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tomhardystories · 21 days ago

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Part 11

The day after seeing Jules with Chris at the restaurant, Tom couldn’t stop replaying the scene in his mind. He felt like a complete idiot. He knew he had to apologize properly. So the next evening, he found himself standing in front of Jules’ door once again, with a bag slung over his shoulder and a mortified expression on his face.

When Jules opened the door, she leaned against the frame with a smirk. “Oh, look who’s decided to grace me with his presence. Thought maybe you’d joined a monastery or something.”

Tom grinned awkwardly. “Nah, they kicked me out. Something about me being bad at silence.”

Jules rolled her eyes, stepping aside. “Come on in, monk”

He followed her inside, his hands shoved in his pockets, and tried to gauge her mood. She didn’t look mad. Just the same Jules he knew. If she was upset, she was hiding it well.

“So...” she said, plopping onto the couch and grabbing a throw pillow. “What’s up? Finally remember I exist?”

Tom winced at the jab but couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, yes, yes, I deserved that. I’ve been a bit of a jerk lately.”

“A bit?” Jules raised an eyebrow, but there was no venom in her voice.

They randomly started chatting, slipping back into their usual rhythm. She told him about a new recipe she’d tried (and burned) and he filled her in on a work prank gone wrong. Slowly, Tom relaxed. She wasn’t mad. At least, not visibly. But as they talked, he couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. She deserved more than a simple “sorry.”

That's why, after a while, Tom cleared his throat and stood up. “Alright. So... I actually brought you something.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

He walked over to the kitchen counter, where he’d left his bag, and pulled it open. “Probably. I call it the I’m an Idiot and Don’t Deserve You Emergency Kit.”

Jules blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.” Tom said, tossing the bag onto the counter with a dramatic flourish. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

He pulled out the whistle first, blowing it once before handing it to her. “For when I forget how phones work. Just blow this, and I’ll come running. Unless I’m in the shower. Then you’re on your own.” Jules was already laughing, but he didn’t stop. He pulled out a mini megaphone next, testing it with an obnoxious screech. “And if the whistle doesn’t get my attention, this bad baby will. Just don’t use it near dogs, please. Or humans. Actually, you know what? Maybe don’t use it at all.”

Jules doubled over, her shoulders shaking. “This is already the best thing ever.”

Next, he held up a USB drive. “A playlist. It’s called Songs to make up for my stupidity. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll probably question my taste in music. As you always do.”

She snorted, grabbing the drive. “If there’s a single Nickelback song on here, I’m throwing it out.”

He gave her a mock-horrified look. “How dare you. 90% of this playlist is Paul McCartney ballads." Reaching into the bag again, he pulled out a small plush bear and handed it to her. “Meet Tom 2.0. He’s cuter, quieter, and less likely to ghost you. Also, he’s house-trained.”

Jules hugged the bear to her chest, her laughter softening into something warmer. “I love him already.”

Tom’s heart gave a little lurch, but he pressed on, grabbing a packet of sticky stars. “These are for you to award me when I do something right. Like answer your texts. Or show up on time. You know, basic human stuff. I figure I might earn... two, maybe three in my lifetime.”

She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “You’re unbelievable. What else do you have in there? A map to your brain?”

He ignored that comment. “And last but not least” he said, holding up a stress ball, “For when I inevitably stress you out. Use it wisely. Or violently. Your call.”

By the time he was done, Jules was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Tom, this is ridiculous. And amazing. And completely unnecessary.”

“Well” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I figured if I’m going to screw up, and let’s be real, I will, I might as well give you the tools to deal with it.”

As Jules laughed, her whole body shaking with the kind of joy that seemed effortless, Tom found himself unable to look away. She held the ridiculous little bear he’d named “Tom 2.0” close to her chest, and the sound of her laughter filled the room, bubbling over in waves that made the walls seem warmer, the air lighter.

It was in that moment, watching her, that something shifted in him.

Tom had always known Jules was beautiful, but it was a kind of beauty he’d cataloged without fully processing. He’d spent so much time focusing on her wit, her energy, her maddening ability to challenge him and make him laugh, that her appearance had been... secondary. Important, sure, but never the first thing that came to mind.

But tonight? Oh, tonight he noticed everything.

Her blonde hair, tied up in a messy bun, seemed to catch the light in a way that made her look like she was glowing. A few strands had escaped, framing her face in soft, golden wisps. Her eyes - he realized for the first time - were the exact same shade as his own, though hers sparkled in a way his never could. Long lashes framed those eyes, giving them an expressive depth that could swing from teasing to tender in an instant. Her full lips curved into a wide smile that, even now, seemed impossibly infectious. He noticed the tiny freckle just beneath her left cheekbone. It was small, almost imperceptible, but somehow it added to her charm, like an accidental mark that made her uniquely hers. He couldn’t believe he had never seen it before. How many times had he been this close to her, yet never truly looked?

And she was just wearing a sweater and leggings, nothing fancy, nothing deliberate. Yet somehow, she looked like she’d stepped out of a dream. That was the thing about her - Whether she was dressed to impress for a special occasion or stumbling into a cafe in yesterday’s clothes, she always looked good.

For the first time, Tom noticed how other people must have seen her all along. He thought about the countless times he’d been out with her, oblivious as heads turned when she walked into a room. He remembered moments when men had gone out of their way to talk to her, to make her laugh. Back then, he’d brushed it off with a casual “that’s just Jules” and gone on with his day. Now, those memories hit differently.

His mind raced through the months they’d known each other, replaying moments like a film reel. The time Jules had stayed up all night helping him prepare for an important meeting, despite having her own deadlines to meet. The way she always seemed to know when he needed someone to pull him out of his own head, showing up with snacks and bad movies until he felt human again. The quiet strength she’d shown when she’d confided in him about her struggles, her vulnerabilities, trusting him with parts of herself she rarely revealed to anyone else.

She was the first person he wanted to call when something good happened, and the only person who could talk him down when he was angry or upset. She was his safe place, his favorite person. And as he stood there, watching her laugh at his ridiculous gifts, it hit him. She wasn’t just important to him. She was everything.

But Tom also knew, with a painful certainty, that he wasn’t everything to her. He was her friend. Her partner in crime. Her goofy sidekick who made her laugh and shared the occasional late night pizza. Nothing more.

She didn’t treat him any differently than her other friends, he was sure of it. There was no special glimmer in her eye when she looked at him, no hint that her smile for him was any different than the ones she gave to the world. And that thought cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

Because if he told her, if he let her in on the feelings that were now consuming him, everything would change. For worse. Tom could almost picture it: the awkwardness, the strained conversations, the eventual distance as they both tried to pretend it didn’t matter. He couldn’t lose her. Not her laughter, not her kindness, not the way she filled his life with color. Losing her friendship would be unbearable, and if keeping quiet was the price he had to pay, so be it.

“You’re such an idiot” her voice broke through his thoughts.

Before Tom could process what was happening, she stepped forward and hugged him tightly, the bear still squished between them. Tom froze for half a second, then let himself relax into the embrace. His arms wrapped around her, and he closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her against him - the warmth of her sweater, the way her head fit perfectly against his chest, but most of all, the strong, familiar smell of Chanel No. 5. It was her scent, the one she loved so much. Tom realized he’d probably buy a whole bottle of it if he had to, just to splash it on his pillow, to keep that smell close, to always have a piece of her with him.

When she pulled back, her eyes met his, and Tom felt his breath hitch. Time seemed to slow as they stood there, close enough to feel the faintest brush of her breath. He thought about leaning in, about closing the gap between them.

But before he could make a move, Jules grabbed the sticky stars from the counter, peeled one off, and slapped it squarely on his forehead.

“There” she said. “You’ve earned your first star.”

Tom blinked, then started laughing, even as a deep pang of longing tugged at his chest. As she doubled over, laughing uncontrollably, he realized he’d been completely undone by her once again.

As they talked, Jules’ phone buzzed loudly on the table, interrupting their conversation. She glanced at the screen, her face brightening when she saw the name.

"Hold that thought" she said, picking up the phone with a quick smile to Tom. “Hey, Chris!”

Tom leaned back on the couch, feigning disinterest as he stared at a random mug on her coffee table. He tried not to listen, but her laugh made it impossible to tune out.

“No, look, I can’t talk right now” Jules said lightly. “I’ve got... someone here.”

Someone.

Tom felt a strange pang at her choice of words. It wasn’t like he expected her to announce his name like some VIP guest, but someone? It felt like he was the plumber fixing a leaky pipe.

“Yeah, I’ll call you later” she added. “Ciao!” she hung up and turned back to Tom, her smile as casual as ever. “Sorry about that.”

Tom forced a grin. “Someone here, huh?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. “You make me sound so mysterious. Should I have been wearing a trench coat?”

Jules laughed, rolling her eyes. “What, you wanted me to say ”Oh, Chris, hang on, Tom, my infamous disaster buddy is here?” Thought you valued your anonymity.”

“Infamous disaster buddy?” Tom pretended to clutch his chest. “Wow, Jules. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She smirked. “It’s also the most accurate.”

“I should get going" he said, a playful grin appearing on his face. "I don’t want to ruin your upcoming date with Chris.”

Jules raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on her lips. "Date? What date? Got dating on your mind?" she said, giving him a look of mock suspicion. "Bro, is this your way of telling me you’ve found a girlfriend?"

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "No girlfriend. But if I did, I’d be sure to introduce you to her. She’d be lucky to meet someone as... charming as me."

Jules rolled her eyes with a laugh. "Sure, Tom. If you ever find someone who’s willing to deal with you, let me know. And don’t worry, you’re way more entertaining. It’s not every day someone brings me an I’m an Idiot kit.”

Tom chuckled, gesturing to the bag still on the table. “Speaking of which, if I get bonus points for originality, I expect a lifetime supply of sticky stars in return.”

“Oh, I’m saving those for truly exceptional moments...” Jules teased, picking up the packet of stars. “Like when you finally figure out how to respond to my texts within an hour instead of three days.”

“Low blow” Tom said, grinning. “I was going to say something nice, but now I’m reconsidering.”

Jules leaned back, laughing. “Something nice? Go on, amaze me. Compliments from you are about as rare as a solar eclipse.”

Tom hesitated for a moment. For a split second, he considered saying something real. Something about how her laugh made everything else seem less important, or how “someone” was an absurd understatement for what she was to him. But instead....

“I was just going to say you’re lucky to have me around. Who else would name a stuffed bear after themselves and call it a gift?”

Jules picked up the plush bear and held it up. “Oh, I’ll treasure this forever. Especially when I need something to throw at the wall during stressful moments.”

“Hey, woman, careful” Tom shot back. “That thing has feelings.”

Jules laughed, standing up to walk him to the door. As he reached for the handle, she stopped him.

“Tom, wait!”

He froze, hand hovering over the doorknob, his heart skipping a beat. Turning slowly, he looked at her, a flicker of hope dancing behind his guarded eyes. “Yes?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended, as if bracing for something monumental.

