#one day chicago will be tolerable but right now i only like half of the team

[bedardconnor]

i hate being a connor bedard fan cuz fuck chicago! but i want connor to succeed... so go chicago!!! but!! fuck chicago!!!

#when i was watching the montreal v chicago game like a monthish ago and the habs would score so id obv be jumping out of my seat cuz the #habs were my first true love #my mom said i betrayed connor for cheering the habs LOL #well maybe if he didnt play for CHICAGO #connor bedard #hockey #nhl #one day chicago will be tolerable but right now i only like half of the team

[poppadom0912]

Hii! 🙋🏻‍♀️

I saw that you are accepting requests, can I request an imagine with Jay Halstead where he and the reader (a surgeon) don't get along very well and, as fate would have it, they both live in the same building. One night the reader discovers that there is a camera hidden in the lampshade that she got from a strange guy, so the guy threatens her and Jay protects her. 😅❤️

Sorry for my English.

Warnings: Stalking/pedo men, brief hospitals, small injuries, and swearing.

A/N: Now that my series is done, I can finally get to completing and putting out all these requests. I wrote this in school. And do not apologise for your English, it was perfect.

Life is stressful right now so I lowkey got carried away writing this because it's somehow nearly 3k words but please do enjoy this!!

You weren’t too sure when it all actually started but it was too late to reverse time now.

Growing up, there was no way to avoid the Halstead brothers because all the way throughout your childhood up until the age of eighteen, you all went to school together and outside, your mothers were near inseparable. You could never catch a break.

What made matters even more confusing was that you didn’t mind Will, on fact, the two of you were quite good friends. You tolerated Will and with both your combined loves for medicine, an inevitable friendship bloomed but even with this, you and Jay just could not get along.

The only time you ever found solace was when the two of you finally parted ways after high school. You remained in Chicago to become a doctor and later surgeon while Jay, he spontaneously decided to enrol to become an army ranger. Your shock could not be hidden.

With both brothers out your life, days were so much more simple. From time to time, you wouldn’t say it aloud but you missed Wil’s company but Jay, his absence almost made it as though he never existed in the first place. And yes, maybe that was a bit cruel but the genuine hatred you had at the mere thought of him or the sight of his face, it made you want to hurl.

And the rest was history. Even with the more recent parts being a bit more pleasant yet depressive, your pure hatred for him didn’t seem to wane.

*****

Fast forward a few years and this is how it all is: your father remained ever so absent, both mothers passed away several years ago, Pat died last year, you and Will worked together and you and Jay weren’t exactly civil.

Living in the same building, on the exact same floor and literal doors apart could only do so much damage.

Today had been a very, very long day. You had just been on shift for a double that had run over because of the complicated surgery that almost went sideways last minute. You were practically dead on your feet. You loved trauma surgery as much as the next trauma surgeon but you could go without blood and scalpels for the next few hours because sleep was calling your name like a siren song.

Upon Connor’s insistence, he drove you home because he expressed his fear of you sleeping on the train and never getting off.

Finally in your apartment building, you dragged your feet to your door, your keys almost missing the hole due to your sudden misalignment. Your mind was nearing haziness but with one final push, you were inside and collapsed on your bed.

Sleep was instant. It was expected but you also weren’t surprised when you knocked out and woke up randomly at two in the morning. You felt semi-rejuvenated but you could definitely sleep for longer.

Drowsily, you stripped out of your clothes, chucking them towards the basket before walking into the bathroom. Doing what you needed to do, you returned and searched for comfortable pyjamas that were good enough for this heat.

Standing half naked in your own bedroom in the apartment that you rented alone was a completely normal thing to do. Never in your life did you need to be paranoid or extra careful. You were in the comfort of your own home, so why was there the need to be riddled with anxiety.

Well, apparently you should’ve because as you pulled you cotton shorts on, rummaging through your draw for an oversized shirt, you caught a miniscule red dot. You were so tired you contemplated if it was a hallucination but a few minutes later, remaining in the same position, the nano dot was still there.

Diverting your attention to the suspicious dot, you threw on a random shirt but somehow, during the milliseconds your head spent under the shirt before it reappeared, the red dot disappeared.

Now you were on edge. Sleep didn’t come as easy this time.

In the morning, everything looked the same. Going around, you tried to look for anything that could’ve been tampered with but alas, everything was in tip top condition. Maybe you really were so out of that that you were delusional, it all really could’ve been a hallucination.

You had a few more hours before you needed to go back to work and considering the state of your empty fridge, grocery shopping seemed like a promising idea.

Your sweetening mood however quickly turned sour at the familiar sight of a certain detective standing down the hallway, walking in the same direction as you towards the buildings only elevator.

Sighing in disappointment, you readjusted the tote bag on your shoulders and walked ahead anyway. There was no way you were letting this man ruin your mood.

Being stuck in the elevator though, it did ruin your mood a little.

For once in your entire life though, Jay didn’t rile you up. He didn’t say anything nor did he even attempt to roll his eyes when he saw you. It was weird, he barely even acknowledged you.

And you hated to admit it, but you didn’t like it. As much as you despised the man, Jay acting as if you were a ghost was something that irked you. But obviously, you were never going to tell him that, it’d only boost his already enormous ego.

*****

“You look like a rat.”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny.”

You took it all back. Everything you said two days ago, you were taking it all back. Jay could rot and burn in hell and you still wouldn’t care.

Over the course of twelve hours, something must’ve changed because Jay’s renewed vigour was back and it was here to stay. You didn’t relish his silence long enough because the second he opened his mouth, your headache returned.

Next time, you were dragging Will and forcing him to escort you up to your apartment door because at least then he’d save you, he’d make this all much more bearable.

The sudden change in weather suited your mood, the rain mimicking your emotions that Jay was only half responsible for. The other half was a result of your newly achieved paranoia and anxiety that made itself known whenever you came home.

No matter where you searched or how many hours you slept, the red dot came and then disappeared again. It was annoying and it came to the point that you tried avoiding you bedroom especially as much as possible. To not be comfortable and safe in your own home wasn’t right.

Rolling your eyes, you fished your keys out of your bag and ignored whatever Jay was saying. You’d known him for so long that blocking out his voice had become second nature, it was something you did subconsciously.

You wished his apartment was before yours, that way at least you could have some peace but life worked in funny ways.

Stopping in front of your door, you were just about to unlock it when your body froze.

“What’s wrong?”

The sudden change in your mood caught him off guard, your frozen body worrying him slightly. He might’ve shared your feelings of hostility but you were his older brothers best friend, which had to count for something.

Following your line of sight, Jay’s eyes hardened at the unlocked door, a slither of light leaking out from inside as the door sat ajar. You definitely locked it this morning, there was no doubt about it.

Maybe you had the right to be paranoid. Perhaps you should’ve acted on it sooner.

Not wasting another second, Jay pushed you behind him and drew his gun. With his shoe, he gently nudged the door open and began surveying the apartment bit by bit with practised precision.

You hadn’t seen the man in action for a while now, it was weird to see him so proper and serious.

With nothing out of place and all valuable belongings safe and sound, Jay deduced that for now, things should be fine but if need be, if anything was out of the ordinary, he was the first person you called.

And for the first time ever in over thirty years, you made Jay a promise.

*****

You kept to your promise. This was a matter you weren’t going to mess around with, even if it was with Jay.

You had just come out of the shower, hair dripping wet, shorts and an oversized shirt on because despite the rain it was still humid and the summer heat wasn’t going away anytime soon.

Stepping into the dark room, you started patting your hair dry with a towel and walked towards the lamp so there was at least some lighting. A dimly lit room made you feel less paranoid.

It was upon turning the lamp on though did your anxiety peak. This new height it reached making it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden.

Without even thinking of the consequences, Jay’s number was the first thing you found on your phone, his contact name pressed within seconds of your discovery.

Heart pounding out of your chest, you forced yourself to move at the sound of the door. This fear was almost paralysing, you didn’t even know what to make of all of it.

“What happened?” Jay’s concern was immediate. All you did was call him and he came over without question. Your call alone told him enough.

You stared at him wide eyed, words lodged at the back of your throat but they wouldn’t go any further than that. Remaining wordless, you simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards your room and he followed obediently.

Your bedroom was now back to pitch black; you turned the lamp off straight away because the pyjamas you wore left little for imagination. That trail of thought made you want to be sick.

Jay stood beside you; your hand still wrapped around his wrist tightly while your other still held the wet hair towel that you probably should put away. He surveyed the dark room, taking it all in and trying to poke out anything out of the ordinary.

It was only when you tugged on his wrist, his head turning down to you before following your line of sight and pointed finger towards your innocent looking lamp that idly sat on your bedside table.

But it turned out to be not so innocent after all. Jay immediately saw the red dot no matter its small size, he saw it straight away and alarm bells went off.

Gently prying your fingers off his wrist, Jay holstered his gun and strode towards the lamp, tilting the lamp shade as he fiddled with something underneath. It didn’t take long before he stood up to his full height with a small black square in his palm.

This all-escalated way too fast for your liking.

*****

Jay refused to let you see anything from what he told you was a camera; he wouldn’t let you see it even for a price but he did briefly talk about what he saw in very little detail. What he told you was more than enough to make you want to bleach your body in a bath and move out of state to a place no one would know you.

Jay also wasn’t one hundred percent confident in letting you return back to your apartment alone. That’s how you found yourself wrapped in a blanket sitting cross-legged on his sofa, hiding yourself and your body from the world. Even with your shirt and shorts on, you felt liked dying at the thought of a man staring you down with intentions all but pure.

Gosh, you wanted to be sick.

Slowly sipping some water from a cup Jay silently handed you, you tried relaxing, rotating your shoulders to try release any of the tension but you failed. Fidgeting with anything was the only way you were able to not focus on the conversation Jay was having on the phone in the next room over. He was probably most likely talking to someone else from Intelligence.

The rest of the night, well more very early morning really, Jay explained the plan about how Intelligence were going to go about this but it would all happen in the morning at an actual suitable time.

With much bickering, Jay forced you into his bed as he took the sofa. It was weird that this was the most civil and even most nicest interaction the two of you ever had in either of your lifetimes. You wouldn’t tell him this unless under a life-or-death situation, but you kind’ve liked it. When Jay wasn’t being such a bastard, he was actually kind of decent.

Goodness, thinking about him was not something you would’ve ever thought of doing before yet here you were, thinking about your childhood nemesis at work.

The morning was relatively fine sprinkled with bits of awkwardness. Jay forcefully drove you to work when you insisted on going in today despite his attempts of getting you to stay home. If you tried and told Ms Goodwin the truth, she was very likely to give you the day off. Your stubbornness didn’t wane though.

You shift was normal, going from boring and mundane to fast paced just how you liked it. Nothing changed and it was relieving to be surrounded by familiarity and some sort of routine, it was a big distraction from the mess waiting for you at home. You tried keeping yourself occupied at every moment because any second you got alone with your deprecating thoughts, you were for sure going to spiral to a dark place.

And you’d been doing a great job at keeping busy till a certain detective walked in through the ED doors.

From the corner of your eyes, nothing about him looked off but when you squinted and walked towards him, you could make out a bloody gash poking out from his ripped jacket sleeve.

Now, Jay being hurt at work was nothing new. In fact, it was to be expected and you’d never been too bothered by it unlike Will was whenever his injured brother walked in so casually like it was another normal Wednesday.

However, you knew what he was doing at work today and your concerns peaked to such a height that Will had no reason to be worried anymore; you took it all from him.

“What happened?” You tried to remain somewhat calm, schooling your face as you dragged his non-injured arm towards an empty treatment room. Internally, you were glad Will was in surgery otherwise he’d be smirking and laughing like a manic at the sight he was seeing, a sight he’d never even envision in his dreams.

“We found the guy.” Jay ignored your question, begrudgingly sitting down on the bed, rolling his eyes when you wouldn’t let him get up. “We arrested him. Platt’s booking him as we speak.”

And just like that, all the weights pushing you down under the ground dissipated and you were beyond relieved.

You hands faltered as they went to grab some gauze, your eyes looking up to see whether or not he was lying but the soft smile spread across his lips, you didn’t need to question his credibility.

Without thinking, your arms wrapped around his shoulders and interlocked around his neck. Instinctively, you squeezed him a little, eyes shut as you relished in the good news. For a while, the world around you didn’t exist before it all came rushing back.

Suddenly, you abruptly pulled back, eyes wide in shock as your actions sunk in. Pressing your lips together tightly, you avoided eye contact and went back to preparing the gauze and butterfly strips, maybe even some wipes to see the real extent of the damage your stalker inflicted onto Jay.

Jay huffed in amusement and you could feel his eyes burning into the side of your head. All of a sudden, you felt the need to smother his god forsaken handsome face-

What the fuck? There was no way you just thought that.

“He looks worse than me, don’t worry.” Jay started again, a smug smirk on his face as he spoke, his eyes not moving from your face. “He was being a bit of a dick so I roughed him up a little. This little nick is nothing.”

And for once, you didn’t doubt the truth behind his words. You fondly rolled your eyes before going to clean his bicep that was no longer covered by his jacket.

“My saviour.” You smiled placatingly, making brief eye contact before breaking it. “What would I have done without you.”

And for once again, there was no sarcasm dripping from your words. Behind them lay mostly the truth and maybe a hint of your typically sarcasm but without his help, who knows what would’ve happened.

“All in a days work.” Jay’s face didn’t change, his expression not moving a single bit. For a reason beyond your medical and surgical knowledge, you blushed, cheeks randomly feeling flushed.

Maybe now with childhood rivalry forgotten and shoved aside, things between the two of you could get better.

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #jay halstead #chicago med #chicago pd #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead oneshot #jay halstead x imagine #jay halstead x you #jay halstead x y/n

[talistrongbackcommless]

How Many States

The how many states poll I answered and reblogged reminded me of my 2022 summer trip and other car ride stories.

My introduction to long car/van/passenger vehicle rides was the three-and-a-half to four hour trips we used to make from my home to my cousins' home in NY State. We'd go three to four times a year, sometimes for as short a stay as Friday through Sunday. In the summer we'd stay longer, but rarely a full week. In retrospect I see this was likely due to the adults limited tolerance for one another.

When I was 12 my family drove from MA to Orlando, FL. We stayed overnight in Atlantic City, NJ, after spending the day at the Bronx Zoo. The next day I think we spent the night somewhere in Georgia after crossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel (idk why my mom chose to do that, she hated every moment of that stretch of road, but it is very cool). In Orlando we went to Disney and Epcot and the now-closed River Country (which I until-today thought was named after the Fort Wilderness campground which apparently used to contain the water park before it closed). On the way home we stopped in DC to see the cherry blossoms - and not much else. We were all very tired of not having our normal routines by then and I think my parents rushed the trip home out of exasperation.

We never took a longer car trip as a family after that :P

This past summer my partner R___ and I took the Amtrak from MA to WA. We had a sleeper cabin which was an awesome way to travel. I wouldn't have wanted to travel that far by seat alone, but having the option to stretch out, and lay down was delightful. I enjoyed the older model, single-level train of the first leg (lakeshore limited) better than the more modern, two-level train we took from Chicago onward - the LL cabin had a row of windows for each sleeping bunk, and a toilet tucked right into the cabin for middle-of-the-night peeing. The Empire Builder (train line from Chicago to Seattle) was clearly a newer train but from the upper bunk your only view was the inside of the cabin.

Because there was a layover of a few hours between the arrival in Chicago of the LL and the departure of the EB, and since my oldest friend C______ lives in Chicago, we decided to stay overnight one night and resume the journey the next day, which was an excellent decision in so many ways. From the logistics perspective, it meant that we never spent more than two nights in a row on the train, which was a bonus. Additionally it meant we had time to enjoy the Field Museum, a lovely dinner at the Duck Inn, and C and I stayed up late, late into the night talking about life, growing up, being grown up, and playing crokinole (my first time).

The highlight of the train journey was the happy accident that R and I took dinner in the dining car for exactly the right seating, completely unbeknownst to us. As we were enjoying our complementary freshly prepared meal and complimentary cocktail, the train arrived at the station for Glacier National Park, then proceeded to climb into the Rocky Mountains as the sun began to set. We were treated to the golden glow of the last hour of daylight illuminating fresh dustings of snow on pine-clad ridges and valleys climbing up the slopes as we ascended into the mountains (my first time approaching the mountains by land)

On the way home, we were driving a Penske moving truck. Our goals were to 100% Rt. 90, visit Bear Lodge (colonizer name: Devil's Tower), visit Deadwood, and (suggested by a friend) visit Wall Drug store. We left on a Friday evening, planning to drive about 4 hours before stopping. We had until the following Friday to return the truck at our end destination - plenty of time, we thought. We had previously driven a rental car from the end of Rt 90 in Seattle towards Mt Tahoma (colonizer name: Rainier), which saved us some headache in the moving truck, avoiding downtown traffic and a detour since our initial departure point was on the Olympic Peninsula. We picked up Rt 90 just before the exit we'd previously used to visit the mountain, and we were making good time, but then we had to stop.

R's guts had decided to rebel (I think this is about when they coined the phrase "the bowelrog has awoken") and we spent the next three nights in the hospital in Nowhere Lake, WA. I may rant another time about the emotional journey which was being in this area, but for now I'll just say that we escaped that place with mostly pleasant memories on Independence day. We were now almost three days behind schedule, but determined to make up the time on the road.

We decided immediately that we had to skip Bear Lodge and Deadwood to meet our timeline. We also agreed that skipping those reinforced our dedication to earning the Rt. 90 100% complete badge. Unfortunately, this meant Wall Drug was still on the table - we stayed just long enough for me to eliminate a bowelrog of my own and for R to get low-key stressed out about the WAY TOO MANY FUCKING PEOPLE milling around before we jumped back on the road.

After leaving WA we stopped in Sheridan Wyoming. On Tuesday we only drove about 500 miles, stopping somewhat early in preparation for The Push. We had decided to push for 1000 miles on Wednesday, starting early and staying up late, but pushing on all the way to our home time zone, close enough to get the rest of the way home in one shorter drive on Thursday. We drove from Mitchell South Dakota to [incomprehensible] Ohio.

Did you know that in OH Routes 80 and 90 merge, as 90 dives south to get around the Great Lakes? Did you know that OH traffic signs on 80 have been allowed to deteriorate to such a degree that the characters on them don't really reflect light in a useful way? Did you know that since Rt. 80 is the 'primary' route at that point, that to stay on 90 you need to take an exit ramp?

I didn't know any of that until I was approximately 50 miles past the turn off. We spent another tenish miles deciding whether we should just follow GPS to the hotel we were aiming for, or whether we were going to turn around, drive 50 miles the wrong direction, and take 90 through Cleveland as we had originally planned. Ultimately, "I never want to come back to Ohio, and especially not just to complete a hundred miles of 90 I'll never have another reason to return to" won out. We turned around, head 50-60 miles back down 80, passed the exit for 90 and turned around again, then switched drivers and drove on through Cleveland and another stretch of highway until we reached Madison. (Incomprehensible earlier because I literally had no idea where we were by then. I had to look up my hotel reservation history to confirm that detail. I'm impressed that we made it that far - I had a memory that maybe we'd stopped slightly before we intended to because of the gods damned tireds.

From Madison to Buffalo to Syracuse to Albany and on to home we managed another 500 miles, which was still exhausting because we had not enough rest or sleep or relaxation this week, but we did it. Two amazing friends drove approximately 2 hours each way just to meet us at the storage unit where we unloaded the truck, which we managed to do that same night. Then we slept, and then we returned the truck on time and full of gas! (except for one minor hiccup where I had to go fill the tank after the guy had started my paperwork and technically got back after noon but he didn't ding us for it!)

[five-rivers]

Auction

For @skellagirl

.

“Hey, Jazz,” said Danny, leaning into Jazz’s room, one hand on the doorknob, the other braced against the jamb. “Wanna help me mess with Vlad?”

“Do I?” responded Jazz, pushing her chair back. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” said Danny, “Vlad left one of his creepy spy bugs in the kitchen again, and I was thinking we could have a loud conversation in front of it about how Mom’s going to that charity bachelor auction.”

Jazz frowned. “But she isn’t. She’s married.”

“Yeah, that’s the point. Vlad’s delusional.”

“Ah, I see,” said Jazz. “Yeah, let’s do it. Should we write a script?”

“Maybe just a backstory. I work better with improv.”

“I’ve seen your fights, Danny. You definitely do not.”

“That’s cold.”

.

Maddie was not here, and Vlad was going to commit murder. Just a little bit. The victim was already half dead, after all.

His teeth squeaked as he forced himself to smile at the vapid, crowds of rich single women below him. He could not, unfortunately, back out now without losing quite a bit of face. The only consolation he had was that he had already communicated the need to eliminate the wealthier bidders, so that Maddie’s bet would win, to his ghostly servants. If only he could get away from the crowds and duplicate himself to take care of the others…

But that would be suspicious too, wouldn’t it? He had to let at least a few bids go through. And some of them had to be high, otherwise he’d never hear the end of it from his ever-aggravating business associates.

Curse them and their golf-playing buffoonery. He didn’t even like golf. It took so long.

When his name was called, he went out onto the stage like a man expecting to be hung. Why did anyone think this kind of thing was a good idea? This was humiliating. Ninety percent of the people bidding were after his money one way or another, he was sure.

