#holding out blind hope maybe it will come out on her birthday

[dorothygale]

@taylorswift 🌀 you wanna release the taylor swift holiday collection (taylor's version) you wanna release it so so bad 🌀

#blabs #*taylor #holding out blind hope maybe it will come out on her birthday #which of course is not a friday but she probably wouldn't care much about sales for that one #if it's just the EP nothing extra #50

[yelena-bellova]

Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten: September 26th, 2003

Plot: There are very few tragedies in life that come with warning.

Word Count: 12.8k (longest chapter yet)

Warnings: tlou ep.1 spoilers, language, canon-typical violence, gore, blood, guns, death, loss of a child, injuries, implied smut (16+)

A/N: Well, we’ve arrived at that fateful chapter…this took so long to even be emotionally able to write. There are so many small details that I hope people catch, and plenty of things to remember for future chapters.

As always, this series is 16+ and I will not be adding anyone to the taglist unless your age/range is specified in your bio. Gotta look out for younger eyes 👀

I hope y’all enjoy this one, and thank you so much for all the kind words, theories and general love I receive throughout the week 💞

————————

September 26th, 2003. Austin, Texas.

There are very few tragedies in life that come with warning.

Families of the terminally ill are given a vague timeline of when they’ll lose their loved one.

Soldiers are told before marching into battle that they may lose their life.

But a car crash does not announce itself before causing the collision.

A heart attack doesn’t prepare its victim before it steals their breath.

Nor did Cordyceps feel it owed the world any notice before it arrived.

On the morning of September 26th, Y/n was awoken by strips of sunlight coming through the blinds of Joel’s bedroom window. She was the early riser out of the two and she never minded, it gave her more time to admire the handsome lump weighing her down.

Y/n brushed a strand of hair off her boyfriend’s forehead and pressed a feather light kiss to it. Joel didn’t wake easily, but she liked to say she at least tried the sweet way before having to go nuclear. She gently rubbed his back, running her palm up and down the warm skin, but it only made him settle deeper into her chest. Y/n smiled and shook her head, knowing that in mere seconds….

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

It truly was miraculous how deep Joel could go into his rest. Y/n rolled her eyes and tried to reach across the pillows to switch off the clock, her fingers wiggling in the air as she strained. With his arms firmly wrapped around Y/n’s body, Joel didn’t even budge.

Finally, salvation came in the form of Sarah banging on the bedroom door, jolting Joel awake.

“Alarm,” the girl called, raising her voice the second time, “Alarm!”

“Thank you,” Y/n called back.

Joel rolled over, barely aware of his surroundings, and switched off the clock. He pushed up on one arm and turned back to his girlfriend, watching him with a smirk.

“What?”

Y/n shook her head, “You must be great in emergencies.”

Joel rubbed at his eyes, “Maybe I’m a little tired because someone wore me out last night.”

“Oh, don’t blame me for this,” Y/n laughed, “A year and a half and I’ve never seen you wake up when your alarm goes off. Not once.”

Joel looked down at her, squinting from the sunlight, a small smile playing on his lips, “Maybe I hear it, but there’s a more compellin’ reason to ignore it.”

He slipped back down into the sheets, resting his head once again on Y/n’s chest.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Y/n began to shimmy out of his arms, “We gotta get up.”

Joel tightened his hold around her torso, “My birthday, I make the rules.”

“No, it’s your birthday and Sarah and I make the rules,” Y/n corrected. Joel had never been one for celebrating the day, meaning it was up to Sarah and Y/n to make the day special, “What you want actually ranks very low on the list.”

Joel was paying very little attention to his girlfriend’s words, trailing a line of kisses up the chest of his t-shirt she was wearing and across her neck. “Five minutes,” he mumbled against her skin.

“No,” Y/n denied, her pulse speeding up the further his lips travelled.

“Yes,” Joel ignored her protests, making his way up to where her jawline met her ear.

“No,” Y/n laughed, her words not lining up with her reaction as she ran a hand over Joel’s hair.

“Say it again, honey,” Joel whispered against her ear, “And mean it.”

Y/n was teetering on the edge of letting him take what he wanted, but her loyalty to Joel’s daughter won out. “Sarah’s cooking you breakfast,” she said, slipping her hand between their chests, “And I’m not gonna be the one to tell her that her dad missed out on her efforts because he was horny.”

Joel snorted, dropping his head and laughing against Y/n’s chest.

Y/n pulled his face up to hers and laid a kiss on his lips, “Happy Birthday.”

“Just another reminder I’m gettin’ old,” Joel grumbled.

“True,” Y/n smiled, taking his scratchy cheeks into her palms, “But you’re my old man.”

Joel chortled, running his hands over Y/n’s body one last time before reluctantly rolling off of her. Their day had to begin, whether he wanted it to or not…

The two got dressed for work, while Y/n hadn’t officially moved in with the Millers, it was her second home. She kept practically one of everything in Joel’s room because of how often she slept over.

Y/n was the first of them down the stairs, landing in the kitchen where Sarah was already laying strips of bacon in a pan, “Can you take this so I can get the eggs?”

“You got it,” Y/n responded, switching places with the girl.

Sarah opened the fridge doors, getting a whiff of the inside, “When was the last time we cleaned this out?”

“Uh, two weeks ago, I think,” Y/n replied.

“Well, something died in it recently,” Sarah stated, grabbing a bowl to whisk the eggs in.

Sarah and Y/n’s relationship had stayed as steady as her and Joel’s. She’d expected some sort of pushback eventually, Sarah had just hit the teenage years, but it had yet to come. Y/n theorized it was because the young girl was just happy to have a woman in her life, but she felt like that was giving herself too much credit.

With the protein cooking on the stove, Sarah started searching through the cabinets. Joel had just come downstairs, still buckling his belt.

“Where’s the pancake mix?” Sarah asked her dad.

Still groggy, Joel scrunched his brows. “Oh, I was-” he’d forgotten the trip to the store he was supposed to take the night before, “Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

“I was gonna make you birthday pancakes,” his daughter complained, marching to the fridge and muttering to herself, “I swear…”

Joel ignored the smell of the food cooking and headed straight for the coffee pot, “You know, I don’t really like pancakes.”

“I know you don’t,” Sarah replied, pouring a glass of orange juice, “It was for my and Y/n’s benefit.”

“We’ll survive,” Y/n said, working on the eggs while Sarah was away, “Though pancakes are a weird thing to not like.”

Joel bristled at his girlfriend’s remark, turning around and facing Sarah with the glass of juice extended towards him.

“Vitamin C,” she explained.

For as much as Joel took care of his daughter, the roles were beginning to shift the older they both got. Sarah could spot his bad habits and tried to fix them wherever she could, the biggest one being his lack of actual nutrition. The man existed on coffee.

Joel took the glass from her, setting his mug down and humoring Sarah with a sip.

Y/n chuckled as she watched his expression turn sour, “Look more enthusiastic. I dare you.”

Joel grimaced, proceeding to pick up the coffee as soon as Sarah was back at the stove.

“You get your, uh, homework done?” Joel asked Sarah, waiting for her smile when she turned around, “Fractions?”

Sarah laughed, it was fact not only that she was ahead of her classmates, but Y/n was her tutor when it came to math. Joel wanted nothing to do with the subject.

Y/n and Sarah plated the feast and the three of them sat down at the table, as they did most mornings. Between Y/n and Joel’s work schedules and Sarah’s extracurriculars, it was the only guaranteed time they had each day to spend together.

“How old are you again?” Sarah asked her dad.

“Thirty-six,” Joel answered with a mouthful of egg.

“Gonna have to start wearing diapers soon,” Sarah joked, her tone remaining remarkably even.

”Who says I don’t already?” Joel replied, it wasn’t hard to track where Sarah’d gotten her humor from. He proceeded to pick something out of his teeth, looking to his daughter, “Shell.”

“Calcium,” she said, grinning wide with a mouthful of eggs on display.

“Lovely,” Joel muttered, looking over at Y/n as she laughed, “You’re encouragin’ bad table manners.”

Y/n shrugged and held her coffee mug to her lips, ”I see it as supporting a potential future as a comedian.”

The truck engine in the driveway signaled that Tommy was there to pick his brother and Y/n up for the day.

“Is there enough for Uncle Tommy?” Joel asked Sarah.

“There would’ve been,” Sarah grumbled into her plate, still bitter about the lack of pancakes.

“I can whip him up something, if we’ve got time,” Y/n offered.

Joel shook his head, “Nah, we gotta get going.”

Tommy entered through the garage door, the most carefree of them all. “Ay,” he clasped Joel’s shoulder, “You’re still alive, you old fucker.”

“Language,” Y/n chastised, she’d been trying for months to curb Tommy’s soldier’s mouth around Sarah. It wasn’t working.

“Aw,” Sarah cooed to Joel, “He loves you.”

“He’s dependent on me,” Joel watched his brother begin to raid his kitchen, “Not the same.”

Sarah shrugged, “I think it’s the same.”

“It’s definitely the same,” Tommy said, examining the countertops for food, “I thought we was havin’ pancakes.”

“The age started to take his memory last night,” Y/n’s tone turned serious as she pressed a hand to Joel’s bicep, “We’re meeting him where he is.”

Joel’s smirk contradicted the glare he shot his girlfriend, letting her hand stay on his arm through the teasing. “We’ll pick you up somethin’ on the road,” he addressed Tommy, “Concrete guys gonna be there?”

“Yeah, they said maybe,” Tommy replied as he opened up the fridge.

“‘Maybe?’” Joel echoed, “We can’t frame until we pour. We’re not gettin’ paid until we frame.”

Tommy started sniffing through various leftovers, “Well, we could bring someone else on, get the job done faster.”

“No, no,” Joel shook his head and cut up another bite of eggs, “I’m not splittin’ this job, I barely wanna split it with you. We could work a double.”

Sarah and Y/n both turned to him.

“Literally?” Sarah asked, “Today?”

“Joel, come on,” Y/n agreed, “Not today.”

“I know,” Joel was quick to remedy the moment, “I’d be done by nine,” he called to Tommy, “By nine, right?”

Sarah gazed across the table to Y/n, the two of them sharing a disbelieving look.

“I’ll bring back a cake,” Joel looked between the girls, “I promise.”

Y/n sighed, holding her coffee cup to her chest. Joel had been pulling double shifts more and more recently. She’d been meaning to talk to him about it, how she and Sarah had been missing him, but she was in no position to stop him from working. Money was tight and contract work was never a sure thing.

A news broadcast broke up the top 40 station Sarah had turned the radio on to while cooking. “Continued disturbances in Jakarta…” the voice announced, the clinking of silverware against plates breaking it up, “But are advising U.S. citizens-“

“Jakarta?” Joel repeated, “Where is that? Middle East?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Tommy shook his head, holding a coffee cup, “It’s definitely a country. Or maybe a part of Asia?”

Y/n smiled and tilted her head at Sarah, who was already prepared to answer.

“Jakarta isn’t a country,” she interjected, “Being a part of Asia isn’t mutually exclusive with being a country and in fact, it’s the capital of Indonesia.”

“That’s my girl,” Y/n said proudly.

“Shit,” Tommy grinned, “Hope for us yet.”

Joel took a final sip of his coffee before slapping his hand against his bare wrist, still expecting his broken watch to be there. He, instead, dug into his pocket checked the time on his cell phone.

“All right,” he announced to his daughter, collecting his and Y/n’s plates, “Finish up quick. We’ll drop you off.”

“I’m still eating my eggshells,” Sarah said.

“You got seven minutes,” Joel replied, dumping the dishes in the sink for later.

“Your t-shirt’s inside out.”

Joel looked down, deflated at the trip he now had to make back upstairs, “Shit.”

Sarah waited till he was out of the room and cocked a suspicious eyebrow at Y/n.

“Pop that thing down, missy,” Y/n pointed downwards, “Your dad just pays shockingly little attention for someone who works with power tools.”

Tommy smiled over the wings he’d taken for himself, “He’s losin’ it.”

Y/n laughed and nudged Sarah’s leg, “C’mon, finish up.”

Sarah scooped the last bite of egg into her mouth and handed her plate to Y/n, who brushed past Tommy on her way to the sink. She reversed a few steps to get a whiff of the chicken.

“Found the smell,” she called out to Sarah, patting Tommy’s shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Stomach of steel,” he replied, setting his plate on the edge of the sink and planting a kiss on Y/n’s cheek. The two of them had become as good as siblings.

Y/n climbed up the stairs and down the hall to Joel’s room. He emerged just as she approached, brushing his hand across her hip as they passed one another. As much as they both loved pouring out the fullness of their affection, the casual intimacies were their favorites.

Grabbing her keys and wallet off Joel’s dresser, Y/n peeked out the window and waited till she saw Joel outside with Tommy. “Sarah,” she called down the hall.

Sarah tiptoed her way in, just to be safe, “Good?”

“Yep,” Y/n nodded.

Sarah found the assigned drawer, digging through Joel’s possessions to pull out his broken watch. She’d developed the plan to fix it as a birthday present last month and had gotten Y/n in on it.

“You’ve got the money?” Sarah checked.

Y/n flipped through the bills in her wallet, “Should be enough.”

Sarah thumbed through Joel’s cash and pulled out a few extra, smiling mischievously, “Now we can be sure.”

“Sarah! Y/n!” Joel called from the truck, Tommy was honking the horn.

Slipping the watch into her backpack, Sarah and Y/n quickly left the bedroom and headed down the stairs. Y/n hung back to make sure the coffee pot and stove were off before exiting out the front door. From the porch, she could see Sarah was in conversation with Mr. Adler next door. Or rather, dodging conversation.

“Make ‘em happy,” Joel encouraged, passing Y/n to grab another load of tools.

“I could come by after school, but just for like, a little bit,” Sarah offered.

“She’ll take what you got,” Mr. Adler replied as he fed his elderly mother-in-law, “Y’all can bake or whatever. Speakin’ of,” the man held up a plate, “We got a lotta extra here, y’all want some biscuits?”

“Dad,” Sarah masterfully tossed the ball to Joel, “You love biscuits.”

“I do,” Joel replied cheerily, “But Y/n’s got me on Atkins.”

Y/n snorted, watching the exchange go down from the bed of the truck.

“On what now?” Mr. Adler asked.

“It’s uh-“ Joel stopped himself, “You know, we gotta run but Sarah’ll be by later. She’ll stay as long as you want,” he smiled genuinely to his neighbors and smugly to his daughter, “Tell you all about Atkins.”

“Great, I’ll let Connie know,” Mr. Adler called back as Joel took Y/n’s hand and led her around the truck, “Hey, Y/n, you’re invited too.”

She peeked over the truck’s flatbed, “I’ll be working, but I’ll come grab Sarah on my way home.”

“Thank you,” Sarah smiled at her dad’s girlfriend, glaring at her father himself, “Solid.”

Joel held the door open for them, smirking at Y/n. “Thirty minutes, then you can rescue her,” he instructed.

“I never suggested Atkins,” she replied, sliding into the backseat beside Sarah.

“Can’t tell you how exciting it was listenin’ to that fuckin’ conversation,” Tommy commented, his speech molding around the cigarette between his lips.

“Put that out,” Joel said, a second before Y/n could form the same words.

Tommy flicked the smoke out onto the driveway, “Happy birthday to you.”

The truck pulled out into the cul-de-sac, carrying each of them off to their separate days.

Once Sarah had been dropped off at school and Y/n at the hardware store, Joel and Tommy headed across town to their construction site.

“Y’all got plans for tonight?” Tommy asked as they rode.

“If I don’t bring a cake home, they’re gonna string me up,” Joel answered, “Other than that, nothin’.”

His brother chuckled, “Least they gang up on you together. I got a buddy who just brought his girl home, his kid can’t stand her.”

Joel wasn’t an idiot, he knew how lucky he was that his girlfriend and daughter got along. No, they did better than just get along. They were practically inseparable. He’d take as much shit as they could give him, so long as they did it together.

“When’re you gonna marry that girl?”

It wasn’t the first time Tommy had asked that question. It had been increasing in frequency over the last few months. After they’d passed their one year anniversary, it became a thought consuming more and more space in Joel’s mind. It had taken enough time to sort out his thoughts and fears on the subject of going into marriage again, but it had been something that week that had settled him on the matter.

Monday night, Y/n had dropped by after her shift to help Sarah with homework. Joel had been at work, but when he got home, he expected to see them waiting for him at the kitchen table. Finding only silence, he climbed the stairs and peeked into Sarah’s room. Y/n was sitting against the headboard of Sarah’s bed, the young girl tucked into her shoulder, the math homework spread across their laps.

In the seemingly meaningless display of affection, Joel saw so much more. He saw the rest of his life. He could finally give Sarah a crucial piece of happiness that she’d been deprived of. He could have the love he’d craved and denied himself for so many years. The three of them, a family.

He was going to ask Y/n to marry him that weekend.

“I was gonna head to that place in the mall tomorrow morning,” Joel replied, his fingers rubbing together in anticipation. The last few weeks of working double shifts would pay off if he could find the perfect ring.

“Oh, shit,” Tommy grinned, “You’re actually doin’ it.”

“No reason to wait,” he said, staring ahead as if he could see his bright future.

“Think she’ll say yes?” Tommy asked, practically bleeding from the daggers Joel shot at him. He heartily laughed, “You get Sarah’s blessin’?”

A small smile stretched across Joel’s lips, “I know I already got it. But yeah, I’m gonna show her the ring, ask her officially.”

“Girl’s not gonna say no,” Tommy replied, making a turn onto the street the construction site was on, “She’s as crazy about her as you are.”

Joel couldn’t see any reason why Sarah would reject Y/n, she liked her better than she did Joel half the time. But he’d still never make such a big decision without consulting his daughter.

“You fucker,” Tommy chuckled, smacking Joel’s chest, “Won the damn lottery.”

Joel smiled out the window, he knew it too.

——————

Y/n’s day went by as slow as possible. She kept moving around the hardware store, helping employee and customer alike with anything they needed. All she needed was to stay busy until 3PM when she’d clock out an hour early, pick Sarah up at the house and they’d head downtown to the watch repair shop.

She absentmindedly spinning down one of the aisles, passing Melinda, one of her co-workers.

“Head outta the clouds, kid,” she chuckled.

“I’m on the ground,” Y/n replied, doing another twirl, “I just need this fucking day to end.”

Melinda went back to hanging inventory, “You and Joel got big plans tonight?”

“I was gonna grill us up some steaks,” she shrugged, “Cake. He’ll get squirmy if Sarah and I spoil him too much.”

“I got a question,” Melinda rested her arm on a shelf, “And if it’s too personal, you tell me. I won’t care, but you can tell me.”

Y/n giggled, “Okay.”

“Are you two ever gonna get married?”

Y/n’s movements came to a stop in the middle of the aisle. She’d been thinking more and more about what it might look like to marry Joel. It wasn’t like she was daydreaming about meaningless details like what dress she’d wear or what color roses would serve as centerpieces. She thought about waking up in Joel’s arms every morning, cooking breakfast for Sarah, being there for every moment, big or small. That was what she cared about.

Joel had eventually opened up to her about his ex-wife and what her abandonment had done to both him and Sarah. Y/n knew it was a scar that was as healed as it could be. She would never rush Joel into making a decision about their future, but she’d have been lying if she’d said she didn’t want to eventually wear his ring on her finger.

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

“Well, he needs to lock you down,” Melinda pointed towards Y/n with a hammer, “My cousin, came in last week, got one look at you, he’s been asking me for your number all week.”

Y/n laughed, “Ring or no ring, I’m locked down. This is it for me.”

The women turned their attention down the aisle to a man, taking sloppy steps down the aisle. It was barely two in the afternoon, a little early to already be drunk, but Texas took the rules of happy hour very loosely.

Melinda groaned, “Ugh, you want me to take him?”

“No, I got it,” Y/n put on her cheery voice and walked up to the customer, “Can I help you find any-“

The man spun to face her, snarling, and took a swing at Y/n. She jumped back just in time.

“What the f-“

Growling, he charged towards her again, this time using her shock against her and tackling her to the floor. Y/n screamed, shoving her hands against his chest in an effort to push him off of her.

“Fuck!” Melinda yelled, pulling at the guy’s legs, “Help! We need help!”

Y/n stared into the man’s eyes, they were glazed over entirely, filled with pure, animalistic rage. He snarled and bit at the air before wrapping his hand around her neck. She used all her strength to push him away, her breath stuck in her throat. He lunged to burrow his face where his hand lay, Y/n couldn’t get him off her, but she kept him from getting any closer.

The manager, Don, sprinted down the aisle with a few other guys and pulled the attacker off of Y/n. The man fought back, growling and clawing relentlessly at her. One of the employees dropped him on the ground and sat on him, ensuring he didn’t go anywhere.

Y/n scrambled to her feet, Don came to embrace her.

“You okay?”

She was fighting to catch her breath, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m callin’ the police,” Melinda announced, rushing off to the phone at the front desk.

“What happened?” Don asked, moving to hold Y/n’s arms.

“I-I don’t know,” she ran a hand through her hair, “He came down the aisle and just lunged at me. I-I just offered to help him.”

With the man still fighting to break out of his hold, making sounds that made him seem possessed, Don pulled Y/n out of the aisle.

“I’m sorry, Don,” Y/n apologized, her voice still trembling.

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart,” he quickly shook his head, “Men gotta learn they can’t go gettin’ rough on a woman just cause they’ve had a bad day.”

The police arrived within ten minutes, running down the aisle and cuffing the monstrous man. Y/n stayed far away from her attacker as he was dragged out of the store, residing between Melinda and Don. She’d been asked if she wanted to press charges, but she declined. She just wanted the whole thing to be over.

“Take off now,” Don offered after the officers left.

“No, I-I’m okay,” Y/n smoothed her apron down with shaking hands.

“Don’t even try,” Don shook his head, “Get on out of here.”

Y/n took the first breath she could actually feel, wasting no time in dashing back to the break room and grabbing her purse out of her locker. She wanted to be as far away from anything about the afternoon as she could. Plus, it would mean she could pick Sarah up straight from school instead of the Adlers.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Y/n bid her co-workers farewell on the way out.

Don rasied a hand alongside Melinda, “See ya tomorrow. Wish Joel a happy birthday from us!”

The mention of his name got a smile out of Y/n, “I will.”

With Joel and Tommy having dropped her off, she had to call a cab to take her back to her apartment. She held in her tears until the front door was locked and she knew she was safe.

Why hadn’t she fought back? Fought harder? She was great with her words, but she’d never been able to physically defend herself. In the world they lived in, it was becoming more and more necessary for a woman to be able to throw a punch. Y/n felt weak for not fighting for her safety with the ferocity that Joel or Tommy would have. It just wasn’t in her nature to be violent, even if her own life was on the line.

She managed to collect herself, drying her tears and heading back down to her car. She was determined to put the incident behind her and not let it ruin her day.

Y/n parked directly outside the front of the school so Sarah couldn’t miss her. She waited against the car door, tapping her heel against the asphalt until a barrage of kids came pouring out of the building. Sarah clocked her just before she headed for the bus.

“I thought you were picking me up at home,” she called across the street.

“My shift ended early,” Y/n explained, excluding the reason why.

Sarah opened the passenger side door and jumped in, “Can we grab ice cream or something after?”

“Nice try,” Y/n started up her car, “I’m dropping you off at the Adler’s after this.”

Sarah let her head fall against her seat, with a small groan.

“Half an hour and then there’ll be some big birthday emergency,” Y/n offered, turning onto the next street over, “Seatbelt.”

It was these small domestic moments that showed just how good of a parent Y/n would make. She still didn’t believe she was doing anything exceptional, but the smallest acts of care meant the most. Making sure Sarah walked on the inside of the street, making sure she’d eaten enough, helping her with homework…all of that equated to Sarah knowing she had someone else looking out for her.

They made it downtown to the jewelry-clock repair shop within minutes. Their part of Austin was small enough that everything was five minutes away.

The owner at the front counter examined Joel’s watch, “Twenty.”

“That’s it?” Sarah asked, surprised.

“Okay,” the man smiled, “Thirty.”

“My little negotiator,” Y/n looked down at Sarah, smirking, “Let’s stick with twenty.”

“It’s a spring,” he explained as Sarah pulled out the twenty she’d taken from Joel, “I’ll do it right now.”