Jules paused, as though considering her words carefully. Then, with the utmost seriousness, she grabbed the megaphone and spoke into it dramatically. “I’ll rate this kit a solid 7 out of 10. You lose points for not including a matching outfit for Mr. Bear.”

Tom was sitting in his trailer, taking a quick break from shooting. He stared at his phone, scrolling through his messages, when a random text from Jules popped up.

"Do you think Brazilians eat acai bowls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or is that just a tourist fantasy?"

Tom raised an eyebrow at his phone. He shouldn’t have been surprised, Jules was a master of random questions, but this was a curveball even by her standards.

"Depends. Are you asking because you’re conducting a food study or because you’re about to start an all-acai diet?"

The response came almost immediately.

"Neither. I’m going to Brazil!"

Tom stared at the message, rereading it. Before he could type anything, his phone buzzed with an incoming call from her. He picked up, already suspicious.

“Okay” he said without preamble “you can’t just drop I’m going to Brazil into a text without context. Are you running from Interpol? Blink twice if you need help.”

Jules laughed “Relax. It’s a vacation. Chris and I are going for a week.”

“Chris” Tom repeated, the name tasting sour on his tongue. “So, this is a couple's getaway? Romantic sunsets? Matching swimsuits? Long walks on the beach where you pretend sand isn’t awful?”

“Don’t be so dramatic again” she said, though he could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s just a trip. Chris has been dying to go, and I figured, why not? YOLO.”

“Oh, sure. Why not?” Tom said, leaning into his sarcasm. “Brazil. Home of beaches, soccer, what’s not to love?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll send you a postcard or something. Maybe even a picture of me holding an acai bowl in one hand and a capybara in the other.”

“Great” Tom said, grinning despite himself. “I’ll print it out and put it on my fridge. Right next to the one of you trying to eat a baguette the size of your arm.”

“You're jealous of that baguette because you only managed to eat half of yours and I ate the whole thing. A true master.”

“You weren't laughing two hours later when you almost puked on my jacket.”

She laughed again, softer this time. “Thanks, Tom. I’ll miss our chats while I’m gone.”

He hesitated, just for a beat. “Well, if you get tired of beaches and Chris’s snoring, I’m only a phone call away.”

“I know” she said warmly. “Don’t have too much fun in New York without me, okay?”

“Impossible” he said lightly. “You’re the fun one. I'll probably be crying into my pillow" he said jokingly, realizing that this was probably exactly what would happen. “Just don’t get lost in the rainforest or anything.”

As they said their goodbyes and the call ended, Tom stared at his phone. Brazil, he thought. Chris and Jules, together on sunlit beaches. He let out a breath and muttered to himself, “Yeah, no big deal. Just a tropical paradise with her boyfriend. Cool, cool, cool.” And then, after a pause, he added dryly, “Maybe I’ll just go to Wales. That’s basically the same thing, right?”

Tom paced his trailer, phone in hand, biting his lip as his thoughts spiraled. He couldn’t shake the idea of Jules jetting off to Brazil with Chris, couldn’t ignore the growing knot in his chest. It was getting unbearable. He needed to talk to someone. Anyone.

His first thought was Leo, his closest friend, but that idea was quickly scrapped. Leo, who had flirted with Jules himself not too long ago, was the last person to give him sound advice on this particular matter. No, this called for someone level-headed, someone objective, someone like...

“Cillian, my friend!”

“Tom? What’s this about? I’m in the middle of a press day.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm so sorry” Tom said quickly. He could hear faint murmurs in the background: reporters, camera crews, the hum of a professional actor’s life. “This won’t take long. I just...it’s hypothetical.”

Cillian sighed audibly, and Tom could picture him rubbing his temple. “Hypothetical” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “Go on, then. What’s the great hypothetical crisis?”

Tom cleared his throat. “Right. So let’s say, purely for argument’s sake, that someone thinks they might be… you know… in love with someone else.”

“Hypothetically” Cillian deadpanned.

“Exactly” Tom said, ignoring the sarcasm. “And let’s say this someone is convinced that the other person - hypothetically, of course - doesn’t feel the same way. Would it be better to just… keep it to yourself? Not ruin the friendship, I mean.”

Cillian was silent for a beat, long enough that Tom glanced at his phone to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. Then, Cillian sighed deeply, and Tom could practically hear the eye roll. “Tom, why are you calling me about this? I thought Jules was your personal guru for all things emotionally complicated. Aren’t love life dilemmas her specialty?”

“Yeah, well, that’s not really an option in this particular scenario.”

“Why not?” Cillian asked, his tone sharper now.

“Because it’s her” Tom blurted. “The person I’m talking about is her. I can’t exactly ask Jules for advice about Jules. I can’t go to her and say “Hey, Jules, do you think I’m doing the right thing by not telling you I’m in love with you?”

Cillian groaned audibly, and Tom could hear muffled voices in the background, likely someone signaling that he needed to wrap up his call.

“So, let me get this straight. You called me, mid-press day, to tell me you’re in love with Jules, yes?”

“Yes. I mean - hypothetically!” Tom insisted weakly.

“Tom” Cillian said with all the patience of a man babysitting an overgrown child “if you’re calling me instead of her, I think you’ve already answered your own question.”

Tom slumped back against the couch, rubbing his temples. “So what, you’re saying I should just tell her?”

“I’m saying you should figure out what you’ll regret more.” Cillian said simply. “Living with it, or taking the chance.” Before Tom could respond, Cillian’s voice shifted, distracted. “Listen, I’ve got to get back. If you’ve got more hypotheticals, ask Leo. He lives for this nonsense.”

“Not for this” Tom muttered. But Cillian had already hung up, leaving Tom alone with his thoughts.

A few minutes later, he received a text from Cillian that read:

"If you don’t confess, I’ll text Jules with "Tom has something to tell you 😉." Clock’s ticking."

youtube

#tomhardy #tomhardyfanfiction #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyimagine #tom hardy #tom hardy imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #leonardo dicaprio #friendzone #cillian murphy #Youtube

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corazondebeskar-reads · 1 year ago

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter two

well it's love, make it hurt series

two: watch you hang on every word

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: The Mandalorian teases you on a hunt, and you get your revenge.

Warnings: established d/s relationship but only undertones present here, dirty talk, teasing, bounty hunting, reference to alcohol, mild canon-typical violence, sometimes reader can have a turn being a menace as a treat

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 11: Exhibitionism/Teasing, inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on ao3

3 ABY - Summer

“Got eyes on the quarry yet?” you murmur into your drink, taking a tiny sip to keep up appearances. The cantina is a small, but airy, wooden dome. The heavy tarps had been rolled up to let the breeze through the windows, unfortunately also allowing the swollen afternoon sun to shine in right in your line of sight, unable to see more than black shapes at the entrance.

“No, but I’ve got eyes on something else,” Mando says from on the roof across the path, sniper rifle poised and the sun at his back.

You roll your eyes exaggeratedly, knowing he had a good enough view of your profile to catch the movement.

It was your third day staking out the target's alleged watering hole, and coming back another day would be pushing it. Nobody stayed here for long without a reason, and you were running out of them. It was bad enough that you’d had to actually make notes about the local flora to keep up appearances.

“This is, like, my least sexy disguise,” you say. It was also one of your usuals. Nerds, as it turned out, were on the same page as hunters about practical clothing with plenty of storage. You had the requisites for your cover: binocs, glass tubes, tissue samples from various bushes and sprouts, small clippers, and an assortment of tools for gathering specimen. The less obvious pockets had explosives, a switchblade, smoke grenades, and more.

The rusty orange vest and dark olive shirt hung loose enough around your torso to conceal the blaster tucked into your waistband. A commlink is nestled in the ear facing the wall, behind a curtain of your hair.

“I don’t know,” he muses. “Those shorts are pretty short.”

“What has gotten into you today?” You already know the answer. You don’t fuck on hunts, too wary of getting distracted. But the two bounties before this were on the same planet, and now it’s been over a week since you had touched him. And maybe you had left the fresher door open this morning, hoping he would come in, but he didn’t.

He definitely watched, though.

You, at least, had your drink and your datapad. He had nothing to do but watch, and his mind kept replaying filthy memories from between your thighs.

“Like you aren’t thinking about it too,” he says, voice low and rumbling. “I bet you’re starting to soak through those little shorts.”

You don’t respond, swirling the drink idly in the cup and trying to focus on the botanical database.

“I can see your nipples through your shirt, cyar’ika,” he says. “Is it cold in there?”

“Shut up,” you groan. Every time you responded, you had to take a little sip as a cover. At this rate, you were going to end up actually getting drunk.

“So you’re not thinking about what I’m going to do to you when we get back to the Crest?”

“No, I’m thinking about getting off this damp ass pit of a planet.”

“Hmm. That’s too bad.” He wasn’t actually lingering on you through the scope. He was doing his job, keeping watch, and fastidiously ignoring his half-hard cock. “I was going to help myself to something sweet before we left.”

You cursed through gritted teeth. “Behave,” you hiss.

“That’s my line.”

You could hear the smirk through the crackle of the commlink, so you stretch a hand up to scratch the back of your head, middle finger extended.

He laughs, and even through the double distortion of his helmet and the line, it makes you smile.

“Hey, shit, here—” he cuts off, static buzzing.

Your smile wilts as fast as it had sprouted, but you hold your body in the relaxed slouch over the datapad, still idly twirling the cocktail in one hand and annotating something in meaningless shorthand.

The line clicks twice, and you move to stand. Another being comes around the corner of your booth, and you stumble right into them, knocking the violently green remains of your drink over their tan shawl.

“What the hell?” they begin to unwrap it from their neck.

“I’m so sorry, here; please, let me help,” you tell the tall Pantoran woman. You reach for your little napkin on the table and grab for her shawl with the other, tugging her to you with it. The hand that went for the napkin comes back with a blaster, pressed between her shoulder blades where the shawl hung down.

She freezes.

“C’mon, let’s go,” you murmur in her ear.

She turns her head side to side, looking with pleading eyes to see if any of the other patrons had noticed her predicament. If they do, they know better than to care.

“I can pay.” She still isn’t moving.

You nudge her with the nose of the blaster. “Outside.”

In the alley behind the cantina, Mando leans casually against a wall. He has one leg bent, foot against the wall, arms crossed. “Took you long enough,” he says when you shove the bounty toward him.

She stumbles and screams when she sees him.

You cover her mouth with your hand, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a big, scary Mandalorian. Shut up about it.”

Mando forces her arms behind her back and claps the binders on tight, magnetizing them to the side of a stack of crates.

“What’re you doing?” You try to ask, but he crowds you against the wall in seconds, gloved hands running down your sides.

“Need you,” he huffs.

“Are you kriffing kidding me?” the quarry yells.

Mando puts one hand on the holster facing her, and she falls silent.

“C’mon, baby, please.”

You go to push him off and roll your eyes, but at the last minute, decide to wrap your fingers into the cowl of his cape instead. “You need me now, huh? Got yourself worked up?”

