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fuckyeahdindjarin · 2 years

Text

Grays

Frankie Morales x f!reader

{ Grays Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Grays Part II }

Rating: M

Summary: Frankie wants you to cover up his grays. You want to knock some sense into his salt-and-pepper head.

Warnings: Insecure Frankie in need of self-love comes with his own warning, Reader is a hairstylist and has a related nickname, no physical descriptions other than that Reader has hair that can be dyed, not-quite-friends to *respectfully looking* dynamics, mentions of hair, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, sexual innuendos, lots of teasing and banter.

Word count: 4.8k

Notes: The origin story is here if you missed it. This is dedicated to my Frankie soul sister LJ @prolix-yuy who encouraged me to write this many months ago ❤️ As always, I’m an anxious mess writing for a new-to-me Pedro boy, so please be gentle with me (cos it's my birthday week) 🥺

I have a part 2 (with smut) in mind. I love where this leaves off, but who am I kidding. I probably won’t be able to help myself 😂

The bell on the door chimes with a sweet tinkle, cutting through the low, insistent purr of the hair clipper buzzing in your grasp. You don’t look up as you spy broad shoulders and a battered Standard Heating Oil cap crossing the threshold out of the corner of your eye.

‘Are you lost, Morales?’ you drawl indifferently, focused on the task at hand. ‘I have an appointment with Pope today, not you.’

‘He booked it under his name. Thought you’d take it as a prank if I called in myself.’

You look up to meet his gaze reflected in the mirror sitting in front of Greg, your current customer. ‘I wonder why he’d think that.’

Frankie shrugs, leaning against the reception counter with his arms crossed. ‘Beats me.’

You snort. ‘Really? You’ve insisted loudly and repeatedly for as long as I’ve known you that you don’t see the point of going to a hairstylist when you can have Pope cut your hair with kitchen scissors in his bathtub.’

‘C’mon, Shiv.’

‘Oh, he knows my name,’ you gasp sarcastically. You turn to Greg, who’s clearly amused by this exchange, and loop him in. ‘He usually just grunts at me.’

At this point, Ashton - your apprentice and all-round salon maverick - makes an appearance. Clearly having caught the tail-end of your conversation with Frankie, he glances between the two of you with an arched eyebrow. ‘Are we back to chasing customers away, boss?’

‘Sit his ass down but he doesn’t get a free drink,’ you instruct. ‘I’ll get to him when I get to him.’

Ashton goes ahead and ignores your orders point blank, per usual. After hanging up Frankie’s jacket and settling him at the station furthest away from you in the far corner of the salon, you see him sneakily give him a coffee. He can never resist the handsome ones.

You take your sweet time with Greg, cleaning up his sideburns, even though you’re basically done with him - just to tick off your waiting customer.

Not that it works, and you know it won’t. He just sits there, his wide frame filling up the chair, still as a rock. The dog-eared, months-old magazines strategically placed on the table for idle reading lie untouched. That’s Francisco Morales for you.

You’ve been orbiting each other since sixth grade, as all kids in your close-knit neighbourhood do. In fact, most of your customers went to your school.

You don’t even remember how it started - probably at a sleepover - you discovered one day that you’re handy with box hair dye. By freshman year, you were colouring your fellow classmates’ hair in the girls’ toilets after school, earning enough pocket money to keep your cabinet at home fully-stocked with new hair products on rotation.

Your ever-changing hair colour got you into trouble with the headmaster more times than you can count, who nicknamed you Shape Shifter. Your friends abbreviated it to Shifter, then over the years, whittled it down to Shiv, and it stuck.

After being gifted a set of styling scissors for Christmas one year, you started hanging out at the neighbourhood salon, hustling for an apprenticeship. You practised what you observed on your fellow students, giving out haircuts on the bleachers on non-game days for a couple of dollars (the fee waived if something went disastrously wrong).

That’s how you first met Benny - his then cheerleader girlfriend took him in for a haircut when it got too long for her liking. When you eventually opened your own salon years later, he was your first paying customer, having come home after being honourably discharged from the army.

During the early days, when you struggled to fill your appointments and he couldn’t win a fight to save his life, you made a pact. You would do his hair at a heavy discount for his posters and promotions, and in return, he would let you use his photos for the salon’s marketing.

And it worked. Well, not that you had anything to do with him turning his fortunes around on the MMA circuit, but he had everything to do with getting customers through your door. It only got busier when Santi joined the ranks a couple of years later, and even though Will only shows up when his hair gets really unruly, they both sit in front of your camera with no complaint in return for mate’s rates.

Having these guys on your salon’s social media keeps both the gents and the ladies booking up your appointments.

Frankie Morales, though, is a different animal.

When you finally appear over his left shoulder, his coffee is all gone and he meets your eyes in the mirror nonchalantly. He’s leaning his whole weight on his right elbow on the armest, his left arm outstretched and blunt nails tapping on the table, the only hint of impatience he’s giving away.

He’s good at that - he’s the laid-back one out of the boys, the one who hangs back and observes with arms crossed, but quick to crack a grin and throw in a wicked barb when the occasion calls for it. Nothing ever seems to faze him, and probably nothing does - you hear that makes a good pilot, and from what Pope lets on, he’s a damn good one.

It also makes for highly effective bait for the ladies. He’s a popular fixture on the local bar scene - let’s face it, all of the boys are. You’ve seen him in action more than once when Benny or Pope invites you along on a night out, more often than not without Will since he had a baby girl with his high school sweetheart last year. Frankie’s brooding, quiet, beer-sipping act often works better than Benny’s over-the-top flirting or Pope’s Casanova bit.

But that’s neither here nor there.

Hands on your hips, you goad him, ‘Alright Morales, how do I know you’ll pay up, you cheap bastard?’

‘Pope says to put it on his tab.’

‘Music to my ears.’ You tap him on the shoulder. ‘Sit up and off with the cap.’

With a grumble, Frankie lifts the cap up by the beak, ducking his head as he does so. He tosses it onto the table offhandedly and shifts in his seat, but you’re not fooled by his unconvincing air of indifference. From the way he plasters his palms to the top of his denim-clad thighs, as if to stop them from fidgeting, you know he’s feeling vulnerable.

You can’t say you’ve ever seen Frankie without his headgear - now that you think about it, he’s been wearing it since high school. Heck, he might have gone through several incarnations of that blasted hat in the years in between. You’ve caught glimpses when he lifts it up to fix his hair, but otherwise, all you see is what peeks out from underneath, the longer wisps that coil around his ears and the curls at the back.

As it turns out, there’s really nothing to hide - sure, the cut is blunt and his hair lacks shine, but both can be easily fixed. You step into his space and comb through his locks, starting at the base of his skull and working your way up the sides.

The contact startles him - he practically jumps out of his skin, and you don’t miss the way the veins on the back of his hands pop and he digs his nails into his legs.

'Easy, boy,' you soothe with a teasing undertone, earning yourself a glower from the pilot. As much as you enjoy needling him, you do want your customers to be comfortable. So you let slip a deliberate but genuinely appreciative hum as the dark tendrils, subtly tinged with grays, part softly at your prying fingertips. ‘Wow, your curls are really thick.'

He looks up, an unsure frown on his brow. ‘Oh. Is that bad?’

‘No, Morales, it’s definitely a compliment,’ you tell him encouragingly - your bark has always been worse than your bite. ‘What do you use to wash your hair? It’s a bit dry.’

He shrugs. ‘Shampoo.’ At your insistent stare, he snaps, ‘What?’

‘Don’t lie to me, Morales,’ you warn him in a stern voice.

He huffs and gives in. ‘Fine. It’s a 2-in-1 body wash. I get it at the gas station, happy?’

