#tv: racket boys

[cuddlybitch]

RACKET BOYS (2021) dir. Jo Young-kwang & Ahn Jong-yeon LOVE ALL PLAY (2022) dir. Jo Woong

+ main characters and their final smash

#racket boys #love all play #kdramaedit #kdramanetwork #chewieblog #userbbelcher #useroptional #usertelevision #ccnet #tuserbia #userjaehwany #udeokmis #todramaism #lunilove #cinemu #mostlyfate #cuddlycreates #tv: love all play #tv: racket boys #loveallplayedit #racketboysedit #making this gifset makes me want to rewatch racket boys again #also the finale match is the same as in racket boys #with a mixed doubles competition with the main couples #racket boys i miss you T______T #also trying a new sharpening action idk if i like it

[verstappen-cult]

HOW YOU GET THE GIRL | CL16

— 03. THE DRAMA

PREV. PART | NEXT PART — [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

summary: in which charles has an embarrassing crush on alex's childhood best friend and everyone meddles. content warnings: faceclaim is taylor hill but you can picture her as you’d like! some cursing and a tiny bit of angst because why not. time jump of a month approx.

INSTAGRAM POST

📍 LONDON, ENGLAND — JUN 27, 2023

Liked by alex_albon, landonorris and 897,455 others

yourusername i kinda like it here. ⛳️

view all 7,637 comments

user66 uh excuse me? the second slide???

user67 IS THAT CHARLES ???? user68 I THINK SO

alex_albon i feel betrayed.

yourusername stop being so dramatic

user69 my parents are together i still can’t believe it

user70 oh my god okay it’s happening

user71 everybody stay calm OH MY GOD user72 are they together? user71 girl go on twitter and see

landonorris let’s play and see who’s better

yourusername me ofc

charles_leclerc ❤️

user73 relationship goals

user74 lol we don’t even know if they’re dating user75 they kissed in front of thousand of people AND on live tv what are you talking about

user76 he’s too good for her

user77 who is she anyway. user78 stop being so childish, he’s never gonna date u

user79 who wouldn’t want to date her i mean just look at her

user80 all these people saying charles is too good for her like ??? SHE’S too good for him

user81 she will get bored in a few days mark my words

danielricciardo Ok but who won?

charles_leclerc i won! yourusername charlie don’t lie maxverstappen1 I don’t believe anything he says ever since I won fair and square playing FIFA and he threw the controller at me. landonorris he did that to you too? pierregasly that’s nothing. he threw a padel racket at my head, i still don’t remember anything from that day. charles_leclerc ffs shut up yourusername leave him alone you bullies

user82 i love how all the drivers are calling charles out lol

Y/N’S iMESSAGE

“that’s not how you make pasta!” you’re dying with laughter at seeing charles trying to cook.

“i asked you if i could cook!” charles can’t help but join you in your laughter, leaving the burned pasta aside.

“because you said you knew how to!”

“you better not believe anything i say.” he takes a sip of wine. the one he brought alongside the beautiful flowers that are now adorning your terrace.

“not even when you say how much you like me?” you pout, looking at him beneath your eyelashes.

charles walks the short distance to where you are sitting in the kitchen counter and you happily make room for him between your legs, arms finding your waist in no time.

“you should a hundred percent believe that.”

“mh i don’t know,” you tease, playing with his soft hair. god, you love his hair so much. “i think you should show me.”

“oh i’m definitely going to do that.”

INSTAGRAM POST

Liked by sabrinacarpenter, gigihadid and 566,328 others

yourusername 💐

view all 8,771 comments

user83 that’s one hell of a bouquet

user84 charles knows what he’s doing

gigihadid Can’t wait to see you this weekend!

❤️ by author

user85 i wanna be her so bad :(

user86 If it weren’t for Charles nobody would know who she is. He put her on the map.

user87 this is a grown ass man by the way user 88 i swear to god men are so in love with charles is getting kinda scary

carmenmmundt What a beautiful picture 💛

user89 tired of her comment section being all about charles

user90 fr like they forget she’s her own person user91 I just know she doesn’t like this at all, she’s always speak up about these kind of things user92 if this were to happen the other way around everyone would be insulting her

user93 CHARLES IS WITH HER RN OHMYGOD

user94 what are you taking about user93 LOOK AT CHARLES STORIES HE LITERALLY JUST POSTED THE PICTURES user95 if it wasn’t for the close up of the flowers we wouldn’t even know they’re together user96 he def did it on purpose

user97 the boys, the girls, the gays, they all like Y/N

INSTAGRAM STORIES

landonorris has replied to your story

landonorris: *chandler bing’s voice* can I BE any more obvious? charles_leclerc: just stop watching friends, i beg you

maxverstappen1 has replied to your story

maxverstappen1: Uh, so that’s why you wouldn’t travel with me. Interesting. charles_leclerc: can i use air max for the next race? 🥺

pierregasly has replied to your story

pierregasly: you guys make me sick charles_leclerc: Y/N says to shut up pierregasly: 🤮🤮🤮

yourusername has replied to your story

yourusername: i like this soft launch/hard launch thing charles_leclerc: i bet you like me more yourusername: debatable charles_leclerc: i can make you change your mind 😏

TWITTER — JUN 28, 2023

TWITTER — JUN 30, 2023

TWITTER — JUL 02, 2023

ALEX’S iMESAGGE

TAGLIST (bold means i couldn’t tag you) — @leclerc16s. @willowpains. @berrnuu. @minkyungseokie. @1655clean. @sassyheroneckgiant. @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir. @nessacarty1. @a1leexxa. @storminacloud. @lovstappen. @littlehoneyfreak. @paintedbypoetry. @thatoneembarrasingmoment.

note: hiii besties, take this as an early new years present! this was supposed to be posted after dec 31st but couldn’t leave it in the drafts. there is at least one or two more chapters, so if you still wanna be added to the taglist let me know! <3

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱ #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #f1 imagine #f1 grid x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc blurb

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 49

part 1 | part 48 | ao3

cw: angst, canon-typical violence

It's a totally normal Tuesday the day it all starts going to shit.

Eddie's got a show at The Hideout, and Wayne's got a rare night off, so Steve's at his boyfriend's place without him catching a basketball game with Wayne and Ernie. He did try to go to the show, to be fair; wanted to, but Eddie took one look at the way he was cradling the side of his head and winked at him to "sit this one out, big boy," so here he is: drinking beer with two old men and watching the most frustrating game he's seen all season.

"Oh, what the hell was that?" he begs the tiny screen, jumping out of his seat to pace a tight circle and rake his hands over his scalp hard enough to pluck a few strands. Beside him, Ernie shakes his head and mutters "goddamn disgraceful, that's what" and in the kitchen Wayne munches happily on a fresh plate of nachos, taps his bald head with a half-eaten chip and warns, "Quit tuggin' at your hair 'fore you wind up lookin' like this."

"Whatever, old man." Steve rolls his eyes, but he loosens his grip. Drags his hands down his face instead. "Don't act like you're not loving this."

Wayne laughs, a broad, smug smile that's pure Munson mischief. "Never claimed otherwise," he says, then he pops a cigarette in his mouth and tells them to get their wallets ready.

Bastard. His team's doing fine tonight. (And sure, the bet was only five dollars, but it's a point of pride, damn it.)

Steve turns his attention back to the game, where the ref is making yet another call that's so laughably bad Steve's not sure how he isn't getting decked for it. A stray elbow to the face, at least. Fucking something.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbles; still pacing, arms crossed. "If they don't fire this idiot, I swear..."

He turns to Ernie for back up; remembers that Ernie's got a lapful of Misty the cat right now and quickly looks away. Creepy little thing still freaks Steve out (even if Ernie's stroking her fur like she's a harmless stress toy and not the razor-clawed, rat-chomping demon she really is.) He still can't look at her. Gets queasy just thinking about all the "presents" she's left him since he moved in.

Ernie catches the way his shoulders tense. "Didn't think you'd be afraid of a little pussy," he teases, scratching the cat behind her ears.

Misty gives a low rumble of approval.

Steve's stomach flips. "Whatever," he scoffs, looking anywhere but at them. "That thing's bad luck. No wonder we're losing."

He settles back into his seat, and the game goes on — and on, and on, until the score gets so embarrassing that Steve considers just getting up and yanking the TV plug out of the wall, or maybe storming out of the place in protest — and he's about to beg Wayne for mercy, ask him to change the station to anything else, when the front door opens so softly it sets off alarm bells in his head.

Steve whips around at the lack of sound. Knows immediately that something is wrong, because Eddie Munson doesn't do quiet. Eddie Munson comes home like fireworks going off: Crack! Whizz! Bang! He's always a burst of noise and energy; he's a fucking racket; Wayne's said so a million times — muttered it angrily when Eddie's music keeps him up, grumbled it fondly over breakfast while he tries to stop himself from falling asleep face-first in a plate of eggs.

Tonight Eddie comes home quiet as a thief. A mouse trying to evade the clutch of Misty's claws. His head's hung low as he shucks off his boots, his face obscured by frizzy hair.

Steve's across the room in a heartbeat.

"Baby?" he whispers, trying to peak behind the curtain. Eddie won't look at him, but his breathing sounds off; labored and whistling, and his hair is matted with something dark. "You okay?"

"Fine," Eddie croaks.

They both know it's a lie.

Steve lifts a hand to gently tip his chin up, but the moment his fingers graze skin Eddie winces and tugs away. "Okay," he says, pulling his hand back. "Okay, I'm sorry, just— can you look at me? Please?" He softens his voice, tries to coax Eddie out. You're safe here; you can trust me.

When Eddie finally looks up, Steve's heart lodges in his throat.

His face is ruined. Caked in dried blood, the skin below his left eye like an overripe eggplant: deep purple and threatening to split down the middle, to spill rotten juices all over the floor. There's a cut above his brow, another nick between his eyes, and— fuck.

His nose is broken.

Steve's gonna kill someone.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, deadly quiet. Whoever it is, they're not living to the morning. Steve's got a car and a nail bat and a boy with a broken nose, and he's going to kill whoever did this to him. "Eddie." He grips his biceps; shakes him a little. Insists. "Eddie, tell me who did this!"

Eddie hiccups a weak sob. Lips shiny with blood and tears, and Steve lets go; feels horrible for making it worse, for letting his anger get the best of him. He wraps Eddie up a gentle hug, cradles him against his chest and doesn't care if Ernie sees. He doesn't give a damn.

"Fucking—" Eddie grunts against Steve's shirt, his teeth chattering around the word. His throat clicks when he swallows. Sticky with blood and phlegm.

Hospital, Steve thinks. Blood loss; sepsis; shock.

Eddie gulps a ragged breath and tries again. "Fucking assholes," he gets out, "they took our- t-took our—" The words cut off with a pained whimper, and he breaks down and just cries. Cries and cries until the heaving subsides, until it lessens to muted trembling in Steve's arms. There's fresh blood on his shirt.

Eddie's blood is on his shirt.

He looks up, eyes wet and wide, and then Wayne's there; two strong, weathered hands firm on Eddie's shaking shoulders. "Is it bad?" he asks Steve. No nonsense; demanding answers. Decorated veteran.

Steve nods without a word.

"C'mon, kid," Wayne soothes. "Let's get you cleaned up."

—

part 50

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #my writing #my fic

[dandylovesturtles]

I should be in bed lol but I wanted to write a turtle tot sick fic so here

I went into this with no plan and it ended up uh. way sadder than I intended. whoops.

cw: mentions of vomit

...

Blue slept through naptime. That should have been Splinter's first clue.

In the moment, he'd just been so happy to actually have four sleeping children that he'd taken the opportunity for his own nap, the old, tattered storybook he'd been reading them draped over his face. He never managed to get Blue to wind down enough to sleep, so he usually had to quietly entertain him with books or the tv on low until the others woke up. But his Baby Blue had conked out almost immediately today, and soon Splinter was snoozing right along with them.

Blue was also the last to wake up. That should have been the second clue.

Splinter was woken up by Orange, talking in loud, disjointed sentences with plenty of nonsense words as he played with an old plastic telephone Splinter had found them. Red was racing his toy cars, making his own sound effects as they skid across the floor and crashed into the wall. Only Purple was quiet, industriously sorting his legos by color and size.

Splinter sat up, letting the book slide off his face, and took stock. It was surprising to see Blue still curled up against his leg even in the midst of all the racket his brothers were making. "Blue?" he said softly, giving the little turtle a nudge. Blue blinked his eyes open, groggily looking around. "Naptime is over."

Blue pushed himself up into a sitting position, then rubbed clumsily at his eyes. He looked so tired still that Splinter debated telling him he could keep sleeping, even if it might make putting him to bed later more difficult.

But once Blue was up, he saw Red racing his cars and pushed quickly to his feet, hurrying over to join in the game. Almost immediately he was demanding Red hand over one of the cars and setting up an elaborate make-believe track for their race, so Splinter let it go.

Thirty minutes later, Blue tugged on Splinter's old sweatpants and said, "Daddy, my tummy hurts." In hindsight, this is exactly when Splinter should have put it together.

But the kids rarely got sick - a benefit of whatever Draxum had put in the gunk that turned them into this, Splinter assumed. Which was a blessing, because he was pretty limited in what medicine he could get in his condition. The boys having a hearty immune system was one of the few things Splinter had going for him.

So he hadn't moved to that conclusion. Instead he said, "Do you need to go potty?" and Blue had considered that very seriously for a few seconds before nodding and rushing off to the bathroom.

Orange threw the plastic phone into Purple's meticulously organized lego piles and Splinter moved on to the next crisis without another thought.

It was at dinner, when he caught Blue pushing his food (mac'n'cheese!) around without interest, that it finally clicked that maybe he should be worried.

"Blue, what's wrong?"

Blue didn't so much as look up. He shrugged, swirling his noodles around and around.

Splinter would be embarrassed to admit how long it took him to remember their earlier conversation, but it eventually came back to him. "Ah... Is your stomach still hurting?"