Y/n put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and tugged her into her side, the two of them absentmindedly hugging as they glanced around the store. Behind them, a line of police cars followed by a fire truck sped down the street. It pulled Y/n back to an hour before.

“All day, I swear,” a woman emerged from the shop’s back room, switching between speaking in English and Arabic, “We’re closing.”

“It’s 3:15,” the owner responded, “We close at 7.”

The woman anxiously stood at the window, staring down the street. She lapsed back into Arabic as she addressed her partner, before putting her hands on Y/n and Sarah’s arms, “I’m very sorry, he cannot finish.”

“I already finished,” the man replied, holding out the boxed watch to his wife.

She pressed the box into Y/n’s hands, “You should go home.”

“W-wait,” Y/n stuttered as the woman rushed them out of the shop, “Wh-“

“Go home,” the woman urged, staring into Y/n’s eyes with a desperation a child could never understand.

She shut the door on Y/n and Sarah, flipping the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ after and pulling the blinds.

“That was weird,” Sarah muttered.

“Yeah,” Y/n watched as the woman continued shutting the blinds in the windows.

Successful in their quest, Y/n and Sarah loaded themselves back in the car and headed home. On the way, they passed four more police cars and one more fire engine. Austin had its fair share of crime, especially downtown, but this was out of the ordinary.

“What do you think’s going on?” Sarah asked at one point.

“No idea,” Y/n answered, pulling them into the driveway of Joel’s home and unbuckling, “I’ll check the news. Go be a good person.”

“I’m timing you,” Sarah said firmly.

Y/n smiled, “Go.”

Sarah dragged herself and her backpack out of the car and trudged across the Adler’s lawn. Y/n watched her lovingly, she had the biggest heart of anyone she knew, it was just butting heads with teenage hormones.

Y/n let herself into the Miller’s house, her body relaxing as soon as the door shut. She kicked off her sneakers and headed for the living room, switching on the television. She changed the channel to the local news station, expecting to see a fire or mass shooting. All the anchors said was that there had been reports of heightened violence throughout the day and that citizens should avoid going downtown. That lined up with what Y/n had experienced at the store, apparently the city of Austin was acting like a collective asshole.

Satisfied, Y/n busied herself with laundry and taking care of the dishes from breakfast until she scanned the clock, seeing it was ten past the time she said she’d pick Sarah up at.

She went outside, crossed the shared lawn and knocked on the Adler’s front door. Connie was the one to open it.

“Well, there she is,” the woman exclaimed, “Come in!”

They entered into the hallway, which smelled like cookies and mothballs, and Y/n spotted Sarah sitting in the kitchen, bag packed and a barely concealed frown on her face.

“I’m sendin’ you two home with some cookies,” Connie said, bustling around the kitchen for a Ziploc, “They’re raisin.”

“Oh, yay,” Y/n feigned excitement, following her in and stroking a hand across Sarah’s hair, “Those’re Joel’s favorite.”

Sarah fought the laugh caught in her throat, Joel would’ve rather died than touch anything with raisins in it.

Connie handed Y/n the bag and took her other hand, “You tell him happy birthday from us.”

“We will,” Y/n smiled before they headed down the hall and to the door.

“Wait,” Sarah mumbled just as they were walking out. She stopped to see Mercy, the Adler’s dog, whining at Nana Adler, seated in her chair as usual.

“Dogs are super tuned into their owners,” Y/n explained, “Some studies suggest that they can sense if their person’s in pain.”

Sarah hummed and accepted the answer, exiting out the front door with Y/n. “You were late,” she stated.

“I was doing your laundry,” Y/n replied, dipping her hand along Sarah’s through a lawn sprinkler, “So I’d say we’re even.”

The sun was just setting, a warm pink taking over the sky as night’s opening act. Kids, home from school, were playfully screaming a few houses down. Everything felt perfectly in place.

An overhead thundering encroached on the peaceful scene, drawing Sarah and Y/n’s attention skyward. Three fighter jets in formation blew over their heads, flying in the general direction of downtown.

“Air Force base isn’t too far from here,” Y/n commented, it was the only explanation that made sense.

Sarah didn’t seem too concerned, cutting ahead across the lawn and up to the front porch.

Inside, Y/n busied herself with cooking dinner while Sarah sat at the table finishing up homework. The steaks she’d bought a few days prior had gone bad, and she was searching the fridge for anything she could turn into something special.

Pressing her forehead to the appliance’s cool steel, she admitted defeat.

“You know Dad’s not picky,” Sarah tried to comfort her.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to do something nice for him,” Y/n replied, kicking her foot lightly against the fridge, “But I suppose ordering Chinese is just as special.”

“We could always run by the store,” Sarah suggested.

“Mm-mm,” Y/n shook her head, digging through the takeout menu drawer, “No one’s going anywhere while there’s all those cops on the road.”

They ended up ordering enough for themselves, Joel and Tommy, if he decided to stay for dinner. As the night went on, the food grew cold, and by eight o’clock, Y/n and Sarah grew too hungry to wait and sat on the couch with their cartons.

“If he’s home by nine,” Sarah thought the next part of her sentence over carefully, “I’ll give you a whole week off of helping me with my homework.”

“Doesn’t feel like much of a win,” Y/n shrugged, picking at another piece of orange chicken. They were coming up with bets for when they thought Joel would actually return home, “I don’t mind being on homework duty.”

“Okay, fine, um…” Sarah continued drafting, snapping her chopsticks together, “I’ll do the dishes for a week. Every load.”

Y/n waved a chopstick at the girl, “Done. But if he’s home past nine, I will…get him to learn one of the Halican Drops’ songs,” she tilted her head, “That’s a win for you and will definitely cost me.”

Sarah laughed, “Deal.”

They spent the evening talking and watching tv, the later hours eventually tiring them. Sarah leaned up against Y/n, lost in a magazine while Y/n read a book she’d left on the coffee table. The television played lightly in the background, though they’d stopped paying attention long ago.

Eventually, five after ten, a pair of keys jingled in the front door lock, signaling Sarah had won the bet.

“You locked the door this time,” Joel said, addressing his daughter, “Good job.”

“Yeah,” Sarah switched off the tv and sat up, “Y/n reminded me.”

Y/n scooted over to give Joel a spot on the couch, he flopped down on the cushions, digging his palms into his eyes.

“It’s 10,” Sarah said what they were all thinking.

“I know,” Joel groaned, pulling back up to take off his boots, “They…gave us the wrong size for the headers,” he looked over his girlfriend to Sarah, “That doesn’t mean anything to you, barely means anything to Y/n. I’m sorry.”

Y/n’s fingers walked across Joel’s leg, “And dessert would be…?”

Joel slumped forward, “Shit.”

“Come on, man,” Sarah bemoaned.

“I’ll get us one tomorrow,” Joel promised for the second time that day.

“Swear,” Sarah replied, “Or you don’t get your present.”

Joel turned, brightening up adorably fast. “You got me a present?”

“Swear,” Sarah continued.

Y/n smiled, eyeing her boyfriend with the same loving frustration as Sarah.

“On my life,” Joel swore.

Deeming it an acceptable answer, Sarah rotated and dug behind a pillow. Joel slid his hand over Y/n’s, flattening it down against his knee.

Sarah presented the box, holding it out to her dad.

“Wow,” Joel said, making a theatrical face before opening it. He hadn’t expected what was inside.

“Fixed it for you,” Sarah beamed with reserved pride.

Joel ran a thumb over the watch and held it to his ear, furrowing his brows, “Did you?”

“What?” Sarah reached for his hand.

“I don’t hear anything,” Joel continued.

“It was working four hours ago,” Y/n exclaimed, adjusting herself to sit up and examine it for herself.

The two girls barely had to raise it to their ears before they could hear the strong ticking. Sarah groaned and lightly shoved Joel, who was heartily laughing.

Y/n rolled her eyes, “Screw you, man.”

“That was lame,” Sarah smiled, “You’re lame.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joel chuckled, taking another second to admire his gift, “Where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs,” Sarah answered, “I sell hardcore drugs.”

“It’s better than what I do,” Joel slipped the watch onto his wrist.

“It was only $20, which I stole from you.”

“Which I had,” Y/n interjected, “If you’d have given me two seconds...”

“I could have stolen $60, but I put the change back,” Sarah defended herself against Joel’s parental stare, “Because I’m an honest thief. Besides, it’s the thought that counts. And you were never gonna do it for yourself, so…”

Joel, never one to be selfish, looked on lovingly at his daughter and co-conspirator, before turning his head downward. “Thank you.”

Sarah smiled, looking to Y/n victoriously. “Oh, there’s one more,” she dug behind the pillow once again and retrieved a DVD case, “Borrowed it from the Adlers.”

Joel wasted no time in taking it from her, it was Curtis and Viper, the guiltiest of all guilty pleasure movies. “Oh, this is the one with the deleted scenes.”

“Yeah, imagine how bad those have to be,” Sarah commented, “Come on, pop it in, while it’s still your birthday.”

Y/n got up alongside Joel, “I’ll go heat up dinner and brace myself for the cinematic masterpiece I’m about to experience.”

“I showed it to you a while back,” Joel called out to her, “Remember?”

“I remember,” Y/n swung into the kitchen, “And yet I’m still with you.”

Joel smirked to himself, setting the disc in the tray and jogging off to join Y/n. “Chinese?”

“There was going to be something home cooked,” Y/n scooped some food onto a plate for Joel, “But the grocery gods were conspiring against me.”

“Kidding? This is great,” Joel replied, coming to hold Y/n’s hips and move around the kitchen with her. He settled his chin against her head, “Thank you. For all of it.”

Y/n leaned back into Joel’s chest, “I don’t see how crappy Chinese food and aiding your daughter in thievery deserves thanks but,” she twisted her neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, “I’ll take it.”

Joel absentmindedly ran his hands up Y/n’s arms, gazing down at her skin. His eyes drifted to her exposed neck, the glow of the microwave illuminating a purple splotch across her throat.

“What’s this?”

Y/n was watching the timer, “Hm?”

Joel pulled back the rest of her hair and lightly ran a finger over the skin, “Where’d you get this?”

Y/n pulled away, confusedly grabbing a spatchula out of a drawer and relfecting it back on her. Sure enough, there was a large purple bruise developing where the psycho in the hardware store had choked her.

“Hm,” Y/n thought, she hadn’t intended to ruin the levity of the night, “Uh, are we sure you didn’t put that there?”

Joel bristled at the idea, even at his most passionate, he wasn’t rough like that, “I’d never do this to you.”

Y/n sighed, pressing the ‘stop’ button on the microwave before it could beep. She pulled Joel’s food out, set it down and leaned up against the counter.

“A guy attacked me today at work,” she said softly, not wanting Sarah to hear.

Joel’s eyebrows raised two inches, his voice got low, “What?”

“He came down the aisle and just,” Y/n gestured suddenly to herself, “Tackled me to the ground. It took three of the guys, plus Don just to get him off of me.”

Joel surged forward, hovering his hand over Y/n’s neck and examining her, “How bad is it?”

“I’m okay,” Y/n gently took Joel’s hand, bringing it down to his side, “Headache from smacking my head on the floor, little sore, but fine.”

“Please tell me you called the police and pressed charges” Joel asked, fully in protector mode.

Y/n shook her head, “I didn’t wanna drag it out, I just wanted the whole thing to be over. The cops took him, they can deal with it.”

Joel braced himself against the counter to Y/n’s side, halfway-caging her in. “And you weren’t gonna tell me about it?”

“It’s your birthday,” Y/n smiled softly up at her boyfriend, “I just wanted to come home and have a normal evening with you guys. Forget it ever happened.”

Anger swelled in Joel’s stomach for whatever freak had gone after her, but his gaze stayed soft. Her pain was his pain.

“Wanna know what the worst part was?” Y/n asked, looping a finger through Joel’s and smiling sadly, “I could have fought back…but I just laid there. I tried to push him off but…”

There was no need for her to finish the sentence. Joel’s mind flashed back to the night they’d met, when that creep had laid his hand on her and she hadn’t fought back. It was one of his deepest worries, that one day someone would come at her and he wouldn’t be there to protect her.

“Can you please,” he begged, “Enroll in a self-defense class?”

“Yes,” Y/n agreed, saying whatever she could to get the night to return to normal, “I think there’s one down at the community center.”

Joel’s shoulders rose and fell with his sigh, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her into his body. She wrapped her arms around his middle, digging her face into his pec.

“I hate the world sometimes,” Joel said over her shoulder.

Y/n scoffed, “You and me both, bucko.”

They stood in each other’s arms a moment, letting the stress of the day melt away.

“Your daughter’s waiting,” Y/n smiled into Joel’s chest, “And she’s been waiting all night.”

Joel broke from her, stroking a thumb over her cheek. He was looking forward to revealing the reason for his late night hours.

With dinner in hand, Joel and Y/n headed back into the living room, where Sarah was waiting with the remote. Joel settled down in the middle of the couch, giving him room to be surrounded by his two favorite people.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned, as Sarah snuggled into his shoulder.

“‘Course I won’t,” she said, “It’s too riveting.”

“I make no such promises,” Y/n replied, hanging one of her legs on Joel’s knee.

Both of them were out cold within an hour.

Joel couldn’t complain even if he tried. With Sarah passed out on his leg Y/n tucked under his arm, it was the happiest he’d been the whole day.

While watching the movie, Joel’s mind kept spinning around proposal ideas. If he got the ring in the morning, he could do it that night. Or did he need to spend more time, crafting some elaborate idea involving doves and roses and all the movie shit? Y/n wasn’t fancy, she probably wouldn’t care if that was missing. All he cared about was that she said ‘yes’ and that the ring was something she could cherish the rest of their lives.

Joel gazed down at his daughter and soon-to-be fiancé, fast asleep on him. A lifetime of that was a thought he could get used to…

The vibration of his cell phone broke Joel out of his daydream. He reached forward, trying not to wake either girl, bur Y/n stirred enough to come to.

“Sorry,” he whispered, picking up the call, “Hello?”

“Joel, it’s me,” Tommy’s voice cut through, Y/n’s head was close enough to hear the call, “Uh, I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” Joel asked.

“But I’m in jail.”

Y/n sat up groggily as Joel arched back into the couch, rubbing his eyes in stress.

“Wasn’t my fault this time,” Tommy was quick to defend himself, “I was at the bar, some guy goes crazy, starts swingin’ at waitresses, I stepped in, knocked him out, cops showed up-”

Joel and Y/n shared an exhausted look, both from true tiredness and Tommy.

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Tommy hurried, “You gotta bail me out.”

“Now?” Joel hissed.

“It’s Friday,” Tommy said, “You don’t get me out, I’m in here all weekend. It’s a fuckin’ madhouse, Joel. I gotta get out.”

Y/n rubbed the sleep out of her eye, and lowered her voice, “I’ll go get him.”

Joel’s hand shot out across Y/n’s legs, “No,” he switched conversations, “Well, which jail. Travis County?”

“Yeah, on 10th,” his little brother answered.

“Damn it, Tommy,” Joel shook his head.

Tommy took a breath, “I’m sorry…please.”

Joel waited before answering, “Okay,” he hung up his cell, “Fuckin’ idiot.”

“Joel, just let me go,” Y/n offered, gesturing to Sarah using his leg as a pillow, “You got him last time.”

“I don’t want you out this late,” Joel shot down the idea a second time, “Especially in that part of town. I’ll be back, hour tops.”

Carefully, Joel eased Sarah off of him and lifted her into his arms. He carried her upstairs to bed while Y/n stayed on the couch, trying to get her bearings.

Joel came back downstairs, grumbling to himself as he collected his wallet and keys.

“We do all this,” Y/n gestured to the empty dinner plate and gift box, “And Tommy’s still gotta one up us.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel muttered, throwing his cell phone in his pocket, “I shoulda just left him in there.”

Y/n looked up amusedly at her boyfriend, “Yeah, like you’d ever do that.”

Joel’s instinct was to protect, he couldn’t have left his brother to rot for the weekend if he tried.

Y/n got to her feet and slid a hand up Joel’s chest, bringing his restlessness to a halt. She wrapped her other hand around the base of his neck, rubbing at the permanently tense muscles.

“Happy Birthday to you,” she sleepily smiled.

Joel leaned forward to connect his lips to Y/n’s. In an ideal world, he’d carry her upstairs and they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. But after rescuing Tommy, they’d have the whole weekend for that. Still, he poured as much love as he could into his kiss.

Neither of them knew it would be the last one they shared.

“Be safe,” Y/n told him once they broke apart.

“I will,” Joel replied, heading for the front door, “Go to bed. Be back soon.”

Y/n nodded, her eyes following him till he was out of the house. In her stupor, she wasn’t thinking of how packed the streets had been earlier in the day with cop cars. Or how the news had said there’d been increased violence in the city. Or how the story Tommy had recounted sounded eerily similar to hers. She was just tired enough that all that made sense to her was climbing into Joel’s bed and going back to sleep.

Slowly climbing the staircase, Y/n made her way down the hall. She paused outside of Sarah’s room, poking her head in to make sure she was settled. Joel had thrown a blanket over her and she was rolling over. Satisfied, Y/n pushed off of the door frame to leave.

“Mom?”

She froze in her tracks, she’d barely moved out of sight before Sarah had called for…someone. Not her. It couldn’t be her. But who else? She had no memory of her birth mo-

“Mom?”

Y/n’s chest fluttered, it could only be her. She hesitated to answer, “Yeah?”

“Where’s Dad?” Sarah asked, her eyes were still scrunched but she was looking to Y/n’s silhouette.

“He had to run by Uncle Tommy’s,” Y/n answered, saving the full answer for the morning, “He’ll be back soon.”

Sarah seemed to accept the response, nodding a little and settling back into her pillow.

“Goodnight,” Y/n wished, her hands awkwardly fidgeting against her chest.

“Night,” Sarah mumbled.

Slipping against the nearest wall, Y/n’s breath trembled with joy, shock…she couldn’t tell. Sarah had made up her mind as to what Y/n was to her…and what she was was a mother.

Feeling like she was floating, Y/n made her way down the hall to the bed that was as good as her own and slid underneath the sheets. Her smile stretched so wide, she thought her cheeks might split. She couldn’t wait to tell Joel when he got home….

—————————

First came the sirens.

Then came the choppers.

Then the car alarms.

And the flares.

Y/n was the first to wake, the sound of helicopter blades and the sensation of the house rattling waking her. She reached over in the dark for Joel and grasped air. The clock read 2:15AM, he’d left at 11.

That was enough to wake Y/n the rest of the way up.

She rolled out of bed and went to the window, peeking through the blinds to see flares being shot into the sky. Though her vision was blurred from sleep, she could see the smoke cloud in the distance. It was coming from downtown.

“Dad?” Sarah called down the hall, “Y/n?”

“In here,” Y/n said, still watching the sky as another round of helicopters flew over their neighborhood.

Sarah came through the door, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n answered, her stomach twisting in confusion, “Go check if your dad’s downstairs.”

Sarah left, calling for Joel as she descended the staircase. “He’s not here,” she yelled up.

Y/n’s chest sank, anxiety beginning to creep its way up her throat. Was this some kind of invasion? It had barely been two years since 9/11, was something of that scale happening in their backyard?

“Y/n!”

The urgency in Sarah’s voice got Y/n moving out the bedroom and down the stairs as quick as she could. “What is it?”

Sarah had switched on the tv, the emergency broadcast signal was on every channel, delivering an ominous message to stay indoors and wait for law enforcement.

A thud against the window had Y/n pulling Sarah to her chest, the girl wrapping her hands around Y/n’s wrists. Mercy, the Adler’s dog, had his paws against the window and was trying to get inside.

“Stay here,” Y/n told Sarah, heading to unlock the front door. She crouched down on the porch and the dog leaned against her legs, whining. “Shh, Mercy, shh…”

“Is he okay?” Sarah asked, right behind Y/n.

“I think,” Y/n answered, clueless as Mercy panted furiously under her touch. She looked across the street, finding nothing out of the ordinary visually. Audibly, there were car alarms coming from all directions and the chopper was making another circle around the subdivision. Something felt very, very wrong.

“Stay here,” Y/n told Sarah, “I’m gonna take a look around.”

“No, I’m coming with-“

“No,” Y/n’s tone firmed up, “Take Mercy inside and stay-“

Mercy started barking as if he knew he was being discussed. Y/n knew nothing she said would get Sarah to listen, she was out of options.

“Let’s get him back home,” she said.

Sarah led Mercy by the collar across the lawn and onto the Adler’s driveway. Once he realized he was back at his house, Mercy began to whine and pull away from Sarah.

“C’mon, Mercy, please,” Sarah begged.

Mercy pulled one final time, the collar unclipping and letting him loose. He took off into the night.

“Mercy!” Sarah called, he was too far gone to hear her.

“It’s okay,” Y/n quickly tried to smooth Sarah’s heartbreak over, “We’ll find him. But first, we’re going home and-“

Clanking from inside the Adler’s home drew their attention.

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah called, receiving no answer, she looked to Y/n to decide their next move.

Y/n was torn between following the noise and running back home to call Joel.

“Stay behind me,” she decided, placing herself in front of Sarah as a barricade.

They crept up the Adler’s porch, letting themselves in through the ajar door. The carpet runner was scrunched up, something the meticulous Connie would have never allowed.

“Connie?” Y/n announced their presence.

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah repeated, the two of them frozen in the hallway.

Another loud sound from the kitchen, followed by a distant gunshot and chased by a car alarm.

Y/n tried to inhale steadily, but the trembling came anyway. The long stretches of silence broken up by what sounded like war were creating a steady pit of fear in her chest.

She reached backwards, pulling Sarah closer to her body. The girl was already holding onto Y/n’s hips. They took soft steps through the hall and to the kitchen.

“Con-“ Y/n held on to the room divider as she stumbled, looking down to see the slippery substance across the floor.

Blood.

Sarah and Y/n’s breaths caught in their chests as their eyes followed the trail of crimson through the kitchen…to Mr. Adler, laid against the cabinets.

“Help me,” he whispered, a particularly gory wound to his neck oozing blood down his body.

Y/n moved to help him but was yanked back by Sarah, who already had eyes on the next terror.

Nana Adler was hung over her daughter, her face burrowed into her neck.

Y/n eased Sarah back, making no sudden movements, as the elderly woman slowly looked up to them. There were strands of something springing from her mouth, it was something out of a horror movie.

Nana rose to her feet, her movements choppy and careless, and Sarah wrapped her arms around Y/n’s torso.

The woman, animalistic, shrieked and ran towards them.

Y/n shoved Sarah back towards the door, racing out of the house and onto the lawn. She was pulling the girl toward their house when the roar of a pickup truck came barreling down the street.

Tommy’s truck.

Tommy pulled the truck up onto the curb, Joel jumped out before it had even stopped.

“GET IN THE TRUCK,” he yelled at Y/n and Sarah, “RIGHT NOW!”

With Sarah in her hands, Joel grabbed Y/n and pulled them to the vehicle, “Move!”

Nana Adler came screaming out of the house, Y/n and the Millers watching the bones in her body violently crack under her skin before she fell to the ground. They waited in anticipation until she startled back to life with a gasp, stumbling to her feet and charging towards the family.

“What are we doin’, Joel?” Tommy yelled, his rifle pointed at the grandmother.

Y/n wrapped Sarah in her arms, shielding her body from any harm, but not her eyes.

Joel wasted no time in making the decision, it was either her, or the women he loved. He slashed the wrench he was clutching into Nana’s head, the life leaving her as she dropped.

After, he turned to Y/n and Sarah, their tearful eyes widened in horror. He rushed to them, bending to cup Sarah’s cheek.

“You killed her,” the girl said, unable to form a deeper thought.

Joel pulled his daughter and partner into his arms, “Baby, I’m sorry.”

“Joel, we gotta go,” Tommy warned.

“Joel,” Y/n shook, “What’s going on?”

“Listen to me,” he looked to both his girls, “It’s not just the Adlers,” he took Sarah’s cheeks into his hands, “But we’re gonna be brave, and we’re gonna get out of this.”

A flash of green to their left and Joel was covering them with his arms. The transformer at the end of the block had exploded.

“Hey,” Tommy rounded the truck, “Let’s go. C’mon!”

Joel and Y/n hurried Sarah in front of them, “Get in.”

Y/n stopped before joining her, gripping Joel’s arm, “Joel…”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, posessing no more answers than she did, “I don’t know.”

Y/n dove into the truck, pulling Sarah into her arms the minute she was seated.