Not like Maddie.

He sighed and refused to make eye contact with anyone in the crowd as the auctioneer called higher and higher values. Finally, the number stopped climbing, and Vlad lowered his gaze to see who, exactly, he would have to waste a day with.

Well. At least it wasn’t someone who was after his money.

.

“So,” said Harriet Chin, not even bothering to hide the recorder she held in her hands, “Vladimir Masters. Do you have a statement regarding the Whole World Mission scandal?”

“Harriet,” said Vlad, “please, we’re supposed to be on a date.”

“Yes, and I get to decide our activities. And I want an exclusive interview with the elusive Vlad Masters. That’s what I paid for, after all.”

“And here I was, thinking that it was my ravishing, good looks.”

Harriet snorted. “Maybe for someone who didn’t see you and Jack in that ridiculous hot dog eating contest. Although,” she leaned back appraisingly, “you did fill out since then. Actually… I’m sort of surprised at how early the bidding topped out. Was the room filled with bitter exes, or is there some scandal I don’t know about?”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “I confess, I’m as surprised as you.”

“Now, that’s a lie,” said Harriet.

“Excuse me?”

“You still have that tell from college,” said Harriet, smugly.

“Excuse me? I do not have a tell.” If he did, he had to identify and get rid of it as soon as possible.

“You do,” said Harriet, still grinning.

Vlad weighed the pros and cons of simply overshadowing her and making her lose the day. She’d probably claim that he drugged her or something. Curses.

He sighed, heavily. “At least let me take you out to a restaurant instead of,” he flicked his fingers at his surroundings, “just standing here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A person’s house can tell you a lot about someone. Didn’t your Wisconsin home blow up? What was up with that, anyway?”

“I released a statement regarding that some time ago,” said Vlad.

“Wasn’t it also raided by the government?”

“That was a misunderstanding. And I also released a press statement about that incident. It shouldn’t take you more than, oh, an hour to look it up online.” This wasn’t entirely true. Once it was out of the immediate spotlight, Vlad had spent quite a bit of money to have the whole story scrubbed. “Dinner? I am paying.”

Harriet looked thoughtful. “Alright, but I’m picking where we go.”

“Of course,” said Vlad, graciously.

.

He regretted everything.

“Harriet, I know Amity Park is small relative to, say, Chicago, but, really… There are good restaurants here.”

“Yes,” said Harriet, “but I wanted to eat here.”

Vlad grimaced and tried not to look at the booth where Daniel and his juvenile delinquent friends were sitting and filming him with a handheld camera.

“Of course,” said Harriet, apparently unbothered by the stickiness of the booth bench and the screaming of children in the other part of building, “if you wanted to go back to a more private setting so that we could continue our interview—”

“No, no, this is quite alright. I said I would get you dinner, and here we are, eating…” He glanced at the menu with derision. “Food.”

He could, just barely, call it that. Even if he’d discovered during his short-term ownership of the chain that certain of its condiments could be used as mid-grade explosives. He didn’t know how Daniel could stand it.

(On the other hand, he had to admit he was enjoying this. Just a little. He so rarely got to match wits against a competent adult.)

(Maddie didn’t count—He was trying to woo Maddie, after all. They were practically on the same side.)

Valerie Grey, looking intensely weirded out, brought their order to their table. Harriet, unperturbed by the grease leaking through the paper wrappings, began to sort though the offerings for the cheap chicken burger she had ordered. Vlad, meanwhile, stared down at his sandwich.

Someone had put an ectoplasm antagonist in the dressing. He glared at Daniel. He didn’t know how the boy had done it, but he was going to pay for it. Along with setting him up for this ridiculous ‘date.’

“Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Harriet.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, stop being such a snob. I remember you and Jack living off of instant ramen.”

“That was then, this is now,” said Vlad.

.

“Seems to be going well,” said Tucker, adjusting the lens on his camera, “all things considered.”

“Kind of surprised they’re here of all places, though,” said Sam.

“I think Ms. Chin’s just trying to get a rise out of Vlad, to be honest.” He’d stopped looking at them, though, instead frowning at the kitchens. “I think Valerie put something in his food. Do you think we should do something?”

“Not really,” said Tucker.

“Yeah, I’m going to choose Valerie every day over the old rich white guy who wants to kill your dad,” said Sam. “Even if she has some slightly homicidal tendencies regarding you.”

“Fair enough,” said Danny. “Want to stalk Vlad and his date until they drive home?”

“I don’t have any other plans,” said Sam, easily.

“Same,” said Tucker.

“Cool,” said Danny.

.

“Are you frequently stalked by teenagers?” asked Harriet.

“No,” said Vlad.

“And isn’t that Jack and Maddie’s son?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh ho, there’s a story there, isn’t there?”

“A private matter, I assure you.”

“When you’re as wealthy as you are, Vlad, nothing’s a private matter anymore.”

“I fear I must disagree with you on that count. Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s a surprise,” said Harriet. “Unless you want to give me that interview.”

“Ugh. No.”

It was a miniature golf course. Of course it was. He could never escape from the accursed ‘sport.’ At least the miniature version was marginally more tolerable. Or it would be, if Daniel and his pack of friends weren’t able to follow them in.

… Or maybe they wouldn’t follow them in. The trio veered off suddenly right before the exit. Vlad smirked. Not enough cash for the little badger to get in, hm?

This assumption was disastrously disproven when a ghost fight tore through the Astroturf that covered the third hole.

Harriet was very nearly thrown into the pond, but Vlad managed to catch her at the last moment.

She was blushing.

Butter biscuits.

.

“Well,” said Harriet, “that wasn’t the interview I wanted, but it wasn’t a total waste of time. Same time next week?”

“Fine, fine, whatever you want,” said Vlad. Then what he said caught up to him. “No. One date. One date was all you paid for.”

Harriet pretended not to hear him.

#danny phantom #phic phight 2021 #phic phight

[jay4firefic]

outtakes from Grow As We Go

Summary: Buck and Kelly attend a fundraising barbecue. Kelly realizes they’ve had a miscommunication and he has some apologizing to do. Implied parental homophobia, implied child abuse, Kelly Severide being an idiot who doesn’t always use his words.

July 4th

The barbecue is already in full swing by the time Buck and Kelly arrive, walking from several blocks away thanks to the swarm of attendees taking up all the nearby parking. Everything smells like sunscreen and crushed grass and burning charcoal, laughter and children’s delighted shrieks echo down the street, and the air is just shy of boiling. It’s perfect. Just like all of Kelly’s best childhood memories.

Events like this were something Benny could never take from them - even when he abandoned Kelly and his mother, ripping the family apart and turning Severide family barbecues and holidays into awkward things to be tolerated only until he could find an excuse to escape, Kelly was always welcome here. Boden and Grissom and all the others who turned him into the man he is today, no thanks to his father, always made sure they had tickets, made sure there was space at the table and stories to be told that didn’t involve Benny. Gave him people to look up to. A family, a home.

He wants to share that with Buck, who dodged most of the union and charity functions in his first year with 51. By the time they round the last corner to the park he’s nearly dragging Buck by the hand - at least, until Buck’s sweaty fingers twist and slip from between his purposefully. Kelly reaches to find them again automatically and realizes Buck has shoved his hands into his pockets, sees that though he’s still smiling his shoulders are hunched and his head ducked a little when he glances over.

“Hey, something wrong?” Kelly asks, slowing his steps. He nods to a few familiar faces who wave as they pass but keeps his focus on Buck.

“Nah,” Buck’s smile is back in full force as soon as he realizes he’s caught Kelly’s attention. He’s a bad liar, but he’s good at these little things - deflection, making it look like everything is okay when it’s not. As soon as you press hard enough it all comes pouring out of him, Kelly knows, it’s just that people rarely bother. “It’s just hot, man. Your hands are sweaty.”

“Never bothered you before. What, are you ashamed of being seen with me?” It’s meant to be a joke to lighten the mood. Instead Buck flinches, and Kelly immediately tenses and tugs him to the edge of the sidewalk by his elbow. “Are you really worried about being seen together, baby?”

He doesn’t understand. After that first awkward day at 51, Buck has never shown any hesitation about being out. Usually he’s all over Kelly in public or private, soaking up any kind of physical affection Kelly will give him. Hell, he’d had grand plans to attend Chicago Pride last month until his apartment building burning down derailed them. If it’s something more specific, something Kelly has done…

“I thought you might be,” Buck admits, staring at the ground again. It’s hard to tell if the flush rising on his neck is from the sun beating down on them or shame. “It doesn’t seem like you’re really, uhm, out? Most of 51 didn’t even know until me, and I’ve never met your family, you get kind of weird around other firefighters at the bar… I just don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.”

Kelly opens his mouth to argue, only to realize he can’t deny any of it. The people who matter most have always known, but… Christ. He’s spent the better part of two decades telling himself that he’s not living in Benny Severide’s shadow, yet somehow his parents’ shame, their heavy hands and shouting voices the first and only time he came out in the sitcom sense, are still shaping his actions. Still guiding him to choose the path of least resistance. There’s no denying letting everyone assume he’s just a skirt chasing ladies’ man has always been easier, better for his career. Better for the family reputation.

“It’s okay,” Buck continues, when Kelly’s silence grows uncomfortably long. “It’s not, uh, a big deal.”

Except everything about his posture, hunched shoulders and downcast gaze and awkward shifting of his weight, says it is. And Kelly’s not great with words, but - one of his hands goes to Buck’s cheek, the other to the back of his neck, and Kelly kisses him right there on the sidewalk ten feet from the crowd at the entrance to the park. Buck startles and tries to pull away before melting into it when Kelly holds on. 

Kelly doesn’t stop kissing him until Buck’s hands are tangled in the front of Kelly’s shirt and the muscles in his neck are no longer knotted with tension. When he finally pulls back, it’s just to rest their foreheads together and breathe the same humid summer air.

“I’m sorry,” Kelly says the words that have never come easy to him, stroking his thumb across Buck’s flushed cheek. “I’m sorry that you’ve spent all this time thinking I’m ashamed of you, baby, ‘cause I’m not. I just--” he hesitates, tries to find a way to explain himself that won’t take half the afternoon and dig up things about his past he’d prefer Buck never has to know, “never had anyone worth telling the whole world for before. Now I do.” 

He steps back, holds out his hand. Breathes a sigh of relief when Buck takes it and interlocks their fingers. “Come on. The guys from twenty-five owe me a beer or three for rescuing their asses last month. You’ll like them.”

@queerfeministdork @buckeride 

#chicago fire fanfiction #9-1-1 fanfiction #evan buckley #kelly severide #buck x kelly severide #chicago: 911 #my fic #grow as we go

[soldrawss]

Alright, so it's pretty clear which Bab is who, But how oh how did he Obtain these four boys in your Human Rottmnt au?

~SO! Bear with me, there’s a LOT of info here and it kinda turned into a fic half way down so yeah~

In my au, Yoshi is still the famous movie and action star, Lou Jitsu! (In his private life, he goes by Yoshi Hamato, but in the public eye he is Lou Jitsu. Sorta like a Hannah Montana situation) Anyway, while he’s a big-time hotshot, he starts dating fellow hotshot movie star Kuroko Gumo (Big Mama)(I gave her a Japanese name basically meaning spider don’t @ me) They date for a long time and for a while are the celebrity couple of the century... that is, until Yoshi asks Big Mama to marry him. She turns him down in a very public and horrible way (Basically saying that what they had was just a fun fling and also for clout) and leaves Yoshi absolutely wrecked. He becomes incredibly depressed and spirals into unhealthy habits and kinda goes off the deep end. (Showing up to interviews and public events wasted. Sleeping around with lots of other famous celebrities and models. Causing a PUBLIC SCENE literally every time he goes out. It wasn’t a good time for Yoshi OR Lou at ALL. This went on for about 4-5 years on and off.)

Until his ‘manager’ finally hired him a PR agent to put him into shape. (Yoshi had PR agents in the past. But all of them quit after a while of not being able to DEAL with Yoshi’s tantrums) And boy, did this PR agent NOT fuck around. Barry Draxum, though he prefers just Draxum, single-handedly saved Yoshi’s carrier and Lou Jitsu’s image practically overnight. And even though his methods for getting Yoshi to shower before a photoshoot or ‘eat a fucking vegetable Hamato or so help me GOD I will shave your head completely bald and then you’ll have to wear a wig for the rest of filming, do not TEMPT me’ are a little unorthodox, he gets the job done. And even though the two butt heads and bicker on the daily, they end up being a pretty good team, and slowly but surely, Yoshi starts to heal and get better and get his life/career back on track.

That is, until the consequences of his actions came a-knocking. 

It was Draxum who found out first, through a late-night phone call in Yoshi’s living room while the two were discussing a film shoot for later on that week. 

Yoshi had really only seen two sides of Draxum’s emotional range up until that point, and Yoshi was pretty sure he didn’t have any other settings besides passively annoyed and downright fed up, but the look on Draxum’s face, going pale with confusion and concern had Yoshi waiting at the edge of the couch in acute apprehension. The blood in his veins turning to ice under his skin.

It was about a woman named Nia Okoro. A vibrant and outgoing woman, with freckles like constellations dusted on her dark skin and dimples so deep that Yoshi loved to make her laugh just so he could see how deep they’d go. He had had previous relations with her, often seeking her out when he was at his loneliest and lowest points only because she had a personality that was loud and warm, and that could win smiles out of him as easy as breathing. 

But he hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Right before Draxum came around and knocked some sense into him, Yoshi even said so when Draxum asked, worry a knotted, tangled mess in his stomach when he asks why. What’s wrong? Did something happen?

A car accident, Draxum explains slowly like he’s approaching a feral animal and he doesn’t know if it will fight or flee if he approaches with any more information. A semi collided with the driver's side of her car. She didn’t make it. Died on route to the hospital.

Yoshi, Draxum says in a low voice, not giving Yoshi a second to wrap his head around the grief pumping back into his system like an all too familiar and painful drug when he adds, she left behind two sons. And apparently, before she died, she claimed they were both yours.

Yoshi was on the next flight out to Chicago that night, Draxum trailing behind after him trying to get Yoshi to see reason, Hamato. We don’t really know if they’re yours, and even if they were, which is highly unlikely, what are you going to do? You can’t raise children right now, your career is still in a fragile state. YOU’RE still in a fragile state.

But Yoshi wasn’t listening as he takes his window seat, Draxum perfectly harrumphing defeatedly in the seat beside him, and Yoshi spends the next two and a half hours looking out into the cloudless night, not listening to anything but the sound of his own racing heart trying to burst out between his ribcage.

When they get to the hospital, it’s 2:30 in the morning and Draxum has to practically pull Yoshi from slamming his fists down on the reception desk. Draxum had told him it was a longshot that the children would even still be here at this hour, if they even existed at all and weren’t just some wild goose chase of a prank someone was pulling on them, but Yoshi still had to know. Had to make sure.

When Draxum finally manages to explain their situation to the woman at the front desk, it's with a sad but knowing smile when she nods, knowing exactly the children they were looking for, and leads them through the hospital for what feels like endless years to Yoshi till they reach a closed examination room.

Yoshi is greeted by two pairs of almond-shaped brown eyes, one pair wide and bright and the other sleepy and heavy-lidded, and it takes all his strength not to crumble to the hospital floor right then and there.

A little boy was sitting on a large hospital bed, covered in scratches and bruises and head half wrapped in colorful red gauze with yellow stars on it, looks up at Yoshi with watery alert eyes. He clutches at the drowsy infant half asleep in the circle of his arms almost protectively, and it takes another bow of strength from Yoshi to remain calm when the boy bites out a quiet, you can’t take him either. 

Take who away, Yoshi asks back in a voice almost as quiet at the boy’s, and the little boy tightens his hold around the baby. Eyes bright like daggers and mouth thin with a determination that could move mountains, like he wasn’t a child and the ugly road rash and bruising skin under her clothes didn’t exist, when he glares at Yoshi.

Mikey! They took mama away, but you can’t take Mikey too! He’s my baby brother. Mama said I have to protect him, so you can’t take him! You can’t! Please!

It took several weeks and an ocean load of paperwork on Yoshi’s and Draxum’s part, but sure enough, Raphael and Michelangelo Okoro were indeed Yoshi’s sons, and having no other relatives they could go to, were finally allowed to be adopted and come home with the movie star.

Yoshi was whole worlds out of depths with parenthood, having absolutely no experience with children in general prior to his son’s moving in with him, and it showed with every backward diaper and screaming tantrum fit and sleepless night. And Yoshi asked himself about a million and a half times a day if he had gotten over his head. Taken on too much, more than he could handle. If he was cut out to be a dad, let alone a dad they needed, at all.

But Mikey had a giggle that filled up every corner of the room with something warm and delighted, and Raph’s tough and hesitant exterior against Yoshi at first melted into something akin to fierce and toothed love for his baby brother. So he was patient with Yoshi, and taught him all the best tricks to get Mikey to hold still long enough to change his clothes or wash behind his ears with a smile and fondness that downright glowed. And when he finally called out a hey pops to Yoshi, wearing a broad and comfortable confidence and joy like a badge on his chest, Yoshi finally gave in to his emotions and sleep deprivation and cried right there with both of his boys in his arms. 

And he really was awful at being a dad, but dangit if he wasn’t going to try his best anyway because it was so worth it just to have those two pairs of smiling eyes turn his way.

But the experience with Raph and Mikey opened up a pandora's box inside Yoshi’s heart.

Because Raph was four years old. That was four years of Yoshi not knowing he had a son, let alone two... Was it possible that there was more he didn’t know about?

And with the, albeit begrudging, help from Draxum, (Draxum, who had collected the embarrassingly long list of lovers and ex’s from Yoshi and began reaching out to them in inquiry about children and possible visitation rights and the such. Because Yoshi was sure that if he had more children, their situations wouldn’t be like Raph’s and Mikey’s where Yoshi could just take full custody of them. Especially when none of the mothers had ever reached out in the first place) he found that answer out.

It was yes, and the exact number was two more.

Two more sons. One in Seattle and one in San Antonio.

Donatello Martelli was relatively easy to find. His mother, Bria, as beautiful as she was vain and obsessed with her image, didn’t hesitate to point Draxum and Yoshi in the direction of the nearest foster home. Because Bria was not the motherly type, and she never had the patience or tolerance or room in her heart to fit parenthood into her world of glamour and glitz the way Yoshi did. So with what little kindness she had to her name, she put up her son for adoption and wiped her hands clean of what was left of Yoshi’s and her’s short-lived romance.

Donatello, as Yoshi had come to discover, was a handful of a child, but in all the ways that made Yoshi’s heart burst with affection and pride.

He was smarter and craftier than anyone would ever give a 3-year-old credit for, and his short temper and passive boredom towards the world around him was only because he lacked the stimulus and opportunity to shine as brightly as he could. He was in his 8th foster home in that year alone when Draxum had located him; being swapped around from home to home because no one knew how to handle the child's sharp wit and even sharper tongue, and the list of appliances and machines he had ‘destroyed’ had labeled him as a trouble maker and problem child.  

It was only until Yoshi had made the journey to Seattle himself and met the keen-eyed and brazen child that Yoshi discovered just how soft-hearted Donatello truly was. 

He was just curious. That’s all he ever was. Curious and hungry for knowledge and wanting to use that knowledge for good and kind and wonderfully brilliant things.

I wanted to know how the toaster works, Donatello’s admits quietly, more to himself than to Yoshi but Yoshi listens anyway. Mrs. Brown’s burns the toast and Mr. Brown doesn’t like it. I just wanted to see if I could make it better.

Donnie’s adoption was almost too easy, no one willing to put up any fight against Yoshi steadfast resolution, and the bespectacled brown-eyed child thrived in Yoshi’s endless supply of toasters he could take apart and reassemble too his heart's content, and Raph’s and Mikey’s constant adoration and fondness for their newest brother.

It took almost 2 months after Donnie’s adoption for Draxum to even learn about a fourth child, let alone find him.

Maria Guerrero was the only woman they couldn’t reach out to, seemingly dropping off the face of the earth like she had never existed in it to begin with and was just a well-spun fever dream of Yoshi’s past. Draxum had almost exhausted every string he had left to even prove the woman existed, let alone where she was, and it was only because of Yoshi’s begging and pleading and she’s out there somewhere, Barry. Please. I don’t want to give up without knowing for sure, that Draxum kept up the search longer than the 2-month mark. 

And then he had found something. A tiny, sliver of a half baked chance at something and Yoshi clung to it like a lifeline.

I don’t know if it’s anything at all. Maria isn’t even mentioned by name it’s just... with the description you gave and the time frame set... a couple of years ago, there was this child with the last name Guerrero in San Antonio who was left at the hospital just a few hours after he was born. The mother disappeared without a trace and with no explanation, but she matches the description of Maria-

What’s the child’s name, Yoshi finds himself interrupting, a tugging feeling at the bottom of his stomach making him feel equal parts sick and hungry with hope and morbid curiosity.

Leonardo. Leonardo Guerrero. He’d be about 3 now.

Yoshi knew. He just knew. As soon as he stepped out of his car and onto the dusty laneway of the shabby and overpacked halfway home in Texas and walked up to the metal chain-linked fence separating himself from the front yard of children of varying ages and races, he knew. He didn’t even need the owner and self-designated father of the home to point the child out to Yoshi.

