really?” I said, “I was gone for that long?” 

“Yeah, didn't want to disturb you though, in case you had something,” George added, now munching on a sandwich. 

Lockwood and I walked back to the circle and sat down. I filled them in on what I'd heard. 

“You sure it was him?” Lockwood asked.

“Positive,” I replied, taking a bite of chocolate. “I would recognise that voice anywhere, and the stuff he was saying was a dead giveaway.”

“Like what?” George asked.

“He kept saying that something was her fault. Said that he would give her one more chance.” 

“No wonder she's crying,” George added with a laugh.

“Not funny, George,” Lockwood said, glancing at me.

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Can you not feel the miasma now? It's everywhere.”

And he was right, while we were too busy talking, things had escalated. Ghost fog lined the floor; it lapped and our ankles and the air was bitterly cold making our breaths show in small puffs. Our thermometers showed minus temperatures. We all stood up abruptly, producing our rapiers and stood back to back.

“Why didn't you mention anything?” I asked the skull impatiently.

“Whoops.” Was all I got in return. With that, I turned away from him.

“See anything, Lockwood?” I asked, hoping that now it was later he could see some death glows. 

“Nope, still nothing. Although I'm sure we've got the right room, it's bloody freezing.” He replied; I could see him shivering, despite his coat. 

“Guys, can you see that?” George spoke up, his voice shaking. 

I looked in his direction, and there was a small ball of light, slowly getting bigger, forming into a small woman. Rebecca Hughes. She looked young, George said she’d been 20, with long blonde hair reaching her sides and dark brown eyes. She wore a uniform of a pinafore dress and kitten heels, but there was something wrong. Her dress was ripped, and holes covered the surface of the sleeves and front. Stab wounds, I guessed. 

“Getting interesting now! Got any popcorn?” The skull asked.

“That’s what the other servant did to her,” George said, “It said in the report that she was stabbed repetitively.” 

“Well, she's not being aggressive, which is unusual for a murder victim,” Lockwood noted. 

I looked at Lockwood for permission and after a nod, I stepped just outside the chains. She wasn't strong yet, I should be able to communicate. 

“Rebecca, what happened to you?” I asked calmly. She seemed like a Type Two, unable to have a conversation but could listen. She looked at me through her long lashes and remained still. 

“Monster…” She whispered.

“Deserves to be hanged…”

“Who’s a monster, Rebecca? Who should be hanged?” I asked her. I could just make out her words over the crying. The sound had rocketed since I'd communicated with her. 

“Monster…”

“Lucy, get in the chains please,” Lockwood asked calmly, though I could sense the urgency in his voice. The skull laughed in the background.

“Who hurt you, Rebecca?” I repeated.

“Lucy!” This was Lockwood again. He was shouting now, every aspect of calm revoked. 

“Hall-” The ghost began before the connection was lost. 

I felt a tug at the back of my jacket, it was Lockwood pulling me into the circle. I tripped over the ghost jar and fell flat on my backside, just as he hurled a salt bomb at Rebecca - exactly where I had just stood. If you thought the skull was laughing before, he was cackling now. 

“What the hell was that Lockwood!” I turned on him, “I had almost got somewhere!”

“She was about to charge at you, you would have been ghost-touched if I hadn't helped!” Lockwood roared back. 

“Oh look, the happy couple are arguing.” The skull added, unhelpfully 

“Stop it!” George shouted, making me and Lockwood go silent. “Your emotions are making her more agitated. Lucy, what did she tell you?”

Annoyed, I responded, “She said that someone was a monster and they should be hanged. I asked her who and she went to say ‘Hallcock’, I’m sure of it.” 

“Any idea about her source?” George asked.

“No idea, maybe the knife used on her?”

Lockwood had gone silent, that could only mean one thing. A plan.

“Right, we need to find her source. I'll distract her and fight her off while you two look for her source, okay?” He said eventually. He gave me a look that said ‘No arguing’ so I reluctantly agreed. 

Practically leaping out of the circle, Lockwood charged forward, his rapier angled at the ghost. Me and George followed behind him, speeding around the room looking for her source. I scrambled through draws and under beds, behind picture frames and on shelves, and still nothing. George was having no better luck either. 