You shoot him a smug grin as he rolls his eyes. ‘Well, you’re using proper shampoo from now on, and conditioner.’ He opens his mouth, a complaint on the tip of his tongue, when you hold a finger up at him. ‘Don’t argue with me, mister. I’ll throw in a couple of bottles on the house to get you started.’

‘Fine,’ he concedes. Unfailingly polite even when grumpy, he adds, ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Your trusty swivelling stool screeches in protest when you drag it over on its wheels, before you take a seat and address the elephant in the room. ‘So - I’m guessing you’re here because of the wedding.’

You get a grunt in response. Scratching a particularly scrappy patch of his beard that has turned prematurely silver, he says, ‘My ma says I should cover up my old man grays for it.’

You snort, shaking your head. ‘Ha! And you tell your mother I say - hell no, ma’am! I will do no such thing.’

Frankie blinks at your unexpectedly adamant response. ‘What?’

‘I said, hell no,’ you repeat. Turning his head to the side with two fingers on his stubbled cheek, you comb his locks upwards to study the way the grays blend in softly with the umber, matching the ashen flecks in his beard. He doesn't start as badly at your touch this time, but there’s a telltale tick in his jaw, and you can almost hear the tension that thrums just below his skin where a late summer tan still lingers.

‘See how your grays are mainly coming out on the underside?’ you point out. ‘I like the way they just peek through the brown, it gives more depth to your curls. Natural highlights, if you will.’

He looks unconvinced and swipes at a smattering of silver with dismissive fingers. ‘Dunno. Thought the grays make me look old.’

You chuckle. ‘You’re no spring chicken anymore, Morales, and I mean it in a good way. Grays are natural - they will look even better when you start using actual shampoo and conditioner. Trust me, the salt and pepper works on you. I’m not dyeing your grays, and that’s that.’

For the first time today, Frankie turns his head and looks directly into your eyes. ‘My mother’s coming back to town for the wedding, you know. And she remembers where you live.’

You laugh. ‘Go ahead and send her my way, you know I’m not scared of her.’

He scoffs at your big talk. ‘You should be.’

Your relationship with the Morales matriarch is complicated, to say the least. She was always hard on you when you were a kid, thinking you were too wild and undisciplined. Now that you’re grown, you’re still torn between your admiration for her as a single mother who raised a good man, and the woman who never tires of dishing out criticism, warranted or not.

You give him a reassuring pat on the back, solid and warm under your touch. ‘Leave your mother to me, Morales. The grays stay, and I’ll make sure you steal the show at the party.’

‘Your funeral,’ he quips.

‘You just worry about getting yourself to the wedding,’ you retort, cracking your knuckles. ‘Now, are you ready for some pampering?’

Frankie rolls his eyes, but you see the corner of his mouth tick up in a vaguely upward direction - and you take it as a win.

‘Relax, Morales.’

‘I am relaxed,’ he insists through gritted teeth.

‘You’re about as relaxed as a cow on the butcher’s block. Unclench.’

For someone as economical with words as he is, his body certainly says a lot. Every single part of him seems hellbent on making his discomfort known. He breathes a frustrated exhale through his nose, brow deeply furrowed, his glare burning holes into the ceiling.

The leather seat of the backwash barely contains his tall build, his t-shirt stretched to the seams across his chest as he leans back into the basin. He’s bouncing his left leg irritably, the tight denim straining against his lap.

You try - valiantly - not to gape too obviously at the conspicuous bulge nestled snugly between his thighs under his belt buckle. But you can’t avert your eyes from something of that size. It’s against the laws of physics. Or something.

Even from where you’re standing, at the top of the basin peering down the slope of his body, its heft is clearly testing the structural integrity of the zipper of his jeans. Imagine the view from the other side -

Clearing your throat, you bodily press down on Frankie’s shoulders which are coiled up like the hood of an angry python, forcing them to loosen up. He jerks as if he’s a copper wire and you’re electricity. You tease, ‘So sensitive. You act like you’ve never felt a woman’s touch before, Morales.’

‘You know that’s not true,’ he growls at you, the prominent vein in his neck starting to pulse in frustration.

‘No, you’re right - I do know,’ you smirk, dragging out your syllables.

Your tone has him frowning at you, upside down. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean - I know,’ you repeat with a conspiratorial wink.

He narrows his eyes at you. ‘What do you know, Shiv?’

You wriggle his eyebrows at him suggestively, enjoying yourself far too much. ‘I own a salon, Morales. I hear things from the ladies about town.’

One large palm reaches up to shield his face in embarrassment, a pained groan escaping between the gaps of his fingers. ‘For fuck’s sake - kill me now.’

You laugh, wrestling his hand from his face to with an impish grin. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve only heard good things so far - Frankie big boy Morales.’

He blushes so hard that his ears and neck go a livid red, and for a minute, you’re actually worried that he’d pass out from not enough blood reaching his heart. Not keen on the prospect of having to explain to the emergency services that you teased the poor man into an aneurysm, you turn on the water and cut short your little chinwag with a good-natured chuckle.

His hands are still tightly clamped around the armrest when you carefully run the shower head along his hairline and behind his ears, soaking his curls. His biceps flex from the tight grip and the lean muscles strain against the sleeves of his t-shirt.

At least he closes his eyes when you start with the shampoo. The velvety lather froths as you patiently wash his hair, which clings to his wet curls like vanilla frosting. The deep crease between his brows eases with each gentle swipe into his locks, and the invisible force pulling his lips downwards slackens. By the time you rinse out the bubbles, you don’t miss the way the tension in his body unwittingly goes with it down the drain.

When your nails slide slickly into his hair with the conditioner, his stubborn body finally, slowly unfurls. His head tips back of its own accord, baring the column of his strong neck as he leans inadvertently into your touch. Colour returns to his knuckles when he releases his death grip on the backwash.

You smile to yourself, scraping your fingertips along his scalp in a firm massage, watching his chest rise and fall as he teeters on the brink of consciousness.

As your thumbs trace a confident path down the back of his skull, they appear to find a particularly sensitive spot near the base of his neck, and it's as if a switch is flipped. You witness the exact moment he breaks - his back arches off the leather seat, his obstinate lips part with a strangled half-sigh catching in his throat as he yields his full weight into the palm of your hands.

If you're not careful, you could get used to this.

‘Still with me, Morales?’ you tease quietly.

He garbles incoherently, and you grin.

Frankie practically molds into the chair like warm wax when you shepherd him back to the styling station. You’re so chuffed with yourself that you don’t even feel the need to gloat at the way his eyes are glazed over and how his head lolls into the soft pressure when you run a fluffy towel through his hair. The man recoiling at the mere brush of your fingers a distant memory.

You run an assessing eye over him, brushing out his locks to gauge your game plan. ‘I like this length on you, so I’ll just trim the split ends and tidy up your sideburns. You’ll benefit from some layering too - it’s a bit heavy on top right now.’

From the way he blinks owlishly at you, you know he doesn’t catch a single word. He shrugs and says matter-of-factly. ‘You can’t do worse than Pope.’

The salon is quiet this afternoon, as it tends to be on Wednesdays. You let him enjoy the peace for a little bit and tap your foot to Ashton’s playlist as your styling scissors move over his curls in metallic snips.

‘Tip your head forward for me,’ you instruct, sliding around the back of his head on your wheels as you probe, ‘So - how are you feeling about the wedding?’

The fabric of his t-shirt bunches over his shoulders as they quirk noncommittally.

‘It’s just a few days away.’

He makes an indifferent noise. But you’re not so easily dissuaded from conversation, and he knows it.

‘Can’t be easy - watching your ex get married.’

Frankie pins you with a long-suffering stare in the mirror. ‘We broke up a year ago.’

Getting onto your feet, you ruffle your fingers through the crown of his curls. ‘Yeah, but you dated for years. She sure moved on quick.’

He huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Thanks, Shiv.’

Swapping out the styling scissors for blending shears, you argue, ‘What? It’s a legitimate observation. I’m just making conversation here.’