Leonardo was a scrawny and scrappy child. The patched-up sweater 3 times his size dropping over limbs covered in bandaids and vitiligo patches alike. His hair was a curly mess, long and tangled and held out of his face by different types of hair clips and scrunchies. He was playing by himself off in the farthest corner of the yard, head down and tracing the ground with a stick, and it wasn’t until the other man called out a thickly accented, GUERRERO, that the boy looked up.

Brown eyes. Brown eyes like Raph’s and Donnie’s and Mikey’s. Brown eyes like Yoshi’s. Round and rich and shining like a spotlight and something clicked inside of Yoshi’s chest. Like the final piece of a long-overdue jigsaw puzzle was finally where it belonged, fitting into the empty spot in Yoshi’s heart like it had always owned a place there, right alongside all the other pieces that had claimed their space within the past few months. 

Yoshi didn’t think his heart could get any fuller. 

But then Leo smiled at him, and Yoshi couldn’t have been more happy to be proven wrong. 

#rottmnt human #rottmnt human au #ill come up with a name to this au someday #but anyway take this super long answer that sorta got away from me #man i fucking love this family i don't have words for it #but yeah anyway #all the boys are half brothers #kinda like what they are in the show #(except Raph and Mikey cause idk i just wanted that relationship for them) #also donnie and leo aren't twins but listen #they're the same age and they cling to each other like velcro and are best friends and are a fucking FORCE to be reckoned with #yoshi has his fucking hands FULL #and he wouldn't have it any other way #Draxum is absolutely not fond that his client and sorta 'friend' has decided to invite four little heathens into his life #and essentially make draxums life and job harder because now he has to work TWICE as hard to keep lou jitsu's appearances and popularity up #and the boys #mainly leo and donnie #are kinda jerks to him #i have once short comic scene with them i wanna draw at some point of draxum interacting with the kids but we'll see #anyway yeah hope you enjoy this #i love the hamatos and will die on the hill that is yoshi learning how to parent

[sleeplessandstubborn]

Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring for the main character and started rooting for the French. Episode 2.

I must confess one thing. I have a sort of admiration for people who have the habit and the will of go running before work, because I don’t do these things, and people who can do it while wearing what seems like a lace top (?) maybe more adequate for other things, but who am I to judge if Emily looks perfectly fine when running while I look like a bag with sport wear. So congratulations Miss Cooper you are doing well in this aspect. Also shows that Emily is adapting her schedules and her habits to her new life. Example: she’s not going to arrive early to work this time. Lesson learnt, so good for her!

Unfortunately there are still things she must get right. Example given, knowing exactly where her apartment is. She again tries to invade her cute neighbour’s home, which causes him to ask if she wants to live in his apartment. At this stage, there are reasons to suspect indeed. But there’s no time enough for our two character to devour each other with their eyes, so, after a last invitation to bang anytime from our delicious neighbour Emily goes back home to get a shower and dress for work.

Her white boots, however, have an unfortunate encounter with a material of animal origin. She’s naturally disgusted and deals with it making another Instagram post. Discovering, by the way, that she’s gaining more and more followers for ther photos of fictional! Paris.

Sidenote: this scene can mean two things from yours truly’s point of view. Either Emily’s next days are going to be shitty or she’s going to be ultimately lucky. In France or Spain is very common to wish good luck with the word merde (or well, mierda in Spanish). In both cases it comes from the times people went to theatre or opera house in carriages drawn with horses. So a load of shit meant: you are in the greatest show in town. But probably is not that deep.

At Savoir, la Plouc is decaying as Emily’s sobriquet, and only Julien greets her with it. Besides, Emily has learn to strike back. Or rather is her smartphone the one she uses to retort Va te faire foutre! Which mean Fuck you but it’s not that imaginative. Why not mange tes morts, or some decent French swearing. Anyway well done, Emily, because this makes her earn Julien’s respect.

... But evidently not Sylvie’s. She is clearly contemplating the void and wondering if some kind of karmic justice has sent her this girl that can’t figure out why is la plouc instead of le plouc or won’t pronounce the name of the fragance De L’Heure from Lavaux. Sylvie doesn’t want to listen her ideas for promoting Lavaux’s last product. A little discussion insues between the two ladies. Must luxury remain an enclosed world? Should it be democratized in some way? Of course Emily thinks the point of view of an outsider could help, but, could you point at the outsider in this scene? Of course Emily is not French and still dealing with the continuous cultural clash. But she doesn’t seem an outsider by any means. And, ah. There’s a launch party for De L’Heure so she better hurry up and put some thing that doesn’t resemble whatever she’s wearing.

Was that fashion advice from Sylvie? Who knows. In any case, Emily looks quite pretty with her black dress. The handbag is funny but highly debatable. And she’s overjoyed and bubbly as she pursues trays full of delicious food. Which is a faux pas, from Sylvie’s point of view.

Enter Antoine Lambert from Maison Lavaux a.k.a. another Frenchman who is going to be attracted towards Emily’s many charms. Because that’s what Frenchmen do in this series. She fails to understand what a nose means in the world of fragances - it’s not that harsh to figure out, sometimes I wonder why they have written her like that; she’s suffering a severe case of cultural clash, but it doesn’t mean she’s stupid, argh -. Antoine is creeptractive. Especially in the next scene.

Which takes place in this terrace with the gorgeous view of a glittering Eiffel Tower. This makes Emily smile and would do everyone else who had the opportunity to assist. This makes up for Sylvie saying that she’s talking too much about bussiness during the party, which is something she should not do.

Monsieur le Creeptractive follows her and tests the fragance on her skin. A really weird dialogue about how she should have a French boyfriend because you learn French in bed... Yeah, sure.  Emily profess her fidelity to her engaged to be engaged Doug back in Chicago. Something that he doesn’t deserve but more on that immediately after. He smells her in a way that would make many women shudder and run away and compliments (?) her on smelling like expensive sex. Yikes yikes yikes.

All in all, is a successful night for Emily, but as she discovers the next day, she’s supposed to work not in the promotion of De l’Heure, but in some product  called Vaga-Jeune to help woment to combat vaginal dryness. Is that a mean move by Sylvie, or it’s only a logical thing for Emily to start there, given she has experience in pharmaceuticals? Discuss. She also tells our heroine not to be too flirty with Antoine, who is married to one of her very good friends. But immediately after Julien drops the bomb: Sylvie is actually Antoine’s mistress. Oops.

In order to deal with the amount of unwanted information, Emily texts to Mindy and they go for a dinner. Mindy gives her a few tips to survive in the complicate environment of a city where everyone is having affairs with everyone. As if in Paris - like everywhere else - didn’t exist people who doesn’t care about sex. In this universe, Emily still can’t wrap her head around the endemic lack of conyugal fidelity in this series.

We learn more about Mindy, who maybe would deserve more than being only Asian token character which is supportive of the main one just because. Indeed Mindy is for now my favourite character here, along with Sylvie. Mindy turns out to be in Paris because her millionaire zipper king father wanted her in the bussiness school, but, since living in Paris was one of her dreams, Mindy dropped it and became a nanny instead. Now she’s been cut off by dad, but she’s free and, besides, she finds funny to have grown up surrounded by nannies and now being one of them.

The temptation of MIndy taking over Emily in this series is too big when just in the next scene she thinks she can “educate the chef a little bit about customer service” without even tasting her steak, which she wants done more. Customer are not always right; some of them behave like annoying assholes. She swallows her words as Gabriel from downstairs emerges from the kitchen because of course he’s the chef. Somewhat that convinces her she should taste the steak before giving her opinion. It turns out the steak is wonderful, it was wonderful the whole time. Emily please. Try to behave.

(also Mindy wouldn’t mind to taste the chef instead of the steak, which is understandable)

Next day Emily is happily roaming around the market with a little hat perched on her head and the mind full of Chicago Boyfriend Doug. The little hat is so stupid that it’s almost charming, like someone more fit for a musical than for real people walking on real streets. She seems to have befriended the woman from the boulangerie, too! However, the happiness is to be shortlived...

... Because Doug, as his first scene already indicated, is someone who can’t bother to take his ass into a plane and fly to Paris where there is nothing to do while expecting for his girlfriend to come back from job. This guy must have one, but he’s so lazy that one wonders if he inherited it. Notice that, unlike in Paris, there are cars in Chicago. Doug proceeds then to inelegantly dump his girlfriend by phone.

Very fitting to have Emily standing just next to the Panthéon when the call is over and their relationship as dead as the people inside.

Emily is logically sad after this and the weather seems to agree with her mood, probably she cried to her sleep, or at least she shed some tears. He doesn’t deserve it, honey.

Her mood doesn’t improve when, at the office, she discovers a new thing. Yes, you have grammatical gender in French, as well as in other European languages. She is puzzled because, starting her campaign for Vaga-Jeune, she discovers vagine is a masculine word in French. She doesn’t understand it, and, in typical Emily fashion, she decides the problem is with this language she knows virtually nothing about.

She also learns a very important word for her future life in Paris: grève, which means strike. And it’s not going only a vagina strike. But who knows, she lives in a parallel universe so maybe there are no strikes there (since there is no public transport and/or services on sight even if we know it exist somewhere). And of course, post something on her Instagram account about how vaginas are not masculine.

During her (daily, one guess) conversation with Mindy during the lunch break, Emily loses at last this overoptimistic side of her that makes the character annoying and vents a little about her general exasperation. She thinks she’ll never learn the language (but girl, you barely tried, don’t be so harsh with yourself), or be simply tolerated by her workmates, or even understand how the city was built. She’ll be all right, Mindy insists, not very impressed at her friend’s disperation.

Which follows is one of the most cringeworthy deus-ex-machina I have seen, and adequately being a deus-ex-machina it comes from l’Élysée. Wink wink, mythology aficionados.

By the way, it’s that the façade which gives to the main courtyard of the French presidential palace? Yes it is. Here I am wondering where this footage came from and when it was filmed because I am that way. Seems the flag is at half mast from that point of view so... this could help to know in which moment was filmed... But screw that, you aren’t here for my personal obsessions, so lets go right to the point.

Somewhat Carla Bruni finds Emily’s post about vaginas utterly fascinating, to the extent that she has to share it with Brigitte Macron. And of course the current French First Lady (even if officially there is not such title in France) agrees and posts it in her Twitter account. We only see Fictional!Brigitte from her back. Real Brigitte doesn’t have accounts on social networks, by the way, which is understandable since after a while one gets tired of playing the game of guessing if the one who made the mysoginist and idiotic post is from the extreme right or the extreme left (it’s a difficult thing to tell apart, I assure you). Of course Emily’s post gets viral.

Brigitte Macron just retweeted you, bitch! is not bad as unexpected sentence on a screenplay in 2020, congratulations. Her partners at Savoir are overjoyed and suddenly Emily can share a table with them, yay! Though evolving from la plouc to our Vaga-Jeune is not really improving that much I guess? So that’s the end of the episode and Emily’s life seems not-so-that-depressing all of a sudden. So thank you Brigitte.

And that was Episode 2 of Emily in Paris. Our heroine was slightly less annoying than on first one, probably because the reality of being in a totally different country is starting to hit her and she’s had a few humblings by this moment. For the next one, we’ll know more about Monsieur le Creeptractive & the nonsense of fragance advertisements.

#emily in paris

[arcticdementor]

Right now I’m in Europe. But I spent the last month living in a hotel room in Chicago visiting friends and family. I didn’t necessarily want to live in a hotel room. I wanted to get an Airbnb like I always do when I travel. But Airbnb are more expensive now. It’s part of the larger unraveling going forward of the urban person’s utopia. Cheap Ubers, cheap Airbnbs, all subsidized by these large companies to get you hooked. Those days are over. Taxis and Hotels are the same price or even cheaper now.

…

I’m reminded of the early 2000s, a different time where TV was a platform to mock people. Remember "Hoarders?” It made fun of sick people so the audience at home could laugh and be shocked. It was very sad watching those people not being able to part with stuff that seemed so irrelevant. They had a whole catalog of addiction shows back then. Shows where you were supposed to laugh at fat people or midgets starting a family.

I work on the computer. It’s easier to keep my home clean than it is my browser. Most psychic pain comes from constantly feeling crowded at the edge of my browser with 20 tabs open I’m not using. Claustrophobic. I’m at the edge of the browser using one tab. Should I close the rest of my tabs? Of course. But sometimes I don’t.

The information contained in one of those tabs could eventually lead to a domino effect that could change your life

…

The downside of the hotel is you’ll never find a decent gym. What you’ll see mostly is machines. Sometimes you’ll see free weights up to 30Ibs and you’ll never see a barbell. I previously wrote about the benefits of using a barbell for real naturalistic weightlifting to stress the skeleton and release osteocalcin. Exercise machines artificially track motion allowing endless repetition of the same movement without the use of the entire body. How much of your skeleton and muscles activate when you lift a rock over your head vs using a strength machine.

You’ll rarely find free weights in a hotel gym and never a barbell.

Why?

The intolerant minority rule is at play. People that prefer free weights and barbells will use machines. But not the other way around.

The same rule applies to parties and alcohol. Once you have ten percent or more of women at a party, you cannot only serve beer. You must serve wine. All men will drink wine but at least 10 percent of women will not drink beer. So you end up just choosing wine for the party and use one set of glasses.

…

It is worth being alert to the intolerant minority rule because it is everywhere. In this article I’m going to go over some places where you can see it. But first, what is it?

What happens when 95 per cent of people are indifferent, but 5 per cent of people prefer something else? The minority wins. Taleb wrote a classic piece on this phenomenon. Society doesn’t evolve by consensus, voting, majority, committees, verbose meeting, academic conferences, and polling; only a few people suffice to disproportionately move the needle. Once an intolerant minority reaches a tiny percentage of the total population, the majority of the population will naturally succumb to their preferences.

There was even a recent study by Scientists at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute on the Intolerant Minority Rule

…

The disproportionate ubiquity of certain foods can be explained by this effect. Pizza is a hugely successful food not so much because it is loved but because nobody hates it. By contrast, take fish or steak, in any group of five or more people, there will always be one who doesn’t feel like eating fish or steak: their lone veto will prevail, and everyone will end up eating chicken. Chicken being the most agreeable meat. There’s even minority rules inside of minority rules, with cheese pizza being the option people will agree to eat over pepperoni or sausage.

Perhaps one of the reasons Lamb never made it big in America is because its the opposite of the chicken. It isn’t a consistent meat. Highly variable. You get wildly different tastes depending on how you cook it, prepare it or store it.

…

The implications are interesting when you think about it. Most human systems — language, morality, religion — evolve based on a passionate and organized minority. The reasonable majority rarely if ever drive any movement.

Moreover, outcomes are paradoxically more stable under the minority rule —the variance of the results is lower and the rule is more likely to emerge independently across separate populations. As long as the majority is ambivalent or tolerant, the status quo will remain.

As Nassim Taleb pointed out when he spotted this phenomenon, the intolerant minority rule can prevail in many areas. Schools where only 5 per cent of the pupils are Muslim will keep halal kitchens, because it is assumed non-Muslims can be served halal food whereas Muslims will eat nothing but.

…

Take a look at every soda bottle you buy. It’ll have a kosher sign on it. Maybe even half of the food you purchase has this logo. Why? Because you don’t care if food or drink is kosher, but Jewish people care. And so the companies make their products kosher compliant. Minority rule means that we all drink Kosher soda because it’s easier to make all lemonade Kosher for the small % that require it rather than having kosher and not kosher.

…

Let’s start with one example of the Intolerant Minority Rule that most people don’t realize.

The asymmetry: Smokers can be in smoke-free areas but nonsmokers cannot and will not be in smoking ones. One is tolerant. The other is intolerant.

The non-smoking section of restaurants and bars actually appeared very late. Entire private establishments would be open to smoking. The movement to separate smoking from non-smoking happened in the mid 1970s. That was when the first reports of lung cancer and smoking became established. You could even smoke on an airplane back then. It was only after an airplane crashed, killing 123 people in France due to a cigarette left burning in the bathroom did the first non-smoking sections appear on airplanes.

…

Given the historical links between smoking and drinking, it is not surprising that “family restaurants,” many of which sold no beer, wine, or liquor, were among the first to create non-smoking sections. Denny’s announced in 1977 that it would devote 25% of its dining areas to non-smoking. It was not long before Victoria Station, Red Lobster, Bob Evans, and many other chains joined the trend. Big city restaurants, on the other hand, lagged behind.

Numerous restaurant owners who disliked setting off non-smoking sections complained it hurt their business in a number of ways. Non-smokers tended also to be non-drinkers and didn’t come out as much on weekends, thus leaving empty tables in the non-smoking area while the smoking section was full and the restaurant had to turn away impatient patrons. Likewise, the non-smokers had lower check averages.

#paul skallas #substack

[xofaddiction]

                            𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖆𝖌𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖙 𝖍𝖎𝖘                              𝖋𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖘 𝖊𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆 𝖋𝖔𝖔𝖑 𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉.                                𝖜𝖍𝖔𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋                                          𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖜 𝖎𝖘 𝖇𝖔𝖙𝖍.                                         𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑                                              𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖙𝖔 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖙:                                            "𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖑𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖎 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖐𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖞𝖔𝖚,                                          𝖎𝖋 𝖎 𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖓."                                           𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖔𝖓𝖔𝖗.

full name:  cyrus rousseau nicknames: cy, lieutenant, ruoss, etc. age:  36 date of birth:  jun. 11 zodiac: gemini gender:  male pronouns: he/him sexuality:  bisexual

physical

hair color: dark brown eye color: hazel height: 6′1″ weight: 180 lbs

personality

morality:  lawful evil positive traits: charming, inquisitive, intelligent, attentive, strong-willed negative traits: restless, easily bored, moody, fickle, short-tempered, job: manager of rousseau’s  skills: adaptable, strong, combat trained, artillery trained.

family

parents: valentina and louis rousseau. siblings: blake and audrey rousseau. niece: aria rousseau.

backstory and details - ＴＲＩＧＧＥＲ     ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ :                                       war, murder, violence

                                       ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    

first born to louis rousseau and his young, model wife valentina, cyrus was another strapping heir to a line indebted to the o’sheas, albeit far behind others. a strong boy with a sturdy will and an even stronger mind, cyrus was a beloved child, doted on by his mother for his looks and encouraged by his father to be the best he could be in every aspect of his life as the second man in the rousseau family.

an o’shea general, their father wasn’t shy about bringing his children along when it was time to set the wrong things right. cyrus could recall on many occasions where his father returned to their car, knuckles bloody, stoic and firm with a word of advice and warning on what to look for in weaker men as he grew older.

always taught that nothing could hurt him unless he gave it license to, cyrus was rambunctious and foolhardy, always flooded with a charm and wit. paired with his keen instinct for sparring and ways of outsmarting those his senior, he had a knack for mischief from the start.

fear is a fickle thing in the eyes of a walsh general’s son; ever changing, always political and fluctuating in immediacy and relevancy. still, there was one fear that remained constant; losing those he loved.

more often than not it was a distant, almost irrelevant fear; one that had no place among conscious thought. at least until he gained two younger siblings, well into his life. after they came, he felt a need to step up and be there for them in a different way than parents ever could. he wanted to be the trusted confidant, the one they came to for help before they went to their parents; the reliable brother that loved them fiercely and with everything he had in him. cyrus cared for them beyond all others; no one matters to him half as much as they do.

moving through years in elementary and middle school, cyrus was popular, charming, well known and well liked, but could tip attitude at the drop of the hat. the moment he was provoked, his wrath came out and found the object of his rage. that indignation, the anger within him, and the willingness to hit first and worry later landed him in and out of detention and even one instance of juvenile arrest.

his mother, more often than not, let the discipline thereafter be dealt with by his father. she loved him, he knew, she just wasn’t the most tolerant woman of the inner workings of a child’s mind, especially one as privileged as her son was.

it seemed worthwhile to louis to enroll young cyrus into boxing classes; he needed discipline and anger management, maybe even to get his ass knocked to the ground every now and again to keep him humble. not only did his fortunes improve, but so did his ability to work past his issues with rage.

a stand out feature of his youth was taking note of his mother’s descent from being a mother with him, to a friend with his brother, and all but an acquaintance with his younger sister. he hated how passive she became, how lacking she was in her attitudes toward her children.

once in training, his studies soared, both academically and in boxing. high school couldn’t have been easier. he was popular as ever, a shining example of what one should be; respectful, protective, intelligent, and above all; engaging. everyone seemed to want him as a friend or a fuck, and cyrus saw nothing wrong with it.

on occasion, there were times he’d take it too far in the boxing ring, move too fiercely and endanger others training around him. cyrus found it far too easy to fight dirty. He liked the snap of bone beneath his knuckles, or the squelch of sweat as a body hit the octagon beneath him.  chastised for his behavior and willingness to act out of line, cyrus knew the behavior had to cease. collecting outlets for his anger, he took the advice of his coach and started to write.

he wasn’t good at it, or particularly knowledgeable in the rules of prose, but writing was his therapy. it was the only sympathy he afforded himself to have, and soon the bookshelves in his bedrooms were heavily lined with journals filled cover to cover with simple-minded musings, thoughts, and reports of the days where he could barely tell sunrise from bedtime. 