He squeezes your waist in warning, but lets you move him so your positions were switched. Well. He cooperates when you tug on his cowl. You aren’t stupid enough to think you could actually move him when he was in full beskar. He was like a broken repulsortank.

His head falls back against the wall when you sink down to your knees in the filthy alley. The quarry tries very hard to look anywhere else. You palm him through his trousers, and he groans, clenching a gloved hand in your hair.

You nuzzle your face against him, pressing kisses through the fabric. He reaches down to pull his cock out, but you wrap a hand around his wrist and use it to pull yourself to your feet.

“Where’re you going, sweetheart?” He tries to pull you closer, and you duck out of his reach, laughing.

“We’re on a job, Mando, where do you think I’m going?” You call over your shoulder, already walking out of the alley and leaving him to grab the woman.

“Gonna pay for that,” he warn.

You spin around and grin. “No, I’m not. We’re not home, sweetheart.”

You turn and keep going, missing the way he stops for a moment, jerking the bounty in the process.

Home. It rings in his head, ricocheting off the helmet and his boner-addled brain.

“Should have just shot me. Then I wouldn’t have had to see that,” the bounty grumbles.

He snaps, “Shut up,” and gives her a harsh shove forward, following your leisurely path back to the Crest.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x f!reader #dom din djarin #kinktober 2023 #make it hurt verse #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fic

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pisupsala · 2 years ago

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Of All The Stars in The Sky | 7 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 5.7k

Library

Chapter 7 - I’ve Got Sunshine In The Morning

After you hoof it out of Bradley’s room, you feel completely frazzled. You haven’t even stopped to put on your coat, let alone your hat. Technically, you don’t need to, because you don’t need to go outside. You just need to get two buildings over through the maze of servant corridors and side doors. Still. Rooster doesn’t need to know that. No one needs to know that. But you just needed to get out of there.

When you finally slip into your own apartment, breathing heavily and still clutching your coat, through the dark hallway, you tiptoe past Eva’s room, who has taken up residence in the guest room since your parents moved back to their cottage in the countryside out east. Just as you make it around the corner to your own bedroom, you hear Eva’s door open.

“Anya? Is that you?”

You purse your lips and don’t reply from the darkness.

“Fine.” Eva scoffs as she closes her door a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. You’re just really not in the mood to talk right now because you desperately need to think. Something you’re clearly not very capable of in the proximity of those warm chocolate eyes. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shuffle to the privacy of your bedroom.

Getting changed into a nightgown, you cocoon yourself in your cover. You’re mortified. Compatible. With Rooster. Just the memory of the conversation makes you grimace.

He’s probably a little too compatible with everyone.

Everyone but you.

You toss and turn, eyes closed, but sleep won’t come. Fuck. Your brain just won’t stop replaying Rooster laughing at you. God, he must think you’re pathetic. It’s all just a bit of fun, he said—it probably is for him. But you strangely feel like you’ve been kicked in the gut.

Angrily untangling yourself from the sheets on your bed, slip into your warm gown and slippers and quietly make your way into the kitchen. You need something to calm your nerves and clear your head. You have some powdered milk somewhere, and there should be some honey left. It makes it at least somewhat palpable. Gently, you heat water on the stove, stirring in the powder.

Down the hall, you hear Eva’s door open. Bleary-eyed and yawning, she walks into the kitchen, tying her gown. Her hair, almost the same shade as yours, is neatly rolled and pinned. You didn’t bother tonight, simply braiding yours.

“Make me some too, won’t you?” She asks casually, as she fishes her glasses from her pocket.

You nod as you add more water and powder to the small pot on the stove. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“Nah, but I figured this would be the best time to ambush you.” Eva replies with a grin as she slides onto the kitchen table. You chuckle in response. Pouring the hot milk into two mugs, you start scraping some crystallized honey from the jar.

“Don’t we have some honeyed rum left?” Eva asks innocently.

“It’s the middle of the night, and you want rum?” You question, eyebrow raised.

“Well, you look like you could use it more than I do.” She shrugs.

“Please,” You scoff lightly, screwing the top back onto the jar.

“You don’t tell me very many things anymore, Anya,” Eva starts, arms crossed. You shoot her a guilty look. “I’m not guilt-tripping you.” She amends, shrugging lightly. Your ‘extracurricular activities,’ as Eva dubbed them, remain a point of contention between you. “But we’ve been best friends for over a decade, and you honestly look like that time that upperclassman rejected you for the end-of-year ball.”

You open your mouth, offended frown on your face. And then close it again. Eva just cocks an eyebrow at you. “So, get the rum.” She directs you. Eva was in med school before the universities closed. She’s really meant for it, if only for her uncanny ability to pick up on people’s pain—physical or otherwise. And her annoying habit of precisely trying to get to the bottom of everything. She’s as sharp as a whip, and you love that about her. You keep each other on your toes. Eva knows you’re doing… something. Something not strictly legal, something that is possibly connected to the resistance, although you’ve never confirmed it to her. She thinks you’re putting yourself at unnecessary risk. You think it’s your duty to do something, anything, to help, right now. And that’s how you’ve arrived at a stalemate. You simply don’t discuss it, both going to your day jobs as cleaners, Eva diligently studying in her free time, while you trade goods on the black market and forge documents.

It just works.

Throwing up your hands in defeat, you go to retrieve the near-empty bottle from what once was the liquor cabinet in the living room. Adding a healthy pour of the rum to each mug, you hand Eva hers and slip yourself onto the kitchen counter across from her.

“Cheers.” Eva holds up her mug, before taking a careful sip. “So tell me, you got a boy up your bonnet? Finally?” “It’s not a boy.” You roll your eyes in a futile attempt to not have this conversation. And technically it’s not even a lie. Of the many words you could use to describe Rooster, boy definitely doesn’t fit.

“Man, then.” Eva counters, undeterred. Of course.

“It’s nothing.” You shrug dismissively, waving your hand as if to chase away a fly. “It’s just someone I met by chance, and he’s just passing through.” Shaking your head, you blow into your hot milk. “It’s a whole lot of nothing, really.”

“But it’s bugging you.”

“Yes, Eva, it’s bugging me.” You bite out bitterly. “Nothing will ever come of it, and considering everything, it doesn’t even matter.”

“God, everything with you is for flag and country these days, isn’t it?” You shoot Eva an angry look at her exasperated tone. “So dutiful,” She practically scolds you. “Time didn't stop. You are still allowed to do things for yourself, things that you enjoy, you know? That includes the mystery man that’s keeping you awake at night.”

“Bold of you to assume the feeling is mutual.” You don’t want to sound defeatist, but Rooster is only flirting with you for his own entertainment. “He said it himself: it’s just a bit of fun.”

“So? Have fun then.” Eva makes it sound like the most obvious thing in the world, but you almost choke on your milk. Laughing, she gets up from the table and pats your back, and you violently cough.

“It- it’s not that simple.” You choke out.

“It’s only as complicated as you make it, Anya.” Eva tells you kindly. You wrap your arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. You sit together in silence for a while, sipping your milk. You missed Eva. After sharing a desk with her since the first year of high school, you’ve been at odds with each other as much as you were partners in crime. And now, while you work the same job after stopping your studies, you tend to work opposite shifts.

“Aren’t you on the morning shift tomorrow?” You ask suddenly.

“Yeah, but it’s only cleaning, I could do that in my sleep.” Eva snorts. “More pressingly,” Eva picks up your messy braid from your shoulder and pretends to inspect it. “Are you seeing him tomorrow?”

You groan in response, rubbing your eyes tiredly. For a hot second, you forgot about Rooster.

“Get your rollers and pins.” Eva nudges you off the counter. “I’ll make us another drink and fix your hair.”

“It’s two in the morning!” You complain.

“And you used to take better care of your hair.” Eva counters in a mocking sing-song voice. “Now go.”

Shooting her a surly look, you shuffle out of the kitchen sourly. A few minutes later, you are sat in a kitchen chair, with Eva on the table behind you. She’s combing your hair gently. Between the milk, honeyed rum, and the soft scratching of the brush against your scalp, you finally start to relax.

“I needed this.” You sigh. “Thank you.”

“I know you do.” Eva replies levelly. “You’re just not around anymore. Even when you’re here, it’s usually only physically.”

“I know…” You mumble into your mug. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Eva…”

“You’re doing what you think is right, Anya,” Eva tells you coolly. “Don’t apologize for that.”

She sighs.

“I admire you for that.” Her voice is careful, as she fidgets with a roller. “You always stood up for what is right, to a fault. To your own detriment. God, the notes your parents must have gotten from you arguing with teachers. Those detentions you’ve been in.” Eva chuckles fondly at the memory before worry etches her face. “I’m just… I’m just scared that one day you won’t come home.”

You don’t reply, sadly peering into the cloudy liquid in your mug. You can’t lie to her and tell her that won’t ever happen. That you’ll always come home. No matter how much you want to offer your best friend a semblance of comfort, you also know she will not appreciate such a blatant lie from you.

“So all I can do is believe.”

At that, you turn to look at Eva strangely. She has a sad smile on her face.

“All I can do is believe as much in you as much as you seem to believe in yourself whenever you confidently walk out that door to do god knows what.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to shake off unpleasant thoughts. “Trust your gut, Anya. It has gotten you this far.”

“Thank you.” You tell her softly.

“And get that stick out of your ass. Or ask your mystery man for help with that.”

You shoot Eva a sharp look, but she just giggles.

It’s only a little while later when you find yourself back in bed, Eva’s words echo in your head like a mantra before you finally doze off.

Trust your gut.

***

It feels so good to be outside again. It’s cold, but the sun is shining, and Bradley never thought he’d miss the simple pleasure of sunshine and fresh air. He basks in the warm rays of the sun for a moment as you lock the door behind you. This is not the same entrance you took him when you entered the building a month ago, exiting through a pair of massive cherry wood doors flanked by two statues. The building is a cheery pastel green.

When he opens his eyes again, you are standing in front of him, expression soft as you straighten the lapel of his dark coat. This morning, he heard you pad up the stairs bright and early. He was leaning on the ledge of the small window, smoking, as he called for you to come in.

When you came in, you weren’t smiling—he wasn’t expecting you to, really—but Bradley is relieved that you didn’t have that hurt look in your eyes either. If anything, you looked serene. Like overnight, a calm descended on you. You have everything under control.

You are the person who is going to get him out of here.

He wants to apologize for the previous evening—it was clear he needled you a bit too much, and you felt embarrassed. He had wanted to tell you that putting marrying your fake identities was actually clever, but it caught him off guard. And you blurting it out with so little grace or preamble was just genuinely funny.

But you just had to follow it up with that comment about being compatible. It stuck in his brain for the rest of the night. Hell, every time he looks at you now, he can’t help but think of every way of how he could convince you exactly just how compatible you are with him. If only you’d let him.

But he also knows damn well he really shouldn’t be focused on that, when you are the person quite literally keeping him alive. When you are risking your life to keep him alive.

Don’t fuck the hand that feeds you, Bradley scolds himself.