Blue's face scrunched up in misery, and he nodded.

Splinter groaned in exasperation. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I did!"

"I mean after you went potty."

Blue grimaced. Instead of answering, he scooped up some mac'n'cheese and stuffed it in his mouth. He looked like he regretted it as soon as he'd done it.

"Do not spit that out," said Splinter immediately, because mac'n'cheese was one of the few things Purple would eat and if Blue spat it out in front of him it would go on his Bad Foods list for at least a month. And Orange had a habit of mimicking anything Blue did, which would only compound the problem.

Blue chewed and swallowed the mouthful agonizingly slowly. He looked so miserable afterward that Splinter felt bad about it.

"Are you going to throw up, Blue?" he asked, and got a furious head shake in response. "Are you just telling me that?" Another shake. "Do you want to keep eating?" A third shake. Splinter sighed and took his bowl from him. "Alright. I'll put this in the fridge, if you want it later."

Their mini-fridge was already stuffed full, but Splinter would simply have to make space, or throw all this mac'n'cheese out. He wished they had a bigger fridge, but just getting this back to the juncture in the sewers he called a home had been difficult enough.

He wished he had a bigger fridge. He wished he had a house. He wished he had a pediatrician to take Blue to. He wished he wasn't a rat man. He wished he and his kids were... normal.

It was a bad thought. He knew that as soon as he thought it, and he tried to push it down. The kids didn't need to know they weren't normal. That none of this was normal. He knew that, but...

"Throw up?" he heard Purple say, and then the telltale sound of him pushing his bowl away. Mac'n'cheese was on the Bad Foods list. Splinter groaned.

...

He found their old thermometer after the boys were finished eating. Getting a temperature from Blue was near impossible because he moved it around too much or spat it out before time was up, but Splinter would have to do his best.

After three tries, he got a reading that seemed accurate enough. Blue's body ran colder than a human child's, and it had taken observation and trial and error for Splinter to learn what constituted as a fever. As it was, Blue was only two degrees above his normal. So at least that wasn't too worrying.

He was still complaining that his stomach hurt, though. A stomach bug, then? Or just something he ate? Usually Red was the one who would put random things in his mouth unless Splinter kept a careful watch, but Blue and Orange were... adventurous eaters, too. It was possible.

They continued with their normal bedtime routine. Another thing Splinter had going for him was that his boys loved baths; getting them into their makeshift tub, even with lukewarm water, was always easy. From his research, Red, Blue, and Purple were all aquatic turtles, and Orange was not one to be left out of his brothers’ games no matter his biology.

Blue wasn't excited for bath time tonight, though. He sat quietly in the tub, making grumpy noises anytime he got splashed and playing only with his favorite blue shark toy, ignoring everything else. He definitely felt bad. Splinter was feeling increasingly terrible that he hadn't noticed.

He got them all toweled off and into their pajamas. Then into the pallet beds he had for them, all in one big shared alcove, a tattered curtain strung up for a semblance of privacy. They would need something more as they got older, but for now the boys seemed content to share space.

He tucked Red, Purple, and Orange in, then turned his attention to Blue. He had found an old bucket earlier that he (theoretically) used for mopping, and this he presented to Blue.

"If you are going to throw up, please do it in this," he told Blue. "We don't have any spare sheets."

"Not gonna," said Blue grumpily, pushing the bucket away.

"Ewww," whined Purple. "I don't want to share with Leo if he throws up."

"Not gonna!" Blue insisted, glaring at Purple, who glared back. Splinter sighed and pushed the bucket at Blue again.

"I am serious, Leonardo," he said, and that got Blue's attention. "If you throw up, do it in this bucket."

Instead of answering, Blue rolled over and scrunched himself up in a ball. That was the best Splinter was going to get, he supposed, so he just sighed and put the bucket next to Blue's bed.

"Good night, boys," he said as he got to his feet, ignoring the crackles from his back and knees.

"Good niiiight," came three echoes. Blue was giving him the silent treatment. Alright.

He went back to his own bed, sectioned off by an old divider screen he'd managed to find. Hopefully they could at least get through the night without disaster striking.

...

According to his beat up alarm clock, it was only two hours later when Red showed up by his bedside, shaking him awake urgently.

Splinter groaned his way into consciousness, blinking groggy eyes until his eldest son came into focus.

"Leo threw up," came Red's predictable report.

Splinter sighed, pushing his sheets aside and rising from his futon. "Did he make it in the bucket?"

Red's expression was not encouraging.

...

He had not made it in the bucket.

Blue sat stock still in the puddle of his own sick, eyes teary and expression a mix between stunned and embarrassed. Purple was pressed as close to the opposite wall as he could get, hands pressed tight over his nose and mouth. Orange was at Blue's side, patting his arm with his chubby little hand.

"Blue," Splinter snapped as soon as he saw the mess. "Why didn't you throw up in the bucket!?"

"Didn't think I was gonna," Blue croaked.

"Well, you did. All over your sheets." Splinter ran his hands over his tired eyes. "Now you have nothing for tonight. And who knows if I'll even be able to get the stain out. I may have to go all the way to the surface to get new ones, and do you know what a hassle that is!? The bucket was right here, Blue!"

"I'm sorry."

The miserable hiccup in Blue's voice effectively stopped Splinter's tirade, and he refocused on his son. Blue's tears had spilled over, streaking down his miserable face. He was shivering, hands clutching the fabric of his ruined sheets, wringing them tight. He looked terrified.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," he repeated. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Something inside Splinter cracked.

Leo was only four, by his best guess. He was a baby, still. A sick baby, and Splinter was yelling at him about... about bed sheets?

Blue didn't know that Splinter would have to steal him new sheets. He didn't know that Splinter feared every time he did something so risky, that it might expose their tiny family to hostile forces - the human authorities, Big Mama's goons, Draxum's gargoyles. He didn't know that Splinter should be taking him to a doctor right now. He didn't know that sleeping on a pallet bed in the sewers wasn't normal.

He just knew that he had thrown up, and his dad was mad about it.

Immediately, Splinter stooped and scooped the still-apologizing Blue into his arms. He was getting bigger all the time, and, somehow, Splinter was getting smaller, but he could still hold his boys in his arms, still cradle them against his chest.

"Blue... Leo, listen to me."

"I'm sorry," Blue mumbled again, followed by a sad, wet hiccup.

"Shh, shh, no, my son, please listen." He waited until teary eyes were turned on him to continue. "You don't need to apologize. You did nothing wrong."

"Missed the bucket," said Blue, and Splinter shook his head.

"That's alright. You're sick. It is my job to take care of these things." He scratched at the back of Blue's shell with the arm holding him, something he knew always calmed Blue down. Sure enough, he felt his boy begin to relax. "Do not worry about the sheets. If Daddy needs to get more, he will. For now we will all share."

Blue sniffed, and buried his face in Splinter's chest. That was a good sign. Splinter kept up the scraching.

"I'm sorry I yelled. You aren't in trouble, Blue. You're alright."

Blue sniffled again. Hiccupped one last time. His tears were drying up, and his little voice said, "S'okay, Daddy."

"Oh, my Baby Blue... Thank you."

He still felt terrible as he lowered Leo back to his bed and started to strip away the soiled sheets, but Leo had calmed down considerably. He kept the bucket close, though, even as he laid back down again on his pillow.

"Leo can have my blanket," said Red, already pulling the old thing over. Splinter smiled gratefully at him.

"Thank you, Red. Blue, do you think you will throw up again?"

Blue shrugged. "Dunno."

"That's alright. It's okay if you do." Splinter smoothed the blanket over Blue, not tucking him in so he could move if he needed to. "I'll get this sheet washed out and be back, alright?"

Blue nodded. He was still gripping the bucket with one hand. Splinter rubbed his head, then stood up with his bundle of soiled sheets.

When he returned, with water for Blue, he'd thrown up again - in the bucket, this time. Orange was still by him, rubbing his arm, while Red sat behind him, supporting his back. Even Purple had come close, awkwardly patting at Blue's leg while pointedly avoiding looking at the bucket.

"Thank you for taking such good care of Blue," he told them, getting three beaming smiles in return.

They were all going to have the bug by tomorrow. Splinter would need to find more buckets.

#rottmnt #rise splinter #rise leo #dandy fanfiction #idk what this is lol #thinking about the early years gets me ok

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 ��warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

“Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!💜💜

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[from-the-clouds]

texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. ii

series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter

chapter summary: Joel tries, and fails, to keep Sarah away from you, and you get to know the family across the street a little bit better. It’s a slow burn, so let the yearning begin, baby! pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader words: 7.7k chapter warnings: some light angst, alcohol use, references to marijuana use, parental neglect. divorce mention, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues - shocker! a/n: Was absolutely floored by the love on part one. Seriously you all are the best. I hate doing chapter summaries because I don't like giving away too much info, so I'd suggest just reading this. This story might end up being a longer than six parts, because I don't want to rush anything and it's been really fun to write these relationships as they form! Let me know what you think :)

-March 25th, 2003- 

Joel cannot keep Sarah away from you. 

Unfortunately, he can’t blame her. Unlike him, she doesn’t need an excuse to show up on your doorstep after school and on the weekends to be in your company. Still, he doesn’t technically know you that well, and he imagines you didn’t intend to see her as often as you did after extending some kindness to his family for one night. 

Despite the two of you having not spoken since you helped him with the Tommy situation, Joel feels like he knows you, or is getting to know you, just from the snippets of information Sarah drops to him, which is then followed by a barrage of questions.

“Do you know she grew up in New York City? Have you ever been there?” 

“She gave me her old tennis racket. Do you think I could start taking lessons?”

“She says her brother got her front-row tickets to The Strokes last year. You like them, don’t you?”

Joel decides to give Sarah a talking to about her tendency to wander over to your house whenever she sees your car in the driveway. Perhaps you are just being friendly, and feel bad saying no each time she’s asked to come in. He tries to broach the subject with her one morning in the kitchen while she’s eating breakfast. They’re already running behind, her for school, himself for work, but neither of them are in a rush. If you’re already late, what’s an extra ten minutes?

“Take it easy, alright? She might not want company after a long day at work,” Joel leans over the countertop, hand wrapped around a mug of hot coffee, watching her shovel cereal in her mouth.  

“Dad, she said I could come over whenever,” It’s accompanied by an eye roll, which is a new thing that had started about six months back. Teenagers. Well, almost teenagers. She’s still the sweet kid he’s always known, he’s just playing with fire trying to talk to her at seven in the morning, an indent on the side of her face still fading from where she slept on a crumpled pillow. 

Joel was at least grateful that she did have occasional company on nights when he was working late. It made him feel better to know Sarah wasn’t alone.

“What do you even do over there?”

“Homework, reading….watching TV.”

“So the same thing you do here?”

Sarah thinks about it. “Well, no, because she’s teaching me to knit.”

“And what does she do while you do your homework?”

“She works too. Or makes calls.” Sarah smiles a little. “It sounds like people ask her for advice a lot. She does give good advice.”

“Better than mine?” Joel holds his hand over his heart with mock offense.

Sarah groans. “Relax, don’t get jealous…there’s just stuff I can talk to her about and not you. Girl stuff.”

“Girl stuff? What like, boys?”

“No, you wouldn’t get it.”

“I was a boy once.”

“Ew, dad, gross.”

“How is that gross?”

“Just- not everything is about boys, okay?”

Joel isn’t going to argue with that, and Sarah eventually goes back to finishing her cereal.

“Alright babygirl,” he raps his knuckles on the counter after he’s finished his coffee. “I’ve gotta load up the truck, and you better get going, or I’m gonna get an earful from Miss Davis.” He grabs his keys and his wallet, then yanks a baseball cap over his mess of hair that’s long overdue for a haircut.

“Oh, I bet she would love an excuse to talk to you,” Sarah slides out of her seat with her empty bowl and marches towards the sink to rinse it out, grabbing his empty mug on the way.

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you remember how giggly she was at parent-teacher conferences?” Sarah says. “I’ve never seen her so happy before.”

It’s Joel’s turn to roll his eyes. He’d pegged it as unusual, but never considered it was because Miss Davis was into him. He wishes Sarah isn’t so….observant. 

Over the years, Joel has basically kept his head down, doing his best to keep things together. Because of that, he feels like he’s sort of lost his ability to pick up on when women are interested in him. And it’s safe to say, in general, he’s had a pretty uneventful love life since Sarah’s mom left. 

For the most part, he got by on flings — one night stands, casual no-strings-attached arrangements that always fizzled out. Joel had never been a man who liked that sort of thing, and ultimately craved a deeper level of intimacy, companionship, but he had trouble sustaining anything more. And even when he thinks of the more serious relationships he’d had over the years, those were also never completely satisfying. 

The fact of the matter was that when you had a kid, you weren’t just looking for someone for yourself anymore. For most people, introducing their partner to their parents is always a big deal. But for Joel, it was always introducing girlfriends to Sarah. Over the last decade he’d only ever introduced her to three different women, and at that point he had usually been dating them secretly for several months before deciding that it was serious enough. It always felt like he was trying so desperately to ensure they liked each other. But he could tell that Sarah was never quite comfortable with any of them. And when they’d start asking about moving in, marriage, and babies — he’d always panic. It was reasonable for them to want those things, hell, he wanted those things. But it had to be the right person. He knew he couldn’t bring someone into his life, forever, that didn’t love Sarah like a parent should. Like he did. No one ever would, and because of that, he knows there’s a good chance it’ll just be the two of them forever.

So, even if Sarah’s teacher, as cute as she was, were to ask him out, he would never be able to go. But less for the latter reasons, and more because he knows he’d never hear the end of it from her. 

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m leaving in five minutes…with or without you.”

“Nooo!” Sarah screams in mock panic, scrambling upstairs to brush her teeth. 

Joel exits through the garage, grabbing a few extra tools from his workbench that he needs for the job today and a saw. 