‘Or we could just sit here quietly.’

Ha. As if you ever listen to him. You press on, ‘Why did she invite you anyway?’

Frankie’s sigh sounds a lot like surrender as he humours you. ‘It’s a damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t kind of situation, I guess. The whole town’s invited.’

‘You sure she isn’t trying to flaunt it in your face or something?’

‘Flaunting implies I still care. I don’t.’

You give him a juvenile nudge nudge, wink wink. ‘Well, on the bright side, you’ll definitely get laid, being the heartbroken ex and all. Chicks love that shit.’

He dispatches a side-long stare in your direction. ‘I’m not heartbroken, and that’s not why I’m going. And you know none of this is any of your business, right?’

‘You’re no fun,’ you pout.

He quips, ‘As a professional hairstylist, you really should be better at making polite conversation.’

You snort. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to call me rude when I have scissors in my hands?’

Frankie watches you work in the comfortable lull that’s settled between you, gliding the blades along strands of his curls pulled taut, before running a fine-toothed comb through to brush out the loose tufts. Soft coils land on the floor around his chair as you work your way methodically through his layers.

‘Are you going to the wedding?’ he asks eventually.

You shrug. ‘Maybe, depends on my schedule. I gotta say, I’m kind of curious to see how tacky it will be.’

At his eyebrow sternly cocked, you argue, ‘I know she’s your ex and all, but she’s always been a bit tacky. I mean, that remodel of your house was just tragic.’

Frankie frowns. ‘How do you know all this? You’ve never been to my house.’

You wink. ‘Benny tells me everything when I do his hair.’

He pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course. Benjamin fucking Miller.’

You give him a pat on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m on your side, if it helps.’

‘I don’t need you on my side.’

You flash him an insufferable grin. ‘Too bad, Francisco. I am and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

The hairdryer drowns out any further conversation, and Frankie quietly studies you as you cord your fingers through his hair, ruffling it as it dries.

It’s still a bit damp when you switch off the hairdryer and reach up to pull a couple of jars from the shelf above. ‘On the day of the wedding, I want you to wash your hair just before you style it. You have a hairdryer at home, right?’

He throws you a pointed look. ‘I’m not a heathen.’

You grin. ‘Down boy, just checking. Now, you’ll dry your hair until it’s still a bit wet, like so.’ Presenting the styling mousse to him, you say, ‘Then go on and grab some product - you only need a dollop.’

He dips his index finger into the pot, scooping up a generous blob. Your attention is unexpectedly piqued at the sight of his hands.

Have they always been so big?

Realising he’s staring at you in wait, you shake yourself out of it. ‘Ok, rub the mousse onto your fingertips and run them all over your hair, combing from root to end.’

Frankie does as he’s told, face set to a serious scowl as he impeccably goes over each section of his locks, staring into the mirror to make sure he gets every strand. For the first time, you see the pilot in him up close, and you wonder if he’s this thorough about other things, like -

Laundry, your mind interrupts as it careens on the brink of the metaphorical gutter. Get your shit together, Shiv.

‘Good,’ you smile when he’s done, hoping he doesn't see the strain in it. ‘Now, I want you to rake your fingers through the roots when you dry your hair all the way.’ In demonstration, your nails burrow into the base of his thick hair, then you wriggle your fingers upwards towards the ends. ‘It will give you lots of volume and really show off this cut.’

Passing him the hairdryer, you watch him critically in the mirror. He imitates your movements, a bit clumsily and far too cautiously. Leaning down to his ear so he can hear you over the whir, you instruct him, ‘Don’t be gentle, Francisco. C’mon, harder, deeper - don’t hold back.’

He chokes and pins you with a wide-eyed stare in the mirror that glances right off your oblivious self. Along with your words, nothing about this exchange would register in your head in any other way until much, much later tonight, when you replay the conversation in your head in that limbo between sleep and wakefulness.

It may or may not have you squealing into your pillow in latent embarrassment - and something else.

But for now, you’re happy with the way his hair has set, and you gesture for him to switch off the hairdryer. Turning his chair towards you and away from the mirror, you scan your eyes over him and make small adjustments - tucking a couple of strands behind his ear here, a couple of final snips there.

As a final touch, you bury your fingers into his locks, dragging your fingertips through the roots to impart a final tousle so that the curls are loose and soft. You preen at the way he sways into your contact, all shyness gone, his hooded eyes half-closed - before he seems to catch himself and sits up with a self-conscious ahem.

Grabbing a small bottle from the shelf, you say, ‘Last thing - your beard is a bit dry as well. This oil will keep it nice and moisturised, just two or three drops after you wash up in the morning will do.’

Tipping his face up by the crook of your finger and opening up his neck to you, you smooth the ointment along both sides of his jaw, rubbing circles into his neatly trimmed whiskers and all the way up his sideburns. Sliding downwards, your hands seek out the closely shaved stubble tucked beneath his chin. Then, by sheer momentum, your palms continue down his throat in a slow, sticky descent, until the pads of your thumbs slot into the hollow between his collarbones, your fingers resting at the base of his neck where you feel his pulse rabbiting underneath.

The air thickens and shifts between you. When he swallows, you feel the ripple of the moment against your fingertips.

His eyes are on you, and suddenly he’s too close, his skin too hot under your hands. To your horror, something akin to shyness rears its head and you almost stumble backwards to put a safe distance between you.

Scrubbing the oily residue from your hands on a towel, you break the moment with a wink and a steadier smile than you actually feel. ‘You look good, Morales. Ready to take a look?’

‘As if you would take no for an answer,’ he mumbles under his breath. Fondness might be too strong of a word - but you don't think you're imagining the faint trace of amusement in his voice.

With a dramatic ta-da, you spin his chair around with a flourish.

Frankie Morales is obviously not a vain man - he most likely owns five pairs of jeans that he’s worn on rotation for the past fifteen years, his t-shirts are washed ragged, and his trusty leather boots have seen better days. He probably doesn’t use a mirror other than for purely utilitarian purposes, like checking if there’s something stuck in his teeth from his last meal.

But right now, by the way he’s holding his breath as he meets his own eyes in the reflection, you can tell that he’s really looking at himself for the first time in a long while.

You pretend to busy yourself with tidying up the styling station as you discreetly sneak glances at him, feeling strangely bashful for intruding in this moment. When he remembers to breathe again, he tilts his head left then to the right, and back again, even swivelling his chair from side to side so he can peer round the back.

You’ve parted his waves to the side, the lighter cut allowing his curls to carry their natural shape. The healthy sheen, courtesy of the mousse, tempers his grays to a softer, burnt silver that catches the light fetchingly as he moves. Reaching up, Frankie pushes back a stray curl that falls over his eyes, and his back straightens in a quiet show of confidence.

Running a salon is hard work and often thankless. But on days like this? You know you’re meant to do this.

A dramatic gasp draws both of your attention. Ashton is clutching at his chest, backed up against the neighbouring styling station, gaping at Frankie. ‘Mister - you look good enough to devour. Look at that salt and pepper, I’m living for the grays. Doing the Lord’s work, Shiv!’

You laugh as Frankie flushes, scratching an invisible itch on his forehead. You brush the loose hairs off his shoulders with a towel and give him a nudge. ‘See? I’m not the only one who thinks you look good with the grays. You better stock up on the condoms, Morales, the ladies will be all over you at the party.’

He shakes his head self-deprecatingly as he stands up, rubbing his palms on his jeans, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. ‘I doubt it, but - thanks. I appreciate this, Shiv.’

He shrugs on his well-loved burnt yellow jacket, the one with the sleeves perpetually folded up above his wrists and grabs his cap. You hold out a paper bag with the free shampoo and conditioner you promised him, throwing in a jar of hair mousse for good measure. ‘You’re welcome, and you better not put your hat on again this afternoon after all that hard work.’