Joel slammed the door shut, his neighbor calling his name out in concern.

“Denise, you get back inside the house,” he yelled, “You lock your doors! Now!”

“C’mon, c’mon, get in,” Tommy urged.

The second Joel’s door shut, Tommy was already pulling them around the cul-de-sac. As he rounded the turn, Mr. and Mrs. Adler came across their lawn and into the street, in the same possessed state as Nana had been.

“Get your seatbelt on,” Joel told Tommy.

“Hold on,” his brother said, accelerating the engine and ramming into the Adlers head on.

Y/n tried to pull Sarah’s head into her shoulder, but the girl was too quick, already looking out the back to see Mrs. Adler on her feet.

“You take 70-“ Joel began to give directions.

“71,” Tommy finished, “I know.”

A line of police cars blew down the opposite lane, speeding towards more chaos they didn’t even understand.

Sarah’s breath had steadied enough where she could speak clearly, “Daddy-“

“We don’t know,” Joel cut her off.

“They’re saying it’s a virus,” Tommy explained, “Some kinda parasite.”

“What parasite does that?” Y/n asked, knowing none of them had an answer.

“Is it from terrorists?” Sarah asked, her voice getting watery.

“We don’t know,” Joel repeated himself, watching his brother as he drove.

“A-are we sick?” Sarah’s panic was growing.

“No, we’re not sick,” Y/n answered immediately.

Joel fiddled with the radio, getting static back in return.

“Why did things blow up?” Sarah asked.

“No cellphone, no radio,” Tommy mused, “Minute ago, newsman wouldn’t shut up.”

“They were broadcasting emergency signals on the tv,” Y/n recalled, as if it made any difference now.

“How do you know?” Sarah kept up her questioning.

“What?” Joel acknowledged her.

Sarah couldn’t hide her tears any more, “How do you know we’re not sick?”

Y/n stroked her hair, offering what little comfort she could while also sharing Sarah’s terror.

“They’re sayin’ it’s mostly people in the city,” Tommy explained, “That’s why they got the highway blocked off.”

Joel craned his head to meet Y/n’s eyes, “This what happened at the store today?”

“Yeah,” Y/n answered, flashing back to 12 hours before. Her attacker hadn’t had the strange strands hanging from his mouth, but he’d had the same animal-like rage.

The car fell silent again as they passed a house, the whole structure consumed by flames.

“It’s Jimmy’s place,” Tommy said as they drove by.

“The Adlers would take Nana into the city,” Sarah continued to try and solve the puzzle, “To the hospital for stuff.”

“That’s right,” Joel agreed, “They would. That’s probably why.”

“But…” Sarah’s brain worked double time, “You’d have to go a lot…right?”

Tommy shook his head slightly, “We’re fine, trust me.”

Through the dashboard mirror, Y/n’s worried eyes met Tommy’s. He was saying a prayer rather than stating a promise.

On the side of the road, a car was pulled over, a family standing outside it waving their hands wildly. “Here! Right here!”

Tommy began to slow down, drawing Joel’s confusion. “What’re you doin’?”

“They got a kid, Joel,” Tommy gestured to the family.

“So do we,” Joel said firmly, “Keep drivin’.”

The father panicked as Tommy followed orders, screaming for them to stop.

“We could put them in the back,” Sarah offered just as they passed them by.

Y/n’s heart sank as the father’s cries echoed in her ears, her eyes drifting to the back of Joel’s head.

“Somebody else’ll come along,” he said to the car, but mostly to himself.

Sarah, trying so hard to remain calm, let her tears fall silently. Whatever shred of reality they could make of the chaos around them was starting to sink in on Y/n too. She pulled Sarah deeper into her arms, feeling the girl’s sadness land on her skin.

Tommy sped down the lane, trying to get on the freeway, and meeting the sea of likeminded cars.

“Fuck,” he exclaimed, “Everyone had the same fuckin’ idea.

Panicked drivers were speeding towards them, the little white lines on the asphalt ceasing to matter.

“I can’t get through this,” Tommy said, dodging the cars.

“All right, all right,” Joel tried to remain calm, “Let’s think it through, we’ll think it through.”

“Tommy!” Y/n cried as another reckless driver nearly clipped them.

“All right, take the field,” Joel directed, “We’ll cut across and pick up on the-the west side.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tommy’s breath shook, “West, west, all right. All right, hang on.”

Sarah held onto Y/n a little tighter, bracing herself as Tommy went off road into the tall grass. The truck dipped and bounced with the land, until they met smooth dirt…giving them a view of the freeway. The military had already set up shop.

“Shit,” Tommy exclaimed, “Fuckin’ army!”

“Isn’t that good?” Sarah asked

“It’s good for them” Tommy said, “But that’s the highway we’re tryin’ to get to.”

Joel’s brain was spinning with roads, “All right, keep movin’. Head north.”

“Could be a lot of people,” Tommy pointed out.

“Well, we can’t go south, we can’t go east, we can’t go west,” Joel replied, “Hell else we supposed to go?”

Tommy hesitated, his hands nervously gripping the wheel.

“Tommy, come on,” Joel yelled, his own anxiety beginning to show itself.

Listening, Tommy turned the truck north, leading them towards the distant light of a small town.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know that place,” Joel said, “This can work.”

“Joel,” Y/n spoke up, “What then? Where are we going?”

He didn’t know, he barely could remember the numbers of the highways. All he knew was he needed to get his family to some sort of safety. “I don’t know, Mexico,” he blurted out, “Just far, far as we can,” he looked to his brother, “How much gas?”

“Three quarter tank,” Tommy answered, it was enough to make it to the border.

“Go through town,” Joel began to list off directions, “Golf course by the river, straight across, we pick up the highway on the other side of the blockade…” he exhaled, “Then we’re out.”

“Maybe it’s everywhere,” Sarah theorized, trying so desperately to make sense of what was happening, “Maybe there’s nowhere to go.”

Joel and Yn’s worried eyes met in the dashboard mirror, they were both wondering the same thing. Illnesses didn’t stay quarantined to just one city in one state, they spread like vines, reaching for any life they could. What if this parasite worked the same way?

A loud roar began to encroach on the truck from above.

“What the fuck?” Tommy exclaimed.

Sarah and Y/n shielded their ears from the noise, looking up through the roof’s glass top to catch a low-flying plane directly above them. There were a line of three more trailing the sky behind them.

“Shit,” Y/n whispered, her facade for Sarah was fading.

Down the road, the red white and blue lights of a police car became a stumbling block. “Son of a bitch,” Tommy complained, “Gotta go around. Grab somethin’!”

Joel reached an arm back, both to brace himself against Tommy’s seat and give Y/n something to hold onto. Sarah held fast to Y/n as Tommy made a hard right down the next street. The town they’d turned into had descended fully into chaos, its residents running wildly through the streets, either screaming for help or attacking one other.

“All right,” Joel talked his brother through the roads, “Keep goin’, keep goin’,” he looked to his left to see a truck barreling towards them, “Shit, Tommy!”

The tire screech had Y/n flipping Sarah’s body over hers, making herself a human shield. Thankfully, the crash never came.

The next street Tommy turned them down was even worse. People were beating each other senselessly in the street, the screams of the wounded piercing their ears.

“Tommy, you can’t stop here,” Joel said as his brother slowed the car.

He gestured to the crowds, “I can’t drive through ‘em.”

“Are you serious?” Joel yelled, “Just keep goin’!”

Up ahead, an explosion shattered the windows of a building, eliciting every person inside to run for their lives, all headed towards the truck.

“Go, go, go,” Joel urged, smacking the dashboard a little harder with each utterance, “Back, back, back, back, back, back, back!”

“I’m tryin’!” Tommy yelled back.

Y/n caught the faces of people as they ran past, the terror, the confusion in their eyes. One woman had blood streaming down her chest, the deep red turning her white blouse deathly crimson.

“Tommy, go faster,” Joel berated, “We gotta go!”

“I’m tryin’, there’s nowhere to fuckin’ go,” Tommy said, maneuvering them backwards.

“Tommy,” Y/n couldn’t stay quiet, “Fuck, anywhere!”

“Find an alley!” Joel added.

“What alley?! There’s people everywhere!”

“Roll the fuck over them,” Joel ordered, “We gotta get off this street.”

Sarah had shifted out of Y/n’s arms and was staring out the back, watching as the humanity was sucked out of her city. In the sky, she could spot bright, blinking lights headed straight for them.

She blindly reached for Y/n’s hand, “Dad?!”

Y/n and Joel both turned, their eyes falling on the same sight. One of the planes was headed straight towards them.

“Fuck,” Y/n uttered breathlessly.

“Move…” Joel managed to say, “Move!”

The plane completed its nosedive into the road behind them, exploding in a fiery inferno. Joel reached back to grab hold of Sarah, Y/n shoved her down into her lap.

None of them saw the piece of debris heading for the truck.

—————————

Joel was the first one to wake up. He struggled out of his seatbelt, dropping to the roof of the flipped truck and looking into the back.

Y/n and Sarah were out cold.

Sarah’s leg was elevated, her foot caught in some part of the truck. Y/n lay in a terrifyingly still ball.

“Sarah…Sarah…” Joel weakly called, tugging on her free leg and startling her awake, “Stay right there. Don’t move,” he looked to Y/n, “Y/n, wake up.”

No response.

“Rosebud,” Joel urged, his voice betraying him and turning to a whine, “Honey, get up.”

“Y/n,” Sarah disobeyed her father, fear-stricken, and stretched her arm out to shake Y/n.

Y/n gasped, waking up the same way she’d passed out; panicked.

“Joel,” she cried out, “Sarah?”

“We’re here,” Joel reassured her, a hand to her arm, “We’re here. Tommy? You okay?”

Tommy grunted, trying to free himself, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

With a pounding headache, and the feeling of air hitting small cuts across her face, Y/n struggled to her knees. Nothing felt broken inside her, just weak.

Sarah’s breathing began to pick up, turning her body to stare out the busted window. Twenty feet away, someone was heaving over a body, draining it of blood the same way Nana Adler had.

“Sarah,” Joel moved to the back of the truck, “Don’t look. You look at me or Y/n, okay?”

Y/n was at Joel’s side instantly, gently holding Sarah’s calf so he could free her leg. The girl winced as Joel worked.

“I’m sorry, baby, I know, I know,” he apologized profusely, letting her leg drop into Y/n’s hands.

“Come here,” he urged his daughter, “Put your arms around me. Come here, come here,” he pulled Sarah into his embrace, “I got you.”

Y/n was crawling past, into the driver’s half of the truck, “Tommy?”

Tommy was already out, kneeling down at the window, “Come on, take my hand!”

Straining to reach him, Y/n slapped her palms against his and he dragged her out. She could feel the glass scrape against her skin, trying to hold her cries in for Sarah’s sake.

Tommy and Y/n pulled each other to their feet, Tommy reaching for his rifle after. Joel and Sarah had made it out on the other side. Y/n rushed around the wreckage of the truck to reach them, grabbing them both, “What’s wrong?”

“My ankle,” Sarah strained.

“We gotta get off the street,” Tommy urged, a fast approaching siren sending him diving for the asphalt, “Shit!”

A police van slammed into their truck, creating a fire between the two vehicles. Joel and Y/n shielded Sarah from the flames, “Tommy?”

Y/n wrapped her arms around Sarah, trying to take some of the weight off her ankle and freeing Joel.

“Tommy!” Joel screamed again.

Separated by the two totaled bodies, the brothers found each other.

“Head to the river,” Tommy shouted, “I’ll find a way!”

Joel hesitated to leave his brother behind, regardless of his competency.

“Get ‘em out of here,” Tommy insisted, “Go, Joel!”

It was the mention of Y/n and Sarah that snapped him back, he immediately turned and bent down to Sarah’s eye level.

“We can’t leave him,” she argued.

“Joel-“ Y/n began.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, “Can you both run?”

“No,” Sarah said as Y/n nodded.

Joel bent over and swung his daughter into his arms.

“You keep your eyes on us,” Joel half demanded, half begged Sarah, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“And don’t look anywhere else,” he finished, his panicked gaze moving to Y/n, “Don’t let go.”

Y/n locked one arm around Joel’s shoulders, the other under Sarah’s legs, needing one hand on them both.

The three of them rushed through the street, lost as to how to get to the river. Joel stopped in fear when they found a grouping of bodies, groaning, writhing, devouring one another on the ground. He guided Sarah’s head back into his body, but she’d already seen too much.

One of the monsters popped up, eerily fast.

Y/n and Joel’s hearts collectively stopped, anxiety kick starting them to run for the back door of a building. They dove inside, Y/n running ahead to bang on the locked door.

“Move,” Joel cried, kicking down the wood and pulling them through it, “Get ahead!”

Y/n jumped in front of them, racing down the length of the diner. She could hear the frantic footsteps and growls of the monster chasing them.

Slamming her body into the second door, Y/n cleared the path for Joel, the two of them sprinting away from the encroaching death nipping at their heels. The monster snarled as it came after them, too quick for Y/n or Joel even at their fastest-

BANG!

A shotgun fire silenced the animalistic sounds, Joel spun around to see the creature laid out in the grass, blood spilling from its head.

“It’s okay, baby,” he assured Sarah, “You’re safe.”

Y/n’s hands dropped to Joel’s arm, resting her head against his shoulder in an effort to catch her breath.

“C’mon,” Joel urged, turning around for the way of the river.

A searchlight hit them.

“Don’t move,” a stern voice commanded, through the light, Y/n and Joel could make out it was a soldier.

“My daughter’s hurt,” Joel explained, “Her ankle.”

“Stop right there,” the soldier ordered, they’d barely moved in his direction.

Y/n and Sarah both trembled, in shock at the sight of the rifle pointed at them.

“Okay,” Joel backed down, taking them the slightest step back, “Easy now. We’re not sick!”

The soldier reached for his radio, reporting into it, “I got three civilians by the river, one of ‘em injured,” he waited for a response, “Ankle.”

“What about Uncle Tommy?” Sarah looked up to Joel.

“We’re gonna get you somewhere safe first,” Joel panted, “Then we’ll go back for him, okay?”

“Okay,” Sarah accepted.

Y/n rubbed a hand over Sarah’s uninjured leg. The horror still had yet to be named, but they were so close to asylum from it.

An impatient Joel took a step forward, earning another up and close look at the rifle’s barrel.

“Hey,” the soldier shouted, “No one told you to move.”

Y/n trembled against Joel’s arm as they waited, why was it taking so long?

“Yes sir,” the soldier said into his radio, his voice having shifted and making Y/n and Joel’s stomachs tighten.

The gun came back up.

“We’re not sick,” Joel echoed, knowing what was about to happen.

“W-w-wait,” Y/n’s lips began to shake, she held out a hand to the soldier, “We’re not sick.”

“Sir,” Joel urged again, his voice rising with every second of silence, “We are not sic-“

Bullets rained down on the three of them, the force of the lead sending them rolling down the hill.

Joel pushed himself off his stomach, a harsh light on him drawing him onto his back. The soldier was mere inches from him, his rifle trained on Joel’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, he almost sounded genuine.

“Please don’t,” Joel begged, raising his hands.

Y/n had rolled farther than Joel, already weak from the crash and now with a pain radiating in her side. One of the bullets had definitely grazed her. She was able to push up onto her arms, dragging her gaze across the dirt and spotting the position her boyfriend was in.

“JOEL!”

The soldier was thrown forward, a bullet from behind lodging in his chest. Joel looked up to see Tommy, marching forward with his rifle still trained on the dead soldier.

Joel hurried to sit up, running a hand his side, a bullet had scraped across the skin.

Y/n let out a breath as she watched Joel move, her eyes scanning around her for Sarah.

“Oh, God,” Tommy breathed.

Frantic breaths could be heard, closest to Y/n and furthest from Joel.

Y/n froze at the sight.

Then she was rising, racing to the spot.

Joel was right behind her. “No…” he mumbled, “Oh, no.”

Y/n made it to Sarah first, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes ran over her body. Her attempts at breath were wracking through her violently.

“No, no, no,” Joel shushed his daughter, pressing a hand to her neck, “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, move your hand, baby.”

“Sarah, move your hand,” Y/n rubbed the girl’s cheek, “We gotta take a look, babe.”

Sarah let her hand drop to her side, revealing the blood that covered her entire lower abdomen.

Joel felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Y/n felt her entire body lock up.

Joel was the first to move, slipping an arm under Sarah’s shoulders. She let out the most heartbreaking cry, pain flooding her body as she reached to push her father away.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel agreed, “I know, I know, I know. I know it hurts.”

Sarah’s breaths came quicker, groans accompanying them as she strained to take in air.

“Eyes on me,” Y/n urged, taking her face into both palms and rubbing her thumbs across the skin, “Don’t look down. Look at me.”

Sarah struggled to move her lips, barely pressing them together and humming. She was trying to say something.

“Shh, shh,” Y/n tried to keep her calm, “It’s okay.”

“Come on, baby,” Joel soothed as he examined her wound, “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Another wave of unbearable pain hit Sarah as Joel pressed down on her wound, trying to slow the bleeding.

“I know, I know, I know,” the panic finally reached Joel’s voice, “I know, baby. I know, I know. I know this hurts. You’re gonna be okay.”

Sarah’s breaths grew ragged.

“You’re okay,” Y/n fought back the relentless tears, keeping her hands on Sarah’s cheeks, “You’re okay. I promise. You’re okay.”

“All right, baby, baby, baby,” Joel tried to talk over and in between Sarah’s noises, “Listen to me, I gotta get you up, okay?”

Sarah shook her head, her eyes widened with terror she couldn’t physically put into words.

“Babe, we have to get you up, okay?” Y/n continued, “It’s gonna hurt like hell for a second, but it’ll be alright.”

“All right,” Joel couldn’t wait any longer, “You come on.”

Y/n moved around to help lift Sarah’s back, her and Joel working as a team to raise her. Sarah groaned and wept as they shifted her body.

“I know, baby,” Joel was on the verge of tears as Sarah strained to help herself up, gripping his neck. “I know, I know, I know,” his voice rose in fear, “I know, I know, I know.”

Joel turned to where he’d left his brother, “Tommy, help me!”

Tommy didn’t move, “Joel…”

Sarah’s body stopped shaking under Y/n’s hands, her chest went still.

“Sarah,” Y/n begged, “C’mon, babe.”

“C’mon, baby girl,” Joel whimpered, moving frantically to loop an arm around her, “I gotta get you up. Come on. Come on, we’ll get up.”

Rising on her knees, Y/n hung her head over Sarah’s. The girl’s eyes were blank, her lips were parted.

“Come on,” Joel sobbed, his pleas dropping off as reality began to invade his blind hope, “Come…please…”

It was too late.

Joel took Sarah fully into his arms, wrapping around her so tight, he thought he might be able to physically put her back together.

Any air Y/n still had in her chest left her body, her hands resting in midair as if she was still holding the child.

She crawled to Joel, covered in blood, rocking Sarah’s body and sobbing breathlessly over her shoulder.

It was real.

“Sa-“ Y/n whispered, tears starting to flood down her cheeks. Her voice dropped to a whimper, “Sarah.”

If the universe could grieve a human being, it was Sarah Miller’s passing that brought it to tears. No part of the Earth would be spared from the chaos that had claimed her. No corner of the planet would ever bloom and flourish as it had when she was alive. When she ascended, she took humanity and all of its beauty with her.

And the souls of the two people cradling her corpse, screaming into the night, went with her.

——————

TYL Taglist: @bachiracore @stolenxkissess @kayleezra @the-wistful-reader @allthesesonsofbitches @goth-detectives365 @trippovert @rh1nestonecowg1rl @emiliaserpe @khaleesihavilliard @frietiemeloen @gracie7209 @dorck26 @thegirlnextdoorssister @alanis-altair @mariwinns16 @whosscruffylooking @endofthexline @alexiaricciardo @eonnyx @pedrosmexicangf @scarlettequinn @ao-sleepy @toinfinityandbeyonce2 @deanlovescassie @turmoil-ash @sorrowjunky @kpopslur @xxlilyxx90 @midgetpottermills @presidential-facts @scoopsnini @tubble-wubble @jamesdeerest @burninggracesandbridges @star-wars-lover @lucyhotchner @cococola-cocaine @witheringhqarts @fall-writes @alwaysdjarin @xxmoonn @emilia-the-artist @wand-erer5 @boneyarrd @lizard-zombie @itwasallinmyhead1 @cassidylea123 @paleepeaches @mxltifxnd0m @kettlekatie @ultimate-cinephile @gloryekaterina @caramelkatsukis-bitch @whovianayesha @memeorydotcom @deadunicorn159 @get0ut0fmyr00m @siriuslymooned @emmyeed @superbreadsoul @hellu-people1 @ourautumn86 @inas-thing @noraapple05 @givemylovetoall @luvwanda (tags continued in comments)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us imagine #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fic #twenty years later

[kittyball23]

Homecoming (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: As a teenage Branch gathers supplies, he hears a familiar tune of his past playing at a certain pink tween princess's birthday party

A/N: Taking place before TBT

__________________________________________

Branch scowled.

All of them - every single one of them out there, dancing till their legs would give out on them and singing till their voices got sore - was a fool.

It seemed to him now that almost every party that happened in Pop Village was progressively getting bigger, louder, and crazier. And one day, it was going to be the inevitable demise of the town they created away from the treacherous creatures who wanted to eat them.

The Bergens are coming! AHHH!

They’d all thought he was the crazy one whenever he burst in screaming about the dangers they were blind to, hoping they would get a wakeup call and side with him.

But nobody ever did.

Branch clenched his fists, gripping the sticks he was holding tighter. This whole shindig was surefire Bergen bait. That banner hanging up in the trees may as well be reading HERE WE ARE! BON APPETIT!

But, it didn’t. The banner that was there instead read HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRINCESS POPPY!

From his vantage point up higher than the clearing that was below, he could see everything that was happening to celebrate the future Queen’s occasion. Balloons of all colors had been blown up and were strung at the corners of a large table in which Trolls had been placing presents on. Accumulated there already were at least two dozen, big, small, wide and short with fun wrapping paper designs of stars and sparkles. Much of the adults who attended were chatting idly with each other, while the kids were playing games and busting out some moves to the music that was playing on the boombox.

Branch spotted Princess Poppy almost instantly in the crowd. She was always so distinguishable, not only by her pink color scheme, but also by her perky, peppy attitude. He never saw her without a smile on her face. It was as though that was the only expression she knew how to make, as she laughed and sang with her friends.

He snorted. He’d known about this party for weeks. Months even. While he wasn’t involved in the town’s happenings and barely interacted with anybody (aside from a grumble at any greeting that was sent his way), he had heard the talk buzzing around about it whenever he went to go gather supplies. Poppy herself had invited him to it. She was chipper, grinning at him from ear to ear and presenting the invitation, which, as it always did, shot out its burst of glitter in his face after a little jingle rang out. That invitation should be long gone, torn and rotting in the garbage by now. But, it was in fact sitting behind a curtain in his room, secretly hidden away from the eyes and ears of anybody, along with a collection of many other identical invitations that she’d given him for a variety of different occasions.

Suddenly, a strange feeling overcame him as he thought about those invitations, and the parties that he’d missed. Would it have been so bad if he had attended one of them? There was a time, Branch could remember, in his memory where he would’ve accepted. If things had been different, maybe he could be there right now, celebrating alongside her.

Maybe ALL of us could have been friends…

Branch shook his head, frowning and pushing those ridiculous what-if scenarios out of his mind and refusing to address who the ‘All’ was by individual name.

But it seemed that the universe didn’t want him to brush it off so easily.

Right as Branch turned to start making his way out of there with his bundle of sticks, he heard Party Rock Anthem conclude, and an all-too familiar tune take its place.

“Da-da, da-da-da, 

Da-da-da, da-da-da…”

Several things happened at once. Poppy and a number of her girl friends squealed a scream, the party’s DJ turned up the volume of the song a few notches, and Branch’s blood ran cold.

Oh, please, no. Not this song….

“Well, there she goes! On the floor let’s do this no more talking,

Did anybody notice? The energy just shifted when we dropped it!”

Poppy sang along, grabbing her friends - Cooper, Smidge, Satin and Chenille, as Branch remembered that they were called - and going through the dance moves with close accuracy to the way it was meant to be performed.

“I don’t flex but I might,

Groove about you take flight,

Cuz’ the night is young and the music’s on,

And we got love on sight!”