When he opens the garage door, the harsh sunlight is the first thing to greet him, and then he sees you. 

You’re in your driveway across the street, barefoot and in a short, black silk robe that’s cinched at the smallest part of your waist. Next to you is a man in a suit, holding a briefcase and trying to straighten his tie. He can’t do both at the same time, though, so he pauses and turns to you, murmurs something, and you slow to help him, your fingers wrapping around the tie, tightening where it’s looped around his neck and tucking it into place, straightening his lapel before stepping away. The type of domesticity that doesn’t happen with a one-night-stand.

It makes sense, he thinks. That you’re with someone like that. It’s the world you’re in all day. And even though he’s standing in his own fucking driveway, Joel feels like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. Or maybe, he just doesn’t want to be seeing it. 

Joel tears his eyes away, putting his stuff in the back of the truck – the toolkit, the saw, glancing over to see the man kiss you on the lips and mutter something unintelligible before getting in a shiny, blue sports car. You nod, offer an easy smile, and stoop to pick up the newspaper. The car's engine roars to life, and you cross your arms, looking after it until it peels out of the cul-de-sac.

The bashful smile you’re wearing drops instantly once it’s out of sight, and he watches you pinch the bridge of your nose, and tilt your head back to the sky.

He turns before he gets caught, and slams the back of the truck shut, which is a little ignorant in hindsight. Joel looks over his shoulder to see your attention has shifted, and you’re shielding your eyes and squinting at him. 

Great.

“Hey Joel,” you wave, your opposite hand pulling at the bottom of your robe, in a futile attempt to cover yourself. You look good, obviously, but it makes Joel feel a little guilty to make the observation because it’s clear you didn’t actually intend to be seen like this.

“Morning,” he answers. 

“Where’ve you been?” you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“Busy. Work.”

“That’s no fun but…same here, I guess,” You shuffle forward hesitantly. 

Joel takes a beat to think about what he’s supposed to say in response, but doesn’t get the chance, because you speak up again.

“Hey uh, not to put you on the spot, but were you actually serious about fixing my step the other night?” you ask. 

Before he can answer, you continue. 

“It’s okay if you weren’t, but I twisted my ankle on it the other day, so I need to get it fixed before that happens to someone else. I was thinking maybe I’d just call-”

“No-”

“It’s no big deal if you can’t-”

“No,” Joel cuts you off. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up to you, not realizing that taking said time probably made him look like an asshole. “Don’t call anyone else, I can do it. How about Friday night? Will you be around?” 

“Friday?” you answer, pondering. “Yeah, that works. I have a friend from out of town coming to visit, so I’ll be home early because I’ve gotta pick her up from the airport.” 

“Alright, I’ll try to cut out early, too.”

“And also I can pay-”

“Stop it, I”ve got you, don’t worry,” he waves his hand. 

You smile at Joel. He’s sure it means nothing, but he gets some satisfaction from how sincere it is compared to the one you’d given the guy you had been escorting out of your home. 

He feels himself grinning back, and you open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by the sound of his screen door slamming. Sarah stumbles down the steps, backpack hanging off one shoulder, headphones to her walkman around her ears, holding her bright pink windbreaker in one hand and a book in the other. She looks at Joel, then you, standing in your driveway, and her face lights up as she calls your name. 

“Hey, Sarah,” you wave. 

Sarah opens her mouth to speak, and Joel knows whatever she’s going to say will start a much longer conversation that unfortunately they just don’t have the time for.

“She’s gotta get to school,” Joel tilts his head in the direction of his daughter before she can say anything. “But I’ll get that done Friday.”

“See you then!” You turn on your heel, and he looks away for a second to Sarah before glancing back in your direction, and you’re already gone, the only evidence you were there being your front door slamming shut. 

Joel waits until he and Sarah are in the car on their way to school before he speaks again. 

“She’s never mentioned a boyfriend or anything, has she?”

Sarah doesn’t even look up from her book. “No.”

Joel nods, and it’s quiet for a moment.

He hears Sarah’s book shut. “Why?” she turns to him, and she’s got her eyes narrowed, like she’s trying to figure out what the question really meant. He’s never seen her make that face before, and it’s a little terrifying, because it looks like she could see right through him.

Joel wracks his brain for a good enough excuse. “If she has people over, I don’t want you hangin’ around adults I don’t know.”

That seems to satisfy Sarah, and the skeptical look on her face disappears. If anything, she seems slightly annoyed by the comment, which is definitely preferable. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that because it’s never happened.” Sarah plays with the dials on the radio, changing the station until it lands on one playing The Chicks, her favorite group. She hums along to the song, filling in the gaps whenever the radio cuts out, and looks out the window. 

“Alright.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-March 28th, 2003-

“Oh, I wanna come!” Sarah jumps up from the couch and joins Joel in the entryway. It’s Friday evening, and he’s about to head out the door to your place.

“You’re stayin’ in tonight.”

“What? Why?”

“Well first of all, you’re grounded, in case you don’t remember.”

“You don’t even know what that means, though.”

Joel shakes his head, because she’s right. He’s never had to ground Sarah before, but when he’d gotten a call from her teacher that she had failed her last math quiz, and was close to not passing the class, he figured it was an appropriate punishment. “I’m pretty sure it means you can’t leave the house.”

“But this is barely leaving the h-”

“Second of all,” he cuts her off. “She told me earlier this week she’s got a friend visiting, so it’d be rude to intrude if that’s the case.”

Sarah groans, throws her head back, and falls onto the couch dramatically. “But I’m so bored.”

“You could study. Practice dribbling, clean your room, clean your bathroom-”

“Dad, it’s literally Friday night.”

“And?”

“All that stuff is so boring.”

Joel can’t help but chuckle. “Look, when I get back we can watch a movie. This won’t take long.”

She sits up a little, placated. “Okay, but it’s my turn to pick.”

“Deal. I’ll be home in an hour or so,” he steps out onto the porch. 

There’s a special kind of glow in Texas about an hour before the sun sets. Warm light filters behind the trees, casting the leaves and anything else it catches in a golden halo. Joel takes in the view for a moment as he walks across the street, skipping the rotten step and knocking on your front door. 

You answer it quickly. “Hey, you wanna come in?”

Joel supposes he doesn’t have to, and could just let you know he’s here, stay out on the front porch and just get the job done, but he accepts your invitation anyway.

There’s another woman sitting cross-legged on the couch, two half-full glasses of wine on your coffee table, music playing low on some speakers in the corner. The front windows are open, despite the chill of the evening, and your sheer curtains billow in the breeze. 

“Claire, this is my neighbor, Joel,” you say. “He’s helping me out with the steps. His daughter’s Sarah, the one I was telling you about. ”

“Oh, yeah.” Claire’s face lights up in recognition. “Joel. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods.

“Claire’s visiting from New York. We grew up together,” you explain. 

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Her and I were roommates at boarding school,” Claire explains, finishing off a glass of wine. “We got into a lot of trouble together.”

“Hmmm, if I recall, it was more like you got me into trouble, but sure,” you say. 

“You were bad, if not worse, than I was.”

Joel smirks, and you turn to him, changing the subject. “She’s jetlagged, so we’re just staying in for the night.”

“But…we’re still getting drunk, obviously.”

“Oh yeah, that too,” you say flatly, although to Joel, you don’t seem drunk at all. Luckily, your friend answers his question with her next sentence.

“This one isn’t very good at keeping up, though,” Claire tilts her head in your direction, then finishes off the glass of wine in her hand.

“You sound like Vincent,” you roll your eyes.

“Oh, how is Vincent?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you cross your arms and look at Joel. “She always had the biggest crush on my brother, and it was dis-gus-ting.”

“To be fair,” Claire clears her throat. “At the time, he was pretty dreamy. And if we’re being honest….he still is…too bad he’s married.”

“Divorced, actually. But still…” You wrinkle your nose. “Gross.”

“Divorced?” Claire sits up, jaw dropping. “When? Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

You raise your hands and shake your head, like it’s too much to get into. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Sorry, we’re being rude,” you turn back to Joel. “Can I get you anything? Want some wine?”

“I would, but it doesn’t usually mix well with power tools,” Joel answers. “I should be good, though, I brought everything I need.”

“Great well… I’ll let you get to it, then.” you pad across the floor to return to your friend on the couch. “We’ll be in here if you need anything.”

“Sounds good,” Joel nods at you and your friend before stepping back out onto the porch.

The screen door shuts behind him, and the birds are quieting down for the night. He only has a little bit of sunlight left, but this shouldn’t take him long. Just as he is about to get started, he hears your friend’s voice, muffled, from inside the house. 

“Okay, I thought you were lying because your taste in men is usually questionable, but you’re right, he is really cute.”

“Dude,” you interject, and Joel hears a sound of impact, like a smack on the arm. “Lower your voice the fucking windows are open.” Claire starts giggling, and you continue. “You know you don’t have to say, like, every thought that comes into your head.”

He hears your friend laugh even harder, and eventually you join her. Joel shakes his head, but even after he starts working, can’t keep the grin off his face.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

-April 5th, 2003-

It has been the longest week of your life. Work had been hectic – you’d spent the last five days going to so many meetings and dinners with potential clients that you had almost no time to do your actual job. Plus, your visit from Claire had already wiped out nearly all your energy, since you had spent the whole last weekend showing her around Austin, entertaining.

Normally, on a Saturday like today, you’d do a number of things – the first of which would be to sleep the fuck in. The ideal schedule would go something like this: You’d get out of bed in the early afternoon and immediately order some kind of takeout – most likely pho, or ramen, or some other type of soup. You’d get high, eat the takeout, and then watch TV until you’re tired enough to go back to bed in the early evening. If you’re feeling motivated at all, you might change into a fresh pair of pajamas before you crash again. It would be the ultimate lazy day, and you had desperately wanted it.

However, the past version of yourself had made plans to play tennis in the morning with some friends, and then check out a new breakfast place in the city. Sometimes you hated how optimistic she was about your ability to wake up before 10 a.m. While you weren’t excited to play tennis, you were excited that there was, at some point, going to be food involved. 

So you dragged your ass out of bed, rifled through a box of clothing in your garage (one that you still had yet to unpack) to find a tennis skirt and visor, and then got in your car to go play all before 8 a.m. Then, you’d had your ass handed to you by your friends on the court. It was a little humbling to realize that you weren’t very good at tennis anymore. The last time you’d seriously played was when you were still in school, and you’d originally started because your father had wanted you to be involved in an extracurricular activity. According to him at the time, anything involving the arts – music, dance, drama – didn’t count. You had challenged this idea, and it had escalated to become one of the top ten worst fights you’d ever had with him. After that, you had learned that it was better to just do as you were told. 

You’d joined the tennis team, and started to pick up on how intrigued your father was by the trophies and ribbons you’d bring home when you did well. He started to ask you questions when he saw them, pat you on the head and say things like ‘that’s my girl’. Regardless of whether or not you liked playing, you had finally found a way to earn his attention. So, you got better. One time, he even came to your school to watch one of your matches. Of course, when you lost that one, it all kind of crumbled. But you still stuck to the sport since that’s what all your friends were doing, even if it didn't get you what you wanted. 

On the drive home from your morning out, belly full of breakfast and ready for a nap, thinking of your family brings about a terrifying realization. 

You look at your phone. Shit.

April 5th. 

Immediately, you dial a number on your cell. You’re aware of the dangers of talking while driving but you know if you don’t make this call, you’ll never hear the end of it. The line only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Hello?” 

“Vincenzo!” you say with your best – but probably horrible – attempt at an Italian accent. 

“Well, well, well….if it isn’t the estranged daughter…” the familiar timbre of your brother's voice answers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You roll your eyes. “Well first of all, fuck off…” We're off to a great start. “...and second of all…Happy Birthday.”

You hear your brother’s chuckle on the other end of the line, a noise that you’d been on the wrong side of –  laughing at you, not with you – more than once, but your heart aches a little at the sound of it now. I miss you, you wish you could say, but you keep it to yourself. 

“Thanks, I’m surprised you remembered,” he says, lightly.

“I’ve never forgotten.”

“There was that one year-”

“Oh my god, I was like twelve.”

“You were fourteen.”

“Okay, well, sorry…It’s been over ten years and it hasn’t happened since.”

“It feels like you’ve forgotten more than once, but that might just be because it’s pretty much the only time you ever call me these days,” Vincent says, and if you were with him, in person, you’d be able to tell by the look in his eyes whether or not he was joking. But over a cell, you’re not sure at all. 

“That’s not true,” you say, turning your car into your neighborhood. “But I mean, the phone does work both ways.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you catch something flippant in his tone. 

“Do you want this to be a nice conversation or are you gonna be an asshole?” you ask, maybe a little too matter-of-factly, but at least you can determine whether or not it’ll be a waste of your time to try and be cordial. If he’s in a bad mood, you know it’s pointless.

“Relax,” he says, and you hear a hint of the teenage boy you once knew. “You’re always so ready to argue with me, I’m joking.”

“Very funny,” you say, and try to be nice about it, because deep down, you know Vincent is right. You don’t talk to your brother enough to argue with him when you do speak. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “So what are you doing on your big day? Anything special?”

“Nothing really special, I worked out, had lunch with a friend, and I think I’m having dinner with Elizabeth tonight.”

“Oh…really? Elizabeth?” At the mention of his soon-to-be ex-wife – or maybe current ex-wife? You’re not sure – you’re surprised.

“Yeah she and I are uh….talking still, I guess. For Ethan, mostly, but…I don’t know…the divorce isn’t finalized, and I think now that I’m seeing a therapist and shit, maybe we can work something out. We’ll see.”

“And do you want to work something out?”

“I mean, she’s only the love of my life so yeah, it’d be great.”

“I think so, too. How is Ethan, by the way?”

“Oh he’s great,” you hear your brother’s smile over the phone. “Just a big ball of energy, and so fucking smart. He told me he misses you the other day.”