Lockwood had led the ghost away from us, into the hallway. He was using his rapier in a forward motion to pin the ghost in a corner, it appeared to be working. The house went quiet for a while, only Lockwood's sharp breaths could be heard as he battled against the ghost.

“Lucy!” A voice broke through the silence.

My heart stopped. That was Lockwood. Screaming. 

“Lucy! George!”

I was closest to the door. I dropped the box I was searching through and ran into the hallway. Lockwood was backed into the corner, the ghost having turned on him. His hands were sweaty and he was losing grip on his rapier. I heard it clang on the floor. I saw his usually dark eyes start to lighten, turning a milky white as the ghost's hand reached for him. I knew the signs of ghost lock all too well. I raced into action and scrambled through my work belt for a flare.

“Oh, he's finally going to be reunited with his family! Let him go, Lucy.” The skull suggested. I blanked him. 

Still rummaging through my belt, I found what I was looking for. The industrial flare. Without thinking, I pulled the cap and threw it.

Now, you may not know this but my aim is awful. Out of the three of us, only Lockwood can throw. We learnt this the hard way at the Lavender Lodge, when I doshed a bottle off his head and George couldn't throw a rapier for the life of him. So, the flare did hit the ghost, but mainly Lockwood, much to the skull's amusement. 

George had come to stand next to me. We both looked in horror as Lockwood was shot sideways into a bedroom. The wooden floorboards had jolted up at different angles, the banister had broken in two and the wall closest had been destroyed. In the light of the flare, I saw a patch of white on the ground but this wasn't my priority. I raced forward, my shoe flying off as I jumped over the hole in the ground, and headed for the room Lockwood had disappeared into. 

He staggered out into the hallway and stood before the hole, his hair flopped elegantly over his brow with his coat ripped at the shoulder, but somehow it still flowed behind him in the light breeze. His face shone with sweat and was littered with scratches, his hand lay cooly on his rapier hilt. Even after getting blown across the hallway, he looked as charming as ever. 

In case you were wondering about me, I was less fortunate. My hair stuck up, my fringe was completely blown back away from my face, my jacket was torn and splattered with ectoplasm, and my left boot was somewhere down the stairs. Basically, I could have looked better.

Still, Lockwood beamed at me with his megawatt smile, as if I had never looked better to him. 

“Well, that was fun,” Lockwood stated. He was out of breath, and wobbling slightly. 

I hurried over to him and grabbed his arm to support him. I went to call George for help but he was on his knees, clawing frantically under a floorboard.

“George?” I asked, curiosity lacing my voice.

“There's something down here, the blast showed it. But it's gone, I can't find it!”

“Don’t help him, Lucy, this is so funny.” The skull said, I could see its hollow eyes darting about in the plasm. I ignored him once again, it was quite a skill. 

“George,” I said anxiously, “Can you be a bit quicker? She’s back, and she’s behind you.”

George spun around and saw her in the distance. She was weaker, the blast had dimmed her spirit, but she was still powerful. She went to charge at him, but she wasn't quick enough. I let go of Lockwood and raced for her. I extended my rapier and angled it towards her in thrashing blows, just like Lockwood had taught me. 

“George, hurry up!” I screamed at him. He was still on the floor behind me, rummaging through spiderwebs and dust. 

“This has to be the source!’ He said, ‘It has to be here somewhere!”

Lockwood had been watching me and hadn’t taken his eyes away. It was almost like a second ghost lock, similar to a trance. Suddenly, he snapped out of it and jumped over the hole to where George still was. 

Together, with me battling the ghost and the two boys looking for the source, it worked quite well. She was less strong now that dawn was approaching, and it was an easy task to keep her away. In the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of white being pulled from the ground. George shoved it under a net, and Rebecca abruptly disappeared in front of me. I put my rapier back in its hilt and turned around. George was clutching whatever he had found tightly, her source. We had done it. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

When we arrived back at Portland Row, the house was quiet. George was in the basement, analysing the source we’d found (safely), and Lockwood had collapsed into a kitchen chair. I snatched the first aid kit and plonked myself down next to him. He looked tired, which wasn’t anything new, with dark circles encased around his hollow eyes. He looked at me through his long lashes and smiled. A genuine one, not the false one he gave customers or the polite one he gave adults. This was a smile meant for me, and I savoured every last bit of it.