after high school graduation, cyrus decided he’d go the way of the navy. he wanted to make his parents and siblings proud; a noble son that learned the noble art of war. leaving them all behind would hurt, but it would be worth it in the long run. who better to protect his family than a man with all the skills of a trained, combat killing machine?

cyrus signed up when he was 18 and shipped off to basic not long after. nothing shaped his fears for the future quite like the fall of the world trade center in 2001. watching live from a tv in the cafeteria in his senior year of high school; he could recall the tension in the air; everyone in that room knew the wars they spent so much time learning about were now outside their very windows.

he was too tired, he had lived through and seen so much, and despite it all he looked forward to seeing his sister. when he was on his first tour overseas, he took a spare moment to reflect on his family and how much he really missed them. finally, he had time to call home and was soon after met with the news that their mother left. he hadn’t felt a true rage like that in all the months he’d been at war; his efforts were usually better spent. 

after the start of the iraq war, cyrus was sent into active combat and shipped overseas to afghanistan. he was a part of two tours, the latter of which was cut short by the detonation of an ied. his left leg was shattered and though they were able to salvage the limb, it wasn’t without extensive surgery and the implantation of a steel rod. cyrus received a purple heart for his action in the service and was honorably discharged and left to return home as a decorated veteran.

by the time he returned to chicago, he had seen too much on his tours, fought and killed and his rage was tripled tenfold. the brothers and sisters he cherished in the service had been lost, killed, or moved on. cyrus felt as if part of him was left out there, far from where he was in chicago.

when he had gone off to war, he worried for his siblings. upon his return, they worried for him; many years his juniors, they couldn’t have been more than twelve and ten respectively. the first fourth of july home was a noted one in the rousseau family. at the first thundering echo of a firework detonating in the sky, cyrus ran and tackled his siblings to the ground and covered their heads. It was a snap instinct, one that came with the echo of bombs overhead.

soon after, he was encouraged to see a therapist through the local va. diagnosed with ptsd as many veterans are, the therapist had an almost sickeningly positive outlook on cyrus’s prognosis. it seemed he was one of the few she believed in to pull himself out of the binds of a mental illness.

after a few sessions, his therapist encouraged him to get a service animal. after signing up and getting his certifications for a service animal taken care of, he adopted a rottweiler puppy. he named him LOOMIS.

however, there is no one can fake a fantasy like the son of a model. outwardly, cyrus was still charming, still personable, and most of all: still lethal. writing did precious little to staunch his emotions, but fighting did. though his training was limited compared to what it had been when he was a kid, he rejoined the local boxing gym and threw himself into the ring. the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the echoes that stirred his memories of war, the numbing catharsis that came after the bell rang all felt like coming home. it seemed the more violent the outburst, the more he felt at home.

there was nothing out of the realm of possibility for cyrus and his tastes; sleeping around, drinking, partying, fighting, living the reckless life of a daredevil whenever given the chance. joining the o’sheas after his father was a move that made sense. every risky behavior was lidocaine on a burn, a cool soothing menthol that eased the scald of emotions he’d rather not feel. binge after binge, everything started to blur together- no obligation, no feeling, nothing but the bed of a woman who would have him.

when he carried out what was asked of him as an initiation, he did so quickly, cleanly, and concisely. after all he’d seen on the plane of war, the carnage came as second nature. it made sense to do it for the sake of the family he claimed.

like all fears, his soon became realized. their father disappeared. though cyrus searched, he quickly lost hope they would ever find their father alive. he had seen enough in the service to know that if someone was gone for long enough, the’d never come back. with this effectuation of his father’s fate in mind, it became all too apparent to cyrus that everything changed.

cyrus couldn’t afford to be a mess in front of his siblings or in front of the walsh’s. he was the theoretical head of the rousseau’s. he would be their protector, and do everything in his power to ensure their safety and happiness. it felt as though everything fell to him; he could not be anything less than the man his father.

#crimson.intro #war tw #murder tw #violence tw #welcome to cyrus #this boy is a shit heap #but love him pls

[mrvdocks]

Just Ask ll

Part 1.

“What an asshole,” you mutter, walking right to the bar. “I shouldn’t have come, I’m such an idiot.” 

You don’t know what you’re going to do, you just know you need something to be able to tolerate him if and when you go back. 

After downing multiple shots, you trudged down the hall, trying to walk as best you could back to the roomette. If liquid courage could help you at any time, it had to be this one. You were planning what you’d say to him, making up a conversation in your head and giving yourself the best arguments and points and ending with him begging for forgiveness, and then maybe, just maybe, you could actually get the ball rolling on the friction you’d been feeling. You smile to yourself, eager to battle it out, and make the leap to open the door. Your smile drops. 

He sits there, knees to chest, just staring at the wall. Unconsciously chewing on his lip, just like the good ol’ days. When he notices you, he stops and speaks up. “Hey.” 

You sigh, clearly exhausted. You open your mouth to hurl at least an insult or something to make him know you’re still game to argue. When nothing comes out, you abandon all anger and move to sit next to him. 

Shoulder to shoulder, you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. Not directly at least. 

“What are we doing, Billy?” 

You feel like you’re back in college, in the aftermath of hashing it out and taking a breather over something stupid that doesn’t matter. It seemed so simple then, and here you two were now. Avoiding things and people, and you were adding more wood into the fire you haphazardly helped to start.

“I dunno,” He whispers. “Just….thinking.”

There was something he wasn’t saying. It wasn’t fair that only your secrets came to light tonight. You needed to even the score. “Why’d you send RUN?” 

“Why did you?” He counters.

“I asked first.”

He chuckled to himself.  “To be quite honest, I was….blithering drunk and lonely.” 

Your brows perked up. “So you made me drop everything I care about because you got drunk?” 

You weren’t too mad, the liquor had made sure to placate you. You just felt a tinge of annoyance at him. Nonetheless, his recklessness struck a chord in you. It was a tango, it took two, and it only took two seconds for you to ruin your life for him. 

“Why did you?” He asked, this time turning his head to meet yours. 

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I have no idea.”

You do have some idea. You can’t remember a time of normalcy. The domestic life was constraining at times. Not that you didn’t love your son, but you missed certain things before him. How ironic, here you were with an ex and missing your son, yet when you were with Charlie, all you did was miss Billy. You imagined a different path, a dream, maybe Billy could’ve been Charlie’s father and not - you shook your head. 

“What?” Billy’s voice brought you back to reality. 

“Where the hell were you?” Your voice quivered.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Why now? Why so late?” 

His face fell, some understanding showing. 

“I needed you, a long time ago,” Your voice began to crack. “I was doing fine without you! I had you out of my system, I was getting over you.”  

Then I saw your face, and now I can’t erase 15 years worth of yearning for you.

Somewhat of a lie, but you didn’t think you should be unloading almost every painful feeling of longing you had for him. He just listened intently, knowing that every word that came from you was a huge hit to your pride.

“I’m sorry. Look, I wish I could give you some sort of explanation that isn’t half-assed but there isn’t. I’m just a screw-up.” And maybe I just missed you, a lot. 

You laughed bitterly, half-assed was right. 

“What do you see when you look at me, Billy? Am I a screw up to you too?” 

“No!” He places his hands on your shoulders, gentle with you. “We all fuck up. It’s been 15 years, something’s bound to change. No one seems to have it all together.”

With a pitiful scoff, you can’t help but feel seen. To feel like he knows how to ‘fake it till you make it’. And boy, does he know. But he won’t tell you this, yet.

Your head lulls down but he places his finger under your chin, forcing you to look at him. You’re emotionally bare in front of him, and he knows it won’t be long till he’s in your position. But it can wait. 

“I like you, still. Maybe even more. You’re sexier, you don’t take my shit or probably anyone’s, you’re probably kicking my ass - career-wise I think.” 

You give him an easy smile, the corners of your eyes wet for a moment before he wipes it away. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious,” He laughs. “I think I might be the worst bastard in history.” 

“Maybe not the worst.” 

He feigns shock but nonetheless sees that you’re feeling better. Unless the front you were putting was more convincing than his ever was.

“Give me one day.” He pleads. 

“One day?”

“One day. We can do whatever you want and if you love it then we keep this train going and see where this leads us, or at the end of the day if you still feel homesick, we can go our separate ways.” 

I’ll let you go. He almost said. He just got you back, and he would be damned if he was going to let you go without a fight or at least a proper vacation. How selfish of him, but sometimes you had to be. 

“I…..okay.” 

He smiled from ear to ear, internally sighing in relief. “Great! I think this calls for a celebratory nap,” He checks his phone, it’s two am. “We’ve got a solid five hours and then the fun begins.”

Stepping out into the cool breeze of Chicago, you feel a little bit more optimistic about your relationship with Billy. Home was on the back burner for now, today was about you and your needs. 

You stared at the train ticket, eyes flying everywhere trying to figure out what time the next train would come. Got to time that goodbye, maybe. 

“Maybe it’s just me and the lack of sleep but I cannot find the next train time.” 

“I can check.” He offers, suddenly distracted by the phone ringing. He seems anxious based on whatever he just received but puts up a calm front. “Be back in a bit.” With that, he walks back into the station.

You watch people walking, cars pass and get lost in the city soundscape. A woman passes you and hands you a brochure. The Cloud Gate at Millennium Park. It seemed interesting enough.

“Twenty-four hours till the next train, everything’s going according to plan.” He smiles warmly. 

“Great.” You feign excitement. “Except, where will we sleep?” 

“That, my dear, can be solved with a hotel room.”

The thought of you two in a hotel room made your mind reel. Not in a bad way of course, but well at least the room would be an upgrade from the tiny roomette. Who knows, the day is still young and maybe your horny prayers would be answered this time.

“Let’s get one now.” You were almost too eager as you took him by the hand and were on your merry way to finding a hotel. He wasn’t complaining. 

“Someone’s excited.” 

“Is it such a crime to want to fuck someone after being blue balled for twenty-four hours?” 

“You know you can’t undo this.”

“Well, I don’t want to unfuck you. Do you?”

“No, ma’am.” 

“That poor girl.” You said in a half horrified and half-embarrassed tone.

“What?” Billy asked as if he didn’t just have his hands all over your ass in the lobby. You were thankful you remembered to wear something underneath the skirt you had, afraid that the lobby cameras and some schmuck would’ve had tickets to a free peep show. 

“I don’t know whether to smack you or berate you.” You whispered. 

“You could fuck me.” The bastard smiled smugly. 

You laughed nervously, ashamed to meet the passing eyes of people outside the hotel who’d heard that. “Very fucking funny.” 

His shoulders shook as he laughed, content with himself. 

“Okay, can we focus on the fact that that room was worth my rent and then some? Where the hell are we going to get all that money?” 

“I’ll take care of that.” He said.

Within minutes, he was able to walk into a bank and you stood outside taking in your surroundings. Your eyes trailed off looking everywhere, trying to find something to pass the time. Your eyes landed on an ice cream cart not too far away and as if on cue, your stomach grumbled. 

You placed a hand on top of your stomach. “Forgive me.” 

You nabbed two cones, immediately devouring one and holding onto the other for Billy. When he came out, you gave him his quickly, afraid that you’d eat more than you’d like to. You raised your brows as if to ask if he’d gotten the money. 

“It’s going to take a couple of hours.” 

You hummed, dejected.

“Up for some sightseeing?” He asked. You nodded through a mouthful of ice cream and passed him the brochure. 

The walk was long but you didn’t mind. It was a clear day, sun shining on the water and the chatter of people made you feel like you were in some cheesy rom-com with the love of your life without a care in the world. If only it were that easy. 

“What do you think it means?” Billy asks, looking up at the reflective silver bean. 

You mess with your reflection, pulling funny faces and taking some snapshots of it. 

“That you definitely need more iron in you.” 

He scrunches his face.

“How pretentious we must be. We’re analyzing a giant space bean.” 

“Oh yes, 19 year old you must be so proud.” You quip, knowing he was the exact opposite of a valedictorian.

“Hmm no, that was more your expertise. Museum dates, staying in the library at ungodly hours, and making me study my arse off.”

“And now look at me. Totally living the life.” You couldn’t help but take a shot at yourself. Yes, you were smart, but what good had it done for you? Still a hopeless romantic.

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Shit on yourself like that. You turned out way better than I did, I guess you leaving me was the right choice.” 

“I didn’t leave, you did.” 

“And what a screw up it was, hm?” He knows, no he admits, what a gargantuan screw up it was. “I always thought, now I can’t slow you down. She must be out there with an amazing career after all the shit I’ve put her through, and you do.” 

“I lied.” 

“What?”

“I’m not a nurse,” You’re word vomiting now. “Fuck’s sake I can’t even look at blood without fainting. I failed the program. I decided to choose something my mom didn’t lead me towards so I became a teacher and a…..failed writer.”

He nods and swallows.

“And then I met him. And I thought, maybe this is the right one. Maybe this time I could move on. He gave me the attention I thought I wanted. He gave me everything. But then I’d see you everywhere and I just couldn’t do it yet.”

“You still see him?” His voice is strained, and you pretend like you don’t see his jaw clench asking about this other lover.

You shake your head. “Fucker moved to a different state by the time I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t want him to come back but I also didn’t want to be lonely. So I kept Charlie.” 

“I know.” 

You smile thinking of your son. “He absolutely hates it when I sing. He loves to just throw a stuffed animal at me anytime I’m close to even thinking of singing.”

“You’re kidding.” 

“Okay, well it’s a lot funnier than it seems.”

“I mean, you are kind of a bad singer.” 

You punch his arm playfully. He yelps.

“No, I’m not!”

“I remember you trying to sing that god awful pop song in the shower every time and I’d always have to come in to shut you up.”

“You’re just jealous of my voice.”

“I bet the animals are too.” He chuckles. He yelps again as you punch his arm. 

His phone dings in his pocket again, but you don’t notice him go into anxious mode again. Your eyes are admiring the architecture around you. He slips it back in and you turn your attention to him again. 

“We should go shopping.”

You raise a brow. “Since when do you shop for yourself?” 

“Come on, you don’t want to feel the richest you’ve ever been in some fancy new clothes in a hotel room?”

You hum. “I guess I’m overdue for some things.” Your blouse and skirt combo aren’t exactly feeling too fresh anymore and you think of the pretty lace sets you could find for tonight.

“What kinds of things?” He gives you a once over, practically undressing you with his eyes.

“I guess you’ll find out.”

You’ve never set foot in a store this fancy. You don’t see yourself as living this luxury. But a beautiful lavender dress blesses your eyes and you can’t help but take curious strides to it. The material basically melts in your hand, soft and silky. 

“This is nice.” 

“Very nice.” 

You check the tag on the arm sleeve and recoil. “Eh, not that nice.”

“Buy it! It’ll look great on you.”

“That’s like $700, do you know what I can buy with $700?” 

“It’s a special night. We’re traveling, we’re together. Can you honestly not say you’re dreaming of something like this?” 

“If I told you I had used my savings for this trip, would you forgive me?” You winced, traveling was not cheap nor was it forgiving to your bank account. 

“Here, take this.” He says, pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket like nothing. You feel like you’re asking your sugar daddy to fund your next shopping trip.

“How did you - I can’t take this.” 

“Shh. Buy yourself something nice. Ok, that sounded wrong but it’s true.”

“Billy.”

“Think of it as a gift.” 

You nod hesitantly but thank him. 

“Alright, I’ll see you back at the hotel in an hour. Have fun.” 

With that, he runs off and you turn back to your options. This was going to be a long hour.

#run hbo #hbo run #domnhall gleeson x reader #billy johnson x reader

[hailey-halstead]

Revelation

a post 7x10 fic! hope you all enjoy, and as always i don’t own anything!

—————

A feeling of relief coursed through Hailey as she saw the familiar figure of Jay waiting behind the doors of Chicago Med’s main entrance. Every time she left him she couldn’t help but fear she’ll come back and he’ll be gone.

She put her car in park and stepped out. Jay had spotted her as she was approaching, so they ended up meeting half way.

“Ready to go home?” Hailey felt the corners of her lips turn up into a smile due to being in her partner’s presence again. She found herself doing so ever since he woke up.

Her stomach flipped at the reminder of why she was this happy.

Fuck. Why did Rojas open her mouth and get thoughts into her head?

As quickly as the thoughts arose, she stuffed them back down. She couldn’t think of herself right now. What was important was helping Jay.

“Hell yes.” He gave her a returning smile. The eagerness was easy to see in his body language. Despite having a major surgery days prior, he was moving with haste. As if a doctor would suddenly appear and tell him he needed to stay in the hospital longer.

“Take it easy there.” Hailey warned him, reaching out to grab ahold of his non-injured elbow. “You just had a bullet in your chest.”

When her voice wavered at the end, Jay thankfully made no comment on it.

He did however turn to her as he approached her car with a teasing look on his face. “Do you think I can get in by myself?”

She rolled her eyes at his joke. “Do you want me to leave you here?” She asked with a raised eyebrow.

She was joking, but fear still appeared in Jay’s eyes. He really hated hospitals. He mimed locking his lips with his fingers, and once she unlocked the car, began to get in.

Hailey took steps towards the driver’s side, but purposely took short and slow ones to keep her eye on Jay. It was only when he was completely situated that she actually got into her own seat.

None of this went unnoticed by Jay. Instead of resuming his earlier teasing, he went for comfort.

Hailey released the tension in her body she wasn’t aware of when Jay reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. It was a physical reminder that he was here, alive, with her.

It was probably best she kept her mouth shut. Not only was Jay going to have to emotionally recover from this experience, she had to as well. Putting feelings in the mix could have been disastrous..

“I’m okay, really.” Jay’s voice interrupted her musing.

Hailey nodded, focusing on starting her car up and driving instead of a verbal response. She knew he was okay. Hell, he was right next to her, alive and breathing. Except for his brace and cuts on his face, he looked like normal Jay.

But with how much she drove her mind to exhaustion over finding him, and then worrying if he would make it... she found herself struggling to believe reality.

The rest of the drive was quiet. Everything she thought about saying either felt too heavy or too light. It was hard to ignore the elephant in the room. His kidnapping, his injury. Her reaction, both before and after.

And of course her new revelation: she was in love with him.

Thankfully she didn’t have to ignore Jay. He was scrolling through his phone, probably updating himself on whatever news he had missed the past couple days.

This unfortunately meant that she had no distraction from her thoughts.

By the time they arrived at Jay’s apartment, she felt like she had just ran a marathon, not drive a car for 10 minutes.

Of course there was no available parking in front of his place. She had to settle for a spot a block away.

By the time she unbuckled her seatbelt, Jay was already out of the car. She swore in annoyance, and sped up her actions to catch up with him.

He was walking down the sidewalk by the time she reached him, slipping to his right side.

The sidewalk was narrow enough that she couldn’t walk completely on it, her right foot was in the grass instead.

This also meant their shoulders brushed with every step forward. “Did I have to end in the hospital for you to tolerate me?”

He was teasing again, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts of what his hospital trip has brought onto her. Worry, fear, love. A different kind than the one she thought she had for him.

It was a good sign he was joking with her. She should at least try to meet him there too.

“Just amuse me, okay?” She wished she said it as a joke, but it came out more like a plead.

To his credit, when she helped him inside, with his coat, and got a glass of water for him, he didn’t say anything.

But she could tell he had questions he wanted to ask. Answers he wanted to know. She didn’t think he knew anything on how he was found, or how the unit dealt with him being in surgery.

He deserved to know what happened. She needed to face this head on as if it was a case. Put her feelings to the side and get the job done.

“You can ask me.” She folds her legs underneath her, wanting to get herself comfortable before the uncomfortable conversation topic.

He was still hesitant. It was written not only all over his face, but in his body language. Instead of leisurely holding his glass of water, his fingers were fidgeting around the cylinder.

Hailey was glad she was on the other side of the couch because if she was closer, she knew she would be putting a hand on his shoulder or leg for comfort.

Which could potentially help ground him, but would only make her head whirl more with confusion.

“How did you find me?” The question that was slithering through the room, a noticeable presence, was finally voiced aloud.

A brief, selfish thought of wishing someone else could tell him went through Hailey’s mind. But she knew it was best if he heard what happened from her.

“The younger brother.” She spoke, taking her time in order for her voice to sound smooth and unbothered. “We used him to make the father talk. Said we found drugs in his car.”

“Damn.” Jay had placed his drink down on the coffee table, giving Hailey his total attention. “And you were okay with that?”

Hailey couldn’t help but let out a humorless laugh. Looking back, she didn’t regret her decision. Hell, she would absolutely do it again. They were able to find Jay just in time because of it. But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel a twinge of guilt at putting the boy through the stress.

She grabbed one of the throw pillows and pulled it over her chest. “I suggested it.” She said with her gaze on the fabric, eyes following the stitched pattern.

“That’s not like you.” He doesn’t ask her why.

“It wasn’t a typical case.” She felt herself getting defensive for no reason. Jay wasn’t judging her call, she knew that.

They were getting into uncharted territory though. This conversation topic tied dangerously into her newly surfaced feelings for Jay, and she wanted to keep them as far apart from each other as much as she could.

“It wasn’t.” He softly agreed.

She knew without looking up that his eyes were on her. Her pride kept her from returning his gaze, not wanting him to see her cry.