You make it so goddamn hard for him, though. When you touch him, when he manages to coax out a genuine smile from you, it’s like everything around you just melts into the background. And the worst thing is? You seem so completely oblivious to it because you just scoff at him like he’s yanking your chain.

From his spot at the window, he watches you march into the room, duffle bag in hand. You place it at the foot of his bed before you turn to face him.

“Sleep well, Rooster?” Your voice is light, calm.

“I did.” That’s a half-lie. He’s anxious to get out. “You?”

You just nod in response, as you move past him and pluck his mug off the window sill. You are so close, he can smell your soap again. Bradley’s stomach clenches. Under the small brown hat, your luster hair is styled neatly. He wants to run his fingers through it, hold it as he angles your lips against his.

“I’ll get you more coffee?” You ask as you move away from his again, glancing over your shoulder. Bradley nods as he takes a drag from his cigarette. “There are new clothes for you in the bag. Get changed in the meantime.”

And with that you waltz out, closing the door behind you. Bradley listens to your footsteps disappear down the stairs.

Fuck. You are dancing in circles around him, and every time he reaches out for you, you step just beyond his touch.

When you return, Bradley is just zipping up his pants. He hears you coming up the stairs and calls out he’s still getting dressed, but to his surprise you ignore him. Pushing the door open with your shoulder, your gaze lingers on him for a moment too long as he tucks in his undershirt.

“Your coffee.” You announce, holding up his mug before placing it on the table. Again you breeze past him to his spot at the window, where you pluck a cigarette from the carton and light it. Bradley’s gaze follows your trajectory through the room, although you don’t meet his eyes again.

He chuckles softly. So you’re going to play it cool, then?

That’s perfectly fine with him.

He can play it cool just as well.

As he gets dressed, you stare out of the small window, smoking and sipping on your own coffee. Bradley tries catching your eye in the reflection of the window a few times, but you don’t seem to be looking at him at all, rather lost in thought.

When you’re both looking over the map again, your finger drawing out the route you will be taking, pointing out landmarks on the way to help with orientation, your tone is businesslike. You tell him exactly what he needs to know, no more, no less. Your walls are pulled up so high again, Bradley can barely see you.

It’s only now that you are in front of him, on the quiet street, the sun shining on your face, a shadow of a smile passes over your face again. Your fingers latch on the lapel of Bradley’s coat like you’re holding him in place. Your eyes quickly flicker around, checking the street for traffic. When your eyes meet his again, a mischievous grin plays over your face. The exact smile he’s seen on you before when you know damn well you’re not supposed to do something, but you’re practically daring someone to stop you. The sunlight is merrily dancing in your eyes—Bradley swears he can feel his heart do a little jump.

“You look good, Rooster.” You tell him simply, voice soft, petting his chest. He feels prickly heat creeping up his neck—it’s been a long time since anyone has made him blush. And you seem to do it so easily, with just a smile and a few simple words. He wants to say something back, a dozen thoughts flash through his brain about how he could make you blush right back, but he decided against it. You will just sidestep him again, depriving him of that beautiful smile.

So he grins at you, simply offering up his arm. Happily, you loop your arm through his, resting your free hand on his bicep.

Trust your gut, you keep repeating it in your heart. There was no particular reason you told Rooster he looks good—there was really no joke on your part or a power play of some sort—the gray suit just fits him exceptionally well. You have to hand it to yourself, that was a fantastic call on your part. The long black winter coat and hat just finish the picture. So it just felt right to tell him. You’ll take the blush that crept up his skin as an apology for him laughing at you last night.

That said, you are so glad you let Eva fix your hair last night because you would have looked downright frumpy next to Rooster otherwise. You catch a glimpse of your reflection together in a shop window. You do make a handsome couple. Will anyone truly believe you’re married when they see you walking together like that? Are you, yourself, not going to be a dead giveaway that it’s all a ruse? Your heart squeezes at the thought.

Subconsciously, your fingers tighten around Rooster’s arm as you bite your lip. Wordlessly, he covers your hand with this and smiles down at you in response. A kind, fond smile. It feels so genuine, you almost start believing it.

Together you walk around the city like that every other day. A different route every time, exactly like a married couple might go on a quiet stroll together. Rooster plays his role as your not-husband so well, it almost hurts.

When you’re cold, he takes your hand and holds it in his own, slipping them into his pocket. When you’re waiting to cross the road, he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. As you board a tram, his fingers travel down your spine as you walk up the steps, only for his palm to rest on the small of your back.

But you give as good as you get. When you stop at a landmark, so Rooster can look around to orientate himself among the thousand spires of the old city, you wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes, your cheek against his jaw. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pressing you against him, turning in a slow dance. When you need him to notice something, you twirl around him, putting your hand gently on his face, aiming his gaze. Rooster is surprisingly pliable, not flinching when your palm brushes over the freshly forming scars on his face, allowing you to lead and move his much larger frame with ease.

It’s the moments when he holds your gaze slightly longer than is strictly speaking necessary and his touch lingers, you can’t help but think how wonderful it must feel if it were real. How beautiful it must be if he meant every gentle touch, every warm look, every small sweet gesture. Whomever Rooster settles with, will be very lucky indeed. Until then, you are going to enjoy every bit of attention he bestows on you.

With every walk you take, Bradley thinks he gets to know you a little bit more. He feels like he’s learning to read every small expression that plays out on your face, suddenly plain as day to him. The small crease that appears between your eyebrows when you’re focused or worried was one of the first things he noticed about you, but now also sees the way you scrunch your nose up when something bothers you and how you bite your lip lightly when you’re lost in thought. And he now knows which way you’re going just by the way you squeeze his arm. He feels like he’s been let in on a secret. And selfishly, he hopes he’s the only one.

But by far his favorite thing is how more and more unguarded you seem to be when you hold his gaze right back. The youthful softness in your expression, which before seemed fleeting, almost a trick of the light, now lingers. When the heavy burden melts from your shoulders in those moments, Bradley thinks he sees the playfulness and innocence you keep so carefully shielded from everything around you. He likes to think only he can see it.

As you offer him a bite of something that looks like a puffy fried doughnut, powdered sugar raining down on his dark coat, he can see the mirth in your eyes as you brush it off him. The laugh that falls from your lips is clear like a bell, reverberating through his head, almost making him dizzy.

When he wipes his thumb across the corner of your mouth, where a dusting of powdered sugar settled, he half-expects you to avert your eyes and turn away. But you don’t. You hold his gaze almost defiantly, like you’re daring him to finish what he started.

In the end, it’s Bradley that pulls back, heart beating in his throat.

He may have underestimated you. By a lot. But you’ve put yourself forward as such an unassuming figure, quietly moving through the background, it’s easy to forget that you are probably someone who is not afraid to take a risk. You put yourself at risk every single day, after all. For him.

All too soon, heavy winter storms put a temporary stop to your outings. Even the most romantic couple doesn’t go for leisurely strolls in the icy rain. Instead, you spent time together— reading, playing cards or chess, or simply talking. You tell yourself it’s to help Rooster pass the time. But it feels like something has shifted between you, and some tension has ebbed away, creating space for conversation without double meaning or hidden motives.

“Stalingrad held all through the winter,” You read from the headline. “Something, something, heroic sacrifice, strategic regrouping.”

“So the Nazis are retreating on the Eastern Front?” Bradley looks up from the game of solitaire he’s been carding through, sitting across from you at the table in his small room. You scrunch your nose for a moment, as you skim the article further.

“Is that what strategic regrouping means?” You look up at him for a moment, lowering the newspaper.

“Advancing backward works too.” He catches just how your eyes crinkle in a smile before your face disappears behind the paper again.

“Can’t happen fast enough, if you ask me.” You mumble as you leaf through the news. You sit in silence for a while, both focused on your own thing.

“Any news on when the weather will clear up?” Bradley asks suddenly, as he looks over his shoulder, where the rain is beating against the window pane. You shake your head.

“Snow storms from the mountains tend to turn to rain here in the valley,” You reply distractedly as your eyes skim past the national news headlines—railway sabotage in the east of the country has disrupted evacuation trains coming in from the front. What the news doesn’t say, it’s also stopping the transports east. The transports that no one comes back from. Your fingers tighten over the paper. It’s been two years since your neighbors were taken. Their daughter was only a year older than you, and while you weren’t exactly friends, you had known her since childhood. You have no idea what happened to her and her family, but chances are, they aren’t alive anymore. It feels strange, incomprehensible.

“How long does it stay like this?” Bradley’s question pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. You lower the newspaper that you had stopped reading, looking past him at the dark gray sky outside the window.

“‘Till spring, roughly.” You shrug. “Spring can be pretty weird too, though, with sudden torrential rains and storms.” “Is there a nice time to be here?” Bradley asks conversationally, his question only slightly tinged with sarcasm. You ignore the undercurrent in his tone.

“May. That’s when the city is most beautiful.” You reminisce. “It’s sunny and warm, lilacs bloom in all colors, and around the city the cherry and apple trees blossom, and the air smells so sweet, and it’s…” Trailing off, you lean your chin on your hand. And it’s your birthday. But suddenly that feels like it’s too personal to reveal, a little bit too real, and the words die in your throat. You look back at Bradley, who is patiently waiting for you to continue. “…it’s my favorite time of year.” You finish lightly.

“That sounds a lot better than what we have now.” Bradley agrees. “I miss the sun. England has been too rainy and cold for my liking.”

“Even in summer?”

“Especially in summer.” Bradley grins. “I like it when the days are long, and it’s warm. The best feeling in the world is diving in the cool ocean on a hot day.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is. Have you ever been to the ocean?”

You shake your head. “I’ve been to the Black Sea. But I was just a kid back then—all I remember about that is getting sunburned.”

Bradley chuckles, and you can’t help but smile at the miserable memory.

“I’d like to see the ocean once.” You add, almost as an afterthought.

“I’ll gladly take you.” He says it lightly, borderline jokingly, warm smile on his face. Your stomach twists because part of you wishes he would really mean it— but he’s your not-husband, you think bitterly. Enjoy it while it lasts, you remind yourself. Just have fun. But still, your smile falters.

Bradley carefully gauges your reaction—he purposefully didn’t say it too seriously, but you once again stepped out of his reach. Your eyelids flutter, like when you’re about to get angry, but are stopping yourself.

He really just can’t seem to figure you out. Never has he had such trouble getting through to someone. He’s pretty easy-going, he thinks, and most people readily and easily get along with him.

Not you. You throw him one curveball after another.

It’s fascinating to him. He wants to figure you out so badly, but he knows you will make it anything but easy. The challenge makes it all the sweeter.

You sigh, glancing at your wristwatch. “I have to leave for work soon. A game of cards before I go?”

“Sure, but not poker.” Bradley huffs, although he is glad you’re staying a bit longer. But he has already spent too much time trying to figure out your tell, and he should probably be grateful you were not playing for money.

“I’m disappointed, I thought sailors were supposed to be good at card games?” You needle him, folding up your newspaper, face perfectly neutral.