Another one of Poppy’s friends added their voice to the sing-along, and Branch rolled his eyes when he saw who it was.

“The sky was the limit,

Now the stars where we’re living,

It’s the vibe when we’re in it,

It’ll blow your mind!”

Creek, in truth, was not as great of a singer as he thought he was. The others didn’t seem to think so, though, and applauded him.

“Oh, I just looove BroZone SO MUCH!” Poppy gushed when the song got to its chorus. “I wonder what The Baby’s voice sounds like now…” She hummed, tapping a finger to her chin as if trying to picture it.

Branch’s guess would be as good as hers on behalf of that question, despite the fact that he himself had been ‘The Baby’ of BroZone. But he was far gone from the little Troll who used to dance around in diapers and pink-tinted glasses. In fact, no musical note had ever come out of his throat for many, many years. This last part the Trolls of the village knew. But the first part, about his band days and the boys he had once called his brothers, were as much of a secret as Poppy’s hidden invitations.

Smidge shrugged. “Who knows! I wish I knew where they all went off to,” she sighed in her gruff little voice.

“Same here!” Satin and Chenille said at the same time. Then the former turned to the latter and asked, “Chenille, remember when you used to write letters to the ‘Win a Date with Spruce’ contest even though they no longer do it?”

“Satin!” the fashionista twin exclaimed, shoving her sister on the arm while blushing. “I told you not to mention that!”

“Well, it’s true!” Satin giggled.

Chenille, in an effort to change the subject, turned her attention to Poppy. “Say, Poppy, who was your favorite BroZone guy?”

Cooper, Biggie and Guy Diamond all piped up, also eager to know.

“Hey, that’s a good question!” Cooper chimed.

“WhOooOo was your favorite?” Guy Diamond asked in his techno-reverby voice.

“Mr. Dinkles is dying to find out!” Biggie said, holding up his pet worm, Mr. Dinkles, who gave a little squeaky “mew!” in reply.

Branch had to perk an ear at this, his curiosity piqued for what the Pop Princess had to say.

Poppy blushed a little, thinking carefully about her answer.

“Well, um… hehe… The, um, Leader’s kinda cute…”

John Dory? Branch snorted. His huge head is full of nothing but hot air!

“But you know,” Poppy continued, her cheeks darkening, “so is Spruce.”

Spruce? Pfft. Yeah, sure. Cute until he cheats on you, Branch thought, recalling how his second eldest brother always seemed to have a new girlfriend each week.

“Oh, but Clay always had the best dances!” she giggled, imitating the most well-known “Rusty Robot” move.

Clay’s a player. He’d make it seem like things are handy-dandy, and then the next day he’ll dump you and say it was just a joke all along!

“And don’t get me started on Floyd!”

HA. Don’t get ME started, either, he thought bitterly, subconsciously fingering the leaf vest he was wearing. It was still a little bit big on him, but, once he was a couple years older and underwent the growth spurt that seemed to hit most of the older teenage Trolls, he was sure it would fit just fine. He suddenly remembered the words that his favorite brother had told him many years back.

When you miss me, you can wear this. It’ll be like I’m right here with you.

Well, Branch could see that that wasn’t exactly the truth. Having Floyd there in person was not the same as wearing a vest that only carried his memory. He then thought of another untruth he was told, on the very same night.

I’ll be back. I promise.

But WHEN, Floyd? Branch wished he would’ve asked right there and then. It’d already been over a decade since then. He needed his favorite brother’s comfort more than ever, especially when their Grandma had suffered her death at the hands of a Bergen. Then another thought crept into his mind.

Did he forget about me?

It hurt Branch to think so, but it was a possibility. If Floyd was really out there, enjoying his best life and riding the high of the solo career he’d always wanted, then what use was there in leaving that behind to come back for a little brother who would just be in the way?

He wouldn’t.

That’s why it didn’t bother Branch at knowing that he broke a promise to his brother as well.

And when you come back, we’ll build our hideout!

Branch humphed. If he wasn’t coming back, then there was no need to feel guilty that the hideout was already in progress.

He gathered his sticks and hurried off, not bothering to hear the rest of the conversation. Creek was saying something to Poppy, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him, a hand of his on her shoulder. Branch set his jaw, firmly clenching the sticks and finally stormed off.

__________________________________________

After about a half hour, the sticks had been whittled into six identical dagger-like weapons, added into his basket of other dagger-like weapons. Then, per Branch’s usual routine in the evening - before he went on to eat his dinner - he made his way over to the side of his bed, plucked the feather duster that was leaning against the wall, and made his way over to the only rooms in the bunker that were not stashed to the brim with supplies.

At first glance, it would seem as though Branch had four spare bedrooms intended for guests. But Branch was not one to have company over, so that possibility would be ruled out. And the folks who would be staying in them anyhow would not be guests. They would be permanent residents.

That is, if those said brothers ever returned.

Branch looked down at the arm that was holding the featherduster, scrutinizing its grayness. Ever since the day he’d lost his vibrant blue color, his outlook in life had never been the same. Optimism was never something he had anymore. But Branch also obtained something else that became a part of his personality that day, too. And that was the initiative to always remain crazy-prepared.

Room by room he went, tidying the spaces, ensuring that the beds had crisp sheets and fresh linen, that the photo frames on the wall were straightened, and that each instrument of their interest was cleansed. John Dory’s drumset was wiped down. Spruce’s saxophone was polished to perfection. Clay’s keyboard was rubbed till it shone. And Floyd's guitar was tuned and set, ready for action.

Branch sighed, almost feeling himself get teary-eyed. He was just about the ages of his brothers when the band had split. By this point, he’d figured he would have had his very own blue puffy jacket, and that the only thing he would have to worry about is getting over his preshow jitters.

But, nooo.

Branch sat here, waiting for something that may not happen. That little part of him was going to still fight for hope, though. Despite his parents gone, his brothers who-knew-where, his Grandma dead, his colors vanished, and his crush unrequited, Branch had to press on.

Someday, if the homecoming ever were to happen, Branch would not be caught off guard. He took out the plan for his hideout from the inner pocket of his vest. It was a little bit worn from the years, yellowed and slightly wrinkled, but still very visible. His three-year-old vision depicted in colorful blocky lettering and a handful of glitter had finally become a reality.

Now all he had to do was wait for them to come back into his life.

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #broppy #branch trolls #poppy trolls #brozone #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #floyd trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #brodacious fanfiction #100+

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) Part 5

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

PART 5.

“I really hate this building,” he grouses as you push through the security door without challenge. He sounds grumpy, and it’s almost…cute. You’re not used to having anyone worrying after you like this.

“I’ve never had a problem here,” you try to assure him.

He gives one last hostile look over the street like he expects a horde of marauders to come charging after you. But there’s just streetlights, and the few harmless hipsters who are still out and about on a Friday night. This city never really sleeps.

“Do you at least have protection in your apartment?”

You reckon he doesn’t mean condoms.

“What, like a gun?”

“Yes.”

“No,” you laugh. “I have a bat under my bed?”

He makes a sound through his teeth that indicates that is not the answer he wanted to hear. Again, you stumble on that stupid odd riser, and again he grabs for you, holding your waist with an arm that feels like steel, practically carrying you up the next three steps. He is tense, on edge after the fight, his eyes sweeping the shadows of your stairwell.

You hope that once you get him inside your apartment, he might calm down. For once the tumblers yield without a fight, and you pull him inside, locking the deadbolt again behind you. “Come sit down. Let me look at you.”

Instead he strides to the window, looking out over the street with a suspicious glare. He is manic, going to every window that faces the street and closing blinds and curtains. Then he stands vigil again, looking out through a crack in the blinds, his jaw clenched. He stands like that for a good minute before you insist, “John.”

He reminds you of a hawk, the way he turns his head to look at you without moving the rest of his body.

“It’s ok, honey. Do you want a drink?”

He lets out a deep breath, maybe relaxing a tad, though he’s still grinding his bottom teeth. “Sure.”

You know his poison of choice now. It’s possible you picked up a nicer bottle of bourbon than what you had on offer last time, a small batch vintage.

“Sit,” you insist, pointing at one of your chairs in the living room. You know it sounds like a command, but it seems like the only way to get through to him in this hyper-fixated state. After a long moment he finally obeys, lowering himself down into the cushioned seat with the weariness of a man ten years his elder. He seems as though he has done this all before—and he doesn’t like it anymore.

“You’re taking all this rather well,” he remarks, gratefully accepting the cut crystal glass from you, slugging back half of it.

“Well...that guy was an asshole.” You shudder as your think about what Sasha intended to do to you, and how he’d undoubtedly treated other women before you who didn’t have someone like John on their side. “A knife in the leg was the least he deserved. You taught him a lesson he won't forget.”

“Yeah. Too bad these guys aren't big on self-reflection. They prefer revenge.”

“You think they’ll come after you?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

You digest this, chewing on your bottom lip. “I can’t imagine how they could even find me,” you try to assure him. “It’s a huge city.”

The look he pays you isn’t exactly condescending, but it definitely makes you feel like he finds you naïve.

“Did you pay for your first round of drinks with cash?”

“No, credit card.”

He nods, like that’s all they would need.

“Seriously?”

“They have their ways.”

“Who are they, exactly?”

“I feel like it would be better if you didn’t know.”

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” you say with your hands on your hips. “If someone’s coming after me, you’re going to tell me who.”

The wistful smile that twists his lips unexpected. “What?” you ask, unable to mask your annoyance.

“It’s just…I feel like I’ve had this conversation before.”

You realize you must remind him of Helen, with your no-male-bullshit attitude. It makes your heart ache at the same time it fills with pride. “Well, I learned from the best.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, and you feel your annoyance melt away as you study this man, so forbidding and yet beneath it all, a little fragile. You see it in his eyes, and there’s still blood on his brow, and you decide you want to patch him up more than you want to argue with him.

For now.

Maybe he feels some obligation to take care of you because of Helen, but it goes both ways. You know Helen would want you to make sure he’s taken care of too. You feel a little guilty that it’s taken this long.

“I’m going to go get my first aid kit. We’ll clean you up, then you can decide what you want to tell me. FYI, the less you know the better is not acceptable tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You cannot tell if he is amused, exasperated, or maybe both.

You return from the bathroom with your medicine chest, thunking it down on the coffee table. “Want another?” you ask, gesturing at his empty glass.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t. Good stuff.” You smile to yourself, wondering if your previous offering had been closer on the scale to paint thinner, remembering how he’d drank it anyway because he was a sweetheart. He was a conundrum, was what he was. This man was dangerous, and after what you’d seen earlier, you suspected he was possibly a killer. And yet, he was sweet. So sweet, at least to you, and those he considered friends. The warmth that bloomed in your chest for him was alarmingly not exactly—or not exclusively—lust related.

“Ouch,” you sigh, inspecting his brow. It’s a deep cut, and might actually require a butterfly. You won’t know until you clean it up.

You actually possess a passable first aid kit. Sometimes, art projects involving blades go awry, and you are in the habit of taking care of your ailments yourself. The cost of healthcare is utterly obscene, and until recently, out of your budget.

John lets you fuss over him, sitting still as a statue as you cleanse his wounds with saline solution then slather him with some antibacterial goop. Though you still feel a bit sick, and a bit giddy from the adrenaline, luckily your hands have stopped shaking. You do affix one butterfly closure to his noble brow, just in case. His eyes are closed, almost as though he is enjoying your ministrations, even though you know it can’t actually feel good.

“I’m not sure what else to do for this,” you say, touching his split lip lightly with a gauze pad, dabbing away the blood.

“It’s fine,” he sighs. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” you say.

This could be an excellent window for him to really tell you what’s going on. You suspect he’s purposely distracting you when he reaches for you, tracing the line of your waist before his large hands settle on your hips, pulling you closer between his manspread legs.  

“I’m feeling better now.” He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes, and goddammit they should be considered an illegal weapon.

You know you should insist on answers before giving in, but your resolve utterly dissolves under his touch and that longing look, replaced with heady desire. This thing between you is a force to be reckoned with; it obliterates your good sense, your sense of propriety, your loyalty to your late sister. Anything that might have stopped you with anyone else ceased to matter with this beautiful man.

You are not sure if he pulls you, or if you just melt down into his lap, straddling him. His long fingers splay on your legs, pushing your skirts up your thighs, sliding higher and higher until he cups your ass with only your panties between you.

“My knight in shining black armor,” you sigh, touching his cheek lightly, wary of causing him pain. You think you see a bruise forming beneath the scruff of his beard.

“Hmm. It’s nice to be the hero, for once.” 

“Are you usually the bad guy, John?”

His touch is feather light down your legs again, then up your spine and the backs of your arms, causing you to shudder uncontrollably. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

“I think I’m forming an idea,” you admit breathily.

“My clever girl. What ever shall I do with you?” You’re not sure why his praise makes heat and slick pool between your legs, as though you are melting from the inside for this man. His hands are in your hair now, his touch still so gentle, but oh so maddening. Your skin feels like its on fire.

You kiss him gently, because of the split lip. He is the one who deepens it, with a growing desperation and a disregard for his own pain that you find insanely titillating. His mouth travels down your neck, trailing kisses and grazing with teeth as though he means to eat you alive.

You would let him, gladly, and you writhe against him, grinding on the length of his hard cock beneath you. You didn’t even get to see it last time. Tonight, you determine you will remedy that.

Fingers hooked in the straps of your dress pull down, down and down until you are bared before him. His hand in your hair pulls, gentle but exacting, guiding you to arch your back, offering up your breasts for his delectation. His mouth on your nipples is pure magic, sucking and biting and flicks of tongue that drive you to the absolute brink. He could make you cum just like this, you think, with his mouth on your tits and riding his rock-hard cock through his pants.

It hardly seems fair, considering last time, you somehow manage to think through the fog of desire that has you so tied up in knots. You push against him, sliding down his body until you are on your knees before him. He watches you with such blatantly raw hunger it makes your legs weak; he knows exactly what you’re doing, and doesn’t have the will to tell you no. He watches you intensely as you reach for his belt, flipping it open. There is a weight on the belt that confuses you for a moment, until his hand goes behind his back, catching something.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, and you can’t think straight enough to even entertain it. He pulls out a small black blocky object—it takes you a moment to realize it’s a gun. You've never really seen one in real life until tonight, just in the movies. You are more curious than fearful as he sets it gingerly on the table. The possibility does not even register that he could be a threat to you. After everything you’ve seen tonight, this is just par for the course, and you return to your task with gusto, whipping his belt from their loops with a satisfying snap.

You cannot hide the fact that you are utterly pleased with yourself, and the corners of his mouth twitch, his hand caressing your cheek. You finish undoing his pants with your eyes half closed, so entranced by his light touch, until his manhood springs free into your hand, hot and velvety and oh my he is large. You roll your eyes up to meet his before descending upon him, slowly taking his swollen glans between your lips, swirling him with your tongue.

“Fuck, baby…”

The hand in your hair is not so gentle now; you don’t think he realizes he’s pulling, as you slowly take his length into the back of your throat, toying with the vein with your tongue. You slide more of him into your mouth, knowing you'll never be able to fit it all, but so willing to try. You bob up and down slowly, grazing him very carefully with your teeth, winning the most delicious moan from this man who is usually such a bastion of self-control. 

His fingers comb through your hair, sending chills all down your body as you work him up and down. The tips of your bare breasts brushing his tautly muscled thighs sends spears of longing to your loins, and you press your legs for some relief.

It doesn’t work, but you are enjoying this, and you want to treat him, the way he treated you so generously before. He’s taken a beating for you, fought and bled for you, protected you, and you want to thank him in the most primal way you know how. You take him deeper into the back of your throat, as deep as you can go, savoring every thick inch of this magnificent cock. What a thing of beauty. He groans, and you would have smiled if not for the mouthful.

“Baby...so good to me.” His hips rock against you of their own volition, his grip tightening in your hair. “Touch yourself for me. I want to feel you cum with your mouth sucking my cock.”

He doesn't have to invite you twice. Your fingers find your weeping slit, toying with your clit while you go down on him. You find a rhythm like this, sucking him in time to touching yourself. Maybe it’s a little self serving, but then again...there is something cosmic in this. Something timeless and primal and he seems to be enjoying it all the more with your participation, the vibration of your moans teasing his hard shaft.

You feel that scintillating pleasure gathering in your loins, know you are close. Your pleasure almost takes you by surprise, it is so swift and violent, your body spasming with the mindnumbing explosion inside you. After last time, it’s almost the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. You take him into your throat fully and he cums with you, no warning, just the hot spill of his seed down your throat, filling your mouth. You swallow it greedily, only withdrawing when he stills beneath you.

You nearly collapse against his lean legs, your cheek resting on his lean thigh. This man is made of muscle and sinew. Through hooded eyes he caresses your face, toying with your hair. You shudder with aftershocks that are almost as pleasurable as the orgasm itself. You feel triumph as those burning dark eyes slide closed, overcome by afterglow, and maybe something else you don't care to name now.

“My sweet girl. You...are a marvel."

Something inside you blooms at hearing those soft words from him.

Slowly you sit up, stretching against him, using his hard body to help push you to your feet. Without a word you step out of your lacy pink panties and stick them in his jacket like a pocket square. He glances down with a lifted eyebrow, a small smirk pulling the corner of his mouth.

He’s so beautiful you could scream. 

“Something to add to your collection,” you quip, alluding to the fact that even though he practically fled last time, you know he took your undies with him.

“I will treasure them as much as the last pair,” he admits with a woebegone smile that crushes your heart.

Your legs are trembling beneath you, and you hold out a hand to him, inviting him to follow you. “Snuggle with me?”

A few long moments pass, until you think he might reject the idea, but then he takes your smaller mitt in his and tugs you down into his lap. It is silly, how secure you feel curled up in this man’s arms, your head finding the warm crook of his neck. His masculine smell is utterly divine, and you could fall asleep there, with his long fingers stroking your hair. You snuggle in the quiet aftermath, spent and ever so content.

This might be what heaven feels like.

You’re not sure how much time has passed, when he brushes his lips against the top of your head and asks, “What would you say to packing a bag and coming to my place for the weekend?”

The suggestion takes you aback. Heat floods you as you think about just what you would get up to on a long weekend away at Casa Wick.

It certainly wouldn't be innocent.

Your little bubble of carnal pleasure bursts when you think of everything that happened outside your apartment, before you pleasured each other into a mind-numbed stupor.

“I would say I feel like you have an ulterior motive besides enjoying my company.”

“I do enjoy your company.”

“And I think you think I'm in danger. Are you ready to talk about that?”

“Am I allowed to say no?”

“No.”

He huffs with laughter, clearly amused with you. But behind it all, you see the shadow of worry in his eyes, a tension at the corners of his mouth. “Come home with me, and we can talk about there.”

You tilt your head, wondering if he would be so diabolical as to fuck you into a blissfully complacent stupor so he didn’t have to answer your questions the whole weekend. You’ve never been good at taking orders—or hell, even advice—at face value. You like to make decisions—read mistakes—for yourself. But maybe, just this once, you could have faith that someone has your best interests at heart. He’s older than you, maybe wiser, and seems to know a little something you don’t about the workings of the underworld of New York City. As surreal as it seems...you could actually be in serious danger.

Seeing that you are still thinking, he sweetens the pot, nuzzling the shell of your ear with his nose. “I will cook for you and spoil you rotten.”

You can only imagine what carnal delights spoiling implies with this man.  

Well…fuck.

“Fine. I’ll pack a bag. But we are just postponing this Q & A.”

“Fair enough.” You extricate yourself from his lap with a stretch, and he gives you a light smack on your rear as you make your way for your bedroom. When you turn to look at him with a raised eyebrow he pays you a panty-melting (if you’d been wearing any) smirk that turns your brain to mush.

This man.

It occurs to you that this man is, in fact, dangerous to you. Not in terms of violence, but…you sense in yourself that if he asked nicely, you just might give him anything. You understand more than ever how and why Helen fell so quickly for John Wick, as you find yourself surrendering to your addiction to him with a secret smile.

<<PART 4 PART 6>>

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #keanu reeves #john wick fic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x you

[xtaketwox]

Summary: Everyone is born with an arrow on their hand that points toward their soulmate on their eighteenth birthday. When Lucien comes to find Elain after the arrow on her hand led Graysen to dump her on her birthday, she tells him to leave and not contact her again. Nine years later, their paths cross once more and Lucien makes it his mission to woo Elain.

Fic Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Chapter Length: 4739 words

Masterlist; Read on AO3

Chapter 3

Lucien watched Elain drive away and loosed a breath, his shoulders relaxing as her taillights faded away.

He couldn’t believe he got her to agree to a coffee date. Elain had spent the entire wedding and reception avoiding him. He had been certain she would say no, and couldn’t help but wonder what had changed her mind. 

Maybe it wasn’t him specifically she didn’t want, as he assumed. Maybe she didn’t want anyone. Or perhaps it was an Archeron thing. Feyre had resisted Rhys when she first discovered they were soulmates, and Lucien had heard of Cassian’s own decade-long battle with Nesta. 

In hindsight, asking for a dance had been a terrible idea anyway, and he was relieved she had declined. As it was, he barely felt in control of himself around Elain, and she was clearly still uncomfortable with their soulmate bond.  Lucien opened the car door and sat without turning the car on, contemplating the enigma that was Elain and her hold on him even after a decade without contact. 

To put it simply, she took his breath away. Perhaps it was the soulmate bond, though he doubted it. She was beautiful—he’d have to be blind not to notice—but there was more to her beauty than just her physical appearance. It was as if her general aura heightened her already gorgeous features. 

It wasn’t as if he’d never been attracted to another woman, although it had been a decade now since he’d been interested in someone else. He had eyes, so he could appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one, but it was a bit like observing art in a museum rather than attraction. He supposed the downside to having a soulmate bond was the way in which it robbed you of the desire to be with anyone else if your soulmate refused to be with you. Some people did date outside their soulmates, but it was incredibly rare. Most people simply had no attraction for anyone else, and he’d be lying if he said didn’t wish he could be one of the people who could. He didn’t enjoy the idea of being alone for the rest of his life.

Getting coffee with Elain on Monday felt like a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it gave Lucien some hope, but on the other hand, that hope could just as easily turn to ash if Elain continued to reject him. He wondered idly if she had only agreed to coffee because she knew he’d be gone again in a few weeks.

He had to admit, his job taking him out of the country for most of the year had been one of the reasons he had sought the job in the first place. He was good with people, good with negotiations, so he was a good ambassador. One of the best, given he had obtained one of the highly sought after countries after only a few years. The job kept him busy, but most importantly kept him from seeking out Elain. 

He had agreed to give her her space until she came to him, had wanted to honor her request, but it hadn’t been easy. He wondered how Cassian had managed a decade of Nesta Archeron pushing him away. He didn’t know the specifics, but he wasn’t certain he could have done the same. He wasn’t that masochistic, nor did he desire to push himself on Elain. If she didn’t want to be with him, then he would respect that.

Lucien blew out a breath and started the car, pulling out and heading back to the Night mansion. Helion’s home was a short walk away, and Lucien had planned to stay there that evening before returning to his apartment the following day. 

After dropping the car off, he started walking, his hands stuffed in his pockets against the bite of chill in the air, replaying his conversations with Elain, his heart thumping oddly in his chest as he did so. He was surprised to find his mother still awake when he came through the door. She was holding a steaming cup of tea and sitting on a settee near the fireplace in the room off the entrance. Lucien walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

“How was the wedding?” she asked as he stood in front of the fireplace, warming his hands. 

“It was what you’d expect from Rhys and his father.” He looked back. “Small but expensive.”

His mother chuckled as she sipped her tea. “That sounds about right. Did you enjoy yourself?”

He nodded, taking a deep breath before adding, “Elain was there.”

There was a beat of silence before his mother asked, “Did you speak with her?”

He nodded, staring at the flames of the fireplace. “I drove her back to the chapel to get her car and we’re meeting for coffee on Monday.”

“That’s wonderful.” 

Lucien turned at the words, his mother’s tone betraying her worry, and sighed. “You don’t have to worry, mother. I’m not expecting anything to come of it. It’s just coffee.”

His mother set down her cup and stood, her ruby red hair—the hair he had inherited from her—glinting in the firelight as she crossed to him and put a hand on his cheek. “But you should expect something to come of it. She is your soulmate after all. It’s only natural to want her to return your affections.”