Your heart lurches at the mention of your sweet, five-year-old nephew. “You’ll have to tell him I said hi, and that I love him.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will,” he answers. “You know, next weekend I’m having a proper birthday party.  We’re all going to the Hamptons. I could fly you out here, you could tell him in person.”

“I can’t, I got shit to do,” you answer a little too quickly, turning the car into your cul-de-sac.

“What uh, your little corporate gig keeping you busy?”

There’s a subtle dig in there, little. 

“Maybe.”

“I’m telling you, all I have to do is phone a friend, and we’ll find you something here that’ll pay a thousand times better and won’t have you working weekends.”

“I don’t work weekends,” you say, pulling into your driveway.  “And I’m not interested.”

“You like making yourself miserable, don’t you?”

“Vinny,” you say, exasperated, putting your car in park. “I’m happy here.”

“In Texas? I don’t believe it,” he says. “And you know, at this point, you’ve proven whatever you wanted to dad. After everything you’ve done, he probably respects you. Like, you did it. You cut yourself off, you made a name for yourself, you don’t need us anymore. Congratulations, amazing. I get it. But you should come home now.”

“Vincent,” you repeat yourself. “I’m not going back. You know what it was like for me. For you.”

“You’re my fucking family too, you know? You can’t just let him control every decision you make,” he says, and he’s not quite yelling at you, but he is sounding a lot more stern than he was before. “And by the way, it wasn’t so bad. You and I always got along.”

“Even if I move back, things will never be like they were.”

“You don’t know that.” he says it with such a deep sadness in his voice that you want to take back every cruel thing you’d ever said to him – not just from today, from forever. And then he speaks again. “You know, you used to be so sweet when we were kids….I don’t know what happened.”

I do, you think. “I had to look out for myself.”

Before he can respond, you change the subject. “Anyways, you should move out here instead,” it’s only halfway a joke.

“I’m not leaving New York.”

“Well, I’m not leaving Austin.”

“Well…” he says, clicks his tongue. “Then I guess things’ll just stay this way.” 

“I guess so.”

You wish you could offer more. But he has never understood. The silence on the other line is so loud, your ears are ringing.

“Look, I just pulled in my driveway, I gotta get going.”

“Yeah.”

“But have a nice day, okay?” you’ve gotta turn this conversation around because it went so far off the rails. “Tell Elizabeth I say hi, and I hope you do work things out with her because you know I think she’s great. And give Ethan a kiss for me.”

“I know, and I will,” you can see him closing his eyes, fingers pinching between his eyebrows.

“I love you.” 

“Yeah…okay,” he says, like he doesn’t believe you, and it’s a punch to the gut. As usual, you weren’t able to say the right thing. Tears start pricking the back of your eyes, guilt twisting deep in the pit of your stomach.

“Goodbye,” in one swift movement, you end the call and get out of the car, slamming the door shut. You’re sad now, but it’s only a matter of time before you become angry, which is always easier to deal with, so you just gotta suck it up until it passes.

Trying not to be upset is such a high priority that you don’t hear your name being called right away, and when you turn around, it’s too late.

“Hey!” Sarah Miller is skidding to a stop in front of you, wearing boots that look a size too small for her feet, dressed in athletic clothes with her hair pulled back. “My dad says I’m not grounded anymore so I can-” she falters when she sees your face. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Clearing your throat, you fix your expression and try to shake away the lingering disappointment like dirt off a kitchen rug. “Yeah I’m fine,” you lie. “So does that mean you passed math?”

Since that night you let her stay when she was locked out, you’d seen quite a bit of Sarah. It was a little unconventional, and you probably needed to find friends in the community that were more age appropriate, but you enjoyed her company. She would hang out and do homework at your house while she waited for her dad to get home from work. You had always valued your independence, and told yourself you preferred to be on your own, but whenever she left, your house always felt a little emptier than you remembered. Maybe you needed to get a fish or something, since Martini’s appearances were few and far between. 

“Not yet, but I did get an A on my last test. I hate to say it but my dad was right…studying actually helps.”

“Yeah, that tends to be true,” you say, relieved at how easy the smile comes, and you glance over your shoulder to see Joel standing at the edge of his driveway with his hands on his hips. He looks fucking good, and you’re almost sort of mad about it, or it’s hopefully just the irritation kicking in after the conversation with your brother. 

Does Joel know? He has to. It’s like having whatever the male version of a siren is living across the street from you – working with his hands, being a doting father, and mowing the lawn shirtless when it’s hot out. And apparently this was a record-breakingly hot spring, because you’d seen that more than once. Not that you minded, though it only made you want a closer look. Years ago, you probably would’ve scoffed at what sounded like a suburban mom’s wet dream, but actually experiencing it, you felt differently. There was just something about him. 

You give Joel a wave, and he waves back, shifting his weight from foot to foot like he’s trying to decide if he wants to come over and talk. As usual, he seems like he’s got somewhere to be, but he’s too polite to tell you to fuck off. 

“How have you been? I’ve hardly seen you,” Sarah says. “Did you play tennis today?” she pokes at the racket that’s hung over your shoulder. “Were you serious about teachin’ me to play this summer?”

It’s hard not to be amused at the barrage of requests. You admire her ability to be so enthusiastic, so open, something that most people are unable to do, but for her, is effortless. She’s older than your nephew, but you get the same kind of relief from interacting with both of them. The kids are alright. At least, some of them are. 

“Of course,” you answer, and notice that Joel is slowly and hesitantly making his way up your driveway. It’s upsetting that everytime you run into him, you conveniently look like shit – like last Tuesday when you’d just rolled out of bed and were still in your robe. Or right now, after spending the whole morning chasing after balls on a clay court, scuffed knees and hair slick with sweat. But you suppose that’s sort of what neighbors are for.

“Hey, how’s it going?” you ask Joel. 

“It’s goin’,” you take him in as he gets closer, notice the way the arms of his t-shirt are just a little too tight because of his biceps, and feel like you need to take a cold shower to wash yourself of this morning. “Babygirl, we should probably get going.”

He calls his daughter babygirl? There’s no way he was being serious, that it isn’t some ironic joke, or part of an act. You always assumed that was just something you saw in movies.

“Because I did so well on my test my dad is takin’ me on a hike,” Sarah says, and then her face lights up. “Wait….you should come with us! Dad, can she come?” Sarah whirls around to face her father.

Joel looks down at Sarah, and then up at you, and then at Sarah again. “I mean, that’s fine, but…she might have other things going on.” 

It’s hard to tell if he’s trying to give you an out, or if he’s hinting that you shouldn’t come. And you probably normally wouldn’t want to go, but the alternative is moping around your house and thinking of all the things you could’ve said differently to your brother to ensure the conversation would have gone better than it did. You’re always desperate for a second chance to do things over, and do them right. 

You look between the two of them, back and forth. “I mean I would totally, I just…don’t want to interrupt a father-daughter activity-”

“You aren’t,” Sarah says so quickly that Joel looks offended. “I couldn’t leave the house this week so we’ve been spending too much time together.”

Joel frowns. “That’s rude.”

“What?” she says. “It’s true.”

Joel sighs. “She’s right, though. You wouldn’t be interruptin’.”

“Please?” Sarah begs, and you realize you can’t say no even if you want to. You wonder how Joel was even able to ground her for a week, looking in those big, innocent eyes. 

“Yeah, just…uh, could I put my stuff inside and maybe change?” you ask, gesturing towards the house. 

Joel nods, and Sarah rocks back and forth on her heels. “Yes, yes! Take as long as you need.”

“I’ll be fast,” you assure her, and duck inside. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halfway into the hike with Sarah and Joel, and you’ve decided you’re out of shape. You try to tell yourself there could be another reason you are so out of breath – you already worked out once today while playing tennis. But that doesn’t seem like a good enough excuse. Of course, you’re trying to play it cool, because you’re not about to embarrass yourself. Sarah is entertaining you with all kinds of talk about school, and soccer, and sleepaway camp she gets to go to for two weeks once school's out. And you suppose the pain you’re in right now is also  welcome distraction from thinking about Vincent. 

However, you can’t dip away from the group to rest for a second, because Joel is already trailing behind, and he’d catch on. However, his distance – several paces back from where you and Sarah walk – is not because he’s out of shape. On the contrary, he seems to be putting almost no effort into the steep climb. He’s on his own, head on a swivel, kind of like a brooding security guard, and you wonder if he feels left out. 

You steal a glance over your shoulder to take him in, shrouded by the verdant foliage. He looks at home in this environment, sun-kissed and rugged, a finger hooked behind the strap of a leather bag he carries over one shoulder, his gait measured. Aloof, but there’s a quiet confidence to him that draws you in, causes your stare to linger just a touch too long, so when he turns his head straight, his eyes catch yours. You focus back on the trail ahead. 

He hasn’t said much since you’ve started hiking, or in the car, even. Most men are easy to read, but so far, Joel has kind of stumped you. There were times, during the night that you’d helped him bail his brother Tommy out of jail, that you had thought maybe he was- no. He’d been pretty tense in every other interaction you had, so you still couldn’t decide if he had been flirting with you.

And he was older than you, you were pretty sure. Not so old that it wouldn’t be out of the question for him to be interested, but enough that, depending on the type of person he was, might see you as a little too young for him. And he had a kid, responsibilities. 

You were a-single woman with a high-powered career, one cat and a fish on the way. You slept in on the weekends, refused to learn to cook for one, and got violently stoned on your back porch a minimum of three times a week. In suburban Texas, most of the women your age were long since settled, and you were an outlier. It was fair to imagine that Joel probably didn’t see any real promising future when he looked your way…. or maybe he was more of a one-night stand kind of guy, and didn’t care about that at all. This was not necessarily information you needed – but you wanted it anyway.

Not feeling like an outsider would be one upside of moving back to New York – you could be exactly yourself, and still blend right in. It was one of the parts you missed most, besides Vincent. Your heart sinks, and you realize that the hill you’ve been climbing has flattened out, and so you’re able to think clearly again, which is why you’re thinking of your brother. 

Sarah has pulled away, and is wandering towards a clearing. Your eyes are on her form, bounding up ahead on the pathway, the sunlight peeking through the leaves dancing on her skin, when your foot lands on a loose rock, and slips out from beneath you. 

Please, God, n- You don’t even get the chance to plead yourself out of humiliation, because there’s a steady hand on your hip and your back collides with a broad chest. 

“Gotcha,” Joel’s voice is right in your ear — when did he get that close?  

He’s solid, strong, and for the shortest, sweetest moment, you’re overwhelmed by him – get notes of his bar soap (pine, cedar, mint)  mixed with whatever laundry detergent he used, and just the faintest bit of - Fuck. In one swift movement, he brings you upright like you’d never slipped at all, then pulls back. The skin on your hip smarts even after his hand drops away.

“You alright?” Joel steps beside you, watching Sarah, who stands with her hands on her hips, her back turned to you both.

“Yeah,” you nod. He looks back over at you. “Come on,’ he tilts his head towards his daughter, and you walk beside him to where she’s standing.

The whole hike you’d been so occupied with bullshit. Trying not to think about your brother. Trying not to act too out of breath. Trying to not let Joel catch you staring, although you’d already failed at that. But now, you wish you wouldn’t have been in your head, because what you’d come to see made worrying about all that seem stupid.

Stretched out in front of you was a wide creek with moss-colored water that flowed down over layered slabs of rock, and crashed into the waterfall’s churning basin. The sun hits the mist in just the right light, and casts a series of rainbows midair, which move and shift as you turn your head to study the lush, tree-lined shore across the river. 

You’re standing with one hand on your hip, and out of the corner of your eye Sarah shuffles back a few steps to stand beside you, looping her arm through yours, her cheek on your shoulder while you both enjoy the view. 

“I’m glad you got to see this,” she says, and you can just make it out over the sound of the falls. “Isn’t it pretty?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Joel’s hands land on Sarah’s shoulders as he steps close behind you both. She straightens, leans back against him until he wraps his forearm across the front of her in an easy embrace, and she grabs for his wrist with both of her hands, tucking them beneath her chin. A pang of familiar grief stirs inside you at the sight, and you turn away, back towards the view.

“This is the only time of year it’s worth seeing,'' Joel says to you. “It dries up in the summer.” 

“It’s still pretty in the summer,” Sarah pipes up.

“Not as pretty.”

“Can you get me the water?” she asks. Joel grunts an affirmation and a moment later you hear the sound of a zipper.

When you’ve had a considerable amount of time to contemplate life while looking at the water swirling across the granite, you turn to find Sarah sitting on a rock, struggling to peel an orange, and dropping each tiny piece of skin she can get off into Joel’s begrudgingly outstretched hand.

You use the opportunity to stretch your calves against a nearby tree.

“Have you hiked before?” Sarah asks.

“Here and there,” you say. “But not often.”

“Why not?”

“Well this is basically a workout. I don’t like working out, I’m pretty unathletic.”

You’re surprised when that draws a smile from Joel.

“But you play tennis.”

You shrug. “Eh, kinda.”

“Me and my dad go hiking a lot.”

“That’s sweet,” your eyes flicker from hers to Joel’s, because they are both staring at you, and you’re pretty sure, though it’s hard to tell from this distance, that their eyes are the identical shade of caramel. Sarah finishes peeling her orange and Joel pockets the scraps of skin. She eats a slice before offering you both your own, and you step closer to accept it.

Sarah’s taking her last bite of orange when Joel speaks up. 

“Should we head back?”

Sarah turns to take one last look. It’s mid afternoon, the slant of light from the sun as intense as it can be, and you squint when it reflects back off the water and into your eyes. 

“Yeah, we can,” Sarah decides, and it’s clear that Joel would have stayed there for as long as she wanted. It wasn’t up to him. 

The hike back isn’t nearly as difficult. It’s all downhill, and Joel leads. Sarah stays behind with you, and clings to your arm while she teaches you how to navigate the trail without slipping. Back at the trailhead is one steep step that drops off into a puddle of stagnant water. 