“Not a sailor, doll face.” Bradley knows you hate being called that as much as he hates you calling him a sailor. It’s another fucking curveball.

“You’re in the Navy, I’m from a landlocked country—it’s really all the same to me.” You add dismissively, but the corner of your mouth quirks up in that mischievous smile. “And don’t call me that.” You add a little more sharply, as you always do when he calls you doll face.

“At least ‘doll face’ fits you.” He says it matter-of-factly—to hell with threading lightly.

You purse your lips as you look straight at him, the little crease between your brows again, like you’re thinking.

“Deal the cards, lieutenant.”

***

The moment you walked out of the building, hiding under an umbrella, you feel strange. It’s that uncomfortable pressure in your sternum again, like something is stuck in your windpipe.

Keeping your head down, you walk to the nearest tram stop. Something doesn’t feel right. The anxiety has you on edge.

And soon you find out why.

In the less than twenty minutes that it takes you to get to the Ministry of the Interior for your late shift, you’ve had your documents checked twice. And not in a routine way, either—at a checkpoint by police, for example. No. These were uniformed Gestapo officers flanking both sides of the streets, pulling people out of the crowd at will essentially.

You wonder if they can smell Rooster on you because you get picked out twice.

Of course, your papers are in order. You carry your real papers with you to work, as it is part of your cover of just being a regular citizen going about their day.

But this is bad.

They might be looking for someone—but if they know whom they are looking for, they wouldn’t bother with this public display. No, they would find that person directly. This is a preventative measure. They suspect something is about to happen, so they show up in full force to make sure everyone knows damn well who is in charge, and remind you exactly how unpleasant they will be when they decide you are a suspicious person.

This is rarely as a one-off. They move through the seeming at random for a week or more, raiding houses for good measure, until they are satisfied they have instilled enough fear in the population.

You slip into the ministry through the service entrance, droplets of icy water falling from your coat. Before you can even get your bearings, pulling a handkerchief from your purse to pat your face dry, a colleague comes rushing past unbuttoning her coat already.

“I don’t know what about you, but there is no way I’m staying a second longer than I have to tonight.” She is breathing heavily like she just ran. “Fucking Gestapo everywhere.”

“Yeah, I saw them.” You nod as you speed up after your colleague to hang up your coat and hat. “I hope my floor isn’t too bad, and I can call it an early night.”

“See that you do,” She says as she hangs up her coat and pulls on her apron. “You shouldn’t be out late by yourself on a night like this. I’m calling my husband to pick me up.”

And with that she practically stomps out of the room. You follow suit, your sternum still feeling tight. No matter how unpleasant, the ID checks are not a particular problem for you. However, they pose a massive issue for Rooster.

He can’t go out. His cover is so thin, it would be a stretch to get past a police check. Gestapo is just not going to happen. He’s not going to be able to get across the city right now to the main station, let alone take a train to the engineer. Which means he can’t get to the radio and send his message.

Fuck.

You’ve been dusting the same shelf for two solid minutes now, but your brain is in overdrive. You force yourself to go through the motions. Rooster can’t get to the radio—the risk of getting caught is just too great now. Bringing the radio into the city is not an option either. If found, it exposes the existence of the rest of the network. A single person cannot pull off an operation like that. And just because the Nazi authorities suspect the resistance is still actively trying to establish contact with the Allies, having actual proof will bring down what will most likely be the final blow to the organization.

Suddenly you feel tired. Completely exhausted, you drag your mop across the floor. It was so much easier to do this when there still was a network, and you had people you could rely on to help you. Now it’s just you. You have no way of reaching Emil or Jan, who are god knows where, doing god knows what. They haven’t been in touch with you either. In all the weeks that you’ve been harboring Rooster, the only sign of life from the resistance you’ve gotten was a letter from the engineer’s wife. It was a simple letter, asking you to come by mid-March to help weed the garden and catch up. P.S. Bring a friend.

It says nothing of the radio—and of course it wouldn’t. The engineer and his wife know better than to even allude to it in a letter that is easy to intercept. But the message is clear. You need to bring Rooster to the engineer, so he can transmit his emergency code and let the Allies know he’s still alive.

How the fuck are you going to get that done now?

The longer Rooster stays, the greater a liability he becomes. The longer he is missing, the harder it will become to get him out. Time is of the essence, and you’ve lost enough of it because you need Rooster was so hurt. Walking is non-negotiable in this scenario.

Finally, you make your way down the stairs, your bucket of dirty water still heavy. You haven’t been as thorough as usual, but it hardly matters. You need to get out of here, get some fresh air, and get a grip on your thoughts. Still, you are the last to leave—annoyingly, you can’t be that obvious—even though it’s only by a minute.

Shrugging on your coat, which is still damp, you resolutely leg it past the old night guard. There’s a light waft of alcohol in the air. You bid him good night, as you hurry past.

“I didn’t see you on the schedule for this weekend.” He suddenly states, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“I - I’m traveling.” You reply awkwardly. The knot in your chest feels suffocating now.

“Careful girl, there are emergency rail works this week.” He croaks as he takes a sip from a chipped mug. You narrow your eyes, but default to a neutral expression when the guard looks your way with sharp eyes.

He’s drunk, isn’t he? Rambling. Surely.

“Thank you.” You reply politely. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

And with that you turn on your heel, dashing out the door and into the rain, not wanting to spend another moment in a badly lit hall exchanging cryptic ramblings with a drunk.

You have enough troubles already.

note | I actually wrote up the whole plot this week, because I needed to sort the timeline and all the story beats in a different place than just my head. It clocked in at 3.5k words haha. I'm excited~ hope you are too! edit: for some weird language contamination reason that i didn't catch during editing, i called it 'patience' instead of 'solitaire'. Oops.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc

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justletmewritepls · 2 months ago

Text

Memories (Tokyo Revengers Mikey x Reader)

Chapter 14

The air outside the hospital was crisp, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the parking lot. I clutched the discharge papers tightly in my hand, the doctor’s words replaying over and over in my mind.

"Your panic attack was severe," he had said, his expression kind but serious. "The hyperventilation caused a temporary drop in oxygen levels, which can lead to fainting. You were lucky your friends brought you in when they did."

I had nodded numbly, barely hearing the rest of his advice as he continued: "Avoid triggers if you can, but more importantly, find a healthy outlet for your emotions. Music seems to be a big part of your life—use it. And don’t neglect sleep, hydration, and proper nutrition. We’ve prescribed some medication to help regulate your anxiety, but remember, healing takes time. Don’t rush it."

Healing takes time. Those words felt like they were crushing my chest. How much time had I already wasted running from my past, from the people I once called family?

I exhaled slowly, pulling out my phone as I made my way to the curb. My bandmates’ numbers stared back at me, their names glowing on the screen. Without thinking twice, I started dialing, calling each of them in turn.

"Emergency jam session," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "My place. Now."

### At the Studio

The studio smelled like wood and faintly of coffee, a comforting familiarity that grounded me as I set up my equipment. My bandmates started to arrive, one by one, their concern evident despite my efforts to act fine.

Shindou was the first to show up. His usual grin was nowhere to be found as he stepped inside. "Hey, you okay? You scared us, you know." He brushed a strand of hair back, lingering close like he was afraid I might collapse again.

Bakugo came next, his expression stormy as ever. "You better not push yourself too hard," he muttered. "If you pass out on us again, I’m not carrying you." His words were gruff, but I caught the worry in his eyes.

Yamada arrived not long after, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "You could’ve at least explained what was going on before calling us in like this," he said, his usual bluntness intact.

Finally, Kamado walked in, glancing nervously between everyone before approaching me. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked softly. "I mean, we’re happy to jam, but shouldn’t you be resting?"

I shook my head and set my guitar strap over my shoulder. "I need this. Please, just… trust me."

They exchanged glances, but in the end, they all nodded and started setting up their instruments.

The moment the first chord struck, the tension in the room began to melt away. Music had always been my escape, a place where words didn’t matter and only raw emotion remained.

"We’ll start with something new," I said, strumming a few tentative notes before breaking into a melody that had been stuck in my head for days. "Follow my lead."

My voice cracked slightly as I started to sing la di die. (By Nessa Barret ft Jaden Hossler)

"Does it rain in California?

Only dream I’ve ever known…"

Shindou picked up on the rhythm quickly, adding his own flourishes to the melody. His voice joined mine during the chorus, steady and supportive.

Bakugo followed with sharp, aggressive beats that added depth to the song’s raw energy. Kamado chimed in with soft, almost hesitant notes on the piano, smoothing the edges. Yamada’s deep, steady bass gave the song its heartbeat, grounding everything.

I poured everything into the lyrics, tears threatening to spill as the words scraped against old wounds. When the final notes faded, the room was silent except for my ragged breathing.

"What’s next?" Bakugo asked, his usual irritation softened by something gentler.

I wiped my face quickly and nodded. "11 Minutes." (By Halsey, YUNGBLUD, Travis Baker)

They didn’t ask questions. They just followed as I led them through the haunting, desperate tones of the song. Each note felt like it was peeling back another layer of pain I’d been holding onto for far too long.

By the time we reached the final song, Who Knew, (By P!nk) my voice was breaking, but I didn’t care. The lyrics felt like a letter to the ghosts of my past, to my brother, to Mikey, and maybe even to myself.

"If someone said three years from now,

You’d be long gone…"

Shindou improvised a heartfelt solo midway through, his fingers moving effortlessly as he glanced at me, his concern evident. Bakugo’s beat softened, matching the somber mood, while Kamado added delicate, melancholic chords. Yamada’s steady rhythm never faltered, anchoring me even as my voice cracked on the final line.

When the song ended, the room was silent again, save for my ragged breathing.

"Okay," Kamado began softly, "are you going to tell us what this was really about?"

I hesitated, gripping the neck of my guitar tightly. "There’s… a lot I haven’t told you guys."

Shindou tilted his head, his teasing tone replaced by sincerity. "We’re not going anywhere, you know. Whatever it is, we’ve got you."

I smiled weakly, exhaustion settling in. "I’ll tell you. Just… not yet. For now, I just needed to let it out. And… I needed you all here for that."

They didn’t push further, but their concern lingered in the way they stayed close as I packed up, their silent support reminding me of why they had become my second family.

As everyone left the studio that night, I felt lighter—not entirely healed, but ready to face what lay ahead.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers mikey #mikey x you #mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano

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stillhavetodothat · 2 years ago

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Replaying Nancy Drew without Cheating - Part 11: Secret of the Old Clock

UGHH. I am so torn on how to even discuss this game. Do I absolutely love the 1930s gimmick, to honor the anniversary of the Nancy Drew books? Of course. It is adorable, and it is charming. I recently read the first 4 books of the Nancy Drew series, which was an interesting experience (the narrator never fails to mention how attractive Nancy is, nor how absolutely flawless she is in everything she does), but it does make me appreciate more the fact that HerInteractive decided to make this game. I can now forgive them for creating a hole in the space-time continuum by randomly plopping an 18-year-old Nancy down in 1930 in between two current-day games, which my young mind could neither understand nor accept.