He frowned to cover the way her words pierced his heart. “I don’t have affections for her. I hardly know her. The only other time we’ve spoken has been that first day over nine years ago.”

His mother gave him a look that said she knew better and patted his cheek affectionately before picking up her teacup and heading to the door. “I’m just saying that it’s only natural for you to want to see your soulmate.” She paused, a hand on the doorframe and looked back. “Be careful, my love. I don’t want you to end up hurt.”

It was on the tip of Lucien’s tongue to deny the possibility, but he knew she would only give him another knowing look. He had been unable to hide his devastation from her at Elain’s first rejection. She had no reason to believe this time would be any different, and truth be told, he wasn’t sure it was any different.

He shook his head as she left. Leave it to his mother to make him feel like a teenager instead of a grown man. She had an uncanny way of doing that. He headed out the door and up the staircase to the room Helion had given him. Rooms, really. Beron had had six other sons, and regardless of the fact the house was still a mansion, by the time Lucien had arrived, all the best rooms had been taken. Helion had given him the biggest suite of rooms outside of the one he shared with Lucien’s mother. He had practically an entire wing to himself. 

The suite had a sitting room that was bigger than some apartments, two separate bedrooms on either side, each with their own ensuite bathroom, and even a powder room for guests, should he have them. He had told Helion it was too much, but Helion had insisted. He supposed Helion felt guilty for not being there for him when he was younger, so he had decided it wasn’t worth the argument, especially given he was hardly ever in the country anyway. 

Lucien walked into the bedroom to the right, the one he had decided would be his the first time he had stayed, and into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. He preferred showering at night, to wash the day away. Helion had supplied Lucien with a full set of tailored clothes and a dresser full of pajamas, claiming it would be easier if Lucien didn’t have to lug clothes over every time he came to stay. Lucien hadn’t bothered to argue over that either, despite the whole thing making him uncomfortable.

It was clear Helion wished to make up for the years that he hadn’t been aware that Lucien was his son, no matter how many times Lucien told him it wasn’t necessary. Some part of Lucien lamented the fact that he had grown up with Beron’s abuse instead of Helion’s abundance, but he was also an adult and he didn’t really need a father at this point. He had learned to live without one a long time ago. 

Still, Lucien could understand why Helion went to such lengths and decided he would just let him. He could take the discomfort if only because Helion made his mother so happy. 

Once showered, his hair toweled dry, he dropped into bed, not bothering with clothes. He knew he’d be dealing with a rat’s nest in the morning sleeping on wet hair, but didn’t care. He’d just braid it. 

He turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. He was going to see Elain again. He took a deep breath and held it against the rising tide of anxiety and excitement. He reminded himself yet again that a coffee date didn’t mean anything. He couldn’t allow himself to hope that it would lead to anything more. He should be happy that she had agreed to coffee and leave it to that.

But Lucien couldn’t stop the hope that swelled in the dark. Maybe this time he should fight for her instead of letting her slip away from him. He wondered yet again why exactly she had avoided him for so long. Did she find him abhorrent? Confidence in his appearance wasn’t an issue, enough women gave him appreciative looks for him not to think Elain found him unattractive. Elain had given him an appreciative look at the wedding, though he wasn’t sure if she had realized the way she looked at him. 

Perhaps she didn’t want to be attached to anyone, not just him. The soulmate bond didn’t exactly care if you wanted a romantic partner. No one knew why the bonds happened, only that they did and that usually the couples were compatible. Perhaps Elain preferred to work in her flower shop and leave love to other people. 

Lucien threw an arm over his eyes. Sleep was going to be impossible when his thoughts were full of Elain. Had she even realized what she did to him this evening? Watching her dance with Azriel had been a special kind of torture, even though he himself had danced with Morrigan. Mor, however, had just about as much interest in him as he had in her, so it had been much like dancing with his own cousin. Azriel was hard to read, but how could he not have wanted Elain?

How could anyone not want Elain, especially in that dress, the way it had hugged her curves, the front dipping low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. It hadn’t been skin tight the way Mor’s dress had been, but it had been tight enough to make him shift in his seat the moment he saw her. 

He rubbed his eyes, frustration like a stone on his chest. He needed to get a grip on himself before coffee with Elain or he might say or do something to scare her away. He was usually good at reading people; he had to be good at reading people to be good at his job. But Elain was difficult for him to read. He supposed it could be because he was too close to the situation, too emotionally involved in the outcome to assess things the way he might usually do. Or perhaps the Mother had chosen to give him a soulmate who would challenge him. 

He had to admit that not being able to easily read Elain did keep things interesting, if not equally frustrating. If he succeeded in getting her to agree to a relationship, he would certainly be counting it as a hard-won victory. 