He continued talking. “I’m sorry. For putting you through that.”

The acknowledgment of what she went through, what she experienced, was enough to break her.

Hailey managed to place her hands over her face before her mask finally fell. Tears spilled down her cheeks in waves, unable to be completely shield from the man in front of her due to the the splotches appearing on the satin.

The silent cries turned into sniffles. Sniffles into sobs. By then, Jay’s healthy arm was wrapped around her, his casted one pressed against her stomach.

Not wanting to get tears and snot over Jay, Hailey kept her hands on her face. It was her own gross liquids, she had to be the one to deal with them.

It felt like forever, but her cries began to soften. Her breath was able to relax, have longer breaks in between.

Her surroundings became noticeable. Jay’s hand rubbing her back, slow and steady and safe. Jay’s aftershave overwhelming her sense of smell, not surprising as the only thing keeping Hailey’s face from touching his neck was her hands in between them. And Jay’s voice, low and reassuring, telling her that he was fine, he was okay, and he was sorry.

She meant to say that she was sorry, as she was the one crying over him, but instead “You scared the shit out of me.” came out instead.

His hand stopped moving, right at the middle of her back. “I know.”

Tears pricked her eyes again. Knowing continuing talking would cause another crying spell, she detached herself from Jay. “We’re partners.” She managed to get out despite her emotions catching her again. “We’re in this together, remember?”

Jay nodded, seemingly deep in thought. Looking at her. It unnerved her, especially with her current physical and mental state. She was a mess, her hair a frizzy mane, eyes bloodshot from crying. She was positive snot was dripping down her nose.

Not only that, she just sobbed her eyes out in front of him. Hell, on him. Did he end up figuring her out?

Simply put, his silence was anxiety inducing.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He finally spoke up, bringing her mind back down to Earth.

She blinked. “Hm?” She wasn’t expecting those to be the words exiting his mouth.

“Earlier.” She knew exactly what he was talking about now. “You said you had to tell me something, but then took it back.” Somehow it felt like he was eyeing her more. As if he was trying to pry away her barriers with his vision.

Her mouth felt dry at Jay’s direct statement. Her brain was again tempting the idea of confessing, but she shut it down, quicker than she did in the hospital.

“Trying to get me emotionally vulnerable and share all my secrets, Halstead?” She croaked out, cringing at the clear weakness of her voice.

While she hated her current vulnerable state, at least it kept Jay from questioning her further.

He began to stand up from the couch. Alarmed, Hailey instinctively reached out her hand, fingers skimming briefly against his jeans as he took steps towards the kitchen.

He spoke up before she could interrogate him. “I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be fine.”

She hesitantly leaned back into the couch, trying to relax her body against the cushions. Her eyes and mind remained alert though, following him as he made his way into the bathroom, until he shut the door behind him.

Now that she knew she loved him, she wasn’t sure she could turn it off.

#upstead fic #upstead #my fic #my fics

[zen3to5]

J/H 7-25: That ‘70s Finale

FF.Net AO3

***

SHOW TITLE   TITLE CARD   CARD 1: Eric Forman’s house   CARD 2: December 31, 1979   CARD 3: 8:45 p.m.   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN - NIGHT   It’s New Year’s Eve - the end of the ‘70s. The Forman kitchen isn’t decorated, but it is filled with trays of crackers, cheese, carrots, celery sticks, peanut butter, raisins – any number of snacks and party foods. RED and KITTY, dressed in warm but semi-formal clothes, are in the kitchen. Kitty works on the icing of a chocolate cake at the stovetop, while Red stands next to her, eyeing one of the snack trays. He reaches for a miniature sausage, but Kitty, without looking up, smacks his hand away.   RED: Kitty, for God’s sake, this food’s been sitting here for almost an hour. Do you want me to just go hungry until 1980 gets here?   KITTY: No, just until our guests come.   She finishes icing the cake, sets down the knife, and clasps her hands together.   KITTY (cont’d): Oh, I’m so excited! Everyone, together again! You know, we haven’t seen any of the kids since Eric went off to college. Donna’s with him, Steven and Jackie are so busy in Chicago, and Michael and Fez stopped coming by after you caught them trying Michael’s skeleton key on the basement door.   Red nods with pride.   KITTY (cont’d): And, with the snowstorm, the only one who made it home for Christmas was Laurie, who stuck around just long enough to get her cash present before running on back to -   RED: College.   KITTY: Red, that girl is living with a French-Canadian -   RED: College.   He refuses to meet Kitty’s frown; he has his story, and he’s sticking to it. Kitty shrugs it off, picks up a tray of snacks, and exits into...   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   Kitty, with Red right behind her, sets the tray down on the coffee table.   KITTY: Admit, Red Forman. You’re excited to see the kids again too.   RED: I was excited when they left. Their visits, I tolerate.   Before Kitty can reply to that, the doorbell rings. She and Red both hurry to the door.   KITTY: Oh, that must be them.   She throws the door open and finds KELSO and FEZ, bundled up for the December chill. Kelso throws his arms wide while Fez readies a noisemaker.   KELSO: HAPPY NEW YEAR!   Fez gives the noisemaker a toot. He and Kelso grin broadly while Red rolls his eyes and Kitty manages a smile.

MAIN CREDITS   BUMPER   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   The initial disappointment that they aren’t Eric having passed, Kitty warmly beckons Kelso and Fez into her home, giving each boy a hug in turn.   KITTY: Oh, boys! It is so nice to see you again!   KELSO: It’s great to see you, Mrs. Forman. We’ve missed you.   FEZ: Yes. I am around a lot of old ladies at the salon, but none with your kindness, your way with bridge, or your foxy good looks.   He gives Kitty a would-be seductive glance. She smiles uncomfortably; Red scowls.   RED: And I’ll be none of them have a foot ready to go up your ass.   KELSO: Ah, there’s our Red! C’mere, you!   He and Fez open their arms and advance, as if to hug Red.   RED: Don’t touch me.   The boys back off. Instead, they shed their coats and stroll into the living room and sit down on the couch, helping themselves to the snack tray.   KELSO: All right, New Year’s 1980! That’s, like, a new century! Are we the first ones here? I figured Donna at least would’ve shown up by now.   KITTY: You mean Eric and Donna.   FEZ: Oh, I’m not sure about that. The last time we called them, Donna answered, and when we asked to talk to Eric, she said that Eric was in his new apartment.   Red and Kitty’s jaws drop; they haven’t heard a thing about this.   KELSO: Then she said, “oops,” and we asked, “what’s up with you two,” and she said “nothing,” but it was the kind of “nothing” we always used to say when we broke something around here and you caught us but we tried to cover it up.   FEZ: Then we offered to drive to Madison to console her – sexually. That’s when she hung up.   They turn back to the snack tray as Red and Kitty share stunned looks.   KITTY: Eric’s in a new apartment?   RED: Don’t tell me that dumbass screwed things up with Donna again! He’s had half the damn decade to get it right!   KITTY: (to Kelso, Fez) Are they broken up? Are they moving?   FEZ: We don’t know. We haven’t talked to them in a while.   KELSO: We’ve been pretty busy.   KITTY: Oh – yes. I’m sorry, boys. Michael, is watching your daughter on weekends working out? And how are things with you boys, sharing an apartment?   KELSO/FEZ: Awesome./It’s magical.   They both look up with matching dopey grins. Track in on their faces, and we begin:   MONTAGE. Set to “It’s a Sunshine Day” by the Brady Bunch.   A) Kelso and Fez, looking straight into the camera and walking in exaggerated jaunts in time to the music in front of an obvious green screen of a town street on a bright sunny day.   B) CONVIENIENCE STORE, run down and poorly stocked. A MASKED ROBBER is holding up the CLERK with a knife. Two cops burst through the door, one of them Kelso. The robber keeps his knife pointed at the clerk as he backs up. The cops draw their mace. Kelso is holding his backwards – something he only realizes when he shoots. He hurls back, his can of mace flying. Kelso crashes into the outside shelf and sets off the dominos, knocking every shelf in the building down even as he rolls over them, kicking in pain and grasping at his eyes.   C) SALON. On a busy day where every stylist is taken, a long line still forms for Fez. We track along the line until we reach Fez, hard at work on an ATTRACTIVE GINGER WOMAN. Fez is on the final stage – drying and styling. He sits the woman all the way up, revealing soft waves. The ginger pats her hair in stunned ecstasy. Fez holds up a mirror so she can have a better look. The ginger stands and offers him her hand. He goes in for a kiss instead. She slaps him, sending his face crashing into the still-full sink.   D) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. It is late at night, and the place appears empty. The door swings open and Kelso enters, wrapped around a BUXOM BLONDE. The two of them make out furiously all the way to the bedroom door, which Kelso manages to open without disentangling himself. They start to make their way into the room, but what’s inside causes the blonde to shriek. Kelso, when he gets a look, averts his eyes. The blonde flees from the apartment. Kelso tries to beckon her back, but fails. He turns the lights on and charges into the bedroom. Fez emerges, his fly and his belt open, and he runs around the apartment, chased by Kelso.   E) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The boys on the couch, a trashed apartment all around them. They each have a keg of beer and a tap. They link arms and spray into their mouths.   F) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. MUSIC CHANGE: a music box rendition of “Hush, Little Baby.” The weekend is here, and the apartment is immaculately clean. BROOKE is in the doorway with BETSY. She hands Betsy off to Kelso, and her baby carrier to Fez, then exits. Kelso rocks Betsy gently in his arms as he and Fez both lean in to make goo-goo faces at her.   G) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kelso, on the couch, feeds Betsy her bottle as Fez watches from behind.   H) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Kitchen area. Fez burps Betsy while Kelso plays with a teddy bear.   I) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. Bedroom. A baby crib is set up, with Betsy inside. Kelso and Fez look in on the crib. Kelso strums a guitar as he and Fez sing Betsy a lullaby.   J) KELSO AND FEZ’S APARTMENT. The weekend is over. Brooke is back in the doorway. She collects Betsy from Kelso’s arms. With a smile, she exits, and Kelso and Fez smile and wave her goodbye. Once she’s gone, and the door is shut, there is a MUSIC CHANGE back to “It’s a Sunshine Day,” and Kelso and Fez both pull out beer cans. They shake them up, crack them open, and spray the foam at each other.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   Back to the present. Kelso and Fez both nod contentedly at the picture of their life. Red and Kitty seem much less pleased.   RED: You two aren’t getting back in here once we’re in the ‘80s.   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Last Dance” by Donna Summer.   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   A short time later. The music continues, as a song over the radio. The party is properly underway, and it’s a bigger crowd than just the kids. W.B. and ANGIE stand on the stairs, chatting with Brooke. LEO sifts through a bowl of mixed nuts on the bar with his fingers while Kitty stands behind the bar, making herself a drink. CASEY KELSO walks the floor while nursing a rum and coke, and MR. AND MRS. KELSO, along with several burly boys who can only be KELSO’S OTHER BROTHERS, mingle with FEZ’S OLD HOST PARENTS and PASTOR DAVE. Red and BOB stand off by the kitchen door, drinking beer.   Kelso and Fez, standing by couch, happily take in the scene.   KELSO: This is so great. It’s just like old times. We’ve got Leo, we’ve got Bob, we’ve got Mrs. Forman getting drunk and flirting with my brother.   Sure enough, Casey has made it to the bar, and is chatting up Kitty while she mixes her drink.   CASEY: So I says to the guy, “for that kind of money, what the hell?” And now I’m dancing at the club.   Kitty, breathless, leans on the bar and gazes up at Casey’s face.   KITTY: (swooning) Oh, yes.   Over by the kitchen door, Bob smiles as he looks over the party. Red scowls, but an unusually peaceful scowl.   RED: Look at all these freeloaders. Just when I was getting used to having my house back, too.   BOB: You seem pretty relaxed about it, Red. Usually by now, you’re threatening to call the cops on your own party and tell ‘em the guests are trespassing.   RED: (shrugs) Yeah, well... we’re closing out a decade, after all, and it makes Kitty happy, seeing everybody again.   He nods his wife’s way; Kitty and Leo are happily chatting.   RED (cont’d): And I’ll admit – it’s not so bad, having a little break from all the peace and quiet. But I tell ya, Bob – having the kids out of the house is everything I dreamed it would be.   He gives a small smile, sighs, and looks up. Slow zoom in on his face as we cut to:   MONTAGE. Set to an orchestral arrangement of “Anchors Aweigh.”   A) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. The middle of the day. A clearly unhappy Red is slumped in his chair, clicker in hand. He mindlessly clicks his way through the TV channels, while occasionally looking around the room with a deep frown.   B) FORMAN AND SON. A dead day for business. Red stands at the counter, leaning on the countertop with his head in his hands; he’s bored out of his skull. He looks around his empty shop before fiddling with a wrench on the countertop.   C) FORMAN BASEMENT. Some work has been done to redecorate the basement into a gentleman’s retreat, as Red once envisioned, but that work is limited and halfhearted; a few hunting trophies and Packers merchandise left scattered around the room. Red sits on the couch, punching one hand into a catcher’s mitt, as he looks around the basement.   D) FORMAN KITCHEN. Red, dressed for work, reads the newspaper at the kitchen table while Kitty cleans the stovetop. An empty water glass is by Red’s elbow. As he turns the page, he knocks the glass to the floor, where it shatters. Red immediately jumps to his feet and flies into an exaggerated fit of yelling, shaking his fists, and glaring up at the ceiling. Kitty nonchalantly collects the glass pieces as Red keeps going.   E) FORMAN LIVING ROOM. Red is in his chair again, this time with a bottle of beer. SCHATZI sleeps at his feet. Red takes a covert glance, makes sure Schatzi is sleeping. He tips his beer so that a small amount splashes onto the carpet by Schatzi’s rear. As soon as a spot is visible, Red jumps up, shakes his fist at a still-sleeping Schatzi, and scolds him as if he had an accident.   F) FORMAN MASTER BEDROOM. Red paces back and forth, ranting at raving and shaking his finger directly into the camera. A reverse shot reveals his real target - a PHOTO OF ERIC.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   Back to the present, and back to the party. Red shakes off his mental recap of the last few months and turns back to Bob.   RED: You know, Bob, we haven’t seen you over here much lately. How about we keep it that way?   BOB: (chuckles) Hey, I’ve got no wife, no daughter – I’m free to do whatever I want. It’s a busy time for Bob.   CUT TO:   INT. PINCIOTTI LIVING ROOM – DAY   A day in the life of “busy time” Bob. He sits in front of the TV with a tray of lasagna. THE LOVE BOAT is on the tube. Bob shovels what’s left of the lasagna into his face with a fork and sets the tray down. He belches and opens his belt. Patting his stomach, he lets out a long sigh. A flicker of discomfort crosses his face; matters are afoot down below. Bob stands and crosses to the bathroom, disappearing inside.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   Back to the present.   BOB: (to Red) So, when are the kids getting here?   RED: Ya got me. Say – you haven’t heard from Donna lately, have you? Because Kelso said something about Eric moving into a new apartment.   BOB: New apartment? What’s going on?   Kitty, walking the floor, overhears and rushes to join in on the conversation.   KITTY: (to Bob) You didn’t know either?   BOB: It’s the first I’m hearing about it. Did your bastard run off on my little girl again?   KITTY: Well, how do you know your harlot didn’t dump my baby boy again?   BOB: Don’t you call my Donna a harlot, Kitty!   KITTY: Don’t you call my Eric a bastard!   Bob looks ready to retort, but Red steps between them.   RED: All right, let’s not spoil the new year. Let’s just agree that they’re both morons and give ‘em hell when they show up.   The doorbell rings and the door opens, but it isn’t Eric or Donna. It’s JACKIE and HYDE, both snazzily dressed for the party and for the winter weather. Jackie has an enormous bag slung over her arm.     JACKIE: Happy New Year!   Kitty hurries over to them, Red right behind her. She immediately snatches Hyde up into a crushing hug. Jackie does the same with Red.   KITTY/JACKIE: Steven! My second son! Oh, I’ve missed you./Mr. Forman! Oh!   HYDE: (cringing in her hug) No, that’s all right, Mrs. Forman... no, you don’t have to... ugh, okay, I missed you too!   He gives her a light hug back, which is enough to get her to release him. Red, meanwhile, cringes in Jackie’s hug.   RED: (to Jackie) You couldn’t have outgrown this in Chicago?   She lets him go, just in time for Kelso and Fez to come running up. She meets them in a big group hug.   JACKIE: Michael! Fezzie!   KELSO/FEZ: Jackie!/We missed you!   JACKIE: Oh, I missed you too – (stern) Get your hands off of there.   They let go, but don’t get back in time to avoid Hyde slugging them both in the arm.   KELSO: (to Hyde) And we missed that too. C’mere, Hyde!   The boys have a quick group hug of their own. Kelso and Fez give Hyde a once-over, Kelso fiddling with Hyde’s jacket.   KELSO (cont’d): Man, look at you – new jacket, new shirt, new watch, new boots... the only thing old about you is your face.   HYDE: Well, man, somethin’ told me that ringing in a new decade was a time to break out the nice duds. And that something kept telling me, hour after hour after hour, ‘til I finally said, “would you shut up, Jackie? I’ll do it already.”   JACKIE: (teasing) Well, what’s the point of buying my man nice outfits if I don’t get to show ‘em off once in a while?   She plays with Hyde’s collar.   FEZ: Jackie, you paid for Hyde’s fancy threads?   JACKIE:  Fez, do you know how much money I make, working on TV? I pay for everything. I said a lot of things about those feminists growing up, and they’re still totally wrong about hair and lipstick and how men are supposed to carry you over puddles and everything – but making the most money kind of kicks ass.   HYDE:  Works out for me, too. She always leaves her purse lying around. I’ve never had an easier time picking someone’s pocket.   He and Jackie smile at each other, she “awws.” She leans against his chest as he puts his arm around her shoulders.   JACKIE: Oh! I almost forgot –   She stands up straight, reaches into her bag, and pulls out a brandy bottle.   JACKIE (cont’d): Mrs. Forman, we got you something for Christmas. My mom took off for Tijuana, and she left the cabinet where she keeps her good brandy unlocked.   She presents Kitty with the bottle.   KITTY: Ooh, honey, let’s you and me mosey on over to the bottle opener.   Laughing, she leads Jackie to the bar.   Hyde pulls a small envelope from his jacket, hands it to Red.   HYDE: Here you go, Red. A little late Christmas present.   Red takes the envelope, opens it up. He nearly drops the contents as his eyes bug out.   RED: (breathless) Season Packers tickets. (looks up at Hyde) You know I don’t usually do this.   He throws himself at Hyde in a tight hug. Hyde smirks, pats Red on the back, and gently eases him back.   HYDE: Yeah, they’re from me and Forman. He knew he was gonna be late, so he asked me to bring ‘em.   RED: (pockets tickets) Say, when was the last time you spoke to Eric? What’s going on with this new apartment he’s got?   Jackie looks over from the bar as Kitty pours two glasses of brandy.   JACKIE: You don’t know? We were gonna ask you.   KITTY: (to Jackie) No, we don’t know anything. Have you heard from Donna at all?   JACKIE: Well, we were over at their apartment for Thanksgiving, and everything seemed fine. Then, a few weeks ago, they said they were going to be gone for the weekend and asked us to housesit, and that’s when we noticed all of Eric’s stuff was gone. But when we asked them about it, all they said was, “we’re moving.”   Red, Hyde, Kelso, and Fez step down to the bar, and Bob crosses the room to join them.   BOB: “We?” As in both of ‘em?   KITTY: But only Eric’s things were gone?   JACKIE:  (nods) And then, when Eric and Steven went to get the Packers tickets, Donna asked me to help her with her hair. She was taking forever to dry it out, so I started going through her mail, and it turns out she has a passport.   BOB: A passport?   KITTY: Oh, my God.   RED: What the hell is going on with those two?   Everyone shifts on their feet as worry crosses their faces.   HYDE: This is an unsettling and awkward situation. It calls for beer.   He crosses the room and disappears into the kitchen.   The tension broken, Kelso, Fez, and Bob disperse into the party while Jackie goes behind the bar to sip her brandy. Kitty takes hers in hand, moves to Red’s side.   KITTY: (pained) Oh, Red.   RED: (embraces her) Look, Kitty, I know this all sounds bad. But Steven said Eric’s on his way, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything. And, if he doesn’t, I’ll make him. He knows I still can.   Kitty leans into his hug, wraps her arms around his waist. Her eyes flicker over to the coffee table, where the tray of snacks is now empty.   KITTY: (softly) Do you think you could get the other tray from the kitchen?   RED: Sure.   He kisses her forehead, lets her go. He crosses into...   INT. FORMAN KITCHEN – NIGHT   ... And is greeted by the sight of Hyde standing at the open fridge, SCHATZI in his arms. Hyde is feeding Schatzi an uncooked hot dog when he looks up, sees Red.   HYDE: (beat) Schatzi’s upset about Forman and Donna too.   Red frowns, crosses his arms.   FADE TO BLACK   COMMERCIAL   BUMPER   MUSIC NOTE: “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” by The 5th Dimension.   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   The party goes on. Hyde, having shed his jacket, is now talking with W.B., Angie, and Leo on the stairs while petting Schatzi. Fez, his host parents, and Brooke chat by the organ. Red and Pastor Dave stand together near the kitchen door. Bob and most of the Kelso clan have the bar.   Kitty sits in Red’s chair, with Jackie (also sans jacket) and Kelso on the couch. They all have glasses of brandy, but Kitty is the farthest along on hers.   KITTY: Why? Why would my son do this? Why is he keeping so many secrets? Is he worried what we’ll think of him? Because mothers don’t judge – they love. And sometimes get very, very disappointed.   JACKIE: Okay, Mrs. Forman, I know all this stuff with Eric and Donna has upset you. But, on the bright side – Steven and I set a date for our wedding!   She produces invitations from her bag – large scrolls with sealed ribbons. She gives one each to Kitty and Kelso, who wastes no time opening his up.   KELSO: (reading) “Steven and Jaqueline Burkhart-Hyde cordially request the honor of your presence at the celebration of their union – March 21, 1980, St. James Cathedral, Chicago.” (to Jackie) Isn’t that, like, one of the biggest churches in the city?   JACKIE: Yep. That was the deal we made – a big, fancy wedding for me, a “special” honeymoon in Amsterdam for Steven.   KITTY: Well, honey, all honeymoons are special.   She doesn’t get it, and Jackie and Kelso don’t enlighten her.   KITTY (cont’d): Oh, this does sound lovely, Jackie. And of course, we’ll be there. And maybe, while we’re in Chicago, we’ll even get a chance to see you on TV again. We don’t get your show here in Wisconsin.   KELSO: Yeah, how’s that going, being entertainment anchor?   JACKIE: Michael, it’s me. I’m fabulous.   She looks up, a proud glint in her eye. Slow zoom in as we begin:   MONTAGE. Set to “Witchy Woman” by the Eagles.   A) ANCHOR DESK. The entertainment desk for Chicago’s WSNS station, with all the lights down except for a background light creating a silhouette of the anchor. As the lights rise and the camera tracks in, we see Jackie, with perfect hair and stylish suit. She is just a little too aware of the camera as she delivers her segment.   JACKIE: Good evening, Chicago. I’m Jackie Burkhart, and this is Jackie’s Corner.   B) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another outfit. We join Jackie in the middle of a film review.   JACKIE (cont’d): Okay, so – my fiancé loves Monty Python, and their first movie is funny and all, but I have a question: what was with the coconuts? Could they not afford a horse? Newsflash, England – ladies want to see men on horseback. Even if they’re doughy, bad-teeth Englishmen.   C) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s still playing to the camera. Michael Jackson’s album OFF THE WALL is in her hands.   JACKIE (cont’d): Off the Wall: it’s hip, it’s hot, it’s flying off the shelves – but who thought a bow tie this big was a good idea?   She points at the tie of Jackson’s tuxedo on the album and shakes her head.   D) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit. Jackie’s hair is a preview of the coming decade: the Whale Spout hairstyle, with some crimps for good measure. Jackie’s eyes roll up, as if she could see her hair that way.   JACKIE (cont’d): (scoffs) Like this will ever catch on.   E) ANCHOR DESK. Another day, another story, another outfit.   JACKIE (cont’d): So Star Trek gets a movie but Charlie’s Angels have to stay on the small screen?   She holds up two photos – an unflattering one of William Shatner, and a glam shot of Jaclyn Smith.   JACKIE (cont’d): Look at these pictures and tell me who’s going to move the most tickets.   F) ANCHOR DESK. Jackie is sitting on her desk this time, spread out across it. She is modelling the quintessential 1980s look – big hair, big shoulders, neon colors, and leg warmers. She looks down at those leg warmers, gives her right leg a shake, and looks into the camera.   JACKIE (cont’d): Call me crazy, but I think leg warmers might be here to stay.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN LIVING ROOM – NIGHT   Back to the present, as Jackie gives a contended sigh and leans back into the couch.   A clearly unhappy Brooke and an apologetic Fez march to the couch and stand over Kelso.   BROOKE: Michael, Fez just let it slip that you two have been having crazy beer parties when you aren’t watching Betsy.   KELSO: Uh? Oh, no. Fez is just confused, since he’s foreign. See, in his language, “beer” means...   No lie comes to mind. Instead, Kelso slaps Fez hard in the hand. Fez slaps his face back. Kelso stands, and the two of them get into a rapid-fire slap fight.   Over by the kitchen door, Bob joins Red and Pastor Dave as Red pulls out his gift from Hyde and Eric.   BOB: (whistles) Season tickets? That’s nice.   Pastor Dave, trembling, lets out a high, girlish squeal of delight, one that cuts off as soon as he sees the way Red and Bob are looking at him.   RED: You know I can’t take you to a game if you do that, Dave.   Dave, contrite, nods and looks down at his feet.   On the stairs, Hyde shifts Schatzi under one arm so he can put the other around Leo.   HYDE: Leo, man, how’s Grooves?   LEO: Great, man. The Wall? Pink Floyd? It sounded awesome, man.   HYDE: No, Leo, I meant Grooves, the record store. (beat) That we hired you to run when I moved to Chicago.   LEO: I run a record store? Wow, I’m really moving up in the world.   ANGIE: (laughing) He’s actually been doing an okay job. We’ve only had one complaint about a hippy orgy.   HYDE: (nods) W.B., how’re things in Milwaukee, man?   W.B.: Are you kidding? It’s great! Having Angie there in the corporate office is the best decision I ever made. (Angie beams) See, right before I gave her that promotion, I got into this snooty country club. They didn’t think I’d be there much. But now that I’ve got Angie running things, I’m there all day, every day – with friends. And there’s nothing those brothers love more than making white people uncomfortable.   HYDE: Nice.   W.B.: And what about you, Steven? How’s business in Chicago?   HYDE: Flying.   He flashes a cheeky grin. Slow zoom in as we cut to:   MONTAGE. Set to the instrumental track of “Nobody’s Fault But Mine” covered by Led Zeppelin.   A) GROOVES, CHICAGO. THE CIRCLE. Hyde sits behind the counter, a diffuse cloud of smoke all around him. He coughs, waves some of the smoke away, and flashes a grin at the camera.   HYDE: Welcome to Grooves.   B) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – SPIRITS HAVING FLOWN by the Bee Gees. Hyde looks up with utter contempt.   HYDE (cont’d): The Bee Gees? You know there’s a 20% tax on crap in this store, right?   C) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. An unseen customer hands Hyde his choice of record from off-camera – BACKLESS by Eric Clapton. Hye looks up and nods approvingly.   HYDE (cont’d): Nice. And you know there’s a 20% discount on rock n’ roll in this store, right?   D) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. This time, Hyde is busy with a lighter: he very casually sets a sleeve for ABBA’s VOULEZ-VOUS on fire.   E) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde leans back and tips a bag of potato chips. The entire bag showers down over his face, and some of them even make into his mouth. He happily munches down.   F) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another – particularly intense – Circle. Hyde leans in to speak to an unseen customer off-camera.   HYDE (cont’d): Hey, did you hear about that car that runs on water? It’s got a fiberglass, air-cooled engine, and it runs on water, man!   G) GROOVES, CHICAGO. Another day, another Circle. Hyde performs air guitar to the montage music.   H) JACKIE AND HYDE’S APARTMENT, clearly decorated by Jackie but currently filled with dim lighting and a smoky haze. (MUSIC NOTE: song cuts out.) Jackie and Hyde sit together, their heads leaned against each other and matching spaced-out smiles on their faces.   JACKIE: Baby, I think you’re late for work.   HYDE: I thought you were late for work.   They both sit up slightly, puzzling the answer.   JACKIE: Huh.   HYDE: Maybe we’re both late for work.   JACKIE: Or – is work late for us?   She wiggles her eyebrows, “think about it.” Hyde gives her a short stare, then leans down for a kiss. They fall out of frame as they make out as the montage music resumes for a final sting.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT   Back to the present. Jackie has joined Hyde, who has his arm around her shoulders. Leo, W.B., and Angie disperse into the party.   Red and Kitty cross to Jackie and Hyde.   KITTY: Steven, do you have any idea when Eric is coming? It’s almost midnight.   Bob, Kelso, and Fez join them.   BOB: And what about Donna? No one knows if she’s coming to this party?   A lot of shaking heads answer.   BOB (cont’d): Come on, I’m her dad. I deserve some answers. What’s going on with that passport? What’s going on with her and Eric?   KITTY: Red, I’m getting worried. There’s no reason they shouldn’t be here by now.   HYDE: You want us to go look for ‘em, Mrs. Forman?   KITTY: Oh, honey, would you?   KELSO: Yeah, that’s a good idea. (pulls out cop badge) Okay, everybody, line up! We’re turning this New Year’s party into a search party!   He draws focus from everyone in the party, but only for a second; most of the guests turn back to their conversations. Hyde, Jackie, and Fez disperse, searching for their coats, ignoring Kelso’s hand signals to form a line.   CUT TO:   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT   A thick layer of snow covers the hedges and the yard, but the driveway is clear. The VISTA CRUISER, with suitcases packed and tied on top, slowly backs up into the driveway and parks. ERIC, bundled up for the cold, steps out. He gives a long look around his old home before climbing up on the hood of his car to sit back and look at the stars.   DONNA, also bundled up, and with red hair and a short haircut, comes up the driveway. A knapsack is slung over her shoulder. She taps Eric on the foot to get his attention.   DONNA: Hey.   ERIC: (sits up) Hey. You made it.   DONNA: (nods) Snuck the last of my stuff out of my dad’s house. I’m just here to say goodbye to everybody, then it’s off to the airport.   ERIC: Good. (sits back) You know, I still remember the night you first kissed me on the Vista Cruiser. It was warmer then.   DONNA: Yeah, well... a lot of things are different now.   ERIC: (softly) Yeah.   Donna climbs up next to Eric and sits back too. Overhead shot on the two of them slowly pulls out as we begin:   MONTAGE. Set to “Thirteen” by Big Star. A collection of moments Eric and Donna have shared over seven seasons. Included in the montage are:   A) The aforementioned first kiss.   B) Eric and Donna moving to hold hands over the scented candle of Eric’s 17th birthday.   C) Their dance at junior prom.   D) Cuddling in the back of Kelso’s van.   E) The “Fernando” dance.   F) Their wrestling greatest hits.   G) Shoving each other’s heads.   H) Eric’s proposal, and his slipping the engagement ring on Donna’s finger.   CUT TO:   EXT. FORMAN DRIVEWAY – NIGHT   Back to the present, and an extreme close-up on Eric and Donna’s intertwined hands. We see for the first time that Donna has a wedding band on her left ring finger. Slow zoom out as Eric and Donna turn in to face each other.   ERIC: So – how pissed do you think everyone’ll be when we tell them that you’re leaving tonight to study abroad in London, I’m working on moving my pilot program there so I can follow you next semester, and – just to put a cherry on this stupid sundae – we went and eloped right before Christmas?   DONNA: (laughs) Pretty pissed. I think Red might finally put his foot up your ass.   ERIC: You know, he actually did that once.   DONNA: Really?   ERIC: (nods) Iwo Jima. He doesn’t like to talk about it.   They laugh again, then scoot together and kiss. And kiss again. And keep kissing, so passionately that they fail to notice Hyde, Jackie, Kelso, and Fez standing by the patio door.   Donna finally opens her eyes, sees them. She sits up, alerting Eric, who flips around and sees all his scowling friends.   ERIC (cont’d): Oh – hey, guys!   They keep scowling.   ERIC (cont’d): So, um – how – how much of that did you hear?   They keep scowling.   ERIC (cont’d): Well, this is awkward. (beat) Boy, I wish there was some way to take the edge off all this.   CUT TO:   INT. FORMAN BASEMENT – NIGHT   THE CIRCLE. Eric and Donna sit together. Eric takes a deep breath.   ERIC: Edge, you are officially off.   DONNA: (to the gang) I’m really glad I got to see you all before I left for London. And I’m even happier that we didn’t trust any of you bozos with the fact we’re married.   Pan to Hyde, with Jackie in his lap.   JACKIE: Donna, I think it’s so romantic that you and Eric eloped. Plus, this way, there’s no chance your wedding can upstage mine. And you’re my maid of honor, so you’d better be back here for it!   Pan to Kelso.   KELSO: (to Eric, Donna) London, huh? Hey, Eric, you know what you should do when you get over there? You should find one of those guards with the big hats, and you should see if you can make him laugh. And Donna, you should have a camera, so you can take pictures when the guard starts beating Eric up. That way, I’ll laugh.   Pan to Fez.   FEZ: (to Eric, Donna) And while you’re there, you can spit on the palace from me. The British hate my country. That is why the Beatles can kiss my ass!   Pan to Kelso.   KELSO: You know, Fez, you’ve never told us what country you’re from. How about letting us know before the year’s over?   Pan to Fez.   FEZ: Isn’t it obvious? (scoffs) Fine. It’s –   Pan to Eric and Donna.   ERIC: Hold that thought, Fez. You know, guys – this might be the last Circle we ever have together.   Pan to Hyde and Jackie.   JACKIE: Aww... that’s kind of sad.   HYDE: It’s a time for reflection. Like on how many of our brain cells survived the ‘70s. Despite our best efforts, some of those bastards pulled through. But tonight – they’re going down.   Pan to Kelso.   KELSO: Way ahead of you, Hyde.   He pops open a can of beer and takes a chug.   Pan to Fez, who also has a beer.   FEZ:  Die, brain cells, die! And you’re next, liver.   He takes a sip.   Pan to Eric and Donna.   ERIC: It’s like – we always have to remember this moment.   Unnoticed by Eric or Donna, Red appears behind them.   Pan to Jackie and Hyde, in stunned shock.   Pan to Kelso, giggling silently.   Pan to Fez, in fear for his life.   Pan to Eric and Donna, confused.   DONNA: What?   Red bends down so that his head is over Eric’s shoulder, giving Eric and Donna a jump.   RED: (to Eric) UPSTAIRS! Your mother’s pouring the champagne for the countdown, and then you’re all gonna get it!   He storms off. Eric and Donna, stunned, share a look.   ERIC: We’re dead.   He and Donna break up laughing.   The Circle is broken. Everyone is laughing now. They all stand and make for the stairs.   ERIC (cont’d): Oh, hey, guys – last one upstairs has to call Red a dumbass!   The dare set, everyone breaks for the stairs. The girls, Fez, and Eric make it up safely, leaving Hyde and Kelso to wrestle it out. Hyde gets a good hold on Kelso and tosses him back before racing upstairs. Kelso recovers, looks around, realizes he’s lost.   KELSO: Aww, man!   He grabs the stupid helmet and starts a slow, reluctant, petulant march up the stairs as everyone in the party begins the countdown.   COUNTDOWN (v.o.): TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX! FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!   TITLE CARD   The THAT ‘70S SHOW license plate, now marked with a 1980 sticker.   FADE TO BLACK   END CREDTIS   INT. VISTA CRUISER – NIGHT   The gang, driving to the airport together in the Vista Cruiser. Eric drives, with Donna next to him and Hyde in the passenger’s seat with Jackie in his lap. Behind them is Donna’s knapsack, then Kelso, then Fez. They all sing along to the radio – “In the Street” by Big Star.   GANG: Past the street light Out past midnight...   JACKIE: Boy, we’re good!   FEZ: We’re really good!   Hyde seems skeptical of that claim, but he, and the rest of the gang, continue to jam to the music.   END.