In general, though, this game may be one of my least favorites that I’ve played so far in the Replaying Nancy Drew Without Cheating project. I don’t DISLIKE any Nancy Drew game by any means, but this one had a lot of tedium. I mean a lot. It manages to be an extremely easy game with some of the most frustrating puzzles of any game - I’m thinking mini golf, Jim Archer’s wife’s dress, driving your car and delivering telegrams. By the end, I wasn’t sad for it to be over.

Was I tempted to cheat this game? No, not once. I’m not sure if the games are getting easier as I go on, if my patience is growing in resolve, or if the gameplay is just more linear, or maybe a combination of all three, but it has been a few games since I’ve felt like I needed a hint. This game is perfect if you want to relax, enjoy some bright colors and upbeat vintage music, or think 1930s slang is delightful; ultimately though, it is a bit forgettable.

Here are some of my thoughts:

1. I'll give props to the opening of the game with this cut-scene. You really dive head-first into small town America, nearly a century ago, complete with a fun narration to really get you in the mood. Who is Emily Crandall? Why DID she invite Nancy out to the Lilac Inn? What IS the Lilac Inn? It gets you brimming with questions, and you’re not even out of the car yet.

2. I know this is low-hanging fruit as far as complaints go, and anyone who has played this game has probably mentioned it at one point or another, but the driving interface is a nightmare. I switched between using my keyboard and using my mouse, but each option was equally torturous. My goal this playthrough was to have to deliver as few telegrams as possible, and I still heard “WELCOME TO ZIPPY’S!!” squawked at me over half a dozen times.

3. I really wish the people of Titusville would stop insulting me by acting like they WOULD give me a tip, with some bullshit excuse as to why they can’t. Everyone in that town can suck it as far as I’m concerned.

4. Speaking of the asshole residents of Titusville, by far one of the most irritating parts of the game is that infinitely long quest you’re sent on just to get that stupid trivet (ultimately ended up being necessary, but Christ bro, the fact that I needed to bring 5 toys to Mrs. O’Shea, FREE OF CHARGE, just to get raffle tickets that were already owed to Miss Jakowski, AND THEN MRS. O’SHEA HAD THE GALL TO TELL ME SHE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE TICKETS AND I HAD TO GO PICK THEM UP MYSELF??? My blood was BOILIN).

5. Is this the one and only game with TWO culprits? And are these the two most loathesome culprits in the entire world? In all honesty, I hate Jane mostly because she is absolutely hideous. Her weaponized incompetence grinds my gears, and yes, the fact that she is putting a vulnerable, recently orphaned minor through hell in the hopes of a profit is certainly morally evil, but it’s mostly that face and horrible, bottle-dyed hairstyle (did they have bottle dye in the 1930s?). Richard Topham is just a loon with the stiffest, most awkward posture I’ve ever seen. I can’t stand conversing with either of them.

My god, just look at that face.

6. This is a weird period for the ND characters. I feel like the devs were trying something out here? They are so blurry, their movements so unnatural. I think Her is on the prescipice of improved animation, but they aren’t quite there yet.

7. Puzzles I enjoyed: Bard’s Bounce (taken from some of the earlier games, and I enjoy it every time). The pies (love a good logic puzzle, and those things looked delicious). Using the HAM radio to talk to Josiah’s old radio friends (Josiah seemed like an interesting guy, so I actually enjoyed this aspect of the story-telling).

Puzzles I did not enjoy: Mini-golf (I saw recently somewhere that you should save between each hole you get par on, so that if you fail the next hole you can just open your old save. This is absolutely genius and would have saved me so much heartache. Why is this game so hard? Why is “I hit it too hard” the only thing Nancy knows how to say in this entire segment?). Sewing the dress (this is, first of all, not how sewing works at all). Topham’s idiotic guess-the-card challenge (did I mention how much of an idiot this guy is?).

8. The number of times I had to watch some of these cut-scenes, like the golf ball on the train or the shed’s attic opening up, was excessive. I appreciate the animations, but don’t make me watch it 10 times in a row.

9. I found it absolutely hilarious that at the end of the game, when you’re chasing Jane around town, if you lose her or fail to cut her off at the state line, the newspapers somehow make it your fault. Not hers for committing fraud, or for grand theft, but yours, a random teenager, for not driving like enough of a maniac as you for some reason take law enforcement into your own hands.

I wish I had more positive things to say about this game. It's a nice change of pace, coming on the heels of Curse of Blackmoor Manor. It’s fun. It’s cute. It just isn’t my favorite. Curse of Blackmoor is probably my all-time favorite, and Last Train to Blue Moon Canyon is up there too, so CLK is a bit of a bump in the road for me.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #nancy drew pc games #herinteractive #secret of the old clock #clk

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ear-motif · 2 years ago

Note

11, 21, 26, 31, 42, 47

THANK YOU Q!!!! (here are the questions)

11. Favorite extracurricular activity?

hmm i wasn’t in any of those for very long as a kid but i loved cross country running in middle school and I still need to jog at least once a week or my brain won’t act right. I was horrendous at the sport so I didn’t continue in high school, instead I did guitar and steel drums c:

21. Something you’ve kept since childhood?

My Nintendo DS with the gamecube slot!! I love playing all the pokemon games <3

26. A scenario you’ve replayed multiple times?

Well when I’m running I’ll replay scenes from fics I’m writing/will write ad nauseam, otherwise my brain will replay me in life or death situations imagining that somehow I’ll live 😂

31. What type of music keeps you grounded?

Usually stuff I’ve listened to since I was a kid, like Coheed and Cambria and Vocaloid, but also I listen to those generic upbeat jazz compilations on youtube while I’m working if I’m really anxious 😂

42. An app you use frequently besides this one?

Reddit to read AITA and Discord for fwiends :3

47. The last message you sent?

“Ooh indeed a baby shift!” lol

#asks

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aggressive-almond-cookie · 2 years ago

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I’ve been feeling a little weird lately and seeking comfort, so I decided to go replay splat2′s story mode.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, maybe briefly, but I didn’t play much of splat2 when it was active. I played a little bit of 1 when it came out, enough to fall in love with the concept but also enough to know it was for people much more mechanically skilled than me (a person who favored slow-paced sim games, turn-based RPGs, and point-and-click grindfests). I watched my housemate play 2 a bit but I couldn’t justify the purchase myself for something I figured I would terrible at. (I remember watching them play salmon run, and asking ‘wow, there’s a PvM co-op mode now?’ and thinking for a moment that maybe that would be less intimidating to learn, and then I saw a steel eel for the first time which was HORRIFIC, then watched them get completely swamped with with bosses and wipe, and decided .. no maybe not).

It was Splat3′s testfire, that I just so happened to hear about happening in a friends discord server, that happened to hit me at exactly the right time. I finally had a better job, was well on my way to healing from the trauma of my 11 years of working retail, and going through a bit of an inner renaissance, particularly getting in touch (possibly for the first time as an adult) with the true concept of play, the idea that playing didn’t have to have high stakes, that you don’t play to get a good grade in playing, you can just play to have fun and experience the thrill of intense situations in a setting where no actual danger is present.

I fell in love so quickly. I played the testfire every moment that I could and felt like I was finally, finally getting to enjoy this. In retrospect I was so bad at it-- I could barely swim up walls and I couldn’t even figure out how to use my special for the first several hours of gameplay and after trying out tons of weapons found that I was having the most luck using rollers and running over people (lol). But my skill level, for once, was something I wasn’t giving a single brain cell to worry about. I was just enjoying myself, celebrating every tiny victory and laughing at how many times I would just run off the map because I had so little spatial awareness. I won a 100x, I experienced my first squidparty, I did tricolors on attacking and felt intensely bonded with the random strangers I got partnered with. I was experiencing so many wonderful new things all at once and was absolutely euphoric.

And once the testfire was over, the emptiness it left behind left me so restless I thought I might start climbing walls. So to tide me over between then and release, I borrowed my housemate’s copy of splat2, figuring I could at least attempt story mode and learn the basics.

It was hard. Like really, really hard. I don’t... play these kinds of games. I could barely control where I was walking, I absolutely could not aim, I had zero confidence in jumping and missed even easy jumps routinely. I made it through by sheer stubbornness and force of will, running over and over through the same levels until I got lucky enough to get through them. Many levels I finished with a time of over half an hour, one at least 40 minutes, and that’s after lord knows how many failures. The last two kettles in the last zone nearly broke me. I actually cried tears of relief when I finally finished Platform Madhouse, shaking from the tension of making my final moves with the greatest precision and calculation that my clumsy and inexperienced hands could.

But... I did it, you know? And in doing so, I managed to prove to myself that I could do it-- that these kinds of games actually weren’t impossible for me, and that maybe, maybe I could overcome whatever other challenges awaited me in 3 and beyond, too.

Anyway, that’s way too much backstory to say that going back through the splat2 levels again was something of both a surreal and comforting experience. I went through them all in the span of a day, during a workday even, just playing in short intervals during breaks and lunchtime. Those last two kettles (minus octavio) were still the most difficult, but they didn’t take more than a few tries. It was satisfying to gracefully sail through so many of the levels that I struggled so painfully with less than a year ago. I’d say my confidence in making jumps has absolutely improved the most and is the thing I think has had the greatest impact on my ability to navigate the game-world in general.

I’ve been finally playing octo expansion too. A bit late maybe, but I think I had just really overhyped the difficulty in my mind and intimidated myself out of it. As it turns out, the main story is still very accessible, even to lower skill levels. You don’t have to actually complete most of the levels (or even play them) and even the points you pay to play you can go into debt with, so there’s never any real danger. You can skip levels after failing them enough times, so I think the only way you can actually get stuck might be the final segments. Granted, I’m still putting off going to the P R O M I S E D L A N D until I have a long stretch of time for it (This is the same reason I still haven’t done After Alterna >>.., I just.. don’t have the sheer continuous amount of time to sit down and grind it out. I wish I could save states in these games so I don’t have to lose progress if I need to task-switch), so I might take this back, but so far that’s my impression.

And it’s been really enjoyable. I was happy to find there’s a ‘Who Caused The Big Bang’-style level that takes seconds to complete to make it easy to farm points (I keep wanting to call them power eggs when they’re not, lol). The levels on average are definitely more challenging than Alterna, but there are certainly several that I’d consider less challenging than Those Aren’t Birds and Target Town, and there are even some that Alterna practically made copies of (the one where you cut a shape out of boxes, for example).

That said, there have only been a few levels that I might say I breezed through-- they’re pretty challenging, but they don’t feel un-doable, and it’s so satisfying when you do overcome the challenges. It’s giving me an honest confidence boost to watch myself successfully take out a octosniper (my most feared enemy in my early days) with a charger (probably the weapon class I am weakest in) while balancing on a rotating platform (which were my absolute worst nightmare my first time going through splat2′s story mode). There’s still several levels I have to clear and some I haven’t even unlocked, but since they’re not keeping me from finishing the main storyline, I feel like I can just complete them as I feel up to it and there’s no reason to rush or get frustrated.