Sighing again, he turned onto his side and shut off the bedside lamp, hoping he could get to sleep soon.

~~~~~~~~

Elain pulled down the mirror in her car to check her appearance again, stalling from having to get out of the car and walk into the coffee shop. She had typed out and then deleted a message canceling coffee more than once between Friday evening and today, but something always stopped her from pushing send. 

She glanced at the clock. She was already five minutes late and she hated not being punctual, so she flipped her mirror back up, pulled on her gloves, grabbed her purse, and exited her car. She could do this. It was just coffee. It’s not like they were going on an actual date. 

Elain pulled open the door to the coffee shop, her eyes drawn like a magnet to the flash of red hair. Her heart did a funny little skip as Lucien smiled at her and walked over. He looked relieved, and she wondered if he thought she wouldn’t show. She couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. His clothes looked tailored and expensive.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” Elain winced at how breathless she sounded and cleared her throat. She turned toward the line before she could see Lucien’s response to her breathless response, fiddling with the edge of her gloves as she tried to calm her racing heart. She hoped he didn’t read anything into it. 

After they procured their coffees in silence, Lucien led them over to a table set back in a quiet corner. It was by the window with a ficus next to it. She had never been to this particular place before and looked around as Lucien sat across from her. The space wasn’t very large, which she enjoyed as it meant it was quieter than other cafes she’d been to. The atmosphere was very calm and friendly, which she appreciated. She took a sip of her coffee and hummed in appreciation.

“This is delicious,” she said, peering into her mug—another thing she enjoyed, real mugs.

Lucien took a sip of his own coffee and nodded. “It’s one of my favorite places to get coffee when I’m in town.”

Elain took another sip and then made herself set her cup down. She didn’t want to finish the coffee too quickly. She needed it to help fill any awkward moments. “How did you find it?” she asked, glancing up from her mug. 

He shrugged. “I’ve been coming here for so long, I’m not even sure. The owners are great, if you ever have a chance to meet them. The very definition of Mom and Pop coffee shop owners.”

“Oh?” The conversation was hardly intriguing but at least they were conversing.

Lucien nodded, wrapping his hands around his mug. “Yeah. I met them several years back and now they make a point of saying hi anytime I come in when they’re here.”

Elain looked toward the counter. “Are they here today?”

Lucien shook his head. “I got here about fifteen minutes early and haven’t seen them.”

Elain bit her lip. “Sorry I was a little late.”

Lucien blinked. “Were you late?”

“I was about five minutes late.”

A corner of his mouth tipped up. “That’s hardly worth apologizing for.”

Elain straightened, raising her chin even as she felt her cheeks turning red. “Five minutes is still late.”

Lucien lifted his cup. “In that case, I accept your apology.”

“Good.”

They lapsed into silence and Elain looked down at her coffee, tapping her finger on the side of the cup as she tried to think of something, anything to talk about. She hated awkward silences and prided herself in being able to dispel them, but it was as if her mind had completely emptied of all thought around Lucien. 

“How was the flower shop this weekend?”

Elain exhaled, grateful that at least one of them had come up with something to say. “It was good.” She paused and then added, “I had a lot of orders so I was pretty busy.”

Lucien nodded and then took another sip of his coffee as they both lapsed back into silence. 

This was awful. Just awful. Why couldn’t she think of anything to say? Conversation was her specialty.

Lucien eyed her, then took a deep breath and said, “You wouldn’t happen to know why it’s so hard to hold a conversation would you?”

Elain laughed as relief flooded through her. “No, but this is horrible.”

Lucien’s eyes sparkled as he nodded, taking a sip from his mug. “The worst conversation I’ve had in a long time.”

“The very worst.” Elain straightened and then said primly, “It must be you. I am normally a wonderful conversationalist.”

Lucien’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t think so. I literally have conversations for a living, so clearly I’m an expert.”

Elain hummed. “I can’t believe you still have a job, because your conversation skills are sorely lacking. Clearly.”

Lucien’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, clearly I would be the one at fault here.”

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Lucien snorted into his coffee, but his eyes were lit with amusement. “So tell me, wonderful conversationalist, what should we do to fix this problem?”

Elain chewed her lip as she thought. “Well, we could take turns stating facts about ourselves?”

“Like two truths and a lie?”

Elain rolled her eyes. “We’re not in high school.” Lucien chuckled at that. “Just a fact. If the other person has any followup questions, then we can answer those and keep the conversation rolling.”

Lucien nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Who wants to go first?”

Elain took a deep breath. “I can go.” 

He gestured for her to continue, and she chewed her lip as she tried to think of a fact to share. She had so few life experiences that seemed worth sharing, and as for sharing her feelings on things that really mattered, she wasn’t sure she was ready to do that. Eventually she went with, “Gardening is my favorite hobby.”

Lucien raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment that her fact was something he likely already suspected, given she owned a flower shop. “What do you like about gardening?”

Elain took a sip of her coffee and stared at the ficus behind Lucien’s head as she thought. “I enjoy the sunshine, the way you can nurture a seed into something beautiful, like a flower, or into something you can use to feed your family. Sometimes I like to imagine how gratifying it would have been to be able to feed your entire family from the produce you grew yourself. Imagine never having a grocery store to go to, only relying on the gods favor with the weather and your own two hands. I can’t imagine living in that world, but when I have my hands in the dirt, when I pluck weeds, when I prune branches, I feel the most at home, the most like myself.”

She looked back to Lucien who was watching her with his lips parted. Her face heated as she realized she had been rambling. “Sorry. That was probably more than you were looking for.”

Lucien shook his head, looking slightly dazed. “No. That was exactly what I was looking for.” He dipped his head. “Thank you for telling me.”

Elain cleared her throat and nodded to him. “Your turn.”

Lucien looked to the ceiling for a moment before saying, “I’m still not used to being the sole heir for Helion and sometimes feel like I’m living someone else’s life.”

Elain blinked, surprised he had shared something so personal. “Why does it feel like someone else’s life?” she asked quietly. 

He lifted a shoulder, likely trying to look nonchalant, but only succeeding in looking vulnerable. “I was the youngest of seven children. I always got whatever was left after everyone else took. I had the smallest bedroom, I opened presents last on Solstice, you get the idea. I’m an adult, so it’s not like I need anything from Helion, but it is a lot to suddenly be getting first pick. My room at Helion’s mansion is an entire suite of rooms that are bigger than the average apartment.”

Elain’s heart hurt at the thought that Lucien had ever felt less than deserving, and felt something like shame wind its way through her mind at the realization that she had inadvertently done the same thing to him. “I’m sorry you ever felt that way.” She nearly apologized for what she had said nine years ago, but stopped herself before she could. She wasn’t sure that she was sorry and the last thing she wanted was for him to think she was only apologizing out of pity. 

Lucien shrugged again. “It’s ok. I’m just happy my mother’s happy.”

“Do you ever see your brothers?” Elain asked, hoping she wasn’t prying.

“Not often. They never really liked me when we were growing up, and now I know it’s because they were all aware I wasn’t Beron’s son. I was the last one to know.” He took a deep breath. “Eris has reached out a couple times, but he and I are too different to ever be close. As for the others, I think they’re just happy they won’t have to share the inheritance with me, although I doubt Beron ever planned to leave me anything anyway.” He cleared his throat. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Discussion closed. Elain nodded. “Um…” Perhaps since Lucien had given such personal details, she could reciprocate. Taking a deep breath she said, “My mother didn’t like me.”

Lucien blinked several times. “What do you mean?”

Elain gripped the coffee mug as the pain of what she had known since she was little waffled through her. “She never said it to my face, of course, but it was the little things. She used to say things like my beauty was my best feature, or that it was a good thing that I was pretty because I wasn’t smart.”

Lucien’s eyes widened, and then shock turned to burning anger. “That’s a horrible thing to say to anyone, let alone your own child.”

Elain nodded, but looked down at her coffee, unable to stop the embarrassment that came with admitting her mother thought she was just a pretty airhead. 

After several minutes of tense silence, during which she cursed herself for revealing something so personal, Lucien said, “For what it’s worth, Elain, I have always known you’re worth more than your looks.”

Elain’s head snapped up, finding Lucien gripping his mug in a white-knuckled grip as he stared fiercely at her. “You don’t know anything about me,” she countered.

He held her gaze and she felt ensnared by the rage in his eyes—rage on her behalf. “You were fierce the first time we met. I could see the fire in you, and listening to you just now describe why you like gardening, are you kidding me? You are more passionate, more thoughtful about gardening than most people are about anything, and that passion is worth something. If people want to boil you down to your looks, that’s their problem, but believe me when I say this Elain, while I would be a fool to claim that your beauty means nothing to me, it is the last on what is turning into a long list of reasons why I want to get to know you better.”

Elain knew her eyes were wide, her lips parted as she sucked in a shaky breath at Lucien’s heated proclamation. “I—”

She didn’t know what to say. Her heart was beating so fast that she was starting to feel faint and she couldn’t seem to get a grip on what emotions she was feeling. They were flying by too quickly for her to grasp on to any of them. Embarrassment, joy, and panic seemed to be the strongest out of all the emotions however.

Lucien reached forward like he wanted to grab her hand, but then pulled it back. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong. I just…I guess I’m a little sensitive when it comes to parents treating their children poorly.”

Elain swallowed, latching on to the lifeline Lucien was giving her. “Because of Beron?”

He nodded, his knuckles going white on his mug. “Because of Beron.”

She wanted to know more, but knew it would be rude to ask, so instead she said quietly, shoving down her emotions to be examined at a later time, “Your turn.”

Lucien nodded. “Ok. Let’s see.” 

Elain took the moment he was thinking to shove the last of her emotions down, to compose herself. 

“I just barely had a GPA high enough to graduate college.”

“How on earth? You seem intelligent.”

Lucien outright laughed and Elain bit her lip against her own smile at the amusement on his face. Lucien should laugh more often. 

“It wasn’t because I’m not intelligent, but it was because I am stupid. I spent too much of my time partying in the first couple semesters, happy to be out of Beron’s house I guess, and nearly flunked out. I think it might have been Beron’s donation money that kept them from kicking me, to be honest. After that, I stopped fucking around and picked a major. But it’s much more difficult to raise a GPA than it is to tank it.”

Elain sipped her coffee. “I’m surprised Beron did anything to help.”

Lucien snorted. “Believe me, it was only to save himself from embarrassment.”

“So you went from barely graduating to being an ambassador before you turned thirty?”

“I guess technically. I was twenty-nine, so that’s close enough to thirty right?”

Elain narrowed her eyes playfully. “Is nepotism to blame?”

Lucien frowned and Elain suspected she just hit a touchy subject. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” she sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He looked away. “You’re not wrong, but it’s also not entirely accurate. By the time I graduated, Helion and my mother were already married. It was Helion that got me that first job, but I was the one who earned the position of ambassador by working my ass off.”

Elain took in his tight shoulders and white knuckles and felt an immediate swell of regret. “Of course you did. I’m sorry I implied otherwise.” She looked out the window. “I suppose I’m just not used to your world and made a tactless joke.”

Lucien was silent for several long moments before saying, “My world?”

Elain looked back at him to find his eyebrows raised. She gestured vaguely. “Yes well…You know. I didn’t grow up with wealth. I don’t really understand what it’s like, I suppose.”

Lucien considered her for another moment. “Does the fact that I grew up wealthy bother you?”

Elain blinked at him as she considered the question. She certainly had spent half her life struggling to make ends meet, had missed out on the usual things such as attending college, had only been able to own her business because her former bosses liked her and allowed her to pay them directly rather than go through a bank. Her business was a little bit like rent-to-own in that regard. Her mother had died when she was little, her father withered away to a shell of his former self and had died a scant two years prior, and she and Feyre had each been working since they were fourteen. Perhaps, she did have some resentment for people who didn’t have to struggle the way that she had struggled. 

She looked back at him. “I suppose it does, but I think I’ve earned the right.”

Lucien didn’t seem offended, which she supposed was a good thing, but then he frowned. “What do you mean, you’ve earned the right?”

Elain looked away. “I’d rather not get into the details, but while you were partying in college on Beron’s dime and good graces, I was going to high school and working as many hours as I legally could to make ends meet.”

They lapsed into silence, Lucien clearly at a loss for how to respond. Eventually, Elain drained the rest of her coffee and then stood, feeling a bit foolish and vulnerable for what she had shared.

“Thank you for the coffee, but I should get going.”

Lucien didn’t respond other than to nod at her before she turned and walked away.

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra

[somejazzinthemorning]

tightrope. 03

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Original Female Character Warnings: Language Word Count: 7.241 Previous chapter: 02.

Drowning myself in work is my go-to coping mechanism for more than half of my problems.

I'll either resort to racing or tracing brand strategies in an attempt to avoid having to face whatever problem throws my way and, that night, being 11 pm on a Wednesday, my laptop and the small whiteboard on my desk became my saving grace.

Despite the burning eyes and my aching back, after hours sat at my desk, my mind was still racing, high on whatever feelings the brush of his lips had evoked in my body. I fell asleep to the memory of his eyes and the velvet lips.

There was no way to escape it. We were already falling.

I woke up late, the next day.

My phone had a full wall of notifications ready to present me. A single text in the middle of the dozens of work-related emails, most of them answers to the ones I’d written during the night and scheduled to be sent in the early hours of the work day. I only realised I was smiling, probably high on my own expectations, when I felt my smile drop, after seeing who sent the text. Amanda. Not him.

“those updates on the project at 3 am??? r u okay?”

“sorry! i remembered to schedule the emails, but forgot about the notes on the project.” "got some good work done, tho”

"need to take a moment to reread all of your incoherent notes” "all that rambling is… wow” "BUUUUUT come to the office” "the things from the berlin store just arrived, you will love them”

"can’t make it today” "send pics!”

"come tomorrow, then! ill get churros for breakfast”

My phone went back to the nightstand and I pulled up the comforter, wrapping it around myself in an attempt to find some security and calm of mind. I peered out from under the comforter, staring at the dark room, only lightened by some streaks of light created from a gap in the blinds. I was still tired from the night, and my mind scrambled from everything we had shared.

Eventually, I left the bed. My mom was downstairs, and a copy of Shadow of the Wind rested on the kitchen counter while she cooked lunch. Frank Sinatra played on the old record player in the living room and the music continued to stretch around the house as we ate together. Luckily, her birthday party was keeping her busy; busy enough that she didn't remember to ask me about the dinner from last night.

Truth be told: I'm a terrible liar. I would never be able to escape her questions.

At the end of the day, I met Rocco for a workout, in a nearby gym. He was waiting for me, leaning against the reception counter, teal Puma t-shirt paired with an amused smirk; I knew he was more than ready to put me through my paces. And I was right. It only took me a couple of exercises to lay on the floor, panting and sweating."Have you thought about what you're doing next season?" I looked up, in the direction of the voice. Rocco was standing in front of me, holding my water bottle.

I sat up straight and extended my hand to grab it. "Not yet," the water was cold and refreshing. Just what I needed. "Maybe a third year in the Challenge and," I paused to breathe. "You know, the reserve seat. Not ideal, but yeah."

He frowned, sitting down on one of the plyo boxes near me. "But yeah?"

"Yeah. Works." I answered, laying back down on the green turf. The small fake grass ticklish on my legs and arms. "Not much, but it's racing."

"I think I'll pretend you didn't say that."

"Why? It's just how it is."

He cleared his throat, the deep sound making me open my eyes and stare at him again. "Up," he commanded, refusing to help me get up. I brought the hand I'd just held up to the floor, to help me get up.

"I thought we were done," I said. He didn't even need to say anything to make me understand that we were, in fact, not done. "Are you mad?"

“Annoyed,” he turned back to me. “What the heck was that answer? Of course, a third year in the Challenge and a reserve seat in WEC are not ideal. I was hoping for a real answer, not some… whatever that was.”

“It’s the reality,” I shrugged. Instead of turning back and going back to do whatever he was about to do, he just kept looking at me. Not the conversation I was hoping for today.

“You had a plan. What happened?” He asked.

“Nothing happened. I had a plan. And it’s going as it’s possible.”

"Excuses, Eva," Rocco exclaimed. He stepped forward and looked me in the eye. "You have a plan. You know what you want. And you have the talent."

“Congrats, you just solved gender inequality.” I gave him an ironic thumbs up, my mind still scrambled from the efforts of the workout and the encounter from last night. This kind of conversation was not what I wanted.

“You’re more than capable of getting a decent seat next year.”

“As we know,” I wiggled my finger between both of us, “It’s a tough path. Being capable won’t get me a seat. ”

“Locking yourself in an office keeping track of TikTok trends will?” I sent him a look. He held up his hands in defence. “You’re making excuses. There are other drivers fighting for the same things as you are and they are not taking no for an answer.”

“Neither am I.”

"Come on," he chortled, eying me carefully. I could tell that he wanted the best for me, but I was not really in the mood to discuss this at the moment. "When was the last time you actually planned something for yourself, and not just some new fashion designer or boujie vegan chef?"

I felt a little bit of annoyance creeping its way up my spine. I had been pushing myself so hard for the last few months, and I was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed with all the pressure.

“Can we focus on the races I have left to win?” I asked, my voice taking on an exasperated tone. “We can talk about this after I win this championship?”

“Sure.” He bent down to grab a 15 kg power bag from the floor and dropped it off at my feet. "This wasn't planned, but that self-pity is annoying me."

“A punishment?" I took my hands to my hips, a light chortle abandoning my lips. "Burpees and never-ending lounges? That's what you think I need right now?"

"No, no burpees," he said, his grin widening. "But maybe a few extra lounges wouldn't hurt." He was clearly enjoying this. I rolled my eyes and glanced down at the power bag in front of me.

“It was not—”

He cleared his throat, cutting me off, and I went silent. Then, looking at him, I saw that he was grinning at me once again, content. Yeah, it was self-pity. Yeah, the future is scary, especially when you’re a 25-year-old woman in motorsports and your career seems to be stuck.

I took a deep breath and bent over to pick up the bag, the cold weight of it dragging my body down to the ground. Rocco took a few steps back and then motioned me with his head to start.

"Andiamo," he said. “20 steps back and forth. Three series.”

So I did. I started lounging with the bag, back and forth across the green patch of turf on that side of the gym, trying to keep a steady pace. With each step, the pressure of the bag weighed me down. I kept going, pushing forward and gritting my teeth against the pain. When I finally reached the twentieth step, I dropped the bag and breathed out, my body aching from the effort.

By the end of the third series, I had pushed my body to its very limits and back. I sunk down onto the cool grass beneath me, feeling the relief of the softness beneath me—my muscles aching and my body dripping with sweat, my hair matted to my neck and temples.

Rocco sat near me, guiding me through a couple of moves, helping me to loosen my tight muscles and stretch out my body. Despite the big (and somewhat threatening) muscles he had a gentle touch.

“What’s on your mind?”

"Hm?" I frowned, my eyebrows furrowing together as I closed my eyes, feeling his hand pressing down on my thigh, pushing it firmly against the hard floor. I could feel the pain radiating through my body, but I tried to focus on the sensation of his grip.

“You always complain this hurts,” he said. I opened one eye. Now, I could feel the pressure from his grip. Probably something shifted on my face because he instantly asked, “Now it hurts?”

"It hurt before, I was just distracted." I shook my head, closing my eyes again and focusing on the sensation of his grip. “I’m free to feel like shit when things go badly." I let out.

“Things are not going badly,” he sighed, leaving my leg and switching to the other. “You’re simply letting yourself fall behind.”

I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, my head falling back against the floor. I stayed there for a few moments, my heart pounding against my chest and my thoughts racing a million miles per hour. When I finally opened my eyes again, I looked up at Rocco, this time because I felt my thigh burning with discomfort, he was still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

"Too much." I glanced below while patting his arm. He raised an eyebrow, implying more pressure. "Ei!" I scrunched my nose. He just arched a brow. Sadistic fucker. “What? Are you going to hurt me until I hold someone at gunpoint and ask for a seat?”

“You talk like you don’t have good offers, Eva.”

“What is a good offer? Driving against 19-year-old boys in Formula 3? It’s humiliating.”

“W Series?” He suggested.

“I want to race with men and show people I can win against them.” I sat down. Rocco took his hands from my legs. My muscles tingled with the same intensity my thoughts did. “I like the Challenge because I’m showing them I can do it. But the team does not have a budget to race in other series. And I can’t be a reserve forever. So I can do another year and hope things change.”

“See? You’re choosing to fall behind.” He took a deep breath, understanding my frustration. "You can always look for sponsorship," he said, his eyes focused on the floor. "You have the talent, the connections—"

“I spent my teenage years sending letters and desperately trying to talk to people. You saw how that went.”

“You have results to show them, now. In two weeks you’ll have a championship.” I dragged my hands over my face. Instant regret. Both my hands and face were tingling with the same intensity my thoughts did. “W Series will give you exposure. Will give you points. You need points..”

“Why are you so interested now?” I arched an eyebrow, feeling a bit suspicious. “The year is long. Anything can happen. A lot can change.”

“I just don’t see you planning ahead.” He deadpanned, his expression unreadable. “What if you can’t do another season of the Challenge? Will you be content with just being a reserve in WEC?”

“Why so many ifs?” I asked, still feeling a bit apprehensive.

“Motorsports are unpredictable,” he replied, his voice steady and sure. “I’ve been around long enough to know that. And I’m your coach, not just a trainer. It’s kinda my responsibility to do this.”

“Nah, I’m not having it.” I paused, still not entirely convinced. “Do you know something I don’t?”

Rocco just shook his head. The dark strands of his hair moved in unison. “Eva—” He shrugged. I could see the wheels turning in his mind. Whatever he was about to say, it seemed like it wasn't completely true. "One," he continued; his tone shifting. "I don't want to be left without a job when you get bored of racing." I threw my towel at him, though I knew he was only joking. Unfortunately, he dodged it. "Two," he continued, "you're racing like a pro. You should race with the pros."

At least, in one thing he was right. I was racing like a pro.

On the other hand, I was not acting like one.

My team and my dad, the main sponsor, were the only support I had. Despite having other offers, none met our expectations. I had been a third, fourth, or fifth driver for too long. I had spent too much time in the garage, running simulations, and taking part in test sessions. Years of it. Each of these experiences had demoralized me.

Racing in the Challenge, learning with my team, taking time to understand the car and driving it to a podium made sense to me. Standing in the garage and hoping for someone to get food poisoning or COVID was not only morally wrong but also quite dull.

“Did you make this whole drama when Rio told you he wanted to stop racing and just go to college and become an engineer?” I asked, getting up from the floor and picking up my towel, still lying on the ground.

“It was worse actually,” my trainer said, following me. “I think I almost killed him when he told me.”

“We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yes, you do. Your poor father has his hands full with you two.” We stopped walking when we reached the locker room. “Go have a shower and get some rest.”

The second I reached my locker and opened the wooden door, I reached for my phone, looking for a message that hadn't arrived. Pathetic. A part of me considered taking the initiative and being the one to call or text him but, to be honest, what was left for me to say?

I had already told him everything by asking him not to kiss me and I might have told him even more by refusing to let go of him.

The office smelled of churros, so I knew Amanda was around. Either that or someone else had the same idea as her.

Familiar faces smiled back at me as I crossed the corridors and the work areas until I finally reached the common area and took one of the available seats. Since I had chosen to work remotely, and only visited the office casually for occasional meetings or when I needed a place where I could focus, I wasn't given an office.

The room was filled with the buzz of people chatting and the occasional laughter, making me feel a bit out of place. I knew most of them (read: I knew their names and which projects were under their purview), but rarely talked to any of them. Amanda, one of my friends from college, and the one who had introduced me to this agency was the only one I regularly talked with.

I sat down in my chair and pulled my laptop out of my bag. After talking with Rocco yesterday, I decided to take action on my career and spent last night looking at emails and reading my dad's notes on the sides of those he considered important enough to print. So, when I opened my laptop, my screen showed me my Notion board, which honestly felt like a showcase of my own failures. Not the first thing I wanted to see that morning.

A knock on the glass divider of the office made me lift my head up and find Amanda on the other side of it. A beautiful purple jumper highlighted her beautiful curves; her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. In her hands, a white box.

I waved at her.

“Vamos,” she motioned with her head. “Before anyone tries to steal these from me.”

I smiled and grabbed my laptop, zipping it up before getting up and walking towards her. “You know I have an important weekend ahead, right?”

She laughed, opening the box. “A churro won't weigh you down, don't worry.”

I took one of them and walked near her to the cafeteria. The morning light was soft, and the day was not too warm. Ideal to sit on the balcony and talk for a while. So, that's what we did. I grabbed coffee for both, while she walked outside.

The sunshine on my skin was just a slight warmth as I leaned on my chair, and the smooth breeze of the morning cooled off my skin. Traffic sounds in the background, the ruffle of chairs and the occasional bark of one of the dogs playing on the balcony of the start-up that shares the building with us.

While having a sip of her coffee, I noticed Amanda's eyes widening, and I could practically see the bell ringing in her mind. Instantly, my brows were drawn together. Brace yourself, Eva.

"So, I heard on Twitter dot com…" I rolled my eyes at the last part, and despite provoking a small chuckle from her, she didn't stop talking and her gaze still remained twinkling mischievously. "Carlos was in Mugello last weekend."

Oh, for fucks sake.

"If that's what Twitter says, it must be true."

"Yes. So," she paused. Her head tilted slightly, honestly looking like a pup who saw a threat in the distance. "Did you two talk?"

I shook my head; my fingers busy on the handle of my mug, desperately trying to seem unbothered by the question. "Nah, we didn't talk."

"You sure?" She asked, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

"Yes, I'm sure," I said, my voice steady. "It's not like we're friends or anything."

"That's too bad," she murmured, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "It's not like Carlos and your brother are still like, the best of friends and maybe— maybe he went there to visit him and you end up talking?"

I sighed. "Stop it."“You're a terrible liar, Eva.” Amanda said bluntly, her gaze intense.

“Amanda,” I said, my voice stern and my eyes piercing. "Stop it."

“So, you talked.” Amanda gave me a knowing look. "I knew it. I saw those tweets and I realised we had barely talked this week, and that only happens when you're too busy overthinking. And then boom, I woke up to dozens of notes made at 2 am? You always go to bed early." She crossed her arms, her gaze still intense. "Come on, just tell me what happened. If it’s not him, it’s anything else. That worries me too. I'm here for you, no judgement."

I sighed. "Fine," I said, setting my mug down and leaning back on the chair. "We talked. A lot. We actually had dinner."

Amanda's gaze softened, but then she frowned again. “Dinner? The three of you?”

“The two of us.”

"Just the two of you?" Amanda's eyes widened in surprise, lips smiling brightly. I nodded to her question. "What did you talk about?"

A part of me wanted to end it there. The other part of me needed some guidance. And Amanda was a friend, she always had good advice. On the downside, she loved to gossip. But we were friends. Guidance. But gossip.

I shrugged. “Just normal things. Racing.”

“Okaaaay, that’s good.” At this point, her lips were curving up like she was the one having dinner with him. I couldn’t decide if her reaction annoyed me or made me happy. "So, what now? Are you going to keep in contact with him?"

I shook my head. "I don't think the dinner changed anything.” Liar.

“Eva,” she propped her elbows on the table. “You’re a terrible liar. Spit it out. What happened? If you don’t want to talk about it, tell me that. Just don’t lie.”

Talking about it would make a big deal. A bigger deal, actually. I dragged my hands over my face, tired and confused. Thinking about it was challenging enough and I truly didn't want to transform all my confusion and emotions into words. Amanda, on the other hand, couldn't hide the fact that she wanted the truth, her gaze so strong it almost made me melt over the iron (and obnoxiously red) chair I was sitting on.

So I told her. Every single detail. From the glorious vision of him under the bright lights of my garage, which for a second made me feel like I was living in an alternate world, through the call at dawn, to his gauze under the beautiful sunset glow. His warm, velvety lips brushing against mine. I told her about the “I think I might have loved you, too”, and the way that even in my dreams I couldn’t seem to forget his scent when he hugged me goodbye.

I felt so exposed, so vulnerable, as I spilled my heart out onto that small table, and when I finished all I could hear was the sound of her sigh. A ridiculous rom-com kind of sigh.

“I just feel like we messed it up because of pure desperation,” I said, crossing one leg over the other and looking around. “He messed it up. I think we just missed each other so much we… I don’t know. Got confused on the feelings?”

“He messed up?”

“I didn’t kiss him back. I just asked him to please, don’t.” It was more ridiculous saying it out loud now than when I recalled the moment in my mind.

“You’re even stupider than I thought,” was her answer. I arched my brow. “The guy cooked for you, at his place, told you he “thinks he loved you too” and tries to kiss you and now you’re mad because he didn’t text you?” She paused. “What the hell will he say? Of course, he won’t text you. What would you say to someone after being denied a kiss? Text him yourself.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Why not? I asked myself the same question. Because I can’t trust him to stay. Better, because I can’t trust him to not leave. “Don’t be stubborn, come on. Just by looking at you, I know you’re dying to get that kiss.”

“Can’t we go back inside and talk about work?”

“Oh, no, missy.” She shook her head. “Those AB tests can wait. I want to talk about you and how you’re so dumb you might lose the chance of your life.”

“You’re exaggerating. As always.”

“Eva.” She was stern, her eyes burning on me. “He was your best friend. At least try to mend that friendship. Even if you don’t want anything else. Whatever the reason.”

I sighed, bowing my head in defeat. Amanda had a way of making me see sense, even when I didn't want to. "And if I can’t see him as a friend but still can’t give a step in the other direction?”

“Then, you give it time. Just don’t give it too much space.” She got up from her chair. Mug on one hand. The empty white box on the other. “Remember how that worked up last time.”

Fact one about Amanda: she was probably the most curious person I knew. Any arguments in the office, celebrity rumours or gossip of literally any kind she knew by heart, down to the last detail. And while that was remotely irritating, especially at exhausting times, like during Amber and Johnny’s trial, or when (especially when) the news broke about Pique and Shakira's divorce, it could also be a blessing. At least from my point of view. Perhaps all the stories contributed to her having a broader view of relationships and, as a result, being so good at giving advice. Fact two: there was no one more insistent than her, so, evidently, she couldn’t leave the office without reminding me to text him.

It was 5 pm, and I was utterly absorbed in the presentation for the new restaurant. I was head down, consumed by the details of culinary and marketing analytics, and, to tell the truth, my mind was so focused on this project that I couldn't really think of anything else.