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” I said softly, as I opened the first aid kit. He hadn't looked away.

“I’ll forgive you, I always do.” He said with a short laugh, but then grabbed his sides from pain. 

I looked at him in pity, it hurt me to see him like this. 

“Sit still.” I ordered, “This is probably going to hurt.”

“Not as much as getting blown across a hallway.” He joked, his laughter fading to a grimace as I dapped a large cut with antiseptic, then placed a plaster over it. 

I held the side of his face, my hand faintly brushing against his cheekbones as I repeated the process for the rest of his cuts. We remained in a comforting silence, as I moved effectively but as gently as I could. I already felt bad enough for almost blowing him up, I didn't want to make it worse. After I finished, I slowly closed the box and looked at him. 

“Thank you, Lucy.” He spoke. His face was awash with plasters and it was hard not to laugh if I'm honest, “And thanks for saving me too, I know that you did almost kill me, but I could have been ghost-touched.”

“I had to save you, Lockwood. When I saw your eyes go white, it was…terrifying. I never wanted to see that happen to someone I love again. Not after Norrie.” My voice broke at the end, the memories of Norrie had been brought back once more, and it was hard to resist tears. 

Lockwood reached out and held my hand, his rapier-calloused palms rough against mine. 

“It’s okay, Luce, I’m safe thanks to you. You don't need to worry.” He reassured me, rubbing small circles on my hand. 

“Lucy…” Lockwood started, before George burst open the door, making us both jump apart.

“It was Mr Hallcock” Was all he said. 

We rang DEPRAC.

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

Turns out, Rebecca was a murder victim, but not from a fellow servant. She was murdered by none other than Mr Andrew Hallcock himself. The white thing found under the floorboards, her source, was a letter. A confession she was planning to send to the police before it was too late. It read:

“Dear Scotland Yard,

I would like to report Mr Andrew Hallcock on several accounts of abuse and neglect towards me. He is a monster, who took advantage of me and deserves to be hanged. 

He has harmed me before and blamed someone else for it. I am worried this will go too far. 

Please believe me, I am desperate.

Sincerely,

Rebecca Hughes.”

Mr Hallcock was used to getting away with things, so when he found this letter, he confronted her. To put it simply, she was a threat, so he ended her life. He then hid the letter under the floorboards, its presence being kept a secret for over 20 years. It wasn't until a new member of staff was treated the same as Rebecca, that she came out of her shell. Mr Hallcock knew this, so he swore us to secrecy to protect his reputation - and the promise of money had blind-sighted us.

It took them a while, but DEPRAC got him to confess; he was charged with murder, hiding evidence, as well as preventing justice. They let us off the hook for destroying half of his house, and gave us the £50,000 too, which was a bonus - It was one of the first times that Inspector Barnes had ever been nice to us. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

We obviously had a celebratory breakfast, and the following day the table was so full of plates that the thinking cloth could hardly be seen. Lockwood and I had gone to Arif’s while George cooked, so there was a sea of full-English breakfast and doughnuts. We sat in our usual spots and tucked in. 

“I can’t believe you did it, didn’t think you were capable.” The skull spoke from its spot on the kitchen counter. I recited this to the boys. 

“Me neither if I'm honest,” George said, shovelling food onto his plate at a rapid rate. 

“I always knew we could do it, you pair don't give yourselves enough credit,” Lockwood responded. 

I heard the skull gag in the corner.

“You did say that it was going to be an easy case though, didn’t you? How well did that work out?” I asked him, eyeing the plasters still scattered across his face. 

He laughed, and it didn't hurt him this time. It caught George off guard and he joined in, making me laugh too. The sun shone brightly into the kitchen that day, casting a warm glow and reflecting on each of our happy faces (and the skulls).

We were Lockwood & Co., and I know it doesn't sound like it, but that was one of our best cases yet: The Weeping Girl. We weren't perfect by any means, but we worked well, even if a little unorthodox. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

thank you for reading! please lmk any advice or tips :)

[cursed-dawn]

Características de personaje

Mira, belleza, en este mundo de golpes, conjuros y gente con complejo de héroe, lo que hace que no acabes comido por un demonio de cuarta es esto: tus características. Seis cosas que dicen qué tan fuerte eres, qué tan rápido te mueves y si tienes más luces que una bombilla fundida.