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag from you, then, as if it’s the logical next thing to do, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your right cheek, his stubble coarse against your skin - and you know without looking it’s the gray patch in his beard that brushes against your jaw as he draws back. You fumble, feeling heat prickle the back of your neck and blooming in your rib cage.

He flashes you the most self-assured smile you’ve seen on him this afternoon, which has you biting your bottom lip. ‘I won’t. Maybe see you at the wedding, Shiv.’

It takes you five full seconds to regain motor functions. By the time you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Frankie’s already out of the door with a spring in his step.

In companionable silence, you and Ashton watch the pilot strut - because that’s what he’s doing, he’s strutting with a confidence that becomes him - across the road through the glass front of the salon.

‘What a dish,’ Ashton sighs dreamily, flopping into a chair as if his limbs have given out. ‘I hope he comes back soon.’

You smile. A girl could always hope.

Notes: It's the first time I'm using a nickname for a Reader, but I have a real soft spot for Shiv, and I think she deserves one. I'm not sure where the fandom stands on this, does it disqualify the fic as a reader insert? If anyone has an issue with this, please let me know! For me, Shiv has no physical descriptions so to me she's still a reader insert.

I don't know if anyone expected this kind of dynamics between these two, but it's been so much fun to write with a bit of antagonism in the mix. I hope you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are so, so appreciated as always. Thank you for reading ❤️

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #triple frontier fanfic #frankie friday #queue

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frenchcurious · 8 months

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Publicité Time Magazine, Avril 1941- Packard Clipper 1941. - source Heikki Siponen.

#packard #time magazine

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latibvles · 8 hours

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keep me pretty.

another prompt fill for the bomber girls — using kinship from the prompt list, here's something that takes place during episode one, before the girls make their appearance at Bucky's little send-off before he heads over to England, featuring the baby of the group: one Carrie Hughes :)

—

For the first time in a long time, the barracks is quiet.

And rarely was it ever quiet, especially on a Friday night. Not when there was a bar to go to and enough reasons to celebrate: this time, their Air Executive was crossing the pond, and soon, they’d be doing that too. Greenland, and then Europe — the idea of actually seeing combat suddenly seemed less slim then it once had. They’re all dressed for it too, in their Class As, jackets cast to the side for the moment but soon to be donned with their silver wings and respective insignias. Still, the barracks is quiet and June Cielinski is sitting on her footlocker and staring at the door, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.

“This is stupid,” Carrie declares impulsively, the first to break up this tentative quiet. A couple eyes land on her, June’s included, and the latter rolls her eyes.

“You’re more than welcome to head out on your own, Hughes.” Carrie puffs out her cheeks, breaking away from June’s piercing stare to divert her attention towards Harrie’s empty cot.

“Then I’d just be stuck waiting for the bus forever,” she points out in a smaller voice. It’s a flimsy excuse, which is really just code for I don’t want to go alone. No one faults her for it, but it does elicit a handful of laughs from some of the older girls. Through her periphery, she watches June toss her straw-colored hair over her shoulder and lets out a quiet sigh of relief, knowing she’s evaded a round of the bombardier’s relentless teasing, if only for a moment.

It was a piece of advice they carried with them from Des Moines. They didn’t go anywhere alone. It was safer that way, going in groups or pairs, having the extra set of eyes and hands to help avoid the trouble on base. So no, Carrie wasn’t going to wait at the station by herself and no, June didn’t actually want her to anyway. They didn’t have to say that part out loud to know it.

One day, maybe they’d laugh at their current dramatics — but right now it all felt very life-or-death, do-or-die.

No one really thought June was going to go through with it. She delivered the idea (or was it a threat?) with the same fire that she did most of her retaliatory statements. It seemed silly then, but now at least half their crew feels a little foolish for thinking it wasn’t possible for her to actually see it through.

Carrie especially, couldn’t help but think it was crazy for someone with hair as shiny and golden as June’s to cut it all off, whether if it was in retaliation or for practical reasons. Keep it off the collar, sure, they had a million different ways to do that — wrangling their hair into rolls and buns and braids had been a part of civilian life that they’d carried with them from Des Moines to Utah, Nebraska to California. Cutting it all off was extreme. More permanent. Sure, it would grow back eventually, but until it did she’d be stuck with whatever awkward phases that could arise from hacking off all that length.

Hell hath no fury like a girl who didn’t want to be on magazine covers, apparently.

Harrie opens up the door and returns to the crew, something shiny in her hands and June’s typical sour expression melts away for something more gracious.

“Got ‘em! Here y’go, Juney,” she announces happily, handing over the clippers and a comb. “Blakely said I could just give ‘em back tomorrow.” And June nods, rummaging through her footlocker until she pulls out a small mirror and offers it up to Fern, who holds it in front of her so she could better see what she’s doing.

“Don’t cut your ear,” Carrie offers in a soft voice, and June snorts.

“Well there goes my bright idea.” But Carrie can’t help but hold her breath a bit as June brings the clippers to her own head, and there’s a heavy silence broken up only by the soft snip snip snip as pieces of June’s hair fall to the floor of the hut, like golden thread being cut from it’s spinning wheel. She uses her fingers as a guide — and while anyone outside of this hut would assume June would just hack away at herself with reckless abandon, there’s a meticulousness to the way she works. Slow and steady.

“Did you work at a salon or something, June?” Josephine asks from her own spot, curious as she watches.

“No, but my mom used to cut all our hair to save us money instead of going to a barber. Then I cut a bald spot into my hair when I was seven and she started teaching me so I wouldn’t do that again,” June pauses, giving every girl in the hut a narrow-eyed look. “...That story doesn’t leave this hut.”

The tension breaks, a small round of laughter before they lapse into side conversations, Josephine makes a promise to let Fern take powder to her face if they ever go out in England. Carrie watches, quiet, while Harrie starts talking about the state of the Nissen hut she’d just ventured into as though it was as foreign of a place as the Pacific Islands. Lorraine, who’d been watching June’s process with a quiet interest, clears her throat as she approaches.

“Could you do me next?” Straight to the point, June pauses, looks up, then nods.

“If you can tell me how the back of this thing is looking, sure.” Lorraine leans over to take a look at the back of June’s head, stares with discerning, narrowed dark eyes, before her thumb pops up and she gives an approving nod.

“No bald spots.” There’s a ghost of a smile playing at Lorraine’s lips, before she takes the seat behind June on her rack to watch. Harrie was half-leaning on Carrie by this point — enthralling her with some tale about how Brock from Just-A-Snappin had been spraying himself in cologne like his life dpeended on it, and the idea of the whole hut stinking of Old Spice has Carrie laughing to herself quietly. Still Harrie perks up upon hearing June and Lorraine’s conversation, tilting her head to one side like a curious puppy.

“You’re givin’ ‘em out, now?” She asks, almost hopeful. By now, June’s hair is effectively off her shoulders, an uneven yellow shag brushing against her jaw. She dusts off her shoulders haphazardly, content for now, and gives a bit of a shrug.

“That’s what it looks like.” Harrie presses her lips into a contemplative line, tugging at one of her light brown braids as she seemingly weighs the pros and cons, then she speaks up again.

“Y’know, one o’ ma’ pals back home says t’me that hair could get snagged on one o’ them engines if y’ain’t careful,” Harrie admits with a slight shrug. “Don’t know how true that is, but uh…”

“Better safe than sorry?” Inez, from her quiet corner of the Nissen hut finishes the thought. Harrie smiles, appreciatively, and nods in agreement.

“Uh huh. ‘Sides, I think I’d look ‘real cute with a little crop. Do me too.”

“Didn’t realize I was running a salon out of here,” June drawls, half sarcastic as she looks around. “Anybody else? Should I make you all line up? Set up a waiting room?” The other four exchange looks. Then Fern gets that grin on her face: half scheming, half earnest, as she rises only momentarily and makes her way over to Josephine.