Joel jumps down first, and turns to offer his hand to Sarah, who takes it and leaps lightly, landing on two feet on the other side. You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, but it’s not for Joel to offer you his hand to you as well. But he does.

“Careful,” he murmurs. And of course, you could’ve easily done this yourself, with no help. It’s a two foot drop and an inch of water. But you accept it anyways, putting some of your weight against his hand as you hop down, noticing how he doesn’t waver.

By the time you’re long since settled in the car, pulling into Joel’s driveway, you can feel sleep tugging down your eyelids. A steaming shower and a pair of pajama pants is imminent, and it’s like your body knows. Surely, you will still probably feel guilty about your brother, but you’re convinced that you won’t lose sleep over it, which you consider a win.

Sarah, who insisted that you both sit in the back together on the way home – leaving Joel in the front alone – gives you a quick hug after you’ve gotten out of the car, and then plucks the car keys from her father.

“Sorry, I drank a lot of water and I have to pee!” she says, before jogging up the walkway and unlocking her front door. 

Joel lets out an exasperated sigh, but turns back look at you with startling warmth. 

“Thanks for having me, I really needed that,” you tell him, and you’re not sure why you feel compelled to be honest with him, but continue on. “My brother and I got into it on the phone this morning, so if I didn’t go I probably would’ve spent all afternoon moping in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice soft. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine,” you say, quickly, brushing it off. “Siblings, you know?”

“Yeah,” he nods, but you can tell he isn’t convinced. “I know.”

“How’s Tommy, by the way?” you ask. “Staying out of trouble, I hope?”

“He is,” Joel answers. “We actually have a big project we might be about to book. Pays well, and will keep us employed for the next year.”

“Oh that’s exciting,” you nod. “So what I’m hearing  is…if my step rots again, you wouldn’t have time to come fix it?”

“No,” Joel chuckles again, and you’re dizzy after hearing it. “I’d make time.”

You take a deep breath. “Good to know,” you shuffle a few steps backwards. “I better get going, though.” He doesn’t answer right away, and just as you’re turning to walk across the street, Joel calls out to you again.

“Hey,” and you pause, facing him again. “I wanted to ask you if…” he hesitates, blinks and shakes his head once before continuing. “If Sarah is coming over too much. If you want, I can tell her to cool it.”

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “I don’t mind at all. She���s great company, really.”

“You sure you’re not just sayin’ that to be nice?”

You sniff, look at the ground, then back up to him. “I’m not actually very nice.”

He studies you. “I’m not sure I believe that.” 

“You hardly know me,” you shrug, and his eyebrows pinch together very briefly before his expression neutralizes. “I’m just saying….if I didn’t like having her around, you would know.”

He bobs his head slowly, and you turn back around to walk to your house, glancing at him from over your shoulder. 

“I’ll see you around.”

- - - - - - - - - -

taglist: @yaskna @venomous-ko @lomljigg @yeehawbitchs @ay0nha @eldahae @lol-im-done @melancholicmelanin @reggies-floatie @omniscientqueer @superflymaterial @mikkorantanev @zbeez-outlet (i'm sorry if i missed anyone, i didn't tag anyone that didn't explicitly ask!).

part iii

#are we surprised that reader has daddy issues? odds are if you are reading this fic about the video game/TV DILF of the century you do too #i mean i certainly do #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x f!reader #joel Miller imagine #Joel Miller series #joel miller the last of us #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #Pedro pascal #TLOU HBO #TLOU fanfic #TLOU series #texas sun

[indouloureux]

ALSO STEDDIE ANGST IDEA: the reader is always super supportive of the boys endeavors, she goes to all the corroded coffin shows and steve’s basketball games whatever, but the one time she has something important, they accidentally sleep through it @mysticmunson

elora elora my beloved. this is for u i love u 🤍

— poly relationship, however they have their own bedrooms for this one! for the sake of the story, anyway. fem!reader

the boys' ears perk up at the sound of your bedroom door opening. steve turns away from the stove, eddie stops chewing and lets his spoon fall onto the cereal bowl and beneath the milk that he's too distracted to frown about it. they hear your heavy footsteps, which quite sounds like feet dragging through the floor and more like stomping.

when they see you emerge, it's nothing like they expected.

while your hair is combed and your clothes flattened, your eyes resemble the long hours of weeping; from the puffy eyes, the pinkish scleras, and the loud, long sniffing. steve's excited smile falls, eddie's shoulder slumps. it's sometimes amusing how they mirror each other's expressions.

"hey," steve turns the stove off and drops the spatula on the pan, a hand reaching out towards you with his lips into an upcoming pucker. but you dodge his hand, swerving, maybe even flinching with a stoic look. his heart swells.

eddie tries next. he moves away from the kitchen island, a hand hovering at your back to place itself there but you swerve away to take the decanter off the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup.

his hand falls disappointedly down his side, his lips twitching downward, looking at steve sadly and miserably.

you ignore them both, the octave sound of hot coffee falling onto the porcelain mug filling the silence that coalesces with the tv in the back and the muffled yelling of children outside of steve's house. out the corner of your eyes, you see steve swallow thickly before he takes a plate from the rack and tilts the pan until the eggs fall onto the middle, whereas eddie hesitantly goes back to eating his cereal.

when you place it back, steve sees you debate, whether you go back up with your coffee only, or sit down with a chair between you and eddie. he makes the decision for you, wanting to know what's wrong — he slides you a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast.

you stare at it for a bit, before you finally decided to sit down and look down at your food than at steve, though you speak your gratitude through a small 'thank you,'

they decide to settle in silence, both of them eating breakfast as you slowly sink into your corner, trying your best to eat your food faster so you could just go back into your room. you only wanted silence for now, anyway. you're still upset. too upset.

but eddie, poor boy can never stand the silence, looks at you and clears his throat. "so, what'd you do yesterday, sweets? don't think stevie and i saw you the entire day."

their cluelessness ignites the vexed incendiary inside your chest. your fingers tighten around your fork, shoving an egg inside your mouth, your eye twitching and your eyebrows furrowing together slowly as you reply,

"it was fine," you say curtly, sharply. both of them taken aback by your laconic reply. eddie senses something wrong, his mind racketing through countless memories, while steve tries to stop the bomb from exploding.

"yeah?" steve spreads the butter on his toast, the rough scraping of knife against the toasted bread. "uh, where'd you go?"

he looks at eddie cautiously, who's eyebrows raise like a shrug. you stab the egg this time. "an event."

"an event?"

at this point, you're about to break the plate. you shrug, taking deep breaths. "yes."

steve wipes his fingers on a towel hanging by a knob, taking a bite of his bread. "what event? why didn't you tell us?"

maybe you could have bent the fork in half if you could. your eyebrows furrow, all of you dissolving into nothing but a vestibule of exasperation.

eddie sees it as clear as day; he knew that what steve said had struck up a mark, so he shoots him an wide-eyed 'what the fuck' kind of warning to him, the soggy cereal stopping on the left side of his cheek.

"wow, gee, i wonder why i didn't tell you," you snort, though despite that, it's absolute irritation in your voice. with a hint of sadness, eddie thinks. "maybe because i told you, like, everyday of the fucking week. maybe even the night before that event."

it clicks to steve, only then, that you actually did tell him. and eddie, who's expression has fell similarly to his when it comes to a realization.

"i was thinking maybe you guys would have remembered because you promised." you continue, barely looking at them in the eyes, like they're embedded between the hills of your egg. "but maybe, maybe you guys didn't remember. so i guess it's my fault that i didn't fucking tell you about it,"

"babe, i—" steve looks forlorn. you don't feel guilty about it at all. maybe a little, even though your voice had been soft yet somehow sharp, because you really are upset. you had every right to be.

eddie reaches out to hold your hand but you flinch and he thinks he could have just sobbed in his seat. "sweetheart, we must have slept in. i- we're sorry."

"no, you're not," you can't help but sniff and blink from something that stings your eyes, pushing the plate of eggs away.

"we are, baby, hey–" steve rounds over the counter so that he could kneel in front of you. eddie, who's got no clue how to deal with this situation, decides to kneel beside him. "baby, come on..."

you look away from them with a small whimper, your bottom lip wobbling. "i just thought, maybe, you guys would have done the same thing. come to this event and be there, y'know? and i just- i just kept waiting and waiting–"

"and we're complete idiots," you feel eddie take your hand. you know it's him because you feel the roughness on his ever-loving fingertips that dotes heat over your trembling hand. "we slept in, (y/n)."

steve nods. "we slept in and we're idiots." he rephrases. he doesn't like the way eddie had said their reason, and pinches his thigh. he winces quietly that you miss. "that's– that's not a good reason. in fact, we shouldn't even be reasoning at all,"

then, it comes as a jagged whisper. it's a blunt knife that pierces deadly through a heart. "i just thought that maybe i was as important as you said i am."

the two boys quiet down and stare defeatedly, both rocking back from their weakened knees.

"you are important,"

"steve—"

"punch me in my goddamn head if i ever made you feel like you're not important."

and eddie, ever the jest, knocks his shoulder against steve's. "in fact, do it now. now baby, he's an idiot. he deserves it."

"you're just as much as an idiot as i am,"

"just stop," you dig the heels of your palms on your eyes, your chest heaving.

none of it is helping; normally, a thing like this was something you were just gonna brush off. but they'd promised, and you expected, and then all you felt was disappointment and utter shame. and now you're mad, because you feel that way and because they'd been the one to make you feel that way.

you're mad because they made you wait for nothing.

eddie's whiskey eyes are sorrowful at his mistake. it's a sight that makes you cry abruptly, looking away from them and hiccuping into your damp palms. steve's hands reach up to tug on your wrists and wipe your fat tears with his thumb, eddie standing up to move behind you and to wrap his arms around your neck to keep you close.

"stopping, baby," steve leans up to kiss your forehead. "stopping. we're stopping, honey, i'm so sorry,"

"it won't happen again," eddie's lips move against the hair on your temple as he spoke, his mouth puckering to leave the faintest kiss ever. steve picks up a tissue somewhere above the counter and wipes your tears. "i promise you, princess,"

"we promise," steve wipes gently under your nose. you let him, clasping weakly onto eddie's forearm around you. "we love you, okay? you're important to us,"

you sniffle, the slightest scrunch on your nose. your proclamation is baulky as you say, "i still don't forgive you,"

"you don't have to," eddie swerves in front of you to face you again, placing his hands on your arms and massaging them. "not right now, at least."

the sigh you admit reassures them, even the small smile that paints your tear-stained face. the two boys come up to kiss each cheek, making you giggle; forgiveness is yet to be built, but you know they're willing to work for it.

#eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x y/n #steve harrington x y/n #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #eddie munson fluff #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson fic #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #eddie munson

[steddielations]

“Evening, sir.”

It’s the Harrington boy. Again.

“I told you, son, it’s Wayne,” he manages a smile, harder to do these days, like chipping it out of cement and dusting it off. But he gets it done.

Steve doesn’t have the Henderson boy with him today, that’s a first.

“Where’s the curly one?” He steps aside, letting Steve into the trailer door, more rickety than before. No money left to fix it after repairing the bulk of the earthquake damage.

“Dustin? He doesn’t wanna watch the game, and trust me, you don’t wanna listen to that kid complaining the whole time,” Steve walks by, sorta chuckling to himself, “I always miss the replay ‘cause he makes me change the channel to those D&D cartoons during the commercials, just like—”

He stops in front of the couch, looking over his shoulder at Wayne like he’s afraid he messed up somehow. Wayne noticed that look often from him, less and less, but still often. All that confidence he carries can drop on a dime, sorta reminded him of—

“Like Ed?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“S’alright. I don’t mind talking about him if you want,” Wayne manages another concrete smile, but he means it. Steve always waits for him to bring up Eddie first, like he doesn’t want to remind him if it ain’t on his mind, but Wayne likes to be reminded. It’s nice to feel like he’s not the only one missing him. “But the game was yesterday and y’know the cable’s out.”

“Yep, got it covered. I uh, I taped it,” Steve fishes a VHS tape from his back pocket. Fancy. Wayne would worry about him using that for his sake, but he has a feeling Steve’s folks aren’t around enough to notice.

“The Colts win?”

Steve flips the tape around, “Haven’t watched it, so we can bet on it if you’re feeling lucky.”

It doesn’t feel so dry and heavy when Wayne laughs a bit then, waving Steve to go ahead and start up the TV. He already caught the game on the radio, but he bets on the Colts anyway. Loser’s supposed to do the dishes after they scrounge together some soup, but Steve does them anyway.

Wayne would make a stink about it but he can tell Steve just wants to help, to feel like he’s helping. Same thing when the Henderson boy comes around to see him, wanting to hear all the stories, even the scary ones. So Wayne doesn’t mind letting Eddie’s friends feel like they’re helping him.

His nephew didn’t have many friends. Real, cover-your-six kinda friends. The boys he played his music with, they’ve come by a couple times, Wayne always liked Jeff despite the racket. That older fella that’s doing time now, Wayne wasn’t too fond of. And some of Eddie’s dungeon buddies he talked about were the only few.

Now, casual acquaintances? Anybody who didn’t have anywhere else to sit when he had an empty spot at his table? Sure, Eddie had those in spades.

His boy was good at that, putting on a good old show for his crowd, on a stage to keep his distance. That damn Al did him in good, never could trust easily, having his old man pop up and drag him into his mess before he took off again. And Eddie’s poor momma would’ve done right by him, if she hadn’t gotten sick so young.

Took Wayne a long time to get Eddie to depend on him, to trust this was his place to stay and he didn’t have to earn it, Wayne wasn’t just filling his head to scheme something out of him.

Love ain’t a transaction that way. He wasn’t ever any good at saying it, but he tried to show Eddie the best he could.