I love the levels where you just... play anarchy modes against octolings. Especially the one where you play rainmaker on manta maria-- tetras is a weapon option for that one and it’s quickly becoming one of my comfort levels in addition to just being good practice for firing the rainmaker. And I just love the entire vibe of everything-- much like Alterna there’s so much to see if you stop and look around, so many childhood-items floating in the sky, mixed with the music that gives me those vaporwave-esque feelings of nostalgia mixed with melancholy mixed with a feeling that’s somehow equally comforting and unsettling. And all that woven into these... weirdly juxtaposed grimdark/horror elements expressed with clown-like lightheartedness. It’s just a masterpiece of a setting and I’m so so glad I got the nerve to play this.

Splat2 in general has just been kind of a fun thing to mess around in with friends when we feel like a change of pace. Sometimes we do salmon run which is kind of awful without egg throws or squid-rolls, but we’re so low-rank that it’s still just kind of a chill experience.

I wouldn’t say I’m on a break from Splat3 anarchy because I keep intending to play it, and I know I’ll have fun with it, but then I get set up and sit down to do it and end up playing octo expansion instead. I think I may have low-key intimidated myself out of getting back into anarchy since I fell out of practice when I was out of town again; it feels like it takes me so long to get back into the swing of it and I take my losses a bit harder than I should. I tell myself octo expansion is good practice, and that’s not entirely untrue, but deep down I do know that the only thing that’s going to get me over my hesitance to play anarchy is playing anarchy.

But I guess at least if I’m going to put off addressing something I’m intimidated by, I’m glad I’m doing so by addressing something else I was previously intimidated by.

I’m really looking forward to Side Order now, especially since now I have the confidence that I’ll actually get to enjoy it along with everyone else and not get bogged down or walled off by being unable to complete basic things. I just feel a lot more capable, and it’s nice.

#loooong sorry #this ended up being mostly rambling about octo expansion lol #aiko plays squid games #splatoon

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ilovetheseattlemariners · 2 months ago

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Ok drop me of in a random city i guess

A lot to catch you up on.

I could talk about Toronto right now, but there isn’t really much to say? It happened. I was happy. I wasn’t sober. Like many things I would give a lot to relive it. And like many things it replays in my mind. I want to apply to UofT. I really miss it already.

Currently I’m in fucking Coquitlam, trying to get back to Surrey. My friend told me I’d be getting a ride home, but her friend just dropped me off at like practically terminal station of a completely different line. Meaning I’m going to have to make a transfer and then take a fucking bus. So hooray for that.

Just had a hit with my band. It sucked tbh. Tbh i dont fucking give a fuck at all. Like i played a completely different section over one part. Whatever. I don’t really care about the music at all. And also the pianist touched me really weirdly last night. I kind of hate him. He’s greasy and wears like the same shirt for multiple days. He touched me really weirdly snd then began showing me an 11/8 part on bass like fuck i don’t give a shit about playing 13/8 or whatever the fuck it is this music is shit. And like god why does it need complex nuanced lore. I just wana swing a bit and shit. Lately i’ve just been writing a bunch of charts for some hypothetical like bop quintet. I’d love to gig on some originals. I wrote an original the night i got in cuz i was super motivated and this fuckass pianist was like “cool but we really need to focus on my fucking annoying ass 13/8 phrygian major piece” like okay can you at least pretend like you give a fuck abour my shit. If this gig comes to fruition i will at the very least use that piece.

I dont know thinking about it has me like in a mood now LMAO. Fuck im just so done with this band. It sucks bcuz the cats r cool asf too. This shit is just lame.

I wish i had free time. Im behind on quite a bit. Will probably get in some reading after im done talking to you, since this fucking transit is an hour. Then probably barf a draft of my crwr 205.

Fuck there’s practice tom for this group too. Idk the pianist is rly on my ass ab practicing. I don’t go, and like granted this is my commitment. But idk. I really hate this shit. I can’t even be bothered to care about the music. Whatever.

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lifewithchronicpain · 2 months ago

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Thoroughly enjoying the FF7 replay. It’s been almost 20 years since I first played it and I have forgotten most of the plot, except the big spoiler at the end of disc one of course. But still everything is so familiar and the materia system is easy to remember.

After this I plan replay 10 as it was also about 20 years ago when I played that and then I want to try 10-2 as well. I figure after that I can try either 6 or 12. 12 I played a little but didn’t finish for whatever reason. Now that I’m looking for new games to play I might as well try again. And 6 is one I’ve always been curious about. 8 is one I already have in disc form but I’ve tried to play it twice and I hate the battle system. I’m not supposed to level up? I just can’t with that.

I also have 15 on disc and I need to give it another go at some point. It’s not like it’s going anywhere. At least I know now I can buy all these games on the ps4, I still have my ps2 but it’s broken now. I keep it for sentimental reasons. I can’t afford a new one so downloading games it is.

I have never been into mmo’s so that leaves out 11 and 14 but I guess I should check out 13 at some point.

My absolute favorite time to game is the holiday season. I don’t know why, every Christmas I get an itch. Maybe because I got my first console, a ps2, for Christmas of ‘03 (and my aunt unwittingly bought my favorite game for it, FF9) so I guess Christmas just brings back that feeling of gaming on the christmas holiday. So going through the FF’s I haven’t played or played once so long ago is perfect way to spend the last two months of the year. C:

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racingliners · 2 years ago

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F1 Re-Watch 2013: Round 6 - Monaco

Alrighty! Ticking another race off the re-watch list before we go away (and before I completely forget about this re-watch project being a thing).

According to the list I made to keep track of my watch through, this is the third last race I haven’t seen anything from, though Monaco being the procession it normally is most years idk if that’ll mean much. This was the first of Rosberg’s 3 Monaco GP wins, and I think there’s some late race chaos but apart from that I’m going into this completely blind, so let’s jump in!

ngl I go miss the pre-race graphic that had the world map before zooming in on the host race du jour, as I geography nerd I really enjoyed it

Okay, starting grid whiplash:

A Merc front row before it was cool (Rosberg pole, Lewis P2); Seb P3; Jenson P9, Jev P10.

Honestly, not that whiplash inducing, the beloveds have not been screwed over for once

Helmet watch: Lewis’ rainbow helmet visor is still the prettiest thing ever

Also it is so weird seeing all the Merc guys in white overalls, even though we haven’t had the all-black look for that long I’m astounded as to how quickly I’ve gotten used to it dsvhdfvhd

Also also: this race happened in the mist of some classic off-grid drama (Merc had a non-sanctioned tyre test with Pirelli after the Spanish GP, no one was happy about it bc in-season testing was banned at this point in time, mouthing off with and in the press ensued)

Not that has anything to do with the race action, I just find it funny

[Formation Lap]: All but 4 cars starting on the super softs, though back in 2013 all the cars in the Top 10 had to start the race on the tyres they ran in Q3, unlike the free choice they have now

“I think Raikkonen’s got a great chance of winning this race” Brundle he’s down in 5th find some sense

(the things I endure for this)

[Start/Lap 1]: Juuuuuust about all clean into turn 1, Lewis and Seb were VERY racy

oh maybe not all clean there’s a yellow flag

OH SHIT one of the Caterhams just lost it’s front wing

oh god more McLaren on McLaren violence

[Lap 2]: Seb is still harassing Lewis, brat Seb be bratting

and they’re still at it into the swimming pool

[Lap 3]: Meanwhile Rosberg has a 1.4 second lead

I love how unstressed I am about Lewis v Seb, it’s always so spicy but such good racing

meanwhile Jenson has been complaining about Perez being too aggressive, make of that what you will

and another yellow flag somewhere

[Lap 4]: oh the shot of the cars going through swimming pool is 👌

(I am occasionally a Monaco apologist, it’s v pretty)

[Lap 6]: Okay the race has calmed down 😅

Classic precession time, everyone will be trying to stay close to the car in front in the hope of jumping them at the pit stops

5 and a half seconds covering the top 6, which somewhat proves my point

oh jeez the McLaren violence replay, can we not race each other into the chicanes lads?! 😵‍💫

[Lap 9]: aaaand there’s the second Caterham on fire, right at the pit lane entry too

Caterham’s not good, very bad Monaco GP

oh the smoke is blowing across the track, excellent

man how did F1 manage before the Virtual Safety Car, bc it’s just a yellow flag rn

though maybe I think it should be full SC

there is a very large group of marshals pushing the car back into the pits like 😳

well that was mildly terrifying

[Lap 11]: Jenson potentially chasing down Fernando 🍿

2000s F1 intensifies

[Lap 12]: Di Resta fastest lap????

Okay so bc the Mercs aren’t pulling away from the rest of the field as quickly as everyone expected, it’s apparently forcing the rest of the grid into a one stop bc of how small the gaps are between everyone

(or at least that’s how I’m interpreting what Crofty and Brundle are saying, either I’m dumb or they’re dumb one of the two)

[Lap 16]: Jenson is still reasonably close to Fernando, but maybe not quite close enough to get the pass done on track

[Lap 17]: cut to the Merc garage prepping tyres 👀

[Lap 19]: Livery watch: as much as I am a black Merc stan, the old silver livery does look very pretty in the sunshine

[Lap 21]: somewhat related it is SO STRANGE being on board with Lewis and not seeing the number 44.

Like 10 is Gasly’s number to me, I am getting whiplash asfuhasufh

(2013 was the last season before drivers got to pick driver numbers, before then car numbers were assigned based on where a team finished in the constructors. For example Merc had 9 and 10 for finishing 5th in 2012)

[Lap 23]: and we have out first proper pitstop folks!! It’s Danny Ric, who swapped his softs for super softs, which doesn’t make much sense

And Bottas pits too

...and he’s still in the pits. I fear the graphic is stuck

[Lap 24]: Yeah I think the graphic is borked Val is still being shown as being in the pits

“target minus 1.6 on your dash” Bono I don’t think Lewis has actual rocket fuel in his car please be serious

[Lap 26]: And Webber pits for softs!

sounds like a pit stop shuffle is incoming since the Mercs were given the hurry up

will they double stack? or will they pit on sequential laps?

Meanwhile Di Resta did a pretty decent pass on Massa into Saint Devote

[Lap 27]: And Raikkonen pits, as does Jenson

Disco music ensues for the pit stop shuffle

And a wild Dan fastest lap just for funsies

[Lap 28]: Still not Merc stops

the hilarity of the entire grid pitting to for Mercedes’ hand and them going ‘lol no we’re better than falling for your mind games’

(Merc have always been the funniest team on the gird)

[Lap 29]: Still no pit stop for the Mercs as Alonso pits

Just Seb and Perez still to pit in the top 10 alongside the Mercs

oh add Sutil and Jev to that list, thank you pit stop graphic

[Lap 30]: ah shit Massa’s car is sideways in the barriers at turn 1, he’s out the car thank goodness

not a very nice crash though

[Lap 31]: Seb pits

and unsurprisingly, Safety Car to clean up Massa’s car

[Lap 32]: And Rosberg finally pits

as does Lewis, the famous Merc double stack will always be famous

But as a result Lewis is behind the two Red Bulls, while Rosberg retains the lead

[Lap 33]: And a wild Daft Punk sighting... because Monaco

Man this race really had been more eventful when Monaco’s usual standards considering it’s bone dry and bright sunshine

“Fourth Monaco Grand Prix in a row to feature the safety car” and absolutely no one is surprised

I am not going to comment on the ‘lapped cars may now overtake graphic’ other than the fact it required a warning.