Ahí van, sin tanto libro de texto:

Fuerza (FUE): ¿Puedes partir una puerta a patadas o te rompe la espalda levantar una caja? También cuenta si te va eso de ir al cuerpo a cuerpo, como a mí. Si eres Cazadora, Licántropo o un triste Humano, esto además te da magia, no preguntes por qué, cosas del guion.

Destreza (DES): Reflejos, puntería, moverse como una sombra. Si quieres esquivar más que hablar o no hacer el ridículo tirando un cuchillo, esta es la tuya. También determina tu Clase de Armadura (CA), o sea, lo difícil que es que te metan una buena hostia.

Constitución (CON): ¿Aguantas veneno, enfermedades o simplemente no caes redondo al correr dos calles? Aquí está tu resistencia. También afecta a tus Puntos de Vida (PV), lo que viene a ser cuánto tardas en morir.

Inteligencia (INT): Ideal si te va lo de hablar como libro abierto. Resuelve acertijos, entiende símbolos raros y deja a los demás con cara de "¿eh?". Si eres Bruja, esta te da Puntos de Magia (PM).

Sabiduría (SAB): Más intuición que libros. Percibes lo que otros no ven, pillas mentiras al vuelo. Si eres Semidemonio, esta es tu fuente de magia. Sí, ellos también tienen poderes, aunque huelan a azufre.

Carisma (CAR): Para los que prefieren embaucar antes que luchar. Si sabes hablar, manipular o dar miedo solo con una sonrisa torcida (como yo), esta es tu característica. Si eres Vampiro, con esto alimentas tu magia. Literalmente.

Todos los personajillos empiezan con 6 puntos base en cada cosa, y luego se reparten 27 puntazos como quieran. Pero no te emociones: ninguna puede pasar de 15 al empezar.

Pero espera, que la raza también mete mano. Aquí van los ajustes raciales:

Cazadoras: +2 Destreza, +1 Constitución, -1 Carisma

Vampiros: +2 Carisma, +1 Destreza, -1 Constitución

Licántropos: +2 Constitución, +1 Fuerza, -1 Inteligencia

Brujas: +2 Inteligencia, +1 Sabiduría, -1 Fuerza

Humanos: +2 Constitución, +1 a elección, -1 Sabiduría

Semidemonios: +2 Fuerza, +1 Sabiduría, -1 Destreza

Ahora, la edad. Sí, cariño, la experiencia también cuenta. No es lo mismo tener 20 años que haber sobrevivido a cinco siglos de gente queriendo matarte. Y si eres un vampiro como yo o un semidemonio, no envejeces, pero se te suma desde el momento en que fuiste convertido. Así que si moriste con 49, pasas a tener 0 años inmortales. Mala suerte.

Pero si llevas siglos chupando cuello, entonces sí que pillas bonificaciones. Mira esto:

PJ Mortal:

Joven (18-30 años): sin bonificación. Eres un crío.

Adulto (31-50 años): +1 a cualquier característica.

Veterano (51-70 años): +1 a Sabiduría o Inteligencia.

Venerable (71+ años): +1 a la que no elegiste en Veterano (SAB o INT) y +1 a cualquier otra.

PJ Inmortal (Vampiros y Semidemonios):

Neófito (0-50 años desde la conversión): sin bonificación.

Experimentado (51-200 años): +1 a cualquier característica.

Ancestro (201-500 años): +1 a Sabiduría o Inteligencia.

Antiguo (501+ años): +1 a la otra (SAB o INT) y +1 a lo que te dé la gana.

Y lo mejor: ¡son acumulativos! Así que si sobrevives lo suficiente, acabarás tan listo como un bibliotecario… o tan fuerte como un tren. Si te convierten on rol, no pierdes lo que habías ganado. Un regalito de la casa.

Importante. ¿Recuerdas ese límite de 15 puntos en el momento de la creación del personaje? Estos bonus también tienen esa limitación, así que... Un pequeño problemilla para que resuelvas de deberes.

¿Ves? No era tan difícil. Solo recuerda esto: reparte bien tus puntos, elige tu raza con cabeza, y si quieres vivir mucho… no te metas con alguien como yo.

¿Siguiente parada? Un concepto tan viejo como los juegos de rol... Los modificadores.

Spike