***

Thank you everyone for reading! If you like what you've seen, leave a review!

#z's fics #that 70s show #zenmasters #jackie x hyde #zen3to5+ #fan fiction #fan script

[thethirdwheel404]

Med Rewatch Series (#3)

Let’s see what we have on the slate. this should be the premiere of s3: Speak Your Truth. I am watching this during school, so let’s see how bad my focus is.

-the episode description is “The shooting of Dr. Charles moves to the courtroom and things turn complicated for the doctors and nurses of Chicago Med.” so still on brand for being all sorts of vague.

-all that really says is more sarah angst so big sad

-let’s get started

-god back to classic med, starting things off fast, just how i like it

-how tf kellogg live through the headshot. guy can’t do anything right

-connor running towards charles on the guerney screaming “what the hell happened!?” and sharon just being “he got shot.” is so fucking hilarous to me i have no clue why

-oh god i remember how much it bothered me that connor changed his hair from the end of s2 to the start of s3 lol (bc it’s supposed to be the same night, but yk, nitpicking)

-the time jump is such an interesting choice. i remember it was jarring at first. i’m sure i’ll have more to say as the episode goes on

-aw hey guys look its sarah! adorable

-also stoll

-oh god, nat taking a sabbatical was weird

-WHEN SHE LOOKS AT WILL SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE IS IN PAIN IM SCREAMING

-counting

-oh boy watching s3 means i get to watch noah get thrown through a glass door and also be a disappointment

-the way connor is effortlessly charming here in the beginning is maybe the only reason i tolerate his character (also more of sarah being adorable)

-horney boi. stop it.

-noah following after sarah like a lovesick puppy is funny

-sarah saying ‘he’s the reason i went into psych...’ honey, psych is not good for your mental health please stop giving him credit

-HOLD THE FUCK ON?????

-its the s3 premiere and Sarah talks about her dad and her strained relationship, specifically because noah compares charles getting shot to her dad getting shot. but like, foreshadowing... maybe i should give the med writers a smidge more of credit than I have been in terms of planning things...

-sarah: “don’t compare my dad to dr. charles.”

-long sigh. god... sarah being so supportive. and charles just being ‘No???’

-not to be weird but court room scenes always get me feeling some sorta way

-haha its peter stone! remember him? remember chicago justice?

-THE BETRAYAL ON SARAH’S FACE - she cares so much about him and he’s about to get his own shooter acquitted.

-god sarah is just fucking fantastic. she feels so passionately about caring about people

-god charles fucking hates himself so much? he should Not be ava’s mentor

-charles: “I think the shooting is affecting your objectivity.” sarah: “mY oBjECtiViTy?!”

-also they said ‘the fact he was concealing a weapon shows like fear malicious content’ or what ever. and uh,, sarah? please. please, for my sanity. (bc of what happens later in the season)

-charles- you know how you can help me? fuck off.

-lol this kid is the one who had like a tooth ache, and now his brain is rotting or something. probably will happen to me (@ my parents please let me see the dentist)

-this is where doris is like ethan is playing favorites

-the like background noises of the ed calm me down. they prob really shouldn’t

-they’re gonna fuckkkkk

-something to be said about sarah being gung ho about kellogg being off the streets and a danger to society when... her dad...

- I really like when med does the thing when one character is just standing in the ed and they transition to the next story by having the next character run past

-what is with all of the nurses drama like honestly

-hey guys look its ava! (let see if i have enough brain cells to find anything)

-heyyyy look at that. ava trying usurp some of connor’s cases. while, yeah she is being a tad undermining, connor’s gf was literally just discharged from a psych hold. this is just an interaction to keep in mind for future events.

-ava’s playing full cunning while connor’s busy fucking his girlfriend

-dont hate the player man

-because they’re both under latham, they’re more rivals than hero/villain, bc they have a common guy who is their advisor. but yeah. dont hate the player

-robin calling ava ‘cruella’ is making want to throw hands ngl. god dude chill - bc it means either robin just saw ava interacting with people and thought ‘what a bitch’ or connor was complaining about ava and either way I hate it.

-connor broke up with robin bc she was too horneyyy (ik he didn’t break up w her but yk)

-connor - reese interaction was nice. until he started blaming her bruh wtf chilll

-her arguing with connor is like. peak. (ava + sarah teaming up to bully connor and not take any of his shit?? i think yes)

-this ethan april thing is stupid. i’m just gonna say it.

-ava: “that would have been a really great idea if you were trying to kill him.” SHE TAKES NO. SURVIVORS. i love her so much

-YEAH RHODES GET FUCKED! i think one of the reasons ava was disliked at first was bc latham kind of favored her and... literally everyone else favored connor? so get fucked? but here, ava can obviously hold her own and connor is just whining. I’m glad they put them on equal ground bc connor and ava’s direct superior is on ava’s side, and literally everyone else is with connor. AND CONNORS STILL PLAYED AS AN UNDERDOG BC AVA TOOK HIS SURGERY! HOW. infuriating

-anyway, for the purposes of the theory ava is capable enough to hold her own as a stand alone, and clever enough to be entertaining

-holy shit no i think i just remembered how this storyline goes. connor gets a better surgery, right? he gets glory and stuff. this is too fucking rich, come on. let one thing go wrong for him.

-i miss ava

-GOD SARAH LOOKS GOOD IN HER FUCKING BLAZER. unfair. unmatched

-stop it sarah you have anxiety.

-SARAH NO. BABY IS SCARED.

-okay. Ava is half bickering, half flirting with him, a little annoying but we put up with it bc we love her and its not her fault she’s supposed to be his love interest. but still, it’s playful, it’s not neccesarily flirting. conceivably, she could be talking to anybody. But then, she tells him to relax, to take a day off. SHE’S STILL A GOOD PERSON. SHE’S NOT TRYING TO EXPLICITLY SPITE CONNOR, OR ANYONE. that’s what people tend to forget. she’s not malicious.