His boy though, always carried a debt with him. Like he owed Wayne something for taking him in, had to graduate quick and make it outta here, do something with the better life he gave him. Al dug him in so deep, Eddie stayed roped into whatever his latest scheme was (the cars, the dealing, the gambling, thank God Eddie wasn’t there when the goddamn robbery went wrong, 25 to life) like maybe it’d be enough to keep him from running off again.

The odds have never been in favor of people like them, poor folk in a town that’s stuck in its ways, where everybody’s just like their old man, but Al made his choices and Wayne made his. Rest their mother’s soul, she did her best. Part of Wayne was relieved when Al got locked up, at least Wayne had a better chance of keeping Eddie from going down the same path, try to raise him right.

Being a Munson wasn’t a crime. He didn’t owe a darn thing to anybody. Eddie could graduate at his own pace, play whatever games and music he wanted, dress however, that didn’t mean he was up to no good. And a lot of boys get into dealing for a little easy extra money around here, he was gonna grow out of that just like Wayne did.

It worked until all this mess.

That’s why Eddie ran off after what happened to the poor Cunningham girl. He gets spooked when something goes wrong, like it’ll be the last straw he can’t make up for so he runs off. Like the first time he didn’t make senior year, went and hid out with that Rick fella that Wayne never did like, got Eddie deep into that business he tried to keep a secret.

‘Course Wayne knew. He knows exactly what and where his boy hides. If those damn cops weren’t tailing him, he would’ve gone straight to get him.

That was before he knew it would turn into all of this. Now he wishes he would’ve done it anyway. Gone right to Eddie, told him it wasn’t his fault that everything got all turned upside down. Told him he knew he was innocent right from the get-go, and got him away from this rotten old town.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t go get his boy.

So now he’s just trying to be there for Eddie’s boys, since he can’t.

“You have a night shift tonight right? Gonna put on a pot of coffee,” Steve says once he’s finished up the dishes.

Wayne hums. There’s usually more noise going on during these visits. Steve’s still alright at carrying on, even without the Henderson boy’s chatter to fill any gaps.

It was strange, the first time the two of them showed up. Wayne knew Eddie was close with Dustin, but he didn’t have a clue that he was chumming it up with the Harrington boy. Just don’t seem like the same type of company. He might not believe it if it weren’t so obvious that Steve cared about his boy. He suspected before, but now with Steve showing up here alone, he knows.

Steve misses Eddie in a different sorta way than Dustin.

“No cream or sugar, right?” Steve looks humored by that as he passes the mug of black coffee to him, “How are you related to Eddie again?”

Wayne’s mouth turns upward, remembering his nephew’s god awful sweet tooth. He picked up a box of Honeycombs the other day in the store out of habit. “Just happened to be standin’ there when they beamed him down.”

That gets a good chuckle out of Steve. Nothing wistful weighing it down and Wayne’s glad, watching Steve pour himself a cup of coffee too.

Then bitter-sweetness swirls in his chest, seeing the mug that Steve chose for himself. Must’ve dug it out from one of the boxes Wayne hadn’t hung back on the walls yet. The earthquake did a number on his collection. That Garfield one was the only one he’d gotten around to gluing back together.

“What is it?” Steve asks, cup paused at his mouth.

“Ah nothin’ just,” Wayne waves it off, “That’s the mug Ed always used.”

“Oh, I can use a diff—”

“Nah, nah go ‘head. It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, Steve takes a wary sip.

Mostly these days, Wayne just feels like a watch without a ticker, a chest with nothing beating inside it. He can’t name the feeling he has at seeing Eddie’s old mug being used by someone else, but at least it’s something.

“Y’know, he used to put everything in that sucker. Soda pop, soup, cereal, you name it,” Wayne shakes his head, mouth twitching into a smile, “I’d have to wrestle it away from him just to give it a good washing. It’s well loved, alright. Leaks now.”

As if on cue, Steve has to grab a napkin to sit underneath it.

Wayne lets out an amused hum, “He uh— Didn’t have much stability ‘fore he came to live with me, so he’d get real attached to things like that.”

Carried around a stuffed dragon they picked up at a garage sale ‘til Wayne couldn’t sew the wings back on anymore. Never wanted to throw anything away. Got real anxious about Wayne going to work sometimes, even when he was too old for a sitter. Held onto him saying “Stay home just today, Dad, please.” Which, he didn’t mind Eddie calling him that. It always softened him up, made him give in. Wishes now that he’d told Eddie upfront. Maybe he never would’ve stopped.

“Thought for sure he’d marry that damn guitar one day.”

Steve nearly sputters his coffee, laughing at that, “Yeah, those two are made for each other.”

It’s nice, seeing the way that story lit Steve up. Sorta like his boy can still make someone happy. Hurts like hell that he ain’t here to do it himself, but Wayne was always good at telling stories. That’s where Eddie learned it from.

“I’m uh,” Steve deflates after a minute, looking down at the mug, “God, I’m just really sorry, Wayne.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too, Steve,” he says, because, well.

Wayne gets the feeling that his boy was Steve’s boy too.

Read the rest on Ao3

#it’s the full version of the garfield mug fic from forever ago #this has the happiest ending on ao3 i promise #linked at the bottom #steddie #rueswriting #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #steddie fic #temporary grieving #temporary mcd

[ange1sang]

remembered how ian told lip that he would gift kash CDs in s1 and got to thinking...

at the beginning of ian and mickey's relationship ian starts collecting CDs with the intention of giving them to mickey but he never does - he never knows how mickey will react to certain kinds of affection so he does his best to toe the line with things like gift-giving. still, he stacks the CDs beneath his bed where they gather dust. it makes him sad to think of them sitting there, unplayed, but he tells himself someday he'll be able to tell mickey "look, i kept these for you for years. i thought of you all the time." and he'll have proof of it.

when mickey starts sleeping over at the gallagher house he stumbles across the CDs by mistake (see: he swings his legs over the side of the bed and kicks a stack of them). he kneels beside the bed and picks up the plastic cases, turning them over in his hands. he glances up at a still sleeping ian, wondering how secret these are supposed to be. some of the CDs are in brand new packaging, others are clearly secondhand. what intrigues mickey the most is the ones he realises ian burned himself.

ian's handwriting spells out mickey's name and various nicknames across the shiny surfaces in bright blue sharpie, surrounded by doodles of stars and spirals that remind mickey of what mandy used to draw in the margins of her textbooks. he thumbs over the titles of different songs that span all kinds of genres, songs mickey's heard on the radio and songs by artists mickey's never even heard of.

good old-fashioned lover boy by queen. where did you sleep last night? by nirvana. i want you by mitski. i bet you look good on the dancefloor by arctic monkeys. yellow by coldplay. dirty little secret by the all-american rejects. be quiet and drive (far away) by deftones.

some of the songs seem so cheesy that mickey expects himself to roll his eyes or laugh, but instead he finds a smile playing on his lips, looking at all of the songs ian picked out with him in mind. just a year ago he would've rushed to make a joke about it all, but now he feels his heart skip a beat instead. he tries not to think about what it means that he occupies so much space in the other's mind and heads downstairs to slide one of the older CDs into the player the gallaghers keep by the TV, volume up high so he can hear the songs over the general racket of the rest of the family.

halfway through the tracks, mickey hears a small, surprised sound come from the staircase. he turns around and sees ian standing there, wide-eyed and blushing a little. mickey huffs a soft laugh, though he's less amused and more infatuated than anything else (though he would never admit as much out loud).

"morning gallagher," he chimes, grinning when ian jumps over the back of the sofa to sit beside him. ian shakes his head, stifling a smile.

"i burned this years ago," ian mumbles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "where'd you find it?"

"under your bed," mickey replies. when ian turns to face him he takes the opportunity to lean in and press a quick, shy kiss to the corner of his lips. "you're a sappy motherfucker... it's pretty good though."

ian snickers and leans into him, a dopey smile on his lips.

"glad to hear it," he murmurs, and settles back against the sofa so they can finish listening to the disc together.

#gallavich #gallavich fluff #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ian gallagher fluff #mickey milkovich fluff

[slavic-roots-western-mind]

My top Russian Tv-Shows

Despite this being mainly a mandarinblr, I still try to practise my other languages so here are some of the most interesting tv-shows in russian for my fellow russian-learners and speakers and anyone interested.

Kitchen - Кухня This show has several spin-offs including Hotel Eleon and Grand which I will not mention as by the end of the last spin-off there are literally no characters from the original cast and the plot slightly goes of the rails. The actual show is set a french restaurant in Moscow where Max Lavrov, who just finished his military service decided to work at. The show follows the various challenges that Max faces at his new workplace, including the foul-tempered but very talented Chef Viktor Barinov who has a drinking problem and other interesting characters. It's quite funny and heart-warming, and it's a must-watch imo.

Youth - Молодёжка A pretty standard sports series tv plot. The hockey-team "Bears" are a meh team at best, but that all changes when a former National Hockey League player turned coach shows up to make a proper team out of them. I only watched the first season because after that the plot got a tad boring for me, but as far as sports series go, pretty good.

Law of the Lawless (Not the 1964 film!) - Бригада A cult-classic staple of only 15 episodes. The plot is a bit over the place at the beginning, as opening episodes sequence is a flashback to the start of the final episode but after that it's chronological, with the first episode w english subtitles here. 4 best friends start out as youths from early 1990s to 2000s, with one returning home after finishing his army service with plans for uni and the others just starting their lives. However, the Perestroika had significantly changed their lives, so eventually the gang turns from racketeering and petty crime to slowly becoming the mafia. The opening theme is worth watching alone, but then again I'm biased.

How I became Russian - Как я стал русским This comedy show is quite dear to me, as it follows an American journalist with russian and slavic roots navigating life and work in Russia as he works on a story about life in Russia for a major newspaper back home. He's back in his homeland but as a foreigner who finds his heritage utterly confusing. This series resonates with me, as despite having a good grasp of my cultures languages and customs, I still feel disconnected from my heritage at times, and this show has been a reassuring reminder that not being 100% attuned with your heritage is okay, and that there are many different ways of re-connecting with your culture.

Closed school - Закрытая Школа I was slightly tramuatized by this show when I first watched it 4ish years ago, in part due to how unhinged and off the rails the plot slowly but surely becomes. A descent into madness. Andrei and his sister are sent to study at the Logos boarding school, but are then informed that their parents have perished. Andrei doesn't believe this, so he sets off to investigate with his new friends and investigate he does. There are also some other background shenanigans going on, but the unraveling of the schools mystery remains the main interest, including its odd passageways and deeply disturbing history. As a thriller series, it honestly deserves that title.

Here are some shows that came out more recently that I think deserve a mention.

The Boy's Word: Blood on the Asphalt- Слова пацана кровь на осфальте I've only seen a few episodes out of the 8, but it's very Brigada-esque so far. During the mid-late 1980s when Perestroika is going on and the USSR is soon to be no more, 14 year old Andrei is trying to survive as he's constantly bullied at school and by gang-members. He makes friends with one of said gang members Marat, as he slowly descends into the world of street life. I'll finish watching this series sometime probably.

The new guy - Новенький 16-year old Max moves from his glamorous life in Moscow to a small-town Yurovsk due to his parents constant arguing, where he immediately doesn't get along with his clasmmates who think him stuck-up and start bullying him. One day Max goes missing and his classmates are the obvious suspects, as slowly but surely secrets start to emerge revealing everyone's lies. A pretty good suspense/thriller show, which covers the topics of bullying, coming of age and what it means to be an adult pretty well, despite the 4th and final season being kind of lackluster.

Central Russia's Vampires - Вампиры средней полосы Where to even begin with this show. I don't know whether I should introduce the trailer or the opening theme song mv. Basically the life of a small and unconventional vampire family living in Smolensk, presumably in central Russia, who get disturbed when bodies with distinct bite marks are found nearby. This results in the Guardians (aka the guys keeping vampires a secret and ensuring that no one acts out) taking over and investigating with the vampire leader Svyatoslav Vernidubovich given a week to find and punish the culprit. My odd plot description aside, the cast is why I adore this show. The recently turned Gen-Z wannabe blogger Zhenyok, the thousand year old grandpa Svyatoslav, the constantly annoyed Dr. Zhan Ivanovich (who is actually french and decided to hang around after Napoleon was defeated) and his ex-wife The Countess who honestly should have a spin-off show and many more characters.

Doomsday - Конец Света Satan decides to come back to Earth and start the apocalypse, for which he needs his son Dimyan who should become the Antichrist but to his dismay, Dimyan doesn't really care about world domination and money, he just wants to get married to his fiancee Galya and live happily ever after. Chaos ensues as satan tries to persuade Dimyan to join him, whilst Angel vs Demon shenanigans occur in the background. I honestly had no idea that this type of show could even be produced due to the censors and yet it was. It's kind of slightly similar to Good Omens with all the apocalypse stuff and the Angels and Demons eventually teaming up? Good Omens adjacent. Except more gritty with much darker humour. The actor who plays satan is Yuri Kolokolnikov who actually starred in game of thrones so if you're a fan of his acting, do try this show.

Alisa can't wait - Алиса не может ждать Alisa is a 15-16 (don't remember her exact age) year old girl who is going blind and she decides to do something really drastic to ensure that her life will be comfortable after she loses all sight. There's a noticeable build-up to what she's actually planning during the episodes, as her homelife is less than ideal, with her older sister stuck in an unhappy marriage and a turbulent relationship with her parents. This is one of the few shows that really left a deep impression on me but it deals with some very sensitive and potentially upsetting topics so be aware if you're giving it a go.

This list may be updated in the future, so if there are any other shows that I may have missed do share them!