“Josie would look great with a little bob, don’t you think?” she remarks, and they know she’s being genuine from the way she starts fussing with Josephine’s hair. The dark-haired girl makes a squeak of surprise, and then her face seems to flush in that modest sort of embarrassment. “And I need my ends cut anyway. Might as well go all the way.” Fern immediately starts taking the pins out that had held her hair in its neat bun.

June looks over at Lena, who shrugs.

“Everybody stares either way. Might as well give them something to look at.” And June then looks to Carrie on one end, Inez on the other, cocks an inquisitive brow.

“Carrie? Inez? Y’in or out?” Carrie, feeling silly, looks over to the Second Lieutenant in the corner of the Hut. It was easy to forget that Inez was four years her senior — they both had a quiet flightiness about them. And like Carrie, Inez seemed to flush under teasing as opposed to fire back or take it on the chin. She gives Carrie a smile, something small and encouraging, then turns to look at June.

“Why the hell not, make sure I’m still pretty at the end of it.” Inez offers, a joke that’s stiff but they laugh all the same. June rolls her eyes lightheartedly, then looks at Carrie.

Carrie simply nods, and she knows it’s enough, because June returns it and then sits Lorraine on her footlocker with a firm order not to move too much. She volunteers the thin sheet on top of her cot to use to keep hair off their uniforms, and goes to work on Lorraine’s pale colored hair with a steady hand and a careful eye.

Now, as opposed to quiet, their hut is busy with girls debilitating over length, how much to cut. For some it’s a big thing: Fern smiles like she’s running on adrenaline as June clips away at perfectly curled auburn locks. For Harrie, its two quick snips to both braids before June goes to make it shorter still, and Harrie voices sending the severed braids to her mother with a picture of her, the next time they get their hands on a camera. Carrie decides if she’s going to do it, might as well go all the way — and although June’s face is unreadable, she gives the girl a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. She’s going last — and after six other haircuts, she’s fairly certain she can trust June to keep her looking pretty.

The door opens though, and all their heads snap to it curiously.

Captain Savorre has simply poked her head in — it reminds Carrie of something her mom would do, a “just checking on you” posed on her tongue. It’s not that though, because their Captain opens up the door fully, does a sweeping motion as Neumann steps in. Savorre lets out a low whistle.

“Was just coming to see if there were any stragglers. Didn’t realize we were all planning on being fashionably late,” she jests, taking in the varying fresh bobs and crops that now dotted the rest of the crew. “Did I miss a meeting, or something?” She fixes her gaze on Carrie, sits on the footlocker, and June, with a piece of her hair that she’d just cut in her hands. Carrie feels her face flush pink, but she clears her throat nonetheless.

“June was cutting her hair and… and we wanted in, I guess,” she can’t help but feel small — being the last one to want to do it. Lena’s idea to give them something to stare at echoes in her head, but she knows those words wouldn’t sound right on her tongue. She could do without the staring, honestly, hadn’t been used to it when they arrived in Utah and still wasn’t used to it now. But there was something… freeing about it. Like shedding old skin and letting something fresh and new breathe. “Like a sendoff, I guess.”

“A sendoff, she says,” And it’s not mocking, the way Savorre says it, but rather with intrigue, looking over to Neumann. “Well I’d hate to be the odd woman out. What’d you think, Willie?” Carrie thinks that they might all be holding their breath now. If Neumann thought something was dumb, then she’d call it dumb.

She doesn’t do that; instead, Neumann’s face cracks into a small smile.

“There’ll be a lot less to do in the mornings.” Savorre smiles at that, then looks back to June with a nod.

“Right then, do me after Hughes, June,” and their pilot takes a seat on her own cot, shedding the jacket, and the anxiety in Carrie begins to settle as June goes back to snip-snip-snipping at her hair.

#hboww2rewatch #*poet writes #ch: carrie hughes #I think about this a lot #my lovely girls #me? posting a prompt on time? unheard of.

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forever70s · 6 months

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fashions in Clipper magazine - October 1971

#clipper magazine #retro magazines #70s fashion #1971 #hats #boots

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vintageadsmakemehappy · 1 year

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1951 Pan American Airlines

#1951 #50s life #panam #pan american #airlines #pan am #travel #golden age #mid century #strato Clipper #vintageadsmakemehappy #vintage magazine #vintage advertising #magazine #advertising #1950s #50s #american #50s ads

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spicykaraage · 7 months

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Tenipuri Complete Character Profile - Kaoru Kaidoh

[PROFILE]

Birthday: May 11th (Taurus)

Blood Type: B

Relatives: Father (Shibuki Kaidoh), Mother (Hozumi Kaidoh), Younger Brother (Hazue Kaidoh)

Father’s Occupation: Company Employee (banker)

Elementary School: Okutamagawa Elementary School

Middle School: Seishun Academy Junior High School

Grade & Class: Second Year | Class 2-7 | Seat 4

Club: Tennis Club - Regular, Future Captain

Committee: None

Strong Subjects: English

Weak Subjects: Math, Science

Frequently Visited Spot at School: Training Room

Favorite Motto: “In for a penny, in for a pound.” ➜ “Slow and steady wins the race.” [23.5]

Daily Routines: Long distance runs, cleaning his room

Hobbies: Marathoning, collecting bandanas, rock climbing [TP]

Favorite Color: Blue

Favorite Music: Traditional Japanese instrumental music

Favorite Movie: Japanese films

Favorite Book: Japanese literature from the Meiji Era

Favorite Food: Tororo soba (zaru style), yogurt, 100% fruit juice (white peach flavor [TP])

Favorite Anniversary: Father’s Day, Mother’s Day

Preferred Type: A girl who eats food with gusto

Ideal Date Spot: Zoo (he wants to see the polar bears) ➜ “A cat cafe—I mean, going cycling.” [TP]

His Gift for a Special Person: Imabari towels

Where He Wants to Travel: “Nowhere.” (a magazine featuring Malta is visible in his bag)

Thing He Wants Most Right Now: New training equipment ➜ For Seigaku to win the National Tournament again [23.5]

Dislikes: Monsters, ghosts ➜ Supernatural things, konjac [TP]

Skills Outside of Tennis: General housework (especially cleaning and sewing [TP]), can quickly grab beans with chopsticks [TP]

Spends Allowance On: Training equipment

Routine During the World Cup: Sending postcards to his family

[DATA]

Height: 173cm ➜ 174cm [23.5]

Weight: 57kg

Shoe Size: 26.5cm

Dominant Arm: Right

Vision: 1.5 Left & Right

Play Style: Counter Puncher

Signature Moves: Snake, Boomerang Snake, Short Snake, Tornado Snake, Gyro Laser

Time He Wakes Up: 5:00am

Time He Goes to Sleep: 1:00am

Daily Running Distance: 25km

Favorite Brands:

Racquet: HEAD (Ti.S7)

Shoes: PUMA (Cell Factor PTO634)

Fitness Test Results:

Sidesteps: 58

Shuttle Run: 140

Back Strength: 122kg

Grip Strength: 54.5kg

Backbend: 62.8cm

Seated Forward Bend: 49.6cm

50m Run: 6.74 seconds

Standing Long Jump: 224cm

Handball Throw: 33m

Endurance Run (1500m): 4:47

Overall Rating: Speed: 3 / Power: 3 / Stamina: 4.5 / Mental: 3 / Technique: 3 / Total: 16.5

Kurobe Memo: “His unyielding personality and endurance are all part of his charm. I’m sure he'll grow into bring the type of player that can strip off an opponent's control as the match goes on. His match with Tezuka was a great learning opportunity for him to stop being so reserved with others.” [RB]

[POSSESSIONS]

What’s in His Bedroom [10.5]:

TV and audio equipment // Various equipment along with a DVD player and collection of DVDs

Glass table // Used for studying, it is always clean and not a single fingerprint can be found on it

Japanese-style bed area // A spacious area in his bedroom with Japanese motifs. He uses it strictly for his bed and has a double-size futon laying out

Area for training // An area where he keeps various stretching equipment. He trains hard everyday even in his bedroom

Full-length mirror // He had it installed to check on his form, but he doesn’t use it much

What’s in His Bag [10.5]:

Bandanas // He always has two or three of them with him so he can replace one if it gets dirty

Writing supplies // He only takes notes with a ballpoint pen

Notebook

His lunch // Made in luxurious, lacquered jubako (tiered lunch boxes) and furoshiki wrapped. He also brings chopsticks and a chopstick rest with him

Sewing kit // Along with nail clippers. He always maintains his nails before practice

Handkerchief and tissues // He is particular about staying clean and tidy

Pass case

[TRIVIA]

The Prince of Tennis 10.5 Fanbook | Release Date: 11/02/2001

He is described to have large, upturned eyes and slightly big lips

He is secretly compassionate and easily moved

He prefers girls with big eyes and who can trust him with her heart and soul

He loves yogurt and eats it to stay healthy, he particularly likes the Morinaga brand

He does a great amount of daily training, including intense strength training unbeknownst to the other members

He glares at people who approach him and exudes an aura that keeps them at bay. In reality, it is because he is nervous over his appearance and is not good at interacting with others

His hissing is a habit of how he breathes, Konomi wanted him to give off an eerie feeling by doing it

He is Konomi’s favorite member of Seigaku

He is one of few characters who wear no show socks

He wears bandanas to help motivate himself

He trained and mastered his Snake Shot after losing a rookie match in the fall when he was a first year

He will stay silent and glare when asked personal questions, he usually is not angry, however

He does not mind being called by his first name, but gets angry when people call him “viper”

His sharp, arching eyebrows are natural

His unnerving aura tends to scare off animals as well

He believes he is stronger than Momoshiro and could easily beat him

He does tennis training and long distance runs (morning and evening) even on off days

He secretly loves animals, especially cats

His personality is described as someone who is misunderstood and frightens others because of it, but is actually kind and afraid of hurting others more than anything else

Konomi describes him as “hardworking” and that he’s not just unpleasant, he’s a hard worker who happens to be unpleasant. An “I am who I am” type of character

The Prince of Tennis 20.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2003

He’s described as stoic and tenacious, and would be suited for event planning

He has a temperament of never giving up, which gives him leadership qualities

He will go on runs even after matches

His secondary sport would be boxing

The Prince of Tennis 40.5 Fanbook | Publication Date: 12/04/2007

He tends to let his emotions overtake him and is considered a “troublemaker” because of it

He is very just, moral and will get angry when someone disrespects his teammates or rivals

He has a hard time accepting people and tends to clash with them, which puts a strain on his relations. He does however, have a strong sense of camaraderie and exhibits a cooperative nature with his friends

He’s described to have a jealous side to him and has a tendency to want to control his friends and/or lovers

His daily running distance is 25km, and he will continue to run even further until he reaches his physical limits

He’s been popular with the older women in the area of the National Tournament. He was spotted at the shopping district surrounded by women trying to feed him

#tenipuri #tenirabi #profile #my post #seigaku

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shegatsby · 1 year

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The Last of Us

Warnings; Post apocalyptic world.

Words; 3.894K

A/N; Hello my lovely readers, hope you'll like this chapter, I'm so sorry if there are any typos because English isn't my first language. Smut will happen on the next chapter. xxx Love you!

TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Summary; Ever since childhood you had to survive, you were born before the disease so you kinda remembered what was it like, to have a hot shower, clean food etc. You didn’t know what happened to your parents because they were on a vacation and left you with your grandma who passed away during the chaos. You were 10 when it happened, a child who had to be a woman over night. What happens when you are a brink from killing yourself and find purpose again?

Chapter Six – Unsaid Feelings

It was a windy morning with dark clouds, as if the universe was dramatic enough to set the scene, Henry and Sam were dead and that was it. This world didn’t have a room for emotional release, you just had to keep going but the practical man Joel Miller came up to her and said something which surprised her, ‘’We should burry them.’’ Ellie was in an another room, but Y/N was sure that she was listening to them, Joel wasn’t a man of sharing his feelings or wasting time but there was a shift in him which Y/N couldn’t put a finger on. Y/N helped him bury their dead that morning, yes she got tired before the long road ahead of them but it had to be done. When they were done Ellie showed up to put the small device which Sam was communicating through on his grave. Y/N approached to see what she wrote and it said ‘’I’m sorry.’’ Which broke Y/N’s heart, Ellie was a 14 years old child, she should be at school or hanging out with her friends instead of experiencing death again and again. After that morning none of them uttered a word of either Sam or Henry, however their deaths weight on them.

It had been three months and in those months a lot of things have happened, they had to pick up winter clothes because of the change of season, the more they kept walking the more they were surrounded by forest which was a good thing because the infected were nowhere to be found but that didn’t mean that they were safe, people were a lot worse than the infected. Every morning Y/N gathered snow to melt on the fire and made them wash their faces, Joel and Ellie didn’t complain, after that they would walk for miles, sometimes Ellie would ask questions about how things used to be back in the day and Joel was happy to explain, Y/N could see that over time he got close to Ellie. When she looked from outside perspective they looked like father and daughter and the hard thing was that she didn’t know where to put herself in this new found family. Joel was really good at hunting, thanks to him they had meat every night, Y/N made sure to say thank you every night which didn’t go unnoticed by him, Joel was still surprise to see her so naïve and gentle. Back in Kansas City she didn’t hesitate to shoot someone to save him, she didn’t question him when he said that they should bury Sam and Henry, she was so strange sometimes and it puzzled his emotions. She was quick to accept his rules, Joel was hunting and leading, Y/N was gathering things like wood to make fire, berries etc. and she was so skilled at taking care of Ellie that Joel often found himself watching them interact. In her backpack she had a lot of things and Joel watched her brush Ellie’s hair every morning, she had nail clipper, tooth paste and tooth brush for everybody, she said that she picked those things for them when they were at Frank and Bill’s place. These things would have never came to his mind to pick because they seemed unnecessary to him, hell she even had toilet papers and magazines just in case. He liked those details though, of course he would never admit that he liked how attentive she was with them but it was entertaining to watch.

They were lost for sure and Joel was getting impatient to find his brother Tommy, when they saw a small cabin with smoke coming from its chimney Joel turned to them, ‘’They might be armed so I’ll go in first and see, later I’ll whistle and you’ll come. Understood?’’ Ellie and Y/N nodded and watched him leave, he first checked the windows but the curtains made it hard to see who was inside, and then he opened the wooden door and walked in, didn’t forget to leave the door open for them. After what seemed like a minute they heard the whistle, ‘’Get your gun out.’’ Y/N said to Ellie and together they approached to the cabin and what they found was a relief. There was an old lady who seemed nice, Y/N closed the door behind her, it was warm inside and well furnished, for a second she thought how would it be to live in a two store cabin like this with Joel and Ellie, always warm and relaxed. It was heart breaking to dream of things you cannot obtain.