-connor thinks she is tho. maybe that’s why some people hated her, bc connor hated her

-charles: “kellogg is not a criminal” BRUH HE SHOT YOU

-HOLY SHIT. SHARON RN IS LIKE YOU WANT KELLOGG TO BE FREE BC YOU DIDN’T CATCH THE SIGNS OF A KILLER AND ITS ABOUT YOUR EGO

-AND??? SARAH’S DAD ANYONE? that was why he was so persistent of sarah’s dad. he wanted to catch the signs.

-OKAY HERE. When latham is like, wait, did ava manipulate me? is she actually sus? he was the one person on her side and then boom he sides with connor. literally do you have any idea how great ava would be without connor?

-this manstead thing is soooo exhausting

Okay so what have we learned?

Ava is getting Connor’s cases. kind of rude but also, they’re surgeons? It’s super competitive. AND CONNOR LITERALLY WON THAT ROUND BC LATHAM SWITCHED SIDES???

AND SHE STILL TOLD CONNOR TO GET SLEEP. LIKE SHE WAS BEING NICE WHILE ALSO BEING SNARKY

ava had less lines in the ep than in s2 and honestly. wtf.

not much content, but if you look at her content, come on she’s still amazing.

thanks for sticking through

read the rest here:

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Extra

#chicago med #med rewatch series #speak your truth #mine

[thewriterwithnoplan]

Dirty and Useless (Part 4)

Summary: Jason Todd had always said there were only two types of cop; Dirty and Useless. So when Y/N comes along with a spunky partner and a laughable code name it’s safe to say they don’t exactly see eye to eye. But if they’ve got anything in common it’s their secrets. Both are hiding behind masks whether they know it or not. Will the Robin get the Nightingale to come out of the shadows? Pairing: Titans!Jason Todd x Reader Word Count: 1248 Warnings: None.

Several Months Later

Star city wasn't all that bad. Well, it was, but at least the part of town Y/N lived in was kinda okay.  It wasn't exactly anything fancy but at least it wasn't in the Glades - where criminals seemed to run rampant. Melisa didn't seem to mind the place, in fact, she'd found herself right at home claiming that there was more work to be done here than in Chicago. So for her sake, Y/N was trying to pretend she at least tolerated the place.

In reality, Y/N found Star City to be unnervingly quiet and miserably normal. The woman had lived the better part of her life in Gotham, where there was never a bleak day. And then she'd lived in Chicago where it was constantly noisy, sometimes obnoxiously so. Most of the time Star City's silence deprived Y/N of a proper nights rest. Quiet - where she was from - always meant that something was brewing, and she didn't like that one bit.

But if the simplicity of Star City hadn't been enough to annoy Y/N the living costs were. The two Sparrows had actually been living together ever since Y/N had dragged Melisa along on the impromptu move. It seemed easier and safer.

"Hey N/N," Melisa called from across the house, "What do you want for dinner?"

Y/N shuffled into the kitchen, towelling off her hair from the relaxing bath she'd been indulging in. She opened the fridge and winced. Melisa leant over her shoulder and sighed through her nose. A noise that the H/C haired woman had come to associate with forgetting to go grocery shopping and leaving dishes in the sink instead of in the dishwasher. Two things that both Sparrows - among other less frivolous things - were infamous for.

"Pizza?"

"Yup," Y/N slammed the fridge shut, "I'll make the call. You, sit down, it's been a big day and I don't think I've seen you sit down once."

Melisa groaned, "You know I get antsy after a takedown. Besides you're not much better. You'd still be at your desk listening to the man's confession on repeat if I hadn't forced you to wash off."

"It just seemed to easy," Y/N threw the towel over the back of a dining chair.

"Probably because it's us or Green Arrow. I mean who do you want to be busted by, two young adults or a grown-ass man wearing all green with a bow and arrow?"

"We're pretty badass but I guess I see your point," The H/C shrugged as she began hunting for her phone. Melisa simply rolled her eyes half-heartedly and flopped onto the living room couch.

It took Y/N ten minutes to locate her phone. She wouldn't have found it - still in the pocket of the jeans she'd abandoned - had the thing not been ringing. The shrill notes helped her find the device, prompting her to swiftly answer the No Caller ID. In her line of work, there was no telling who would be on the other end. Usually, it was simply someone from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Every now and then - often after she took down someone especially powerful - she'd get a few threats to spice up her boring nights.

So you can imagine her surprise when an almost unsure voice asked, "Y/N?"

"Speaking," Y/N perched onto the edge of the bathtub. "Who's this?"

"Jason Todd. We met earlier this year." The woman's face hardened and she debated hanging up then and there.

"I thought I told you not to call this number again."

"I know," He obviously didn't, "But I wouldn't be calling if it wasn't important."

"Alright, fine. This is me giving you the benefit of the doubt," It was really just that she was curious. What had driven Gotham's second Robin to ask her for help? "I'll listen, listen and that's all."

There was silence on the other end of the line. It wasn't the boring silence that plagued Star City, it was pure Gotham silence. The kind that meant something bad was brewing, that a swarm of villains were about to besiege the city or terrible news was about to bring your whole world crumbling down.

"I need you to come back to Gotham," Jason paused for a moment as if waiting for her to blow up, "Harley Quinn is at large again, escaped from Arkham."

Y/N scoffed, "Don't tell me big bad bats is afraid of a clown."

"He's not. I'm the one asking for your help. As far as he knows we've never even heard of each other," At least Jason Todd had some sense of self-preservation if not a fully functioning brain. "I've heard the stories about you and Harley. You might be the only one who stands a chance anymore."

Y/N wouldn't have been able to resist the urge to roll her eyes, even if she'd tried, "Well obviously you haven't heard the stories because I actually like Harleen. I won't fight her."

"It's not her we're fighting."

"Then who?"

There was another pause, "...She and the Joker broke up."

"Good for her."

"No, not good." Jason sighed deeply and Y/N could almost picture him running a hand down his face in exasperation. "Joker is pissed. In fact, he's called in back up. Gotham's about to be a warzone. Joker, Scarecrow, Penguin and the Riddler are one side of it but... Look, we can't do this alone. We need your help."

A million thoughts ran through the H/C haired woman's head. A cacophony of voices calling her toward her childhood home and yet a million others screamed for her to run. To run so far that even Jason Todd and the great Batman would never find her again. Maybe if she hung up right now, grabbed Melisa and...

And then what? They'd move again, Melisa wouldn't hesitate to follow Y/N but could she do that to her fellow Sparrow? Could she uproot Melisa's and her own life again in another attempt to run away? No, running was not the answer, not anymore. She would stay here, Star City may have been boring but Melisa liked it. So that was enough for Y/N.

"Harley's gonna call in Poison Ivy, Catwoman and Deadshot." Y/N glanced through the bathroom door and into the hallway that lead to where she knew Melisa was waiting for her. "Don't bother calling this number again, that's all I've got for you."

"You told me that being a Sparrow meant the freedom to choose between good and evil. Well, the Nightingale is a symbol of love and hope," Jason gripped his phone tighter as if it could keep her listening. "Frankly, Gotham could use a bit of both. I'm not asking for his daughter... I'm asking for my partner."

"Don't try to contact me again."

"Wait!"

She hung up on him, pressing the phone into her forehead as she tried to steady her rapid breathing.

"Shit."

She threw the phone across the room, creating a shower of shattered glass. Y/N stood, leaving the bathroom and the remains of her smartphone behind. She turned down the hall and found herself in her bedroom. The H/C simply stood there for several moments, staring at the expanse of her room. When she finally moved it was to run a hand slowly over her eyes.

And then Y/N Wayne began packing.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #reader #y/n #melisa #fbi #reader insert #dick grayson #bruce wayne #wayne #DC comics #detective comics #DC #titans #netflix titans #dc titans

[artificialqueens]

Revelation Sunshine, Chapter 8 (Courtney/Vixen) - Veronica

A/N:  Look, sometimes a story has conflict and narrative tension. And sometimes you just want to write about characters you love wearing fancy clothes and having self-indulgent fun. Thanks as always to @theartificialdane for her help. Previous chapters are here.

Last chapter: Vixen got settled into her new life in LA, and Courtney enlisted Violet’s help for a Met Gala ensemble.

This chapter: A romantic weekend in Paris and a star-studded Gala both bring old friends back into Courtney’s life. 

***

The plan was for the Met Gala to be their first public appearance together. A sort of coming-out, as Adore put it.

But all of that went to shit in early April. Vixen had just wrapped up the last of her workshops in Chicago, her friends and family throwing her a huge going-away party, making her promise to visit often. Then, instead of flying to Los Angeles for the Spring term, she found herself sipping champagne on a flight to Paris, where she was meeting Courtney for a Met Gala fitting-turned-romantic-getaway.

And it would have all gone to plan, probably, if not for the crafty French paparazzi, who caught wind of Courtney being in Paris and began to tail them through the city.

It had been a gray, drizzly day, the clouds not breaking until early in the evening as the sun was setting, encouraging them to leave their little café and stroll across the Pont Neuf to Square du Vert Galant, hands clasped together, giggling about Courtney’s attempt to get oat milk in her coffee with broken French.

When Courtney caught Vixen’s face in the warm light, she couldn’t resist pulling her in for a kiss, hands stroking her cheekbones before brushing their lips together, tasting the perfection of the moment, overcome with joy and gratitude for her gorgeous, loving girlfriend.

The nearby paparazzi went nuts, and that’s when they both realized that they’d been followed.

“Oops,” Courtney whispered, biting her lip, still unable to let go of Vixen’s face, unable to tear herself away.

“Cat’s out of the bag, huh?” Vixen said. Fortunately, she didn’t seem too broken up about it.

“Yeah.”

“I guess there’s not much we can do about it now.” A smile played on her lips, and Courtney was overcome with the urge to kiss her again.

It wasn’t until they separated slowly that Courtney thought of a possible solution.

“We could beat them to it…”

She pulled out her phone, taking a series of photos, the setting sun and rain-washed buildings around them doing half the work of making the pictures glowingly beautiful. Vixen’s eyes were bright with happiness, and Courtney couldn’t help gazing at her with total adoration, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She posted the pictures as they stood right there, captioned with a simple heart, and then put her phone away, taking Vixen’s hand and continuing on their walk like everything was business as usual.

***

Vixen wasn’t sure what to think when they finally arrived at Violet’s on Saturday morning, an ordinary-enough apartment building.

“You’re sure this is a legit designer?” she asked, and Courtney grinned at her, pulling her inside. She held a box of pastries and a Glimmer-branded reusable bag full of swag for Violet’s five-year-old daughter, Melati.

“One of the best I know!”

When Violet opened the door, Courtney greeted her like a long-lost sibling, pulling her into a fierce hug, kissing her cheeks. Violet seemed to tolerate this, but still let out a relieved sigh as Courtney let go.

“Violet, this is Vixen!” Courtney said excitedly.  

“Hello. Nice to meet you.” Violet stuck out her hand and shook Vixen’s, very formal and professional.

“Vix, Violet is basically a sorceress with fabric. I can’t wait for you to see her stuff in person,” Courtney told her, sliding off her shoes. She then let out a happy squeal, spotting a tiny face with big dark eyes poking around the corner bashfully. She bounded forward to greet Melati with a happy, “Bonjour, Melati!”

Melati’s eyes widened and she disappeared, hiding under a table.

“Sorry. She’s still processing that Princess Lucie is real, and knows her name. I’ve attempted to explain that you’re an actress, but Sutan keeps sabotaging my attempts,” Violet explained. “Something about keeping the magic alive.”

Courtney giggled, dropping to her knees and peeking at Melati under the table, singing, “Bonjooour, mon petit chou!”

Vixen had removed her shoes by this point, holding them awkwardly in her hands.

“You can put your shoes on the top shelf there,” Violet said kindly. “I’m afraid our dog can’t be trusted with anything. I’m still mourning the loss of a pair of Louboutins.”

Vixen chuckled, placing her shoes (and Courtney’s) carefully onto the shelf, and then followed Violet into the house.

Melati seemed to have gotten over her initial shyness, jumping into Courtney’s arms and laughing joyfully as Courtney swung her around.

“Courtney, not in the living room, please,” Violet said, then to her daughter, “Pas ici.” Melati obeyed, sliding down from Courtney’s arms and clinging to her side.

“Je suis désolé!” Courtney cried dramatically, and Melati giggled. She looked at Vixen and explained, “I know that from Madonna’s ‘Sorry.’”

“Impressive,” Vixen told her, while Violet rolled her eyes.

“Shall we get started?” Violet asked, guiding them quickly through the apartment and up a small flight of stairs.

“Where’s Sutan?”

“In London for the weekend. He sends his regrets.”

“Aww, bummer.”

Violet opened the door to her studio, then turned to them with a stern look on her face, addressing Courtney directly.

“Child rules apply in here. You may look, but don’t touch.”

“Oui madame!” Courtney said with a salute, then walked inside, immediately exclaiming over a bunch of intricate fabric flowers, picking one up to ask, “Did you make this?!”

“Courtney! What did I just say?” Violet snatched the flower out of her hand.

“Sorry. Can’t take her anywhere,” Vixen said.

“Ooh, I love this beading…” Courtney walked towards the wardrobe rack, Violet nearly diving in front of her to stop her from touching that, too.

She put her hands on her hips, making Courtney pout playfully, and then leaned down to tell Melati something in French.

“Viens,” said the little girl, pulling Courtney out of the room by the hand.

“Help, I’m being kidnapped by a tiny little person!”

“I told her to keep you out of trouble!” Violet called after them, then turned to Vixen with an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry about that.

“It’s fine,” Vixen laughed. “I live with her, so I’m pretty used to it.”

Violet chuckled under her breath, and walked to the wardrobe rack to unzip a few garment bags.

“If you’ll please disrobe, we can get started. I can give you some hangers for your things if you need.”

“Oh...that’s okay.” Vixen was wearing skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. Not really clothes she’d normally hang. She began to remove them slowly, feeling only slightly awkward.

“I’m sorry that we haven’t had a chance for more consultations, but with the distance, and my job, and my family…”

“Please don’t apologize! I’m so grateful for all the work you’re done.” Vixen turned around, down to her bra and panties.

“The top has a built in bustier, so no bra is needed.” Violet held it out, and Vixen nearly gasped.

The sketches had been lovely, but this was absolutely stunning, a flowing sleeveless top with gorgeous pearl and gold beading in cascading floral patterns. When you looked closer, it became apparent that the beads were in fact pearl buttons, gold cufflinks and other menswear elements.

“Given your desires, and my own aesthetic, it was a bit of a challenge to incorporate the menswear theme, but I did my best. I still have a bit of beading to do, but it’s mostly done.”

“It’s incredible,” Vixen said, unclasping her bra. “Really, so far beyond what I was expecting.”

Violet gave her a satisfied nod, hanging the top and lifting another garment from the rack.

“Shall we try on the trousers?”

‘Trousers’ wouldn’t exactly have been Vixen’s way of describing the bottoms: a pair of draped, beautifully moving pants, with a satin strip down the side reminiscent of a tuxedo. After showing her, Violet quickly turned them inside out and then held them out for Vixen to step into.

It was a very strange experience. This woman that she barely knew dressing her, something she hadn’t experienced since she was a small child and her mom helped her into her clothes for preschool. She tried not to be awkward about it, happy that she’d at least remembered to wear nude panties today.

Violet stepped back, examining her with a critical eye, before picking up a set of pins and kneeling. Vixen stood as still as possible, trying not to be self-conscious. This was Violet’s job; she probably dealt with people’s bodies on a daily basis. The fact that her tits were out surely didn’t faze her, so why should Vixen feel weird?

She worked quickly and carefully, getting up to examine the pants from multiple angles. Her long dark hair was pulled away from her face, into a high ponytail, and as Vixen studied her serious expression, she realized that what could be read as coldness was actually just deep concentration, a passion for her work that made Vixen feel right at home.

They tried on the top next, the heavy and intricate beading telling Vixen that it was by far the most expensive garment she’d even had on her body. It was amazing.

Vixen watched herself in the floor-length mirror, turning slightly, admiring how beautiful the whole ensemble looked. She started fantasizing about what she was gonna do with her hair, when Violet’s voice cut into her thoughts.

“Have you thought about shoes?”

“Oh, um...not really. What do you think?”

“I can give you some suggestions if you like,” Violet offered, and Vixen smiled at her.

“That would be great! Thank you.”

Violet was walking around the room, again examining the look from multiple angles, once in awhile stepping forward to place a pin here or mark something down on her notepad. At one point, she gave a thoughtful nod, then said, “You carry this look well. How do you feel about it?”

“Oh, um...it’s beautiful!” Vixen could tell by the thoughtful way she said it that a compliment like that from Violet must be rare and sincere. She felt comfortable enough to continue, admitting, “I’m a little nervous--not about the clothes! Just...I’ve never been to anything like the Met Gala in my life.”

“That’s understandable, but I wouldn’t worry,” Violet assured her. “The most nerve-wracking part is the red carpet, and you’ll be with Courtney, who I think might actually like it.”

“I know she likes it,” Vixen laughed.

“Right.” Violet shook her head. “I will never understand her.”

***

The rest of their time in Paris (well, the day and a half before they had to fly back to L.A.) was like a dream. Of course, their social media had been blowing up like crazy ever since posting those pictures, and Courtney did nothing to quell the wild speculation, posting more pictures, as well as tweeting mysterious, romantic things like “I get to wake up to her every morning. #gratitude” and “When she’s breathing beside me, I’m home.”

But for the most part, they ignored all of the messages, all of the questions, and simply enjoyed the fresh spring air and the beautiful city, doing their best to avoid the ever-present paparazzi until they realized that it was no use, and just rolled with it.

On Monday, Courtney woke up to clear, blue skies and sunlight filtering in through the gauzy curtains. She rolled over, brushing away a curl that had fallen across Vixen’s face, smiling at her eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” she said, placing a soft kiss on Vixen’s cheek.

“Morning…” Vixen rubbed her eyes, yawning, then snuggled against Courtney’s body, seeking out the warmth of her skin.

“You bummed to be going back home today?” Courtney asked, and Vixen shook her head.

“Mm-mm,” she said, voice slightly muffled against Courtney’s neck, then added. “How could I be bummed? I’m going back with you.”

Courtney inhaled sharply, caught off guard by her sleepy sweetness, and pulled her in tighter.

“I love you so much,” she whispered fiercely into her hair, and Vixen gave a small, adorable sigh.

***

There was really no reason to be this nervous, Vixen thought. It wasn’t like she was a real celebrity. The cameras and attention would be on Courtney and Honey, the actual movie stars, not on her.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t deny the rush of butterflies as she sat beside Courtney in the car. The ensemble Violet designed fit her perfectly, and upon her suggestion, she’d paired it with some Miu Miu stilettos, ruby lipstick and a jeweled hair clip in her brand new weave--long, rich, dark brown hair with chestnut highlights, styled in meticulous Marcel waves that made her feel like a goddess. She caught Courtney’s eyes, grinning at her.

Her girlfriend was stunning as usual, her black, high-necked, open-backed tuxedo gown just the right balance of revealing sexiness and teasing modesty. The full skirt had a slit almost the whole way up that you didn’t see until she was in motion, and her blonde hair was tucked under, giving her an almost masculine illusion. Her minimalist jewelry consisted of a simple diamond bracelet, the only splash of color her shiny, short, deep red nails.

“You look very classy,” Vixen commented.

“Yeah?” Courtney asked. “I don’t know how I feel about such an extreme lack of color.”

“No, it’s good.”

“Yeah,” Honey chimed in, from where she sat with her date across from them in the limo. “You need to give the rainbow explosion a break once in awhile.”

“Well...I do have pink and yellow panties on,” Courtney admitted, and they all laughed.

“Of course you do,” Vixen said.

“I mean no one will see them!” she exclaimed. “Probably. Unless the night gets real crazy.”

“Can we make bets?” asked Honey’s date, Michael, making Vixen giggle. She’d only met him a few minutes before, but she already liked him.

“Let’s not,” quipped a woman tersely from the front seat. She was a publicist from Disney whose name Vixen kept forgetting, instead just thinking of her as The Dragon.

“Oh, right,” Courtney said, reaching for Vixen’s hand as they approached the Met. “I guess since we’re here on Disney’s dime, I need to be on good behavior.”

“Only until we get back to the hotel, though, right?” Vixen asked, and Courtney shot her a naughty grin.

“We’ll see…”

Honey and Michael exited the car first, the photographers going nuts over her stunning white pinstripe suit, tailored to perfection.

“Ready?” Courtney asked, and Vixen nodded.

The Dragon was already shooting instructions at them. Well, mostly at Courtney, but it made her head spin a little.

Before they got out, Courtney leaned in and whispered, “If she pulls me away, stick with Michael. He’ll take care of you and make sure you guys stay close.”

Vixen laughed, steeling her nerves, feeling weirdly like she had back in junior high before a basketball game. Here we go...

***

Once Courtney was finally finished with her press obligations, she turned to Vixen with a happy, relieved sigh. She couldn’t help but once again think about just how gorgeous she looked: the cream and ivory ensemble Violet had designed made her dark skin glow, and she’d opted for an understated, barely-there look with her eye makeup--all lashes and just a hint of shimmer. Plus those lips. So red and full and kissable...Courtney could barely wait to get her alone later and just ruin it.