#studyblr #russian #college life #tv #tv series #study blog #student #student life #travel blog #study motivation #aesthetic #slavic roots western mind #college #languagelearning #language #language stuff #language blr #language blog #tv shows #russian tv #russian tv shows #russian tv series #soviet movies #ussr #soviet #brigada #kitchen #Кухня #vampires #thriller

[nhlclover]

the last time | arber xhekaj

summary: after arber leaves you for the second time you let him know he’s on his last strike.

request: yes / no

warnings: angst (w/ slight happy ending)

a/n: based on ‘the last time’ by taylor swift. i will take any excuse to write a taylor swift song fic. also i miss him :(

word count: 1.36k

Again. It happened again. This was the second time I had watched Arber walk out of my life. The first was five months ago.

We had been together for six months. Six months I had dealt with his schedule and late nights out after games. Six months I loved him and admired his passion. And then he broke up with me, saying he needed space. It hurt. More than any breakup I had been a part of before. But I let him go. If he needed space then I would give it to him. Two months went by where I was miserable. I had missed my boyfriend and slept alone in a bed that had become accustomed to two. Then, he was back.

He was at my door, saying he wanted me back. He said it was a mistake and he was overwhelmed with his newfound fame from being in the NHL and a new relationship. I believed him. I took him back and was happy to do so. Three months passed by where we pretended like we had missed no time. No skipped anniversaries, no missed date nights. We were good for three months before we were sitting in my living room, Arber telling me this was a mistake.

“I thought I was ready but I wasn’t.” He said. He had a hurt look on his face, the same one he wore when he left me the first time. “It will only hurt us more if I stay. And I don’t want to hurt you anymore baby.”

Once again, I let him go. I was left miserable once again, seeing little remnants of his touch on my life everywhere I went. Anytime I saw the Montreal logo I thought of him and his passion for the game. Anytime I heard Morgan Wallen I remembered the time we danced on the balcony at 2 am to Somebody’s Problem. 

On what should’ve been our one-year anniversary, I sat alone in my room, my tv playing an episode of Hell’s Kitchen that was barely holding my attention. My eyes burned from the tears that came in with every new memory that passed through my head. The memories of the boy I still loved — because my feelings hadn’t yet diminished — ran through my head like a movie. First kiss, first date, the first time he told me he loved me and how quickly I said it back. The first time he got in a fight on the ice and the mixture of the sense of pride and fear that coursed through me. Every career milestone and how happy I was for him.

But with all the good memories, I remember the bad ones. I remember how alone I felt when he left the first time, then how utterly stupid I felt when he left me for the second time. I couldn’t go out with my friends for the fear of seeing him made my anxiety spike. I remember lying awake at night, wracking my brain for answers because, even though Arber explained why he ended things, it felt like I was missing something.

A knocking sound coming from the front of the house pulls me from my thoughts, sending a wave of fear through me. It was the dead of winter and the middle of a snowstorm at nearly 10 pm, who would be coming to my door? I got out of my bed and slowly walked to the front door. The knocking persisted, getting louder every few seconds. I grabbed the tennis racket that sat on the floor of the coat closet and slowly cracked open the door.

The sight of the person on the other side sent a different kind of fear through me. Arber stood on my front stoop, a bouquet of pink and white tulips in hand. I opened the door fully, the cold air from outside causing goosebumps to form on my exposed legs. 

Arber’s eyes are soft and delicate when he looks into mine which are bloodshot and lined with soaked eyelashes.

“Why are you here?” I ask even though I already know the answer. 

“I fucked up…” He croaks out. “I can’t stop thinking about you…here alone. I hate that I caused this.”

He motions to my face on which tears have once again begun streaking down. I wipe them away using the sleeves of my sweater which just so happened to have belonged to Arber. “Can I come in?” He asks me.

I’m tempted to turn him away. To tell him no. He’s hurt me more than once and if I let him in, I can’t be sure he won’t again. But the moment I saw his face, all our good moments clouded over the bad ones, and it’s like everything was better. My love for him overshadows any hurt he made me feel. How could I possibly turn him away when I love him this much?

I opened the door fully, letting him in, and shutting the door behind him. As he removed his coat, he glanced down at the tennis racket in my hand. Arber looked at me his eyebrows furrowed.

“Arber, you came to my house in the middle of a snowstorm at 10 pm.” I tell him, putting the racket back in the closet. “I wasn’t just going to answer the door unarmed.”

Arber walks into my home, finding his way to the kitchen. He goes into the cabinet where I keep my vases and takes the scissors from their place in the drawer to cut the stems. He still remembered where I kept everything.

There are a few moments of silence as I watch him cut the stems, placing each flower into the vase. He fills the vase with water, putting it on the counter in front of me.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” I say softly.

“I know you like tulips.” He replied. I sigh, looking past the flowers at him. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry baby.”

I avert my eyes feeling them begin to brim with tears. He comes around the counter, sitting on the barstool beside mine. “I know you’ve already given me a chance before and I blew it but… Please, y/n.”

“Why?” I ask him, looking at him with tears steadily falling from my eyes. “Why should I give you another chance, Arber? All you’ve done is prove you don’t deserve another one. I’ve given you a second chance and you wasted it.”

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve changed since, y/n.” He says. “I’ve grown as a person. I’ve found a way to deal with what it's like playing in the NHL and I know I can cope now. On top of that, I have never been as miserable as I am without you.”

I look at him, reading his expression carefully. His eyes scream nothing but sadness, the bags under his eyes telling much of the story. “How do I know you won’t leave me again?” I croak out.

“Baby, I can promise you I will never leave you again.” Arber says, cupping my cheek with his hand, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “I understand if you need time to think about it.”

There are so many thoughts going through my head all at once. I weigh out the bad memories and the good ones. I find my mind overwhelmed with the good ones, the love I have for Arber completely swaying my decision.

“Okay.” I say.

“Okay?” Arber repeats. “You’ll take me back?”

Arber has a grin on his face, bigger than the one he had when I told him I loved him. I nod. He scoops me up from the chair, spinning me around. Arber sets me down but keeps me in his arms. 

“Thank you, y/n.” He mumbles into my neck.

I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close. The familiar scent of his cologne washed over me, comfort enveloping me. I lean back from Arber, looking up at him.

“This is the last time I’m letting you back in,” I tell him. 

“This is the last time I’ll ask.” He says.

#arber xhekaj #arber xhekaj imagine #arber xhekaj x reader #nhl imagine #nhl #montreal canadiens #hockey #angst #luvzegras

[vexic929]

Blue Streak

Chapter 1

Warnings: none

Chapter 2: link

OC info: link

Barry and Malcolm should have been asleep - their mom and dad had tucked them into their respective beds almost an hour ago. Instead, the soft glow of the nightlight in the corner cast elongated shadows across the walls and revealed Malcolm, hanging halfway off the top bunk upside-down to talk to Barry, dangling precariously as he whispered to his twin.

"You can't name your Pikachu 'Zapster', Barr," Malcolm said, rolling his eyes, his GameBoy suspended haphazardly from his fingertips, the tiny light attachment clipped to the side nearly blinding Barry as the handheld console swayed.

"But you said I can't just stick with Pikachu, either." Barry argued with a small frown, his own GameBoy in his hands, halfway under the covers.

"Cause that's dumb, you're not Ash. He's your Pikachu, he should have a different name." Malcolm insisted.

"Then why can't I name him 'Zapster'?" Barry asked, sitting up in bed.

"Cause that's dumb, too."

Barry opened his mouth to argue again but his words caught in his throat as he watched the water in their fishtank, along with the fish, begin to float. He powered down his GameBoy and frantically gestured for Malcolm to look too, unable to find the words for what he was seeing.

Malcolm turned his head and dropped his own GameBoy, nearly falling out of bed. "Whoa..."

"Maybe...we should go get Mom and Dad..." Barry said hesitantly, eyes locked on the floating water. Before his brain caught up, his feet had already hit the floor to go do so. Malcolm hauled himself back onto his own bed before climbing down the ladder quickly and joining his twin as they crept towards the door and down the stairs.

The air itself felt thick and stifling, the hall too quiet save for an electric buzzing sound that made the hair on both brothers' necks stand on end. Mom and Dad were probably still up but the lights flickering from the living room didn't look like the blueish glow of the TV.

The boys froze in the doorway to the living room as they both tried to comprehend what they were seeing - it had to be a weird dream or nightmare. Their mother sat in the middle of the floor, looking terrified, surrounded by flashing red and yellow lights like some sort of weird tornado.

"Mom!" Barry blurted in a panic but Malcolm caught his arm before he could run towards her.

"Boys! Don't let him touch you!" Their mother screamed, barely audible under the sound of the crackling lightning and wind from whatever was violently spinning around her.

"Mom!" Malcolm was the one to yell this time, squeezing Barry's wrist almost too tightly in fear.

"Nora!" Their father was suddenly in front of them, pushing them back further, behind him.

"Stay back!" Nora screamed, barely audible over the racket surrounding her.

"Nora! Hold on!" Their father called before turning to Barry and Malcolm. "Run! Get somewhere safe!"

In almost the same second, Barry was gone from Malcolm's side. Another instant later, in a flash of red lightning, Malcolm found himself outside, lying in the grass, nowhere near his brother.

The pain didn't register right away as it often doesn't in situations like this. Confusion and fear spun in Malcolm’s head until he realized his chest ached and he couldn't breathe.

"Mom? Dad?" Barry's voice echoed in the dark street and Malcolm tried to call out to him but all he managed was a choking sound that he was sure nobody could hear at all. He rolled over to try and push himself up - blinding pain pierced his skull and shot up from his lower back before he lost consciousness.

"-looks like he got thrown out the window. Malcolm. Mal, can you hear me? Where's it hurt, kiddo?" Joe West's familiar voice cut through the darkness for a minute and Malcolm moaned in pain, blinking his eyes blearily before letting them fall closed again. "Dammit. How far away's the ambulance?"

A voice Malcolm didn't recognize answered but he couldn't focus on anything else until someone moved him and pain rocketed through his entire body.

"It's okay, it's okay. We're just loading you into the ambulance, try to relax." A calm woman's voice soothed. Malcolm knew it couldn't be his mom, didn't sound anything like her, but that didn't stop him from asking for her anyway as he drifted out of consciousness once more.

#earth-111 #earth 111 #malcolm allen #vexic writes #vexic lives #vexic ocs #blue streak

[favorjtecrime]

surprise

୨୧ lee heesung x reader

genre : fluff && romance a/n: wrote this to avoid studying for midterms, sry if its cringe i forgot how to write warnings : lowk rushed work, tooth rotting fluff

Heesung laid on the dorm's couch, one hand laying on his abdomen and the other holding his cellphone which he was using to scroll through meaningless sns posts. He heard the dorm's door unlocking and looked up, expecting to see one of his members come in late, but was surprised to see you in an oversized puffer jacket covered from head to toe in snow. In your gloved hands was a small tote bag that seemed to be filled with a change of clothes and your hygiene products that you usually brought when staying the night.

“I didn't know you were coming over baby” hee said, walking over quickly to greet you as you unbuttoned the jacket. “I wanted to surprise you!!” you beamed happily despite the feeling of cold all over you, walking over to the boys' coat rack and hanging your jacket, slipping off your snow covered winter boots into the pair of red sandals you left there. “Did you walk all the way from your apartment?” he questioned slightly concerned, you nodded and placed the bag on their kitchen counter “you should’ve called, I could've gone down to give you a ride instead, I hate seeing my baby so cold, you’ll catch a cold at this rate” he said as he bent down to kiss your lips softly, feeling the coldness radiate from your red nose. “But then it wouldn't have been a good surprise” you remarked, he sighed and rolled his eyes playfully “well then it must be a good surprise if you walked 20 minutes in the snow.” “Yeah it is, that's why you can't know until it happens! It's all a part of the element of surprise” you stated matter-of-factly as he just laughed. “You look cold, here” he took the brown zip up he was wearing off and draped it over your shoulders, you quickly fit it onto your body and looked up at him, now in just gray sweats and a fitted top. “So, what's the surprise?” your boyfriend asked as the two of you made your way to the couch once again. “God, Hee can’t you be a little patient? Why don't we watch a show or something first” you suggest tiredly, laying down next to him in front of the tv. “Ah whatever, but this is just your warning I will fall asleep if you put on racket boys one more time” he laid his arm over your shoulder and used a remote to dim the rooms lights. You pouted at his words while the Netflix logo was shown on the tv, canceling your plans of rewatching your favorite show once again.

After a few minutes of bickering about what to watch, the two of you settled on a random movie that came up on the feed. About more than half an hour into the film, You began feeling a sense of tiredness wash over you as your head was laid up on Heesung's chest who seemed to be dozing himself to sleep as well. “Hey angel?” you felt yourself awaken slightly at the sound of his voice, letting out a small ‘mm?’ for a response. “What was the surprise you came here for?” he asked quietly, noticing the movie's end credits beginning to play. You let out a quiet giggle at his question, “there was none, i just missed you and didnt want to wait any longer” you answered softly, he smiled and turned his face to see yours, he watched you for a second before seeing your breathing calm and your face fall into a resting position. “That's better than any surprise I could ask for” he mumbled, kissing your forehead carefully not to wake you up.

#heesung #lee heesung x reader #lee heesung #x reader #kpop x reader #kpopblog #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen #heesung fluff #heesung ff #enhypen ff #enhypen scenarios #favorjtecrime

[blackjack-15]

i have never found fak less charming than i do now. yikes

"do you think donna's gonna do something crazy?" donna being mrs. berzatto's name i'm guessing (mulaney calls her "Auntie Dee")? yeah she is.

nat trying to enlist carmy in getting rid of the alcohol and carmy is like "i have no idea i'm doing six things no one look at me"

the history of nat's nickname is so...mundane? like...we've all mixed up salt/sugar before. not in gravy, mind, but i don't make a lot of italian gravy. traditional gravy (meat drippings + roux)? yeah. not italian.

cousin steve going in on the baseball card racket b/c it sounds hilarious to him is the most relatable thing i've ever seen on tv. like it's not gonna end well but boy is it gonna be worth his money for the entertainment

gosh in every carmy/mikey scene every line of dialogue is a painful reminder of carmy's "i just wanted him to say good job!" from 1X08.