Amanda was getting ready to leave. Jacquemus purse over her shoulder and a strong pink lipstick on the place where a less saturated one had been during the day.

“You stay?” She asked me.

“Aham,” I briefly made my eyes leave the screen to look at her. “I need to finish this. Next week I’ll be too busy.”

“You leaving for Italy on Monday?”

“Tuesday,” I corrected her, my eyes going back down to the laptop. “Don’t want to leave this to the last minute.”

“Okay. I’ll try to have a look at it before you leave. Also,” my eyes went up again. “Send the man a good luck text.”

I sighed, rolling my eyes at her. "He doesn't need my luck text.”

Amanda nodded, her eyes still twinkling mischievously. "Okay, send him a whatever text, then. An emoji. Like his Instagram story.”

“I’m afraid liking his story won’t work.” I leaned back on her office chair, which I had taken in the middle of the day when she needed to leave for a meeting and left me to use her small office.

“Text him, then. Anything. I wouldn’t let Carlos Sainz escape, but you do you, babes,” she shrugged, turning her back to me to walk to the door.“Enjoy the weekend. Besos!”

“Bye!”

I didn’t text him. Of course. In the same way, she was insistent, I was stubborn.

Actually, let me rephrase it.

I didn’t text him then.

Mid-afternoon, Rio had called inviting me to dinner, and when I asked about the kids, he told me he had booked a nanny, so they would stay home. It was either business or pleasure. I didn't need to ask; as soon as he mentioned my dad was invited, I knew we'd be discussing business. And after Rocco's worries last night, I knew it was partly my business, too.

My nerves were on edge as I prepared to leave the office. They only worsened as I neared the restaurant - a way too fancy place for a Friday dinner with the family.

Crossing the sidewalk, my heels clacking on the cement, my head spinning from the long hours in front of my laptop, and the anxiety building in my chest, I looked inside. My dad was seated at the end of the table, with an empty seat to his right - the seat I was supposed to take. Marjorie was already waving at me. Smiling politely to the man standing at the door, I said, "They're waiting for me." He nodded and let me enter.

My eyes drifted to their table, and I allowed myself a few seconds to study the mood. They were laughing, but my palms were still sweating as I settled in for what would surely be an uncomfortable conversation.

"Sorry, traffic," I said, punctuating my apology with a kiss on each of my parents' cheeks. "Am I too late?"

"No, no," my dad said, his voice warm and comforting. "Your brother was about to tell me something, but you just distracted him. Go ahead, Fabrizio."

I turned to him, curious.

"I'm sure we can wait a bit more. Just... after the food," he said.

"Why are you so nervous?" Marjorie asked, her violet fingernails softly laying over his arm in a gentle caress. "It's something good," she said to me. "Don't worry."

"Are you pregnant again?" my mom asked.

"No! No, no!" my sister-in-law responded quickly, her voice almost echoing in the room. Even Rio seemed surprised by her rapid response. "It's Rio's news. Not mine."

“After the food, then,” my father said.

“I hate it when I do that,” I muttered to my brother, grabbing the menu from the table and letting my eyes drift through the print. “You haven’t ordered yet, right?”

My dad shook his head. "We were waiting for you.”

I glanced at the menu one last time before setting it back down. My dad's hand called for a waiter and, after the young man left, the conversation resumed. As usual before any Grand Prix, the race weekend was the matter on the table and, that night specifically, Carlos' penalty was the urgent matter. Ferrari had the pace and Carlos had the skill, but as I sat there, hearing my brother and dad's input on how wise the choice had or hadn't been, my attention diverged to the DNF he had suffered in Austria, less than two weeks ago. Vivid images of the flames engulfing the car, the heartbreaking words on the radio, and the cheers that echoed through the crowd as his teammate stepped onto the top step filled my mind.

One feeling the glory, the other one consumed in ruin.

“Good luck out there this weekend.” "Don’t pull another Austria. That one was scary.”

Done. I’d texted him. For better or for worse, it was done. And I didn’t have time to put the phone back in the purse before it vibrated again in my hand.

“Thank you. I really need it.”

I checked the time.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’m resting." "Listening to my teammate rant about food, but resting.”

“Why? Did you tell him about the cheese-less pasta you tried to feed me?” “If I expect Leclerc to teach you something is how to cook pasta."

"He’s a terrible cooker.” “I’m better learning it from you.”

"I’ll be sure to give you a lesson someday."

"I'll hold you to that."

  "What are you smiling about?" Marjorie asked, my attention immediately being grabbed from my screen to the table.

"Nothing, sorry," I said quickly, tucking my phone back into my purse. "Amanda just texted me about the work I was finishing.”

"Ah, Eva, if you put that effort into racing…" he said, as the waiter came back with our food. I tried to ignore him, especially because there was no use fighting back his comment.

Even with the food on the table and the anticipation to find out about Rio’s news tugging on my chest, the conversation didn’t go further from Formula 1. My dad, a lifelong Italian Ferrari fan and a very biased Carlos supporter was ranting over the lack of professionalism he was sensing from the team and how the choices they repeatedly made ruined not only the drivers but the prestige of the team. Nothing new. Rio and I have been listening to the same tirade for a long couple of years and nothing seemed to change, even after the amazing start to the season the team had.

“I had my reservations at first, but you could be a nice fit for the team, actually”, my dad said, pointing at Rio, with the knife he was using to cut his steak. Rio looked confused at him, and then, at me. “Have they given you an answer?”

What?

For a moment, I felt like I’d fallen on a different table, a completely different conversation. My gaze shifted from one to the other, confused by my father’s question.

“Who’s they?” I asked. Marjorie was biting her lip; her violet fingertips on my brother’s arm, once again.

“Ferrari,” my father responded, clearly stepping over my brother’s feet. Rio seemed bothered; clenched jaw, restless fingers that Marjorie tried to calm by positioning hers over. “Are those the news?” He asked him.

Rio nodded, his jaw unclenching and his lips transforming to a slight grin. "Yep. They offered me a job." He looked around the table, his gaze caught mine for a second but quickly left again. “I need to let them know my decision until Monza.”

“You applied for a job at Ferrari?” I asked. Honestly, I was so confused I couldn’t piece all the things together. “We’re doing so good at the Challenge, you could have waited for just one m—”

“Eva.” My dad interrupted me. The strong stern voice pulled my attention. The authority value of his words over the sweet comforting voice of the beginning of the dinner. The mood had definitely shifted “Wait? You’re the one that’s always urging the team to aim for higher heights.”

"Exactly. The team won't do that without Rio."

"But your brother will. And so will you." I tried to interject but with no success. He continued before I even had the chance to talk. "You can't possibly think your brother would stay with the team knowing he could have this huge opportunity."

"I didn't know about any opportunity." I was replying to my father, but my eyes were directed to Rio. "What about the team? And the Challenge?" I inquired.

"In less than two weeks, the championship will be over. I have no doubts you will win it. You're just losing time there," my father's tone was bothering me, but the fact that he was still cutting his steak as he talked was really aggravating my temper.

Rio, on the other hand, didn't react. His expression didn't even shift. He remained silent, eyes shifting between mine and dad's face. In his silence, though, he was telling me much more than he thought.

"This is not a formality," I said to my father. "Can you please look at me while you talk about our future?"

Finally, he put down his cutlery and remained silent for a few seconds. Deep blue eyes looked up at me, cold and serious.

"There's no future for you if you're afraid to take a serious step," he said finally. "I won't let your brother get stuck in the Challenge when I know he can do so much more. I won't let you make him fall behind because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Why else would he stay at the Challenge?" I stayed silent, feeling my fake sense of confidence being stripped away with the weight of my dad's question. The answer that my conscience gave me was selfish and I refused to say it out loud. I was afraid of staying alone, rather, I was afraid to see Rio flying solo in the higher aims I ambitioned for me and not being able to carry along. Only if he waited, we could jump up together. "Why would he choose anything less than Formula One?"

"So, you have it decided, then?" I asked Rio. "How did that even happen?"

His tongue crept in between his lips, eyes wandering on my face, afraid to reach my eyes. It was making me nervous. Not just because he was about to leave me, but because he didn't tell me about it, prior. My dad knew about it. He even thought that I knew about it. And like a lightning bulb lighting up on my head: Rocco knew it, too.

"It was proposed to me. The job. At Silverstone, a few weeks ago." Even though Rio was stuttering, and his words barely constructed a sentence, piece by piece it all fell together. "Apparently, Carlos talked to someone about you. About the Challenge. And he mentioned me, my results..." he explained. "Carlos invited me there for the Grand Prix and surprised me with an interview."

Why didn't it surprise me? Carlos. The “right time”, of course.

"Your results? Why hide this from me?” I asked, looking around the table. “Clearly, everyone else knows.”

“I wanted to tell you, but didn’t get the chance to do it.”

“But what?” I asked, half defeated, half annoyed. Angry, even. There was so much going on inside me, I couldn’t think straight. “You just said you had the interview in Silverstone. Weeks ago. You had plenty of opportunities.”

“I knew you would snap and react like this,” Rio tried to justify himself.

“Snap? I’m not—” I paused and took a deep breath. At this point, I was seething with anger. “I’m asking questions. I’m not… snapping.”

“You should be happy for me,” I would if I didn’t feel betrayed. “I know you well enough to know that you would react… badly to the news. Especially if you knew Carlos was involved**.**”

Even though his name was blinking on my head, in bold red letters, I tried to set apart his involvement in this story. So, I carried on,

“And you’re just going to do it? Leave the team, the whole project and ditch us? Without even consulting me?”

He shrugged. “I’m consulting you now.”

“This is not a consultation, Rio. Please.” A pause. “This is you telling me what you’re going to do, without even considering my opinion or the team that’s behind your great results.”

“Go ahead.” He made a gesture with his hand. “What’s your opinion, then? You are the one that’s always telling me to aim higher. This is my dream. Always has been.”

“What? Formula One? I thought your dream was to drive in Formula One. Or was that before you noticed you’re a shitty driver? Enlighten me.”

“Eva, enough,” the deep voice cut me off.

I felt like I was going to burst. I wanted to scream, to cry, to express my anger somehow. But my dad's stern gaze kept me in my place. I felt completely helpless and unheard.

“You’re being ridiculous,” said Rio, cutting through the silence. “Childish, even. Ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful? I’m not the one leaving.”

“Why does leaving need to be bad?” The question settled in for a second. “Grow a bit, and maybe you’ll get some good opportunities too.”

“Sure, maybe then my friends will get me jobs, too. Is that what you mean?”

“Enough.” My dad's fist hit the table, loud enough to silence us, but not to the point of attracting too much attention.

My gaze lingered on his clenched fist on the table. I nodded, forcing myself not to say anything else. I placed my napkin on the table and got up, making sure my chair wouldn’t make any noise when pushed back. Before turning around, I paused briefly, my gaze now resting on my brother. “Good luck with your new job.”

  *

  It didn't surprise me when I saw Carlos fly through the track the next day, setting amazing times in the qualifying session, despite the penalty waiting for him for the race. He was dancing with the car, tracing beautiful lines within the colourful ones Paul Ricard was known for. Carlos would start P19 the next day, only ahead of Magnussen, who also had a back-of-the-grid penalty.

I traded the interviews for a dip in the pool and lingered there for the remainder of the afternoon. Perhaps because I was not the best person to have around that day, my parents had left just before lunch and didn't get back until after dinner. Alone, with music echoing throughout the house and the crippling anxiety the events that week had provoked, I felt myself get lost in the doubts and uncertainties.

My phone rang when I was already getting ready for bed. On my nightstand, the name Carlos appeared over an old photo of both of us. Like I couldn't control it, I walked to the phone and sat on the bed. I let it ring a few times before picking it up.

“Hi,” he said. I just looked through the window, to the dark backyard. “No good luck text today?”

“Guess not.”

“And why's that?”

“Did you know Rio had an interview to work at Ferrari?”

“Yes...?” He paused. “Is that a problem?”

“Did you know he got a job offer?”

We both fell into a moment of silence. A long sigh stretched through the line. I closed my eyes, not sure what to expect from the conversation. The next time his voice was heard, it was more serious.

"Can we stop asking questions instead of answering them?"

"The timing is funny," I said. "Just that."

"What do you mean?"

"You coming to Mugello? Was that a coincidence?"

"Eva, what?" Carlos was silent for a few seconds. "Don't make this into a drama," he said. "Rio is talented and if he got a job offer it's because he earned it. The things are not remotely related."

"I'm not complaining about him getting the job."

"Then what are you complaining about?" Carlos asked.

"That it took you years to finally come back and talk to me and it happened just when he got a job in your team. Did you really want to talk to me or did he make you do that?"

"I didn't do it for him," Carlos said. "I did it because I wanted to see you."

"I wish I could believe you."

"And why don't you?"

"It's been three years. Coincidences don't just happen."

I could hear him breathe. Silence weighed down my chest. He wasn't denying it. He wasn't telling me why he was there, that night. "Can I see you this week?" He asked me, before a long sigh.

"No."

"I'll be in Maranello for a few days." I bit my lip, shaking my head to the void. "You'll be in Imola, right? I can go there—"

"I don't want to see you." I talked over him and then paused for a brief second. "Don't show up there, please. It's an important week and I don't really need more distractions."

“Eva, por favor.”

“Good luck tomorrow.”

I put my phone away and let myself sink into the bed, feeling nothing but the warmth of the comforters on my skin and the instant sense of security that came over me. I allowed my eyes to close and my mind to drift away, and before I knew it, a prayer for Carlos came into my thoughts.

I prayed for strength for both him and me, for us. I knew that, whether we were on or off the track, we would need to find a way to get through whatever was to come.

Next Chapter: 04.

Thank you for your support in the previous chapter! Carlos will become a more present character in the future. Pinky promise. Don't abandon me until that happens, please! <3

#tightrope #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 x reader #fanf1ction #carlos sainz angst #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz jr

[thecrystalquill]

A/N: It's chapter 6!!! Hope you like it. @kpopgirlbtssvt i'd love to know what you think - hope you get better soon :)

Please read the into!

Masterlist Series Masterlist Series Intro Your Hogwarts Letter First Year

Chapter Six ~ The Hogwarts Express

(Y/N) had been sitting in her lone compartment for hours and hours and hours – well actually, it had only been three and a quarter hours since they had left the station, but it felt much longer with no company – some people had passed by occasionally, but soon ran off, whispering to each other. Jinxy had spent most of his time sleeping or trying to sit on the pages of (Y/N)’s book, and was currently pawing at the compartment door – which was starting to get rather annoying. “Stop it, Jinx, will you?” She said, trying to focus on the words of her book, though her eyes only kept drifting back to the views from her window. But the scratting at the door only continued as the kitten tried to dig his nails into the wooden door, jumping up to the window a few times and nearly tearing off the blind. “I asked you to stop,” (Y/N) repeated, putting her book away and staring determinedly out the window. It went quiet for a moment or two, and just as she started to release a breath of satisfaction, she heard a few more deep scratches and the sliding of the door. Snapping her head to look quickly, she just saw the cat zipping out of a small gap in the door. “Jinx!” She exclaimed in alarm, rushing after him with his cage in hand as fast as she could; she wasn’t going to lose him on the first train ride. “Jinx, come back here right now! This isn’t funny!” She commanded, but the little kitten continued running ahead, looking through open compartments that didn’t seem to interest him and defiantly ignoring her protests. “I’m warning you, Jinxy!” She said, trying very hard not to yell down the train – but she was sure she was already causing enough of a disturbance. As soon as she thought she was catching up, the cat pushed his way into another compartment that had been left open ajar; she really hoped it was empty. Unfortunately though, things never seemed to go just how she wanted. She practically burst into the compartment, surprising two boys who looked to be her age, who were stood up on their seats, trying to keep Jinx away from a rat and a startled looking owl in a cage. Swiftly, (Y/N) scooped the kitten into her arms, trying to keep him from wriggling away, and started her apology. “I’m so sorry,” she said, giving Jinx a scolding glare, “he’s a little excitable today, and he’s never seen an owl before – bats and octopi maybe, but never an owl.” (Y/N) exclaimed, stopping the kitten from swiping at the other boy’s rat.

“It’s alright,” said the first boy, setting the bird cage down next to him near the window.

“Yeah,” said the other, “as long as he doesn’t try to eat Scabbers again,” he grumbled, holding the rat closer to him.

(Y/N) shook her head. “Oh he won’t, I promise.” She wondered how long it was appropriate to stay, had she apologised enough? She certainly hoped so. “Er… I’m (Y/N), by the way – (Y/N) Addams.” She held out her hand for the first boy to shake, which he did.

“Harry Potter,” he introduced, smiling shyly before pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Oh…” (Y/N) uttered in surprise – of course she’d heard of Harry Potter before, he was practically a legend (from what she had heard anyway, through word of mouth, not a whole lot of information made it to the Addams’ correctly). “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

“Blimey!” They heard from the red-headed boy on the other seat, who quickly forgot about the piles of sweets on his lap. “So it’s true? You’re an Addams? And you’re a witch?” Word had certainly gotten around much faster than she had anticipated.

(Y/N) nodded timidly, trying to wrestle Jinx back into the bat cage. “Yeah… I got my letter a couple of days after my birthday. A bit of a surprise, to say the least.”

Despite Harry obviously not understanding the significance of her surname, he didn’t seem to think it would be polite to ask. “Well… er… you can stay, if you want.”

“Really?” She asked, after Jinx’ little disturbance she had expected them to want her out of their compartment as soon as she’d got there, not an invitation.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, we don’t mind. Right?” He checked with his friend.

The red-head nodded as (Y/N) went to sit down, moving some of the candies and wrappers off the seat. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.” He held out his hand for her to take, it was slightly sticky, but she did her best to ignore it.

(Y/N) was about to introduce herself in return, but remembered that she already did that. “I… er, nice to meet you.”

“So,” started Ron, rummaging through his sweets, “what house d’you reckon you’ll be in?”

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug, it was a question (Y/N) had asked herself (and her family) many times over the last few weeks, “I suppose I’ll be happy wherever I end up.”

“Well,” said Ron as he chewed on a licorice wand, “I reckon I’ll be in Gryffindor, hopefully anyway, that’s where all my family were sorted.” He proudly stated, but there was an underlying nervousness in his eyes.

Time flew by with Ron and Harry, and (Y/N) expected they’d be pulling into the station soon, she’d been to the bathroom to change a little earlier already. The boys were very nice, Ron had been asking lots of questions about her family, fascinated by what were quite mundane things to her; like how she had to practice sword-fighting once a week, or having to upkeep the poison garden, and even how they lived in a muggle town by the sea. He seemed to talk quite a lot, she noticed – not in a bad way, it was quite fun how he bounced through topics and always kept their conversation going. And even though he’d grown more and more confident since their meeting, Harry didn’t seem to have too much to say – much to share.

“So anyway,” Ron started, after he’d finished his fifth tangent, “why is it that the Addamses lost their magic, anyway?”

“Wait, you can lose your magic?” Asked Harry, startled at the prospect.

(Y/N) shook her head, quick to correct the misunderstanding. “No no, you can’t. Well, not really.” This could take some explaining, what was the easy way? “Er… well y’see, some people are born with it, like muggleborns. And some inherit it from their family…” This would be much easier to explain if she hadn’t just wrapped her head around the whole thing just a few weeks ago. “And some people who should inherit it, just don’t. They’re squibs – people from wizard families who haven’t got any magic. And we were all squibs after my great-… or was it my great-great- er, so-many-greats-grandfather. No one really knows why, but then we were sort of… shunned, if you like… by the other purebloods. So we just went on as normal, and just sort of forgot about it…”

Ron nodded along as Harry seemed to understand. “Yeah, they were part of the Sacred Twenty-eight y’know. Well, Sacred Twenty-nine back then. Real big deal, but most of them are right gits anyway. You’re probably better off.”

Well she didn’t know that… she never actually finished reading their family history books – but who could blame her? They were massive!

Soon enough, the train slowed to a stop and people were ushered off, carrying cages with their pets to the baggage. It was dark by now, and cold, but it only made it better to see the stars – you don’t get views like that in the rest of the UK, too much air and light pollution.

“Firs’ years!” Someone shouted through the crowds, holding up a lantern. “Right then, firs’ years, this way please!” They followed the voice through the swarms of students, ducking between everyone, until they made their way to the front where they were greeted by an enormous man. Of course, (Y/N) wasn’t too startled by his size, she had honestly expected stranger from the wizarding world, but Ron seemed completely in awe by the man’s size, jaw dropping as they stared up. “’Ello there, Harry.” Said the man cheerfully, before he lead the group of children away and towards the lake, where there were lots of boats lined up.

The three of them shared a boat, with Harry at the front with a lantern. It was a funny sight really, watching their peers wobbling about or falling in. But of course, that wasn’t the best part – far from it. As the boats pulled themselves along, they were revealed the most spectacular view.

Hogwarts Castle. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before; towers and turrets pierced the night sky, countless windows glowed gold from every wall, great stone walls uplifting it all. It was truly a masterpiece. Better yet, it would be their new home for the next seven years.

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[take-taker-taken]

can you do ABA!taker x plus size!reader it’s her birthday and she was looking forward to spending it with him. But when she woke up he was at work so she was upset and crying the whole morning. Taker makes it up to her tho please.

Thank you for the Ask! I tried, but just couldn’t have a birthday girl in tears the whole morning 🥺 - I hope you like!

Birthday Girl

A shaft of sunlight slants through the drapes and tickles your face, pulling you out of sleep and you roll over to look at the clock, which reads 8am. You smile and stretch, for once not minding a relatively early wake up on a weekend because today is different. You’ve been looking forward to your birthday for weeks because you know he’s going to make it special. He’s not laying beside you but there’s nothing unusual there - he normally gets up early and heads straight down into his gym. You sit up and cast your eye around the room, seeing nothing out of place so you shrug the duvet off and climb out of bed.

After a quick shower there’s still no sign of him and so you pull on some jersey shorts and one of his big Harley Davidson t-shirts, shimmying it down over your generous curves. You call his name as you head down the stairs but there’s no response - it really does seem awfully quiet. There’s no sign of life in the kitchen - not so much as the coffee machine cooling and so you flick that on and wander around, thinking he’ll maybe have left a card propped up somewhere, or a little gift.

But there’s nothing.

All the blinds are open in the kitchen and the living room and you spot an empty glass in the sink so with a small smile you head downstairs to the gym, thinking at least you’ll get to see him all sweaty and working out. You open the door to complete darkness and another silent room. You flick the light on just in case he’s sat there in the dark but of course he’s not so you pull the door closed again and head back to the kitchen, feeling dejected.

The coffee machine is gurgling as you pull down a mug and grab the cream from the fridge and then you have a thought and wander to the hallway. Sure enough, his keys are gone from the bowl on the side stand. You do a little jump and head back to the kitchen where you serve yourself the coffee and grab your phone from the table, knowing now that he must have headed out to pick up breakfast as a treat. And… yup! There’s a voicemail from him right there. You dial into it and wait impatiently while the robot-voice tells you that you have one new message and then…

“Hey, baby. I just *crackle crackle* and *crackle clunk crackle crackle* by *crackle clunk* that work *clunk crackle crackle clunk* important so *crackle clunk* oon *crackle* an. Bye.”

The message cuts off and you stand there as your stomach drops. One word that had come through from the static-riddled mess loud and clear… work.

He’s gone to work?

Without saying anything or even waking you.

On your birthday.

You sink into a chair and stare down into your mug, the image before you blurring as tears form in your eyes. He went to work on your birthday. You gulp half the liquid down around the ache in your throat as you hold back a crying fit. You grit your teeth and call him, intending to give him a piece of your mind but the call goes straight to answerphone. You hang up before the beep because if you try to leave him an angry message you know you’ll just cry instead.

You shift in your seat to avoid the sunlight streaming through the window - it’s an irritant now rather than a pleasure. What if he went to work because he forgot about your birthday altogether? No, no he can’t have because you were talking about it only the other day. You shake your head to reinforce your thought. He hasn’t forgotten.

“He didn’t forget.” You say out loud to the empty room. “He just went to work instead.”

You sigh, get up and go to the cupboard to pull out of a box of cereal, all thoughts of a special breakfast forgotten. You work your way through a bowl in mechanical fashion and then feeling flat decide to go back to bed and sleep the day away. Better than sitting around moping. You get to the bedroom, pull the drapes closed against the cheerful brightness outside and hide away under the duvet.

————————

A door slams and jolts you awake and then you hear him.

“Babe? Baby where are you?”

The memories of this morning descend and you don’t know whether to feel happy he’s home, or angry and upset still that he went. You don’t really trust yourself to respond and so you just wait for a few minutes while he’s looking around downstairs for you. Shortly, you hear his footfall on the stairs and then in seconds he’s in the room just as you’re sitting up. He’s in blue jeans, bandana protruding from a back pocket, and one of his Deadman Inc. shirts - he’s been to work, alright.

“There’s my birthday girl. Baby, I’m so sorry I’m late - I know I was supposed to be back a couple hours ago.” You glance at the clock and it’s just coming up to noon - seems you didn’t sleep the day away after all. He leans down and drops a soft kiss on to your lips, his expression clouding with concern when you don’t respond. “Sweetheart, are you OK?”

“You went to work.” You say quietly. “You just left without saying anything.”

His head drops a little and he takes a seat on the bed. “I know baby, and I shouldn’t have. It was just so early when the call woke me and you were so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb you. I was only supposed to be gone a couple hours, like my message said. I was sure I’d be back before you’d even opened your eyes.” He holds up your phone that he’s brought up from the kitchen counter and you can see a dozen missed calls from him on the screen. “You did pick up my message, didn’t you?”

“It didn’t come through properly. Just mostly static so I barely heard anything.”

He shifts on to the bed properly and puts his arm around you. “I should have just woken you,” he says. “I called you from the parking lot - my message said that work had called me because we had to redo some promos after some tape got damaged. I told them that we had to be quick because your birthday was important and that I’d be home as soon as I could.” He looks around the room and then kisses the top of your head. “I should at least have left your card out for you to find. I’m such an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” You reply, leaning your head against his arm. “I really thought you ran out on me.”

“I’m sorry, I really am. Can we start the day again?” He says with a small smile and you nod. “Thank you. Now, happy birthday, angel.” He kisses your lips, drawing it out into a tease before pulling back and standing up off the bed. He goes to the wardrobe and opens it and you gasp with a smile lighting your face as half a dozen heart-shaped balloons emblazoned with birthday messages float out and up to the ceiling. You stretch your hand out and so he drags them over to you and you slip the small plastic tag over your finger so that you can bounce them up and down in the air.

He returns to the cupboard and emerges with a large teddy bear that’s holding (oh, OK it’s taped to its paws) a large white envelope that he hands over. You carefully remove the card and then the tape, which you stick to the leg of his jeans for him to pick off and put into the trash can. You run your fingers over the blissfully soft material of the bear’s head and tuck it under one arm as you open the envelope. On the front of the card is a photo of two kittens, one tabby and one black, both gazing adorably into the camera and a big ‘Happy Birthday’ message. You giggle as you imagine him taking this to a counter and paying - especially with his image - and then open it.

Happy Birthday, my angel

I love you to the stars and back

(further than the moon, y’know)

Me xxx

Tears threaten to cloud your eyes for all the right reasons this time and you look up at him. “Thank you,” you say with a smile. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiles back and holds a hand out. “There’s more, but you gotta come downstairs.”

Eagerly you throw the duvet off and take his hand, the balloons bobbing around above both your heads and then clutching your card and the teddy bear you head from the room. This time when you reach the kitchen there’s a beautifully decorated cake on the table, bearing (unlit) candles and your name.

“Where’d that come from? It wasn’t in the fridge this morning.”

He takes the bear from you and sits it on one of the dining chairs and then stands the card up on the table. “I ordered it from the bakery in town - picked it up on my way back. Go sit down.”

You take a seat at the table and lean over to see the cake better while he leaves the room for a moment and when he returns he’s carrying a large bouquet of roses in all different colours and a small pile of wrapped parcels.

“Happy birthday,” He says again, bending down to give you another kiss before handing you the flowers and setting the packages on the table in front of you.

You blush, feeling thoroughly spoiled and cradle the bouquet as you seek out the card and the hand-written message in his own writing:

Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful woman!

“They’re amazing, thank you - do you have anything I can put them into?” You’re surprised when he nods.

“Flower store sold me a vase - it’s in one of the cupboards.” He takes a seat across from you. “Go ahead and open your gifts, sweetheart.”

You reach for the biggest parcel which is squishy and tear into the paper to reveal a black Harley Davidson hoodie and you hug it to yourself gleefully. You take the opportunity to check the label, because receiving clothes always makes you a little bit nervous but of course he’s picked out a size that you’ll be happy with.

“I know it’s headed into summer and so probably not the right weather for a hoodie, but I just couldn’t pass it up when I saw it.” He says with a shrug and you stand up and lean over for a kiss.

“It’s perfect, thank you! Means I won’t have to steal yours anymore. Though I probably will.”

He laughs and pushes the smallest gift towards you. “Now this one.”

You open the small box to reveal a gorgeous pair of hoop earrings, each with a clear gem embedded that sparkles in the light. You look up at him. “Are those…”

“Diamonds?” He finishes for you. “Yup, they are. I figured when you wear your hair up they’d look real nice sparklin’ around.”

You touch them carefully, stroking the tips of your fingers over the precious stones. “I… I don’t know what to say! I mean, thank you - obviously!”

“You’re welcome, baby. I can’t wait to see you in ‘em.” He pushes a medium-sized square box towards you. “Next one.”

You dig a nail into the paper and tear off a corner to reveal a flash of bright yellow. Curiosity piqued, you rip the rest off to find a box of Jacque Torres chocolates and you giggle. “You remembered my favourites!”

There’s one parcel left and you have no idea what it could be. Your first guess is maybe a watch, but the box isn’t quite wide enough for that. You take the paper off carefully this time and a plain back box sits beneath.

“I wasn’t completely sure about this, so it’s a bit of a wild card,” He says, making your brow furrow with interest. You open the long-ish, thin box and then gasp, snapping it closed again and stare at him. “Do you like it?”

You don’t say anything, just open the box again and peer at the contents. “Are they…?”

He nods. “They are.”

You set the box on the table and gently lift the leather-covered clips before taking out the diamond tennis bracelet and staring at it in wonder. “Will you put it on me?”

“Sure. Gimme your wrist, there.” You obediently hold out your arm and watch as the tip of his tongue pokes between his lips in concentration as his large fingers work the catch. Once done, he lifts your hand and kisses the back of it and then you turn it this way and that, watching the diamonds sparkling against your skin.

“I don’t know what to say… this is too much.”

“Hey, it’s your birthday - I’m allowed to spoil you if I want.”

You get to your feet and walk around the table, so he pushes his chair out to meet you and catches you around your soft waist. It’s a rare moment that you have to bend down to kiss him and so that’s what you do, taking the opportunity to run your fingers over his hair.