‘’My husband will arrive soon, so sit and I’ll make you soup.’’ The old lady said, her weight made it hard for her to walk but she managed. Y/N gave a questioning look to Joel and he understood, ‘’We’re travelling and got lost,’’ he showed the map to the woman and asked few questions, she answered them without a beat which made Y/N think she was telling the truth. When the soup was done they sat on the table, ‘’Thank you ma’am,’’ Y/N said, she never underestimated the hospitality, it was rare these days, ‘’Ellie say thank you.’’ She whispered. ‘’Thank you.’’ She said shortly and together they ate, there was even salad on the table. After that Joel told them to go upstairs and wait for the old lady’s husband. After a while and old man showed up, his face was hard to read but it was obvious that they were older than Joel, ‘’Who the hell are you?’’ he said to Joel. ‘’Just someone passin’ through.’’ He replied holding his gun at him. Ellie and Y/N were watching from a corner, ‘’Why didn’t you shoot him?’’ the old man asked his wife with disdain. ‘’The gun is all the way over there.’’ Her response almost made Y/N laugh, she was a sweet lady and Y/N was sure that she would have never shoot them especially after seeing that they have a kid with them. ‘’He didn’t hurt me by the way.’’ Her sarcastic response put a smile to her and Ellie’s face. ‘’Yeah I got eyes.’’ The old man clapped back, Y/N wondered how would it be to grow old with someone, experiencing life’s burdens with them and having kids.. today she was dreaming a lot. It wasn’t good. ‘’You made him soup?’’ the man asked and rolled his eyes at his wife’s generosity. ‘’Yeah, I did. It’s cold out.’’

‘’I’m lookin’ for my brother.’’ Joel cut in, impatient. ‘’Well, I ain’t seen him.’’ The old man replied shortly, clearly he didn’t care. ‘’I haven’t told you what he looks like.’’ He answered, ‘’He looks anything like you?’’ the man asked, ‘’A bit.’’ Joel still didn’t lower his gun. ‘’Then I ain’t seen him.’’ That was his answer.

‘’He’s got his wife and kid with him.’’ The old lady said which made Joel look at the old lady in shock, well, they didn’t explain who they were when they barged into their house so it was normal for her to assume, for a second he felt a warm feeling in his chest, like drinking hot coco and watching the snow from the window with family. Y/N as also startled too because she could hear their conversation clearly and the fact that he didn’t correct the old lady made her feel a way which she couldn’t explain and the little devil Ellie took advantage of her shock, ‘’Can we come down?’’ she heard her ask Joel, ‘’No, Ellie!’’ it was too late, Ellie held her hand and pulled Y/N, she just had to follow. Together they went downstairs, ‘’What did I just say?’’ Joel was in grumpy mood, Ellie was holding her gun at the old man, ‘’Come on, they’re like a thousand!’’ Ellie said dismissively. ‘’Who is this little psycho?’’ the man seized you up, ‘’Nice family.’’ He said sarcastically, ‘’Never mind them. I need you to tell us where we are.’’ Joel showed the map to the man, ‘’If you got a map, why you lost?’’ he questioned, ‘’Must have missed all the street signs in the enormous fucking forest.’’ Ellie snapped back quickly before Y/N could shut her up, she was a lot more braver than Y/N or… stupid.

‘’Ho-ly.’’ The man and woman started to laugh together, ‘’We’re somewhere here. Exactly where?’’ Joel painted at the map for the man to see, ‘’And your answer better be the same as your wife’s.’’ of course he was threatening but Y/N knew he wouldn’t hurt these people… or would he? Back at the Boston QZ there were rumors about him and what he is capable of.

‘’Did you tell him the truth?’’ the old man asked his wife, ‘’Yeah.’’

‘’Are you tellin’ me the truth?’’ he asked again, ‘’Yeah.’’

The man reluctantly pointed a place at the map, it seemed like Joel trusted them enough to put his gun away, ‘’Well, you found a great place to hide, I guess.’’ The way he spoke and sat on the green couch seemed almost defeated. It broke her heart. ‘’Hide?’’ the man asked confused, ‘’Came here before you were born sonny.’’ The man replied, Ellie sat next to Joel, Y/N sat on Joel’s left side, she did something she never thought she would, she touched his hand gently, which made him look up at her, ‘’We’ll manage.’’ She said quietly.

‘’We came here to get the hell away from everybody.’’ The man explained, ‘’I didn’t want to.’’ The lady replied sadly. ‘’Listen, I didn’t mean to upset you about your brother, but if you’ve come this far.. then you know what’s out there. You seen Cody?’’

‘’Yeah, got close enough. Its crawling with infected.’’ Y/N spoke, it was a miracle they got out of there without the infected hearing them. ‘’Laramie, and Wind River Reservation, anywhere people used to be, you can’t go there no more.’’ The man explained with much softer tone, ‘’So you haven’t heard the name Tommy?’’ the thing about Joel was that he was persistent and Y/N’s hand was still holding his, he didn’t protest, her hand was warm and small in his. ‘’Nope.’’

‘’What about the FireFlies?’’ Ellie asked, ‘’We get those in the summer.’’ The lady said seriously, which was obvious that they didn’t know anything about FEDRA or FireFly, ‘’Not the bugs, the people.’’ Ellie said rather harshly, ‘’There are firefly people?’’ the lady asked confused, and then the couple laughed again. The man gave them directions and warned them about the river of death, he said there were bodies there both infected and normal people’s dead bodies. Before they left Y/N didn’t forget to thank them for everything and she closed the door behind her, watched Ellie steal two rabbits from them, ‘’Ellie!’’ she warned, ‘’put that back.’’ Joel said he was walking ahead of them, he stopped to hold the wooden log which was in front of him to catch a breath, or so she thought. When she came close it was obvious that something was wrong, ‘’Joel? Joel?’’ she said but obviously he had some trouble. ‘’Ellie stay back.’’ She announced and made him look at her, she held his hands, ‘’Deep breaths with me come on, you can do it.’’ Ellie didn’t understand what was going on but Y/N knew that Joel was having some kind of a panic attack. His chocolate eyes focused on her, doing what she told him helped him to breathe again. And they didn’t talk about his attack that day, or the way the old couple assumed that they were a family. Snow was everywhere and the more they walked the more it was getting hard to breath, she didn’t complain though, there were a lot of messed up places to be right now but the walk was somewhat peaceful. ‘’How old are you Y/N?’’ Ellie asked, ‘’30, why?’’

‘’What about you Joel?’’ she didn’t answer Y/N’s question, ‘’56, what’s your point?’’

‘’Wow, the age gap!’’ she sarcastically joked, Y/N and Joel were lucky enough to blame the blush on their cheeks on the winter breeze. ‘’Just thinking of what that old lady said.’’ Ellie finally spoke what she meant, ‘’Let people assume whatever they want. It’s easy that way.’’ Y/N was quick to respond, Joel didn’t make any comments.

It was getting late so they set up a camp in a cave, Y/N gathered wood to start the fire, she used to camp with her parents any chance they got so she knew what kind of berries to eat and avoid or how to start a fire. Joel took the rabbits that Ellie stole and skinned them, while he was busy she kept herself busy too. Organized her backpack and Ellie’s, it was a beautiful night, one could see the green northern lights, it was mesmerizing, Joel whistled for Ellie to come down, it was calm, they could hear the owls. Joel was drinking from his flask, Y/N was standing a few feet away from them still watching the lights, ‘’Can I have some? Just to warm up.’’ She could hear Ellie say and she immediately turned to see Joel handing the flask to her, ‘’Absolutely not Ellie!’’ her gaze made Joel pull his hand back, ‘’You’ll drink when you’re old enough.’’ Her authoritarian voice amused him, she had such a mom energy that made him feel warm inside, maybe it was the booze. Unfortunately Joel and Sarah’s mother were divorced and she was too troubled to take care of Sarah so she removed herself from them and Joel couldn’t bring himself to remarry and have Sarah a stepmom, well, back then he kept himself busy with work and never dated, things were moving smoothly with work, Sarah and Tommy but every once in a while he caught himself imagining a family life just like everyone had. It wouldn’t hurt to come home to a loving wife after a long day at work, to have family dinners and holidays together… he was yearning something he didn’t get to have when the world was normal but recently he kept having these daydreams, he felt like a pervert with sick fantasies but the things he daydreamed about were so simple which involved Y/N….