"i don't need you acting all nice if you don't give a f//k" that's carmy, down to his bones. it's why he said nat was being gross when she pulled the Small Innocent Little Girl act on cicero. carmy lies, dodges, represses, stays out of stuff, sure. but when people ask him what he thinks, he tells them. and he doesn't want people to be nice to him if they actually don't care.

carmy wants to be loved so badly, wants to be loved without having to ask for it or claw it out of people. it hurts really, really bad. exquisitely acted.

gift giving! he has a knack for it -- the knife to tina is the most recent example, but very few people to give to right now. the drawing is so lovely, and carmy looks so boyish and happy when mikey says he loves it

oh mikey. he looks so lost and so unhappy and so worried when he's by himself. he's not doing well and he hides it through loud bravado, and especially looks like he hides it from carmy. the beef is a mess right now, and i think he knows he probably won't be around to open that restaurant with carmy. but his note makes even more sense now, as does the money. it really was the gift he felt like he could give. i'm hard on mikey as an older sibling, but he's got his own stuff he's dealing with on top of everything, and it really shows sometimes

this family is so full of desperately sick, unhappy, unhealthy people. and it seems like when they congregate, it just gets worse.

mikey's trying to set carmy up for life, in the role of father figure/older brother -- skills, money, even a romantic partner. but none of it is what carmy actually needs, present day.

"is it possible that you're the asshole" cousin steve can you come back we need your insights. i feel like him, syd, and pete would be Buddies

kind, sensitive, devoted, altruistic, empathetic, and commonly known to be adept at grieving -- characteristics of bears? characteristics of our titular Bear?

mikey sneaking out in full Joseph of Bethlehem regalia, richie noticing

cousin steve do not get eaten by the jaguar

i love when normalish people interact with Berzatto Insanity (like my beloved pete! where is pete? did nat not meet him yet?) and it's like...oh they're in another realm. right.

"no one lifts a finger to help me" as nat is down on her knees cleaning up. yikes.

suicide threats. wonderful. yeah i'm going back to the armchair diagnosis of HPD. my gosh.

RUN COUSIN STEVE that was hysterical

that is a hug that nat very much needed. thank you cousin steve

oh no what's donna gonna do. i know it's not gonna be suicide but it's def gonna be a Spectacle, and prolly traumatic

#the bear #liveblogging #2X06 #this is a hard ep to watch. about 20 min. left and i have no idea what else can go wrong #are the seven fishes gonna burn? is donna gonna burn the house down? #bad things are brewing and carmy's disappeared and i am Worried

[thepersona]

A non-romantic K-drama starter pack

If you're interested in K-dramas but don't know where to begin, and aren't interested in (or would like to take a break from) romantic storylines, then this is for you!

P.S.: Some of these dramas may contain romantic side plots that don't necessarily define the main storyline. List not sorted in any particular order, and only includes completed dramas.

Gifs not mine!

Stranger (2017; 2019)

A political crime thriller full of red herrings, "Stranger" (Season 1) follows an investigation into the murder of a man who has bribed countless officials from multiple levels and branches of government. Led by stoic prosecutor Hwang Shi Mok (Cho Seung Woo) and feisty detective Han Yeo Jin (Bae Doona), this well-paced, well-acted drama is full of twists and turns that will make you suspect everyone at some point.

Kingdom (2019; 2020)

Historical political drama meets zombie thriller in the 2019 hit "Kingdom" (Season 1). The story follows Crown Prince Yi Chang (Ju Ji Hoon) as he investigates an outbreak of a mysterious plague that turns average citizens into rabid monsters while fighting to keep  his rightful place as heir to the throne. The hit series has led to a second season and a prequel TV movie "Ashin of the North" (2021).

Signal (2016)

Featuring a mysterious walkie-talkie that links the past to the present, "Signal" is one of the most beloved police dramas of the last decade because of its refreshing take on the genre and the top-notch performances of its three leads: Kim Hye Soo, Lee Je Hoon, and Jo Jin Woong. 

The Uncanny Counter (2020)

"The Uncanny Counter" is a comedy-drama about four "counters", or grim reapers who have been lent superhuman abilities by a group of spirits. Their main job is to stop demons who possess violent criminals that become more powerful by consuming the souls of their victims. Funny, colorful, and action-packed, the show features wonderful performances from the main actors: Jo Byeong Gyu, Yoon Joon Sang, Kim Se Jeong, and (my personal favorite) Yeom Hye Ran. The hit series has been granted a second season.

Racket Boys (2021)

If you need a feel-good drama that's not too heavy on the tears, crime, and lovey-dovey tropes, then this may be for you. "Racket Boys" is about an underdog middle school badminton team that dreams to make a mark on the national level and beyond. The rural setting and endearing ensemble cast, led by the talented Tang Jun Sang, allow for lighthearted moments but are never too cartoonish. A puppy love storyline exists between the leads, but it's very wholesome and innocent, and given far less importance than the struggle surrounding the national tournament.

Squid Game (2021)

International smash hit "Squid Game" is about a mysterious organization that selects individuals with impossible debt to participate in a series of children's games to have a shot at winning 45.6 billion won. The catch: only the winner gets to live. Features an amazing ensemble cast led by Lee Jung Jae, Park Hae Soo, and impressive newcomer Jung Ho Yeon.

Dear My Friends (2016)

A slice-of-life comedy drama featuring a stellar ensemble cast of the most accomplished Korean actors and actresses over 60, "Dear My Friends" follows 40-year-old writer Park Wan (Go Hyun Jung) as she chronicles the stories of her mother, her aunts, and their families. There are two romantic side stories here but the overall plot is more invested in how your friends can become your family especially after you reach a certain age. Think "Golden Girls" but in Korea. Praise-worthy acting from everyone involved, especially the main quintet: Na Moon Hee, Kim Hye Ja, Go Doo Shim, Park Won Sook, and Oscar winner Youn Yuh Jung.

Live (2018)

"Live" is a slice-of-life, police procedural drama that tells the story of rookies and veterans at Hongil Station in Seoul, where there is no shortage of petty and violent crimes. The crimes featured examine the decisions that South Korean cops have to make especially in dangerous situations wherein the gray areas become even grayer. There are romantic storylines between the four leads but they never overshadow the cases. Wonderful acting, especially from Bae Sung Woo and Bae Jeong Ok who play the veterans Oh Yang Chon and Ahn Jang Mi, respectively. Also stars funny man Lee Kwang Soo and the angelic Jung Yu Mi (Train to Busan).

Vincenzo (2021)

Born in South Korea, adopted into an Italian family, mafia lawyer Vincenzo Cassano (Song Joong Ki) flies back to Seoul after falling out with his adopted brother following the death of his boss/father-figure. His mission is to retrieve gold hidden beneath the dilapidated Geumga Plaza before it is ultimately demolished by the evil Babel Group that constantly harrasses its tennants to move out. Teaming up with the feisty lawyer Hong Cha Young (Jeon Yeo Been, Vincenzo uses mafia tactics in his war against the conglomerate that thinks itself above the law. What sounds like a heavy premise is offset by the physical and witty comedy provided by the charismatic leads and supporting cast. There is romance between the leads (who share great chemistry nonetheless) but it is by no means the driving force of this story. They could have recasted this with two male leads as more of a bromance story and the outcome would be quite similar, but Jeon Yeo Been gives a unique, quirky flair to her character that makes her difficult to replace.

Hyena (2020)

I know I said this wasn't a list for romantic K-Dramas but hear me out. There's romance but it's not what you think (the leads kiss a grand total of 3 times, twice in the first ep then once a little later). "Hyena" explores the world of corporate lawyers who serve the South Korean 1%. It's a dog-eat-dog world where the most conniving and least picky hyena reigns supreme. The hyena in question would be the brilliant renegade lawyer Jang Geum Ja (Kim Hye Soo). Sparks fly as she goes head to head with the by-the-book, elite lawyer Yoon Hee Jae (Ju Ji Hoon), whose ideals are constantly challenged as his world unravels around him.  The cases are challenging and the solutions that the leads come up with are intriguing. Romance doesn't drive this drama, but the chemistry between the leads is undeniable. 

#stranger #tvn stranger #cho seung woo #bae doona #hwang shi mok #han yeo jin #kingdom netflix #kingdom #ju ji hoon #yi chang #signal tvn #tvn signal #signal 2016 #kim hye soo #lee je hoon #jo jin woong #the uncanny counter #jo byung gyu #kim se jeong #yoon jun sang #yeom hye ran #racket boys #squid game #dear my friends #live tvn #live 2018 #live kdrama #vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hyena

[oldbutnotyetwise]

This Old Guitar

This old guitar taught me to sing a love song

It showed me how to laugh, and how to cry.

It introduced me to some friends of mine

And brightened up some days,

And helped me make it through some lonely nights.

What a friend to have on a cold and lonely night.

     John Denver wrote the above lyrics about a guitar he was given by his grandmother when he was an awkward and lonely twelve year old.  One day it was stolen and years later he finally got this treasured guitar back, that night he wrote the song This Old Guitar.  When John Denver died in 1997 he was cremated along with this same guitar and their ashes were spread over the Rocky Mountains.

     I suspect I was like most young boys when I was growing up, we wanted to be Hollywood Actors or famous musicians or Police Officers (thank you Adam 12) and if you were Canadian, you of course wanted to play in the NHL

     I quit playing hockey when I was around twelve years old when I suddenly had a nasty coach who was nothing more than a bully and took every ounce of joy out of the game for me.  Although I did act in High School and performed in several Drama Festivals, Hollywood never came calling and I never went looking.  I was more fortunate than most to achieve my dream of a career in Policing.  That leaves my dream to be a famous musician.

     I still remember the Christmas when I received my first guitar.  I’m sure my parents thought it would just be a passing fancy.  There is a picture of me holding it in front of the Christmas Tree, wide grin on my face, electric guitar with polished red wood and ivory inlays on the neck.  Probably the best, certainly the most lasting gift my parents ever gave me, the gift of music.  Although I can’t remember the name of my first guitar teacher I can still picture him, a tall thin man with a heavy accent who struggled to remain patient as I tortured that poor guitar.

     In time I traded in that shiny red electric guitar in on my first, and only handmade Classical Guitar.  I had no idea when I bought that guitar that it would be with me for the next fifty years or so.  

     My skills as a Classical Guitar player were mediocre at best, but the study of classical music did teach me how to be a guitar picker, someone who played with his thumb and fingers.

     As far as fame and fortune goes regarding my musical career, I did play on a local TV Talent Show once singing and playing my guitar, a classmate had wandered into his living room and saw me playing on his TV, I think he may have been the only person who saw it.  I also was in a Drama Festival once where I played my guitar during part of the play.  There was of course my Rock Band playing Proud Mary in a Grade Eight Variety Show, when I think back now I can only imagine the parents cringing at the racket we were making while butchering a classic song.  Oddly enough after all these performances there were no agents waiting by the stage doors to sign me to a record contract.

     The only other playing in public I really did was at the weekly Folk Mass at my church.  Some friends and I would play and when we could, we would slip in a pop song but only when we could somehow convince the priest it had some religious connection.  We must have done okay because soon the Saturday Night Folk Mass was one of the best attended masses the church had.

     Somehow as I emerged from the teen years my comfort about playing my guitar or singing in public slowly evaporated.  My guitar and I then took up a more reclusive existence.  Yes there were times when perhaps I went months or even years without playing, but somehow we always found our way back to each other.

     When you play a guitar you develop calluses on the ends of the fingers on your left hand, and if you don’t play you lose those calluses and it hurts to play.  As well the fingernails on your left hand are cropped close so you can easily and firmly press the strings hard against the frets to get clear tone.  If you are a picker like I was then the fingernails on your right hand tend to be longer to assist you in plucking the strings, the sound from nylon strings is softer quieter when plucked with a finger, and louder and more distinct when plucked with a fingernail.

     At one point I found myself living alone in a small one bedroom apartment with lots of time on my hands.  My guitar and I got reacquainted then as I quietly played in the bedroom, so no one passing in the hall would hear me.  My friend Suzanne lived a few blocks away and we began playing together, this small amateur duo who played just for the joy of playing.  She has a wonderful voice and there were times when I would pause after a song and think to myself that we sounded pretty darn good.  Not sure that we played before anyone other than our partners, but it didn’t matter, we were playing for ourselves.

     Eventually we moved in different directions and I was back to playing on my own.  We did get together occasionally but I had returned to being a solo player.

     My guitar was like that friend most of us have, someone you don’t see or hear from for a long time but then you get together you just pick up where you left off.  My guitar was never angry that I hadn’t visited for a long time, it was always glad for any time we spent together.  Bringing it out of it’s hard case, tuning the strings to bring back it’s beautiful sound and then playing.  Interesting isn’t it, you don’t work the guitar you play it, because playing the guitar is a joyful thing to do.  Although the song you play may not sound perfect there is a good chance you will have played a few perfect notes, and maybe as you sang maybe once or twice your voice was actually in tune.  My joy from playing the guitar comes from inside me, just me and a good friend having fun together.

     Sometimes things happen that are out of our control, sometimes you have to make decisions that are hard for you, but are best for your friend. That time came for me and my guitar, my hands just don’t work like they once did and now playing the guitar only brought frustration and sadness.  Now this is a handsome handmade guitar and I expect I could have sold it for a decent price, but it was also a dear friend so it wasn’t about the money, it was about finding my friend a good new home, somewhere where it would be well appreciated. 

     I sat it there by my front door and when my friend Suzanne came to visit I sent it home with her.  She is the one who I played it the most with, and I know she will look after my friend well, maybe she will think of me from time to time while playing.

     And to my old friend, thank you for always being there for me.  For helping me through those awkward teenage years, for all the dark days and nights we struggled through together, and for all the joy you brought to me during our half century together.

#guitar #This Old Guitar #Old Friend