“Thank you,” you say again, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely.

“You’re welcome, baby. Now, I know it’s your birthday but will you do one thing for me?”

You lean back and give him a curious smile. “Sure… I think.”

One of his hands slips down on to your butt and he quirks an eyebrow at you. “I want you to go upstairs and put those earrings on… and take everything else off… and wait for me in the bedroom. I’m gonna cut a big piece of that cake and bring it on up - and then we’re gonna have a little birthday fun, OK?”

You blush and kiss him again. “Definitely OK,” you reply and wriggle out of his hold. “I’ll be waiting - don’t take too long or I might start without you.”

You back away towards the door and he stands up. “Race ya.”

Giggling, you flee from the room and up the stairs, knowing that the birthday fun is just beginning.

END.

#the undertaker #undertaker #this character lives in my head rent free #wwe #wwf #american badass #fanfic #anon asks #thumbs up for the anons #American badass x reader #fluff fic #fluff #the undertaker x reader #wwe fic #wwf fic #TTT Tumblr Asks

[iwanthermidnightz]

Okay humor me for a second

What if she still has an out from this insanity and problematic situation by tweeting something reminiscent of her post-kissgate tweet that said:

As my 25th birthday present from the media, I'd like for you to stop accusing all my friends of dating me. #thirsty

because just consider the parallels of both situations - 1975/Matt Healy connection, the media intensely saying they are dating, etc? (Plus with MUNA’s recent call out, I mean?)

Say they’re collaborating on a song together and that he’s been writing/recording it with her for a few weeks and that that’s all this amounts to be. That Taylor essentially says, “Woah, hold on people, we’re just friends and we have a song coming out” (hence the lunch with Jack Antonoff and him being around for a few weeks for new-song-publicity) and that’s it. Then she can part ways with his problematic bs , stay single, and things can calm down. Maybe she might even say that she doesn’t agree with everything he’s done or said and that she hopes her fans know she cares about them. Then the song is kissgate/question…? themed and balance is restored??

Maybe it’s my blind optimism or naive thinking but could this happen??? MAYBE!! 🤡

(Also I know the reality is she rarely comments on these situations but as a hypothetical scenario, I could see it!)

I’ll leave this snippet I came across today and found interesting here:

[kagejima]

PSPSPSPSPSPS WENDY. WENDY GET OVER HERE NOW COME HERE I GOTTA YELL ABOUT THIS @northofneverland

popping in here real quick on my mini hiatus until this wednesday bc of work to say that ever since I wrote the Bodyguard!Sukuna thing all I could think about was the middle of the ball

more thoughts under the cut (female reader)

I think that about halfway through her birthday ball, she ditched it and she went upstairs back to her room with Sukuna. The chemistry between them had been undeniable over the past few weeks but she was too blind to see it until that night 💀

I think that she knew (and he knew) this was their only chance to do something without fear of being caught since everyone would be pre-occupied with the ball.

And they're in her room, and they're on her bed and he's sitting down on it but she's standing bc he's so much bigger than her that she can't really reach him to take off his clothes, so she's helping him undo his coat and his shirt and desperately kissing him, and his much bigger rougher hands hold hers gently and keep her from removing more of his clothes bc his clarity is coming back

and he just kinda murmurs "Princess..." against her lips bc he's still afraid of being caught bc the consequences would be terrible for both of them!!

and he's always addressing her that way, as Princess, and she fucking HATES being addressed that way in general because she's always seen as an object, a means to an end, and never a full person

and he isn't doing it in that way, he's just doing it bc he's so used to calling her that

and she's shaking her head and she's like "No... My name... Call me by my name..."

and he sees the frustration in her eyes and the hope in her eyes of maybe, just for tonight, she can forget who she is, what she's supposed to do, and just be herself...

and he strokes his thumbs over her face and thumbs away the tears that are peeking out at the corner of her eyes and he says her name and pulls her in for another kiss

#lalfmwkkdNDQLFJKW JUMPING AROUND CRYING AND SCREAMING!!!!! #IM GONNA PULL MY HAIR OUT 🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧 #⚔️: bodyguard!sukuna #🥰: bodyguard sukuna

[spookyserenades]

hi second part 👋🏼

hobi- just remembered this, when y/n, Ben, Alice, and Laura text about how hot the hybrids are I thin mainly hobi omg they cracked me up sm. The im married not blind part was so funny 😂

jimin- i don’t remember much from the chapter in September I don’t think we saw much of him but in this recent chapter OMG he was such a sweet pea!!! Y/n really went all out getting his HORSE shipped here. And jimin saying happy b day to join was so sweet cause every one’s warming up to joon after the fight a bit and I think everyone is warming up in general. Anyways y/nie goes above and beyond for her boys and ahhhh so sweet. He was so happy too you could tell he wanted to cry gosh. I love when jimin can’t handle his alcohol well I can just imagine his red cheeks eeek I hope we get to travel and see his family too. He’s defiantly been working hard on the barn, and when she mention he was shirtless at some point 🥵 I cant- im sorry I’m on my period that my horrible excuse anyways -

taehyung- him wanting to take photography and him taking pics of HER STOP ✋ no author u need to stop it’s too much like omg and when they held each other afterward I melted like I TURNED into a puddle of the floor and I’m only able to write this now bc it’s so cold here that I froze and turned back into my human form. She’s possessive and irl tae is too cause like do u remember the perila leaf débat he would get so jelly if his gf peeled off a leaf for a guy friend. The dinner scene where the waiter was making eyes an y/n and tae held her waist and GLARED that’s some dominance right there. I forgot about including the piano scenes in yoongi so I’ll add them here. the pic tae took of their feet sounded so cute and I’m glad yoongi and tae are getting more comfy w each other (cause I think yoongi chose to sit next to him asp) also cause when y/n was thinking abt how she didn’t want him to be alone 🥺😩 yes tae we want you to interact w the others~ Tae LOVES her touches too he reacts easily in just a snap 🫰

jungkook- ahh yes our angst boi- his birthday party scene was so cute he was so flustered and malfunctioned Sksks it was nice to see a raw and genuine part of him that was truly thankful for her that day I hope we get to see more of that. Jk annoying y/n during hobi’s run by giving her a cig omg I cant- this man’s needs to stop he just loves to tease. Such a sassy and snarky boy I’m totally here fir it all the way. And him picking a scary movie bc he knows hobi Jin and jimin will hate it lol. Him already agreeing to held joon and y/n w the wards before she even asked- really can’t hind anything in this house lol. I forgot to talk about this, but joon being upset w y/n and she didn’t call for him when she head the spirit threaten her 😩 he tries to pretend he doesn’t care but he DOES FR and Jk look at him like dam. Okay but that cliffhanger for the last chapter ofc u just stuff us full of fluff just to rip it out of us and I LOVE IT. I wonder what Jk and hobi/joon (I think joon was involved) fought about to make jk storm out like that although it wouldn’t be the first time. And on Halloween, come on yall! Smh 🤦‍♀️ ahh but he’s one of her boys so she’ll rein him in anyways.

Im guess there’s too much testosterone in that house hold or maybe they’re energy’s bc most of them are exotic predators and dominance is a big thing. I don’t remember exactly. Anyways I spoke about everything I could remember so far sorry for typos, ty sm for feeding us every month with such a hearty meal! Luv u 💋

Hehe hey again!!! fkdasfk I'm glad you liked my "married not blind" joke LMAO it's sooo true, especially when it comes to Hoseok. 👹

Jimin - Y/N getting him his horse... my bestie who usually beta reads for me was like Dana no way lmao. I wanna have disposable income like Y/N, and spoil all the boys silly too!! I guess we can live vicariously though Y/N LOL. 💀💀💀 But Jimin so deserved to be reunited with Vista, and he was so happy to have a piece of his former home with him now. Jimin is such a sweet, polite guy, so him wishing Joonie a happy birthday proves he really just want to keep the peace. Tipsy Jimin is just the cutest stinking thing ever, I can picture his face so clearly in my mind! Knowing Y/N, she'll definitely make good on her mental promise to bring Jimin to see his family (I'm sure she wants to meet them too!) Also YES you're right, he was totally shirtless when he was patching up the roof of the stable... I would have passed out if I saw that, Y/N is a strong woman!

Tae - UGH Another one that is totally whipped for Y/N, taking pictures of her, including a couple at his first expo... even though only four were displayed at that expo, you can imagine he's probably taken dozens more of her, which makes me blush and kick my feet. He's definitely one of the more cuddly ones, too, so when he hugged her at the expo that moment was so sweet and intimate... physical touch must be one of his love languages. I love my men a little possessive, and I DO remember the whole perilla leaf debate (wild) and Tae being like that both irl AND in Trouvaille is just so... you know? He was definitely staking claim over Y/N in that brewery, he did not like that random man staring at his girl like that. OOF! 🥵 I'm glad you brought up Tae and Yoongi beginning to come around to one another. They have that connection of both being into music, and I think they have similar possessive feelings over Y/N. Maybe Yoongi will be the one who gets close to Tae first, we'll see!!

Jeongguk - fhdjasf our little edgelord! Ah his birthday was so self indulgent, fluffy, and a chance to see his softer side under all that iciness he usually displays. I think the longer time wears on, he'll let go of more of that frostiness and become more comfortable showing Y/N his tender side. fjdksa I forgot about the scene where he offered her a cigarette at Hoseok's meet-- such a twerp!! I love love love scary movies, and I feel like him maybe Yoongi are the only two that would actually wanna watch a horror film with me IRL, or Y/N in Trouvaille. Hoseok is a bit of a scaredy cat, and the rest of them put that off a little bit as well LOL. And for sure, there really isn't anything that can be hidden in that house anymore, there are ears literally everywhere.... bad news for someone who likes to talk shit, like me. But that's an example of Jeongguk being uncharacteristically sweet, agreeing to help Y/N even if he doesn't have to. Joon was so pissed when she didn't call out for him when she was threatened, but Y/N handled everything just fine, IMO, he was being a dramatic wolf.

You know I love a good cliffhanger!!! I can't not have one almost every time. Hopefully, this time, the conflict can be resolved quickly, and it isn't as bad as The Incident between Joon and Tae. We shall see-- or you may have already seen, in this newest update!! I'm dying.... there is indeed too much testosterone in that house, but I suppose that it is just something they're all going to need some adjusting to. BUT!! Thank you again so so much for sending in these messages and gushing over the boys with me. I always look forward to hearing what you think. Loves you babe!! 💜💞💜💞

#asks #trouvaille #dana's thoughts

[sharkpupsblog]

💔 Heavy Heart 💔

Katja x GN SoulRider! Reader fanfic

Pardon my language but what the f!?!? Sharkpupsblog fanfic!? I had this in my drafts for a while and it’s based on a line from when u meet Katja at the Pride Festival and lots of u said u would like to see it so…here it is! Hope u enjoy! Its a little OOC??? To me it seems so I’m so sorry 🤦‍♂️👎 normally people get gifts on their birthday but I’m breaking tradition 😳 giving u guys a silly little fanfic gift instead!!! Enjoy!!! :D (English is not my first language pls excuse the lack of commas and stuff like that ahfjsndhrbeh)

Katja is in love…she’s in love with you…she’s fallen for a soul rider but as much as she wants it a relationship can’t happen not only because you’re a soul rider but because she can’t touch anything or anyone. one touch from her would cause frostbite if she confessed and you accepted her she wouldn’t be able to do anything with you she couldn’t hug you or hold your hand and she can’t even kiss you…oh how she wishes she could kiss you. she’s really fallen for you she groans ‘stupid soul rider’ she thinks ‘stupid stupid stupid pretty soul rider’ she’s riding off the road between Fort Pinta and Moorland the pride festival is going on she watches as lots of people ride around celebrating. she’s far away from them she doesn’t want to be involved in their festivities she looks to her right side she sees the pride parade an evil smirk on her face…she has an idea. she wants to see you and she’s going to cause trouble so you’ll have to come out the soul riders always make you do all the work she’s 100% confident you’ll be the one to come stop her. she’s riding on Mortifa she looks down at her the blind mare walks confidently she trusts Katja to protect her and to lead her. the woman speaks and the mare’s ears snap back listening to her rider “how does a snowstorm sound Mortifa?” The mare neighs “wonderful” she replies and Katja stops her getting off of the mare she grabs her violin and bow off of her saddle. she pats Mortifa on the side she can touch her the mare is the same as Katja cold and cursed “stay here” she orders the horse and the mare listens staying perfectly still in the spot Katja leaves her in. Katja makes her way up to the lighthouse readying her violin she puts the end of it on her left shoulder resting her chin on the chinrest of the violin her palm on the neck her fingers on the strings with her right hand she grabs the bow and she begins to play. it doesn’t take long for a storm to form and a few minutes after it forms you come riding into the eye of her snowstorm on your horse to stop her she talks to you she threatens you but she doesn’t mean a word of it she loves you she wouldn’t hurt you. she tells you that if you want to stop the storm you have to destroy the crystals of ice she lies to you she can do it herself but she just wants to keep you around for longer she watches as you go from crystal to crystal. you and your horse working together to destroy them you’re a great rider she loves watching you gracefully ride to each crystal destroying each one with ease when you’re done you return to her. you’re off your horse holding onto the reins of the steed you tell her to leave and your horse neighs clearly agreeing with you she won’t fight you or your dumb horse she’ll leave she got what she wanted she got to see you. she tells you she’ll leave and she watches as you turn and walk away. Katja’s hand reaches out for you she can touch you maybe you’re like Mortifa? Maybe she can touch you?…she can touch your shoulder if she just reaches out a bit more… she takes one step forward and she stops her mouth parting in a quiet gasp shocked when little bits of ice form on your shirt as her hand gets closer to you. she tries to speak her words caught in her throat ‘tell them’ she thinks but she can’t no matter how hard she tries she can’t speak she can’t tell you…she loves you. When you’re fully out of her reach Katja’s hand turns into a fist and she drops her arm to her side angry that she can’t touch you angry that she can’t live a normal life angry that she can’t love you. she huffs feeling her eyes water she uses her fist to angrily wipe at her eyes she readies her violin again. Katja begins to play this time to call Mortifa no more snowstorm for today she’s tired she just wants to get back to the oil rig. Mortifa follows the music she rides to Katja and once she gets there Katja puts her violin and bow back in the saddle she gets on and she feels someone watching her. She looks to her right It’s you, you heard her playing again and you stayed to see if she was going to be an asshole and start another storm.

#ssoblr #star stable online #sso #darkriderkatjasso #ssofanfic #sharkpupsblogwrites!‼️🗣 #lookingforssomoots💔

[upontherisers]

oooo could I please request "Soulmate AU" + "Character in Peril" for...your choice of ship! <3

oh this is the webster/webster letter writing AU for sure.

a quick catch up for everyone who isn't shosh: georgie writes for the radcliffe review and publishes an open letter to the men of harvard calling them to burn their draft cards/refuse fight in the vietnam war, and she gets a letter to be published from one david webster, a harvard man, basically pushing against all of her arguments. they write back and forth, all of their dialogues getting published in the review.

adding the soulmate AU and characters in peril on top... i'm thinking a world in which you can feel your soulmate's pain and get bruises/scars from their wounds.

georgie's a smart girl, so it doesn't take her long to figure out her soul mate is a writer... at least, she hopes so. she's deducing from the callus that formed on her middle finger, the constant stinging slices of what have to be paper cuts, and the bruises they pass back and forth from jamming their fingers on their typewriters. (her soul mate also has a typewriter? match made in heaven.)

the morning of her 21st birthday, she wakes up sorer than she's ever been in her entire life. everything hurts; she feels like she got hit by a car. as she stretches in front of her mirror, she catches a weird yellow tint on her side and pulls her shirt up to expose a bruise that runs from her right hip to her shoulder blade. and her heart stops.

she honestly hadn't given her soul mate that much thought at this point in her life. some people take out personal ads, some people get specific injuries in order to compare them to others, some people lightly scratch names and addresses into their skin to get the whole thing over with. she'd never felt the need to do that--she was at a good place in life, at a good school, doing good work--and apparently, neither did her soul mate. she'd always assumed she'd find them when she'd find them and not think about it until then.

but a bruise that covered her entire side, aches that made it hard for her to walk down the stairs... what was going on?

it gets continues. a burst of pain from her ankle while walking across the radcliffe review offices caused her to fall and hit her head on a desk, probably giving her soul mate a rough go of it wherever they were. a rip of searing pain across her spine made her cry out during a lecture, embarrassing, then terrifying when she saw the strip of skin that had been ripped diagonally across her back. her right thumb was almost consistently bruised, and the pain from it getting jammed against something faded into a part of her life.

it wasn't until david writes, describing a common thumb injury that soldiers have from getting their hands jammed in their rifles, that it clicks. bootcamp injuries--falling from a climbing wall, a sprained ankle on a run, an ammo belt getting caught while climbing a fence and peeling the skin off your back.

she held david's letter, shaking, then threw up in her bathroom.

she wakes up in the middle of the night, blinding white pain behind her eyes, ringing in her ears, and figures it's from being too close to an explosion. her achilles tendons are rubbed raw from boots that don't fit. she tries to keep up with the fighting obsessively for a fortnight before she realizes it's futile to try to pinpoint where her soul mate could be. there are hundreds of thousands of men over there, from multiple countries, too.

the best she can do is hope that he's okay. petition for peace. protest. fight for them to come home.

the skin on her forearms is red and irritated all the time, hot to touch and peeling, and when david writes about the sun burn soldiers get from holding their rifles out in front of them while they walk, georgie thinks maybe.

he's a writer, he told her about the time he cut his foot on a rock while swimming in cape cod--and she has a scar running along the bottom of her right foot, he went through boot camp, he's in vietnam now. maybe.

she runs to the bathroom and throws up, again.

she wakes in the middle of the night screaming with a white hot pain burning under her ribs on her back. a week later, one of david's letters says he caught shrapnel in the back in the a shau valley, and she was becoming quite acquainted with her toilet.

she doesn't tell him because she can't. part of her has too much pride; she published all of their letters, and she didn't want to get that vulnerable in front of all of their readers. it would be a conflict of interest as well, attempting to engage with good faith in intellectual debates on war and government with her soul mate.

she loses sleep, can barely eat, and thank god school's out for the summer because her grades would've undoubtedly slipped. she's worried all the time, grateful when she's not in pain but always worried about when the next hit will come.

she'd come to care about david, before concluding that they were soul mates. she loved writing to him, hearing his thoughts, talking with him despite some of his infuriating ideas about justice and war. she loved when they debated, when his arguments were hard to pick apart or when he came at her from an angle she wasn't expecting. she loved hearing about his life, their parallel existences as new yorkers who moved to boston. she loved sending him books and getting them back with his hastily scrawled annotations and thoughts. (those didn't make the letters. that was just for them.)

she's walking through the radcliffe review offices one morning, on her third cup of coffee at 7 am because an explosive headache woke her up at 3 and she knew she wouldn't fall asleep again, when it feels like someone took a two-by-four the back of her leg.

she saved the coffee, but the feeling was so disorienting that she had to sit on the wood floor for a moment before it dulled to an ache. she hobbled to her desk then to the bathroom to vomit, because she remembered an account from a marine that got published in one of the harvard magazines.

gunshot wounds don't sting, they don't burn... they feel like getting punched. it's a dull, bruising, ringing pain, like getting hit with a baseball bat.

he wasn't dead, she'd know if he was dead. but she leaves before anyone else gets to the office, and spends the day in nauseous hell, and the next day, and the week an a half after that before she gets a letter saying that david indeed had been shot, and that he was coming home.

bonus scene:

She's sprawled out on her bed in nearly nothing as his lips roam her skin, his hands finding where he wants to kiss next. I'm sorry, he says, brushing his mouth over a horizontal scar across her shin.

You never explained that one, she says.

He laughs. I don't remember it.

It's from bootcamp.

He laugh again and shakes his head. Still don't remember.

His big hands wind their way to her calf muscle, where two circular scars sit on either side of her leg. His lips press so gently, yet so warmly. I'm really sorry about this one.

Hey, she shrugs. It brought you home.

#mail call #pomprincesse #this is SO LONG i'm sorry #this is just a ramble #georgina webster #is he kissing all of the scars the war gave him and therefore her and apologizing? yes. #my writing #prompt fill

[jerichomere]

mysterious Benedict societ Season 2 Episode FOUR

Okay, this one had real book content, sort of, and I laughed a few times! So Curtain is hypnotizing people but now they’re going brain dead For the first time in the series I felt sympathy for Jackson and Jillson. All first season they had a creepy robotic energy, and this season so far they’ve been a bit more relaxed and humany in their words and expressions. Some curtain underling is bullying them to keep the brain dead people secret and they actually seem to be feeling scared and concerned. Mr. Benedict seems like he’s succumbed to the hypnosis but I suspect he’s faking it They cheated!!!!! flashback to Constance’s birthday and there was just one candle on the cake. They will not confirm or deny her age!!!! The necklace is not a globe, it’s a clam with a pearl, and the pearl has the map inside. close enough (They had to first give it to pay a snarky cab driver and then scam it back from him) (once again Constance implies murder, or at least revenge) Ten men=“grays”. The gray suits. The Suits that are gray that work for Curtain. Curtain’s Grays.   one is a woman. Rip to the pencil darts and chloroform. Sticky lists every city in Germany that is a palindrome and also knows which has a train station, then says, “What. common knowledge” I lauhed Ok so there’s this fake water polo team?? they thought Curtain had sent them, but it has been revealed that the team and the grays don’t know each other. So what is this mysterious element? Uncomfy energy in the birthday flashback or number two and Rhonda. They use a saw to cut the cake. Hey everyone reading this please don’t ship them. Speaking of the flashback, Mr. B offers constance info about her past and she’s like nah. Are they trying to set up Prisoner’s Dilemma?????????? Are we really gonna get season 3??????? Who is funding this. Who is viewing this and loving it and making another season feasible. It’s honestly not that great a show. We’ll see I guess Back to the episode. They see the wpolo team and they’re like oh no they’re on the train with us... and they don’t close the little blind on the window to their compartment. Like wow maybe constance deserved to be kidnapped, you guys didn’t even try to hide. (that’s how the episode ends) While the kids do their thing, Milligan, Rhonda, and Miss Perumal are in a blimp trying to catch up to them (what even is this time period actually??). the blimp goes down, they borrow a motor bike, etc. it runs out of gas and Milligan’s just like. I got this. and sprints to a town, siphons gas into his boot, and sprints back haha I am really wondering if they’re trying to make Mil and Miss P end up together. They’ve had a few moments and I can’t read the mood. I hope nothing comes of it.

So here’s one thing I’ve finally figured out. The kids are written like they don’t know each other. Like Sticky’s prodigious memory is still a surprise for them. Reynie asks, “Kate, you got a pen” and Kate says, “Do I have a pen” while getting her pen, instead of Reynie saying something like, “Kate; pen” while holding out his hand. The first book had a whole part where they went through everything in Kate’s bucket and even how she fit it all in there. They would know she had a pen. The book did have character growth, but they’re supposed to have the foundation of being the Society. Somehow it still feels like they’re practically strangers to each other.

I am struck with the thought that the final island/village/place (I can’t remember) may not happen there at all. Mr B is not being held in a cave, they’re in Curtain’s Good Place. Is the final showdown gonna be there? Where is SQ? We Must have Sticky’s sledge scene.

Well, this ep at least had more for me to write about. I got the book and will start a reread soon!

#The Mysterious Benedict Society #tmbs #mbs #jext

[chojuuro]

ship/s: Ao/Terumi Mei rating: G content: post-mission snuggles and cuddles, ao is tired, this is rushed but i meant to get it out for mei's birthday on the 21st and im late so DBHF. anyway i care them words: 988 ao3 link here: [x]

It’s well past midnight when Ao stumbles through the threshold on his third day of no sleep, exhaustion tugging at his limbs and the last dregs of the food pill he’d eaten half a day ago nearing the end of its efficacy.  Still, he’s silent as ever; nearly trips over a discarded article of clothing on the floor but he catches himself, attempts to remain cool-headed though he feels as though he can pass out at any moment.  

Now that he’s back in familiar territory, maybe he will.

He slips into the room quietly, removes his mask and his weapons pouch, wraps them in his discarded haori for easy access come morning.  He’s back hours earlier than was expected and isn’t needed in the Mizukage’s office for debriefing until morning.  

He’s got time.  He’ll make time.

---

The next thing he knows is he’s waking up with gentle arms holding him in place, scratching lazily, delicately at his scalp.  He’s got half a mind to fall back asleep but despite the exhaustion he’s just too alert to allow himself the luxury;  he shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.  Ao knows this.  A shinobi should never be off his guard.

And yet.  

And yet here he is, her fingers carefully weaved into his hair, his face nestled into her chest, and now that he realizes, in her apartment and her bed.  And he feels comfortable enough leaving his senses dull with sleep, keeping his body in a contented state of rest.

Ao can’t fully recall what brought him here but his feet had just moved and his brain had simply told his feet where to move and how fast, and he's not even sure if this was a conscious decision or one made in haste at an obscene hour of the night. He's still admittedly groggy from the short rest hours as he feels himself come to, fully, realizing that the body he's cuddling is not a pillow, but rather an entirely familiar, wholly comforting presence that he would recognize with both eyes plucked out and all senses dulled.

“Ao,” she greets, cheerful but quiet; careful not to rouse him from his relaxed state.  It’s not often that he allows himself to be totally at ease, unbothered by responsibility and unbound by duty.  So as he stirs, he receives a shush and a kiss on the head.  

“Mei…," he grumbles, picks his head up to look at her and she steals his lips in a quick little kiss.  Self indulgence in her part, yes, but something about Ao's sleep-mussed hair and the half-lidded stare of a man running on only a few hours of sleep makes her insatiable, she supposes. 

"It's still early," she tells him, and as he rests his head down against her again – his cheek rests gently against her bosom and she resumes petting his hair and he swears he could sleep for days on end – he realizes she's right. 

There's no soft, morning glow peeking through her blinds or easing its way in through the gaps in the curtains, and he can’t sense any birds awake enough for their morning birdsong. It's decidedly too early even for the seagulls that routinely jolt him awake before any alarm ever could; he can't remember the last time he's woken before the seagulls. 

"What time is it?" he asks, though it comes out slightly muffled against the fabric of Mei's nightgown. 

"Early."

"How long was I out?"

Mei hums and slows her hand, lets her fingers ghost along the back of his neck and trail along the top of his spine.  “I’m not sure,” she tells him, “but not long enough.  Rest.”

"I've got to meet with Lord Fourth–"

“Yagura is dead asleep, guaranteed.”

She looks down at him and he, up at her; her face is soft yet stern, a gentle frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.  She purses her lips and Ao knows already that he’s lost this argument. 

Mei’s got a point.

Silently waving the little white flag of surrender, he relaxes once more, and Mei hopes that it’s for the final time this evening.  They’re silent for a time, letting only the sounds of their breathing fill the room; neither realize when their breaths begin to sync, or if they do notice, neither bring it to light.  

It’s a comfort that he hasn’t felt in many years, and a tenderness he didn’t expect to feel again.  He’s warm from the inside out – the lava release that runs through Mei’s blood is a heat to her chakra, and sensor-type shinobi as he is, Ao doesn’t let that go unnoticed.  He feels it deep inside himself, twisting and curling around his own chakra network, allowing the warmth to bloom from the deepest parts of himself.  

Mei’s the first one to break the silence, and Ao is all but slipping away again into slumber.  

“This was the first place you decided to come?”

“Mmhm.

“Not to your place?”

“Couldn’t sleep there.”

“Did you try?”

“No.”

His own apartment hadn’t even crossed his mind.

---

He wakes again hours later to a sliver of sunlight just-so-perfectly shining through the blinds and into his eye.  He lifts his head, glances around the room and up at Mei’s face – takes in the serenity that she displays in her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each easy, restful breath.  He considers getting up, considers what small disturbance he’ll cause for Mei if he does; and he considers what not appearing before Lord Fourth immediately as soon as the sun rises may cause him.

He was the captain of the operation, he thinks; his team won’t report in without him.  They’d be turned away before they could enter the main office in the first place.

Ao rests his head against Mei’s breast once more, and his eyes shut.

Perhaps Lord Fourth can wait a little longer.

#ao #ao (naruto #mei terumi #terumi mei #fifth mizukage #aomei #UH HAPPY LATE MEI DAY #desfic

[daisysprimordialplayground]

Guess who couldn't sleep so made a split second decision to make her candles....and forgot she said she would record it.

Me

But I will record the next batch (and chat a little). I may even record testing the first 2 candles---maybe while doing a read. Since spirit isn't upholding their end for something, I got the impression I could do a few reads before starting work. IDK if they can just be a read, though. Which means the whole schedule is out of whack since it seems like I could do an Alderis one. Or just talk about something else while doing a read.

Things are getting dicey for Daisy. Twice we almost had a house fire due to something stupid. I was told not to go out due to my mom's driving and the likelihood of an accident at this time. And she was sick and went temporarily almost blind in one eye due to her room light wigging out.

Is it bad luck, though, or good? Since nothing bad truly happened.

I keep getting I should not get the 2nd job. But there is still no word on my possible start date. (apparently Chewy is known for this) I was told that I could, after being urged to try and pray/communicate that way. Then I did a read that told me to stay my hand and wait for Chewy's message/that one would come and one did...but it said they still don't know. I will have to do another one. And an update on the ground team/spiritual realm. But fuck them. They can wait. I've had some try to reach out, but I could tell what it was about so didn't participate in any discussions. I am all for results, not promises. I am all for action, not words. I am willing to give chances, but so far how often have they succeeded? I can also tell there is a manipulative force being immersed in all of it and coming up once in a while. It's a masked entity, a mimic of some kind. I'd rather not speak with anything than with them. They may be why I was told to wait to record a read, originally, but since my spirit team has proven useless in the physical world, they need to provve themselves in the spiritual.

Idk how well yours works for you. It is likely they do and I just have a whole lot more against me. Everything is being hinged on my birthday, apparently, though nobody will give me specifics. Maybe it is the only way they can ensure success/by building up momentum for that and withholding it elsewhere. But what if they fail? Hopefully they didn't really 'hinge' everything on it.

I currently still find it ridiculous that all my gods, guides, & guards (which include ALL gods)can't do what should be some of the simplest 'miracle' they have ever done, though maybe I am speaking out of ignorance. But if so, and with everything else, they are clearly steering me towards ignorance. Which means I can say whatever the fuck I want about them, since they are the ones who technically enforced it.

But, unlike Tyler Tarot i don't like to wax poetic in a disrespectful manner. I do still have hope and hold love for them.

And I feel the need to set the record straight again. Positivity does not equal manifestation. Anything that can hamper truth as a resonance does. I can deel as pissed as I want and it can still resonate wholly as truth. I do not need to have full faith in it,as what is truth/fact? A LOT of you say this or stuff like this, but this was prompted by Star 144

The truth is that I deserve what I was supposed to have a long time ago. The truth is I have every right to feel angry about all that happened to me. The truth is that I am running on empty when I should be overflowing. It's no wonder I and the Void could accept eachother so fully. If I tey to pretend I feel what I don't feel, that is not truth. I am still certain of what is/was meant for me. There are times when emotions do hamper it. Try to explore the essence of those nuances. I will try to explain it later. I gotta go visit my grandma in the hospital