He came back to the reality with a question from Y/N, it seemed Ellie and Y/N were talking about what they were going to do after the Fireflies take her blood and make a cure, Ellie said she would like to go to the moon, ‘’What would you like to do Joel?’’ Y/N asked with a low tone, eyes dove, ‘’Its never been an option.. ‘’ he cleared his throat, he forced himself to look away from her because he was afraid he would utter the things he thought about her, ‘’Maybe.. and old farmhouse, some land.. a ranch.’’ He replied, ‘’Seems like an old person’s dream. What kind?’’ Ellie didn’t forget to give him hard time, ‘’Sheep. I would raise sheep. They’re quiet.. do what they told.’’ This tone was directed at Ellie, Y/N giggled and Joel hid his smile. ‘’What about you Y/N?’’ Ellie asked, ‘’I love gardening, not just flowers like vegetables and fruit. I know a lot about it so that’s what I would do.’’ She answered shortly, ‘’You two are such alike. You know what you should go to his ranch and live together, It would be romantic. I’ll come visit from the moon.’’

Joel and Y/N just looked at each other, neither of them could say anything, ‘’Its late.’’ Joel said changing the subject, ‘’I’ll take the first watch.’’ Y/N announced and stood up. She gave a forehead kiss to Ellie before she walked away and took Joel’s rifle, it was a habit of hers. Every night she gave Ellie a goodnight kiss and never forget to tuck her in, Ellie didn’t complain.

Throughout the night Y/N didn’t want to wake him up because he seemed tired so she switched with Ellie, it was about time to give her responsibility, of course under Y/N’s watch. Well, she knew Joel would be grumpy and angry about it but Y/N wanted him to be well rested. ‘’I’m responsible for both of you, okay?!’’ he said seriously, ‘’We’ll wake you up next time, come on,’’ Y/N gave him a cup of water to refresh, ‘’be quick.’’ There she was again, with her small details and taking care of them. Joel could feel a certain tightness in his jeans, she was attractive and loving. It had been a while since he tasted such warmth… he shook his head to regain conscious.

It was snowing when they passed a bridge, under it the river was frozen, she hoped that it wasn’t the river of death, but so far so good, no one was around. As usual their walk was quiet, ‘’What can you grow during winter?’’ Ellie asked Y/N, ‘’Kale, spinach, collard, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, kohlrabi, and leeks. Not to brag but I’m a good cook.’’ They were walking side by side, Joel was ahead but listening to their conversation, ‘’Sorry but I didn’t understand half of what you fucking said.’’ Ellie replied, ‘’Well, come visit our ranch I’ll cook for you.’’ Y/N said without knowing the fact that Joel was eavesdropping, the thought of living together made him smile, thankfully no one could see it. On their way they saw a dam, which made her wonder if there were people living by cause it seemed working.

‘’Wow, look at that river its crazy blue.’’ Ellie announced, she was right. Joel and Y/N were walking side by side and Ellie following behind, ‘’Hey guys, what if this is the river of death?’’ her question made Joel stop and look at the map which was in his pocket. She came close to look, Ellie’s suspicions came true because soon enough they were surrounded by people on horses, they had cowboy hats and covered the half of their faces with clothes, not to mention that they were armed. Joel held Ellie’s hand instinctively and so did Y/N, but they couldn’t escape, they were surrounded. ‘’Get behind us!’’ Y/N said to Ellie, hands raised, ‘’We ain’t lookin’ for any trouble.We’re just passin’ through.’’ He announced, ‘’Drop the gun.’’ A man in the middle said, he seemed like was the leader of his group, Joel dropped his rifle unwillingly, Y/N’s gun was inside her pocket which no one could see, if there was any trouble she had to be quick to shoot, Ellie had to take few steps back, it was the man’s orders. ‘’You been near infected?’’ he asked directly at Joel, ‘’There’s no infected out here.’’

‘’The hell there ain’t.’’ he didn’t seem to be convinced, the group had a dog with them, ‘’If you’ve been infected, the dog will smell it and he’ll rip you up.’’

Y/N could feel her heart go ice, Ellie was immune but they didn’t know if she had the virus in her, this was bad, really bad. Joel and Y/N looked at each other, ‘’Its okay.’’ She whispered when she saw how scared he was. This was the first time she was him scared, the man faced dozens of evil people and infected but didn’t show any sign of anxiety but right now he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The dog smelled them first and they were clean and the man who was holding the dog walked to Ellie, Y/N closed her eyes and wished, wished that they would survive this.

She could hear her heart beating in her ears, the pressure almost made her pass out but when Ellie’s giggles were heard she sighed deeply, Joel was relieved too. When they turned to look Ellie was petting the dog and the dog was happy to receive the pets, wiggling his tail. ‘’What are you doing out here?’’ the man asked, the group still had their guns pointed at them, ‘’I’m just lookin’ for my brother.’’ A woman who was behind that man approached, she looked confident on her horse, ‘’What’s your name?’’ she demanded, ‘’Joel.’’ He replied. And that was it they didn’t exchange any more words, the group gave them two horses, Y/N was riding alone and Ellie was with Joel. They followed the group which let them to a town. The big wooden walls opened for them to enter, Y/N was shocked to see civilization again, she only knew FEDRA and what it capable of, this place was just like before the outbreak. Even though Y/N didn’t know anything about these people there was a sense of community here, she felt welcomed. ‘’Tommy!’’ she heard Joel scream and saw a man running to him, two brothers uniting again was a rare experience in this world, there were no planes, no buses and let’s not forget to mention the infected, despite all the odds Joel managed to find his brother and also kept them safe, he was persistent just like he mentioned back at Kansas City. A man of his word.

Tommy escorted them to a canteen, it was warm inside and yellow lights, the smell of delicious food, this was heaven. They were served like kings and queens. Ellie was eating without breathing, Y/N was more careful, she was still observing, when she realized that Tommy is watching them she kindly smiled. They weren’t alone though, the woman who was with the group was sitting next to Tommy. They seemed close, ‘’There is more if you need it.’’ The woman said to Ellie, ‘’Thank you ma’am. It’s been a while since we had a proper meal.’’ Seeing Joel trying to be kind was hilarious to Y/N, she nodded when he looked at her, ‘’Actually, I don’t think I’ve have had a proper meal, this is fucking amazing.’’

Joel and Y/N at the same time with the same rhythm warned Ellie, which made Tommy smile, ‘’Let’s mind our manners.’’

Ellie was right, the food was fucking amazing, and it had been months since they had warm meal. After few discussions they learned that the woman’s name was Maria and they were married. Y/N noticed the golden rings but didn’t want to assume anything, however Joel seemed lost for words when he learned the news, ‘’Oh shit, congrats.’’ Ellie said, she genuinely seemed happy for them, ‘’Congratulations!’’ Y/N was also happy for them even though she didn’t know them. They seemd happily married and most people didn’t get to experience that, still, Joel was silent and looking at Tommy with a shocked expression, ‘’Joel, say congrats.’’ Ellie whispered, ‘’Congrats.’’ He shortly replied. He didn’t sound happy. Tommy, in order to change the subject spoke, ‘’Maybe I should congratulate you too.’’ He gestured to Ellie and Y/N.

Immediately her cheeks got heated, this was the third time people thought that they were a family. Joel liked the warm fuzzy feeling of being a part of a family even though his face didn’t show it. Y/N cleared her throat but none of them said anything against it. Ellie was occupied with eating that she probably didn’t hear them, Joel and Y/N exchanged looks, she didn’t know what he was thinking but the fact that he didn’t correct Tommy made her feel like she belonged to something or rather someone… ‘’How ‘bout a tour?’’ Tommy was good at changing the topic.

Tag List;

@psychomanias

@stitchattacks

@anxiousbeech

@elmontsmile

@cheyxfu

@mushroomelephant

@avengersheart

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