First, though, they had to get through this gala. Courtney took Vixen’s hand and led her inside, where they wandered around together. They looked through the exhibit, and exchanged pleasant, mundane small talk with a mind-boggling number of people. Vixen completely cracked Courtney up with her impression of one of the Vogue editors, and then for a little while, they played a game where they pretended to be museum docents, describing the various pieces to each other with the most pretentious language they could come up with.

While Vixen used the restroom, Courtney found one of the bars and got them a couple of drinks. Champagne always went straight to her head, but she figured that if there was ever a place to get a bit silly, this was it.

“Yes, you heard me. One champagne and a tequila sunrise,” said a familiar voice, and Courtney turned, a big smile on her face.

“Bianca!”

Bianca’s gruff expression melted into a grin as she reached forward to give Courtney a hug.

“Hey there! Nice dress!” she held Courtney by the waist to get a good look. “Siriano, right?”

“Yeah. And I see you really took the menswear theme to heart.”

Bianca was wearing one of her favorite silhouettes: a boat-necked, figure-hugging, floor length gown with a trumpet skirt. It was black and beaded and of course looked great on her, but had nothing whatsoever to do with the theme.

“Listen. Anna Wintour can’t fucking tell me what to wear!” she barked, and Courtney threw back her head with laughter.

“Never change, B.”

“Not much danger of that at this point,” Bianca said, accepting the drinks from the bartender. “I’m glad I ran into you. We found your date, but-”

“We?” Dread filled her stomach like a lead balloon as Bianca directed her gaze to where Vixen stood, talking to none other than Miss Fame herself. Seeing them, Courtney had a lightheaded rush of fear that she hadn’t experienced for almost ten years, and she inhaled sharply.

“What’s the matter?” Bianca asked. “You think Fame’s gonna eat her?”

“I…” Courtney couldn’t explain it. How the anxiety that she felt as a 21-year-old could still return in the presence of that woman. She knew that logically, everything was fine. In recent years, things between her and Fame had gotten downright friendly. And she appeared to be having a perfectly pleasant conversation with Vixen, clad in one of her signature 50-shades-of-white ensembles.

“Relax,” Bianca said, chuckling softly, forearm resting on Courtney’s shoulder. “Our brides are fine. They actually look cute together, don’t you think?”

A laugh bubbled up from Courtney’s chest; they did look awfully bridal, especially standing together. She turned to Bianca, a rush of gratitude coloring her cheeks, thrilled by her tacit approval. She pulled her in for a hug, saying, “They do.”

“Aww, look who else just arrived,” Bianca said, and Courtney turned again.

Raja and Raven, in complementary outfits of royal purple and gray, had joined the little group.

“Okay, now we really do have to save her,” Courtney said, rushing towards them, Bianca laughing behind her.

***

When they finally arrived back at their hotel, the first thing they did was kick off their hideously uncomfortable shoes and strip down. The hotel had sent up a huge basket of luxury bath products, and Courtney suggested filling the jacuzzi tub and dumping all of it in. The result was a fragrant tub with so much bath oil and moisturizing products that their skin immediately became slick and slippery.

Vixen relaxed against the side of the tub, one of the powerful jets aimed at her lower back, and another at her feet. Courtney leaned against her, eyes closed as Vixen’s fingers carded through her hair, slowly removing bobby pin after bobby pin until her hair hung down in stiff waves. She dunked her head under the water, scrubbing to remove the residual mousse and hairspray before coating her hair with a thick layer of conditioning mask and cuddling up once again.

“It was more fun than I thought it would be,” Vixen said, breaking the comfortable silence, fingers trailing up Courtney’s arm.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Less stuffy. Not that I’d want to do it often but, I had a pretty good time.”

Courtney smiled, leaning her head back to rest on Vixen’s shoulder.

“I did too…” she said, then added almost as an afterthought, “Bianca approves of you.”

“Oh yeah? Did you need her approval?” Vixen asked. It was a casual enough question, but it still seemed to make Courtney pause. Did she need Bianca’s approval? Vixen waited for her to respond, realizing that she’d be okay with any answer. After all, Bianca was an important person in her life.

“No...not exactly…but it was still nice.” Courtney smiled sheepishly, and twisted around slightly to tell Vixen, “I guess maybe I didn’t realize how much I didn’t need it until I got it.”

“Fair enough,” Vixen laughed, dropping a kiss to Courtney’s shoulder.

“So...I’m glad you liked it.”

“I did. Although I think I underestimated my ability to wear stilettos for that many hours without dying.”

“Aw, do your feet hurt, baby?” cooed Courtney. She slipped from Vixen’s arms to the opposite side of the tub, where her feet were.  

“They’re killing me…”

Courtney took Vixen’s feet into her lap, and began to give them a gentle massage. Vixen’s eyes fell closed blissfully, luxuriating in the warm water and tender caresses. Courtney began with her feet, but after awhile, moved up to her ankles and calves. Vixen nearly fell asleep three times, but finally blinked her eyes open, pulling Courtney towards her for a kiss.

“Can I do something for you now?” she murmured, and Courtney lifted her head to give her a heavy-lidded smirk.

“Let’s get out of here and see…”

“I was thinking like, helping you rinse this shit out of your hair, but...” Vixen touched her hair, still covered with that thick mask.

“Oh fuck,” Courtney giggled. “I guess we better do that first.”  

Vixen smiled at her, taking the handheld nozzle off the hook and turning it on. She tested the water with her hand, gesturing for Courtney to turn around, and then quickly rinsed her hair, fingertips scratching at her scalp. When she turned it off, she pressed a kiss to Courtney’s neck.

“Come on. Let’s go get bath oil all over those fancy sheets…”

“Sold!”

***

There was something different in Vixen’s eyes tonight as she hovered over Courtney on the bed. She was usually content to be pampered and guided--not submissive exactly, but certainly leaning in that direction. Tonight though, Courtney shivered in anticipation, looking up at her hungry brown eyes, shining dark in the dim light, every once in awhile catching a glint of gold.

They’d been at it for awhile, having tumbled into bed after their bath, Vixen’s mouth traveling all over Courtney’s heated skin. She’d lost track of time completely as Vixen made her tremble and whimper, getting her all worked up, only to tease her cruelly. Her fingertips now danced up Courtney’s thighs, light as a feather, making her breath catch in her throat. Courtney reached up towards her, one hand on her waist, another one her face, thumb stroking her cheek.

The corner of Vixen’s mouth twitched, becoming a smirk as she looked down at Courtney. One finger began to trace slow patterns along her collarbone, little circles getting bigger and loopier over her chest. Courtesy whimpered, back arching, trying unsuccessfully to pull her body down.

“Trying to tell me something, baby?” The pad of her finger circled one of Courtney’s nipples teasingly.

In response, Courtney arched up again.

“I want you,” she said, failing to suppress the pathetic need in her voice.

Vixen crawled forward slightly, pressing a thigh up against her pussy, giving her something to grind wetly against. It was good, so good that Courtney gasped in pleasure, Vixen’s thigh flexing against her as fingers continued toying with her tits. But soon, it wasn’t enough, and Courtney was pulling Vixen’s hips down, head falling back to expose her throat.

Vixen licked up her neck, layering kisses against her hammering pulse point. Courtney’s legs spread open, the gentle pressure of Vixen’s weight pressing her down into the mattress.

Courtney loved Vixen’s body. She had small tits that fit perfectly in Courtney’s hands, long slender limbs, and the most buttery soft skin she’d ever felt, especially fresh out of the bath. She loved to touch her, to feel her and taste her and kiss her all over.

She was painfully aware, though, that there were things she needed to be sensitive about when they were together. Even though she and Vixen had jumped into bed together on their first date, she’d spent a lot of their excruciating months apart asking gentle, probing questions about what she liked, what she didn’t, if there was anything that made her uncomfortable. Vixen was a bit shy at first, so Courtney didn’t push too hard, but every once in awhile, if she’d had enough wine, she would open up quite a bit, giving Courtney real insight into her fantasies.

And then of course, once they’d been able to really take their time and explore with each other, Courtney discovered a whole world of possibilities. Where she was most sensitive, how her fingers flexed and then curled slowly into fists when she liked something. How she was generally more interested in gentle, loving touches than hard, orgasm-focused penetration.

Courtney was careful to go slowly, and to follow her lead for anything below the waist. She didn’t want to make any assumptions about her body, or make her feel fetishized - but she also wanted to make sure to express how beautiful and sexy she found every part of her. It was a fine line, a balancing act that Courtney wasn’t sure she always got right.

She knew, for example, that Vixen preferred the term “girldick” and was partial to having it treated more like a clit - kissed and licked and rubbed and gently sucked. And Courtney was happy to oblige, loving the feel and the taste of her, how her cum had a faint sweetness to it. But recently, she’d surprised Courtney with a whispered confession in the dark that she wasn’t expecting.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe I want to try...topping,” Vixen said, hiding her face in Courtney’s hair, adorably bashful. “I mean, it’s so hot when you do it, and it doesn’t make me think of you as any less of a woman, and so…”

“You’re 100% woman. Every bit of you,” Courtney whispered back, but she’d also been a tiny bit nervous. After all, the last time anyone had tried penetrating her had been a bit of a disaster, and ever since then, she hadn’t wanted to revisit it. But on the other hand, she loved Vixen so much, and trusted her, and so maybe it was time to rethink her own boundaries.

“I don’t know if I can, though,” Vixen then added. “I mean, it doesn’t get hard the way it used to…”

“We can figure it out,” Courtney had said, kissing her, wrapping her up into a sleepy embrace. But the conversation never went any farther. Vixen hadn’t brought it up again, and Courtney didn’t really think any more about it. Until right now.

And tonight, there was something so fucking sexy about the way Vixen rutted against her, soft little sighs leaving her as she rolled her hips. Courtney grew wetter and wetter, fingers digging into her firm ass, pulling her closer. Vixen lifted her head, interrupting a deep, messy kiss to look into Courtney’s glazed eyes.

“Is this okay? Are you…”

“It’s perfect…You’re perfect.” Courtney could feel the soft tip of her girldick pushing against her, and she arched up, welcomed it deeper with her hand, loving the feel of Vixen getting closer and closer with every thrust.

It was so different from anything Courtney had ever experienced; so flexible and warm. It was a gentle kind of fullness, nothing rigid or demanding or painful like it had been for Courtney in the past. Courtney hugged Vixen’s hips with her thighs, hands sliding up her back, raking over her shoulder blades and back down to her waist.

“Baby, this is so hot,” Courtney whimpered, and then Vixen angled forward so that she was rubbing vigorously against Courtney’s clit, making her moan. “Fuuuck…”

Courtney could feel herself getting close, right on the verge. She captured Vixen’s lips in another kiss, sucking hard on her bottom lip and then tangling their tongues together. She panted into her mouth, snaking one hand down between her ass cheeks to stroke her, eliciting a little gasp from Vixen’s thoat, a familiar sound that told Courtney she was close too.

As Vixen’s hips pumped faster and faster, Courtney tried to hang on, but knuckles brushing over her stiff nipples was the last straw, and suddenly she was racked with ecstatic pleasure, wave after wave hitting her. By the end, she was barely moving, just clinging to Vixen’s body as her muscles convulsed, ankles locked together to keep her as close as possible.

The intense, messy kisses soon turned slow and gentle again as Courtney slowly caught her breath, bodies still sandwiched together.

“Wow…”

“Uh-huh...”

“That was different,” Vixen said, lips brushing against Courtney’s temple.

“Did you like it?” Courtney asked, fingers dancing up Vixen’s spine.

“...that might be an understatement.”

“Yeah, it was pretty...amazing,” Courtney giggled, nodding, catching her gaze. Her brown eyes shone softly in the dim light. “I love you so much.”

“Me too, baby.”

#rpdr fanfiction #revelation sunshine #veronica #the vixen #courtney act #courtney x vixen #trans!vixen #violet chachki #honey mahogany #bianca del rio #fluff #smut #lesbian au #galactica au #black girl magic fic #trans character #background bianca x fame

[rebellect-writes]

[SIZE=1][b]Name:[/b] Jess. [b]Age:[/b] 21. [b]How did you find us?:[/b] In the TARDIS’s swimming pool.

[b]Name:[/b] Drew Shamis.   [b]Nicknames & Aliases:[/b] Drew works as best as anything. Dew at a push. [b]Age:[/b] 27. [b]Date of Birth:[/b] May 11th 1984 [b]Gender:[/b] Male. [b]Sexual Orientation:[/b] Homosexual. [b]Occupation:[/b] Works at and owns Creature Comforts. [b]Powers:[/b] None.

[b]Face Claim:[/b] Ryan Kwanten. [b]Description:[/b] [IMG]http://www.blogher.com/files/Jason-sized.jpg[/IMG] [i]Height:[/i] 5’10 [i]Weight:[/i] 150lbs. [i]Eyes:[/i] Brown. [i]Hair:[/i] Dirty blond. [i]Build:[/i] Average. [i]Visible marks:[/i] He has a nasty looking scar circling his right wrist from where wire cut to the bone. Also, Drew has a tribal wolf [URL=http://th09.deviantart.net/fs15/150/f/2007/073/6/9/Tribal_Wolf_Bust_and_Paw_by_KMoongangSR.png]tattoo[/URL] on his right shoulder. [i]Style:[/i] Drew’s not the type to spend money on lots of clothes he’d wear once. So he gets and wears what he’s comfortable in. So jeans, t-shirts, boots. If he has to dress up, he will do but he always feels like a clown when he does. Jewellery isn't something he'd normally wear either. The exception to that rule is a gold crucifix that he's had since he was a kid.

[b]Special Skills:[/b] He's good at working on the fly, if that counts. He’s also pretty handy when it comes to slinging out drunks at the bar. [b]Personality:[/b]   At first glance, Drew’s the type that smiles and tries to be the friendly type of guy. He may not look it or come off it at times but he’s actually a smart one. He just hides it behind his sometimes dumb looks and useless comments. Drew wants people to be comfortable around him so if he can make people laugh and also laugh at himself, he counts that as win. Now he’s not exactly smart-alecky either, Drew knows when to hold his tongue and stop talking. It’s probably something that he’s picked up and harnessed while working at the bar, who knows.

He’s loyal, stubborn and persistent, and not always in that order. Drew will back friends no matter what because that bond means a lot to him. Former friends fall into his loyalty zone, even if they drag him into some kind of trouble. That’s not to say that he’ll let people walk right over him. He’s more than willing to give a little as long as he receives and if someone’s run out their fourth, fifth and sixth second chance with him, he knows when to call it a day and just walk away. While he may go out of his way to help people and be friendly, Drew’s not an attention seeker and won’t willingly search for it and he’s not exactly great when dragged into the spot light either.

Drew’s known love once, and he’s still in love despite having no idea if Eric is alive or dead. He’s held out hope since he was sixteen that Eric is alive though, and where most people would have moved on and found someone else, Drew hasn’t done so. One night stands don’t appeal to him; women at the pub get turned down or distracted by Ja-Mal while Drew can escape into the office out the back. It’s been over ten years, you’d think that he would have done the sensible thing and let things lie, but he hasn’t. Did I mention that stubborn streak?

On matters regarding the supernatural, Drew’s pretty loud. He doesn’t care if a person has fangs, fur, scales or feathers. They’re still human. He’s not about to go out and cause trouble just because he’s breakable. Drew knows for a fact that a lot of things could end his life, and he’s more than likely to end up in a deadly bar fight than eaten by a ‘monster’. And that’s another thing! He hates the word “monster” being used when referring to preternatural people. The only thing that Drew doesn’t tolerate is when someone kicks off in Creature Comforts, he does have human clients to and his ‘baby’ doesn’t need to be seeing none of that nasty Hollywood monster mojo.

Because people see him as a nice guy, they generally get a shock when he snaps. Drew’s not an angry person by nature and it takes a lot to make him so but when he gets angry, he also gets a little angsty and may slightly paranoid. He’s locked himself away in his office for hours before today and had to be dragged out by his best friend because a delivery had been messed up. He doesn’t like being angry, or scared, or any of those pesky negative emotions because then he can’t help but wonder why he tries so hard. [b]Likes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Cherry coke. [*] Playing video games. [*] Canines. Shush your faces. [*] Working so he doesn't have to think. [*] His baby, Creature Comforts. [*] Cooking. [/LIST][b]Dislikes:[/b] [LIST] [*] Thunderstorms and rain. [*] Dealing with drunks at the pub. [*] People demanding he does something. [*] Being stuck indoors. [*] The catholic religion. [*] Doctors, hospitals, anything medical. [/LIST][b]Strengths:[/b] [LIST] [*] Understanding and accepting of the supernatural. [*] Knows when to back down in a situation. [*] His stubborn streak. That’s saved his life. [*] Isn’t opposed to listening to others ideas. [/LIST][b]Weaknesses:[/b] [LIST] [*] Clowns, borderline fear. [*] Eric. [*] Sometimes he forgets to look after himself. [*] Smokes when he’s stressed. That’ll kill him one day no doubt. [/LIST][b]History:[/b]  

Back in the early summer of 1984, a young mum named Cheyenne gave birth to a bouncing baby boy. There wasn’t much room to celebrate though. Cheyenne had a ‘white boy’ according to her boyfriend at the time, Louis. He was Hispanic in origin; Cheyenne was only half Native American from her mother’s Hopi blood. The boy that she named Drew didn’t look like it at all; in fact he looked more like the beast that had taken her virginity in a brutal attack. Still, she didn’t hold that against her son and even though the colour of skin drove Louis away and left the small family broken, she did her best for almost two years before finally giving up and signing Drew away into the child protections services. She left no trail for Drew to pick up should he ever want to contact her, only a scribbled tribe name on a book store receipt and her cross.

Since he was too little to remember his real parents, Drew grew up in a small town house in the central business district of New Orleans. He hated it with a passion, his sister Anna made his life hell and Amanda and Nickolas his foster parents didn’t even notice, they were so wrapped up in their own respective work lives the majority of the time they barely even noticed their own biological daughter, their foster son was beyond them. It was basically a time where he brought himself up, if he fell down then he picked himself up, if he was hungry, then he made himself something to eat and avoided the family as much as possible by staying out as late as possible or locking himself away. It wasn’t like the bruises from Anna’s ‘lessons’ would have bothered his mom or his dad even if they had seen them when he was around.

By the age of thirteen, nearly fourteen, he’d more or less dropped out of school and spent a lot of his time on the streets avoiding things. He met another kid, just a little older than him called Eric and they started hanging out more and more. By the time he was sixteen, he’d developed a major crush on Eric but he was always scared that the other male would turn him away. He’d seen Eric’s parents once, and they in a roundabout way made Drew glad that he had foster parents even if he did want to deck Eric’s deadbeat dad. It was only a few weeks after getting a glimpse of what Eric’s parents were like that he finally admitted that he had feelings for Eric and got the shock of his life when Eric admitted the same thing.

They had a year together and it was great. Drew would always come up with something new for Eric and Eric would retaliate and surprise him. It was one of the happiest times in Drew’s life and not even his bitchy sister couldn’t ruin for him. Even his foster mom was a little more approachable, especially after she’d stumbled across him and Eric making out. The happiness was short lived though. Eric’s Ulfric caught them out one day along with the pack Bolverk. Ulfric Shane believed that wolves should stay with their own kind and wanted to deal with the ‘embarrassment’ that the boys had become before anyone within Eric’s pack got any bright ideas and tried something funny, so he set the evil doer on Eric to teach him a lesson.

While the wolves fought and tore into each, Drew was held back by Shane. He struggled, it was only natural, and the guy snapped Drew’s arm in two like a twig without even blinking. He was hauled away when Shane thought that he’d got what he wanted. Drew all the while thought that he’d end up as Gator bait or something worse, dinner for Shane. It was perhaps a stroke of luck that a rival pack decided to take over the territory because Shane wasn’t doing what he should’ve been doing. Drew never saw his boyfriend come mate again after that day, the only thing he remembers seeing was his Eric pinned by some shaggy Hollywood monster that smelt of wet dog.

Shane handed Drew off to the Geri and Hati, loyalists that believed in what Shane did. These pair weren’t none too gentle with the teenager either. The Geri threw Drew in the back of a car after clocking him upside the head and that was it. Bye bye Eric, bye bye New Orleans and hello Chicago. He fought against the two wolves, Julian and Warrick. If they thought that he was going to sit back and let them just walk all over him then they had another thing coming. Of course every time he resisted something that they said or did, they hurt him. After awhile it was like he became their pet, he stayed with them for almost three years before they finally let him wander around on his own. The first chance he got, Drew ran as fast as he could and didn’t stop until he collapsed and when he got up he ran some more.

Drew bounced around a lot after that, finding work when and where he could. Sure, he could’ve gone back to New Orleans and tried to find out what had happened. Instead something kept him away from his home. He tried getting a life for himself, and by the time he was twenty five he’d made his way across the pond and settled in the UK, Jackford actually. Instead of sitting on his thumb though, Drew hunted for a purpose and found a rundown family pub that was up for sale because the owner’s wife had passed on because of cancer after pouring her life into the business. Drew snapped the offer up with a promise there’d be a memorial for her. He’s made a good go at things at Creature Comforts since then and still stays somewhat under the radar. Just in case.[/SIZE]