[Lap 36]: Anyway apparently a seized gearbox caused the fire on Pic’s car, not a fun fact

[Lap 37]: Oh Rosberg’s engineer coming in with some proper tyre stats (60% remaining on the rears and 50 odd on the front, if you’re wondering)

[Lap 38]: and SC in this lap!

we’ll also be getting back under way at half distance

[Lap 39]: green flag!

oof Rosberg shot off at the restart, that’s already a 9 tenths gap to Seb in P2

Lewis trying to get past Webber

[Lap 40]: and again Lewis having a peek into tabac but nothing comes from it

AHHHH HE TRIES IT INTO RASCASSE

sorry for the caps lock it was either that or me yelling aloud at 11:07pm

[Lap 41]: He didn’t get the move done, but it was v racy

Lewis Hamilton, keeping races entertaining since 2007

Meanwhile Jenson is chasing Fernando who’s chasing Raikkonen

WDC on WDC fisticuffs

and Perez gets past Jenson into the nouvelle chicane!

(entertaining racing??? in Monaco??? I LOVE IT)

[Lap 44]: daaaaamn, Perez is not messing about, he tried a divebomb on Fernando

[Lap 46]: yellow flags again...

oh jeez, Maldonado in the barriers (he’s fine) but the impact pulled the tecpro barriers into the track.

so a red flag

my goodness has this race been eventful

and cut to all the mechanics and engineers running down the pitlane to get back onto the grid

ohhhhh yeah people can change their tyres on the grid under a red flag. inch resting.

zdvuhdfuvhdf Ted cornering Horner in the pits for a quick quote, I adore his tenacity

so with some very rough maths there’s 33 laps to go, assuming the race ran to full distance, so it would absolutely make sense to change tyres here.

(look at me trying to be Ted)

Speaking of Ted, he’s playing team boss bingo. He’s added Toto Wolff and Martin Whitmarsh to his red flag interview list.

And in breaking news apparently Alonso has to give Perez P6 for going off track.

And Ted’s now chatting to Claire Williams. Just one more for team boss bingo.

(Also I miss Claire SO MUCH the paddock has way less braincells without her)

[Lap 47]: and looks like the race is getting back underway!

(less red flag chatter bc it’s just hit midnight and I need to get better at timing these re-watches)

Raikkonen & Hulkenberg on the softs, everyone else re-starting back on the supers

And Alonso did give Perez P6 under the SC.

Safety Car pulling in and the camera once again followed it instead of the lead car

[Lap 48]: Anyway, green flag!

thankfully all clear through Sant Devote

Lewis once again resuming to chance down Webber

[Lap 49]: While Alonso is trying to get P6 back from Perez

[Lap 50]: Rosberg already 1.2 seconds ahead of Seb

and DRS re-enabled

Lewis is SO CLOSE to the back of Mark

and he once again tries into Rascasse but nothing comes from it

[Lap 51]: once again the shot of all the cars running through swimming pool is sexy

[Lap 52]: oh damn Raikkonen and Perez fisticuffs now, once again at the nouvelle chicane, both of them went wide

[Lap 55]: Lewis being told to mind to tyres so he has some grip left at the end of the race

[Lap 56]: idk what Rosberg is running on but he’s 2.7 seconds ahead of Seb now

Monaco Man is Monaco Manning

[Lap 57]: Not Sutil going down the inside of Fernando at the hairpin and making it stick 👏

Team Silverstone be Team Silverstoneing 💚

This house will always be pro-midfield

[Lap 60]: not more double yellows at sector one 😭

fellas please I can only take so much

One of the Marussia’s in the barriers :(

(driver’s fine)

[Lap 62]: Gap between Rosberg and Seb now 3.7 seconds

[Lap 63]: Grosjean rear-ending Dan at the Nouvelle chicane and nearly going over the back of the Toro Rosso... CAN WE NOT

SC back out for the carbon fibre confetti

This is turning out to be a poor choice of late night viewing my blood pressure is likely not having a fun time

I swear the only thing missing from this race is rain, and I’m very glad it never happened

[Lap 65]: So we’re past the 2hr mark, but the race is still going somehow

idk my understanding of time limits is very foggy at this point, the incidents combined with it being half past midnight had left my brain mush

oh jeez the bird on the apex of the nouvelle chicane, v pretty slow mo shot of it flying away though

[Lap 66]: SC in at the end of the lap

aka ah shit here we go again

(Raikkonen’s engine is losing water bc it’s too hot so that’s fun)

[Lap 67]: green flag!

and again all clear through turn 1

[Lap 69]: nice

(sorry my filter goes out the wayer after midngith)

ANYWAY Jev is still holding onto P10 🤞

I also forgot to mention is lovely Francois Cevert tribute helmet, you can find the pics in my ‘monaco grand prix 2013′ tag

but back to racing, the fisticuffs between Raikkonen and Perez got upgraded to violence.

Perez tried it down the inside and got pinched as Raikkonen turned in for the chicane and bits of carbon fibre went flying

[Lap 70]: And Raikkonen has a puncture

[Lap 71]: And Jenson gets past Fernando!!

✨F1 drama✨

oh the replay of Jenson getting past Fernando through Anthony Noghes 👌

[Lap 73]: the incidents don’t stop coming, Perez just shot over the nouvelle chicane

ah he’s pulling off, might be a brake failure

[Lap 74]: But that promotes Sutil to fifth, Team Silverstone truly living their best lives

[Lap 75]: 4 laps remaining klaxon

and jeez a 4.4 second gap between Rosberg and Seb

well we know which Merc was filled with rocket fuel

[Lap 77]: wild that with all the chaos of the race, Rosberg has still led every lap of the race

big ‘call an ambulance but not for me’ energy

[Lap 78]: Final lap!!

vhfduvhs Seb going 1:16.5 and getting fastest lap

bestie we needed that energy five laps ago

“Sebastian you know the score, don’t take any more risks” Rocky is not amused

[Finish]: and Monaco Man wins the Monaco GP!!

Seb P2, Webber P3, Lewis P4, Sutil P5, Jenson P6, Alonso P7, Jev P8, Di Resta P9 and Raikkonen P10.

Whew, I am Niki Lauda looking around dazed and he is me. That race was EVENTFUL. Like so eventful I’m glad I’m going straight to bed after this. Though in classic Monaco fashion is was more incident central as opposed to lots of racing, but gosh so much happened we really do not have time to unpack all of the that. What a race 😵‍💫

Next up - Canada!

#F1 Re Watch #F1 2013 Re watch #F1 Liveblog #monaco gp 2013

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yuki-the-gatekeepy · 2 years ago

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I don’t know if this blog is still active but I’ve been identifying as a lesbian for 6 years with no issues and full confidence. Yet I suddenly remembered that when I was 9 and 11 I liked two male actors. One of them, I liked the superhero he played, and in the movie all the women act like he’s so attractive for being well build, so maybe I thought his build was good looking because the women in the movie said so, rather than I was attracted to him? I don’t think I was attracted to him. Never had any romantic fantasies about the actor then and never thought about him sexually since. Later I made new friends who liked him too and I was just mimicking their talking points about him, and sure I thought he was good looking, but I never thought of him romantically let alone sexually. For the one I liked when I was 9, his character was also very compelling in the movie, and I thought the romance he had with the female character I liked in the movie was tragic and compelling too. Maybe because I liked the female character, that’s why I liked him and thought he was good looking, but again I never thought of this character romantically or sexually outside of replaying the scenes he had with my favourite female character in my head. Did I want to be her or did I just find the romance compelling? If I wanted to be her, does that mean I wanted that? Do I secretly want that now? I don’t want it now, but did I want it then? Did I just want to be the female heroine and so I felt that I wanted that? Remembering these two things has caused me to think maybe I gaslighted myself into thinking this was nothing when maybe it was. But I’m not attracted to these men at all when I look at them now. Yet I don’t believe sexuality can change over time I believe it is from birth an innate, but what if I gaslighted myself and I was attracted to them as a child even if I’m not now. Am I overthinking? Since you’re the gatekeeper maybe you can help me🤧

I mean I had little small crushes on fictional males but it was only because I thought he was a female lol. When I'd realized he's male, I was not happy about that to say the least.

I remember imagining myself in male Roles to have a normal chance to have the female characters fall in love with me. I'm sure I also wished I was a boy because of the homophobia and misogyny I'd faced.

I'm not the best with this kind of advice, but the fact that you came to me makes me feel happy. You seemed like you tried to make yourself attracted to one thing but clearly you like women.

Second part coming.

#lesbian supreme #answering the stuff

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blazenka · 2 years ago

Text

Forthcoming

Returning to Mystic Falls for a visit, Elena awakes to find she's been sent unwillingly into the past. Not only does she have to avoid changing past events; she must also deal with a cold and detached Damon who is the only one who knows she's there.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7073903/1/Forthcoming

Chapters: 17

Published: June 12, 2011 - December 31, 2011

Words: 41434

Rated: Fiction M - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Supernatural - Characters: Elena G., Damon S. - Reviews: 117 - Favs: 132 - Follows: 95

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Chapter 8

a.n.: This chapter is set during episodes "There Goes the Neighborhood" and "Let the Right One In".

~Ѱ~

Hours later, Elena once again exhausted herself writing and had fallen asleep with the tablet of paper resting against her chest like her journal use to do. Though she had stopped writing about the events she once went through, her mind still continued to replay the memories while she slept:

Jeremy tried to keep a blank face as he faced Anna at the site of the sacrifice. "You don't have to do this…" he mumbled once again, hoping to speak low enough so Bonnie nor anyone else could hear.

" Jer, you know it's for the best," Anna smiled as she stepped back to stand in the center circle.

" But it's not fair to you, Anna…"

" Jer, it wasn't fair the first time I died either. I've been able to say good bye and forgive people this time around. I feel, strangely enough, at peace. Besides, if my "death" for the third time can be for something… mean something. Jeremy, I want to do this… for you and Elena… and Ric."

Jeremy quickly embraced Anna for one last goodbye before taking a step back to get one last look of his ex girlfriend. He didn't want to say good bye all over again but he knew she had a point. Last time she died had been violent and just tragic- for so many people. That night a lot of people lost their lives, he almost did as well if it hadn't been for her.

Granted, he was glad he was saying good bye to Anna this way versus how Vicky decided to go out - being staked once again after trying to kill Jeremy (once again) for moving on to 'some witch' as she had put it. This way they were able to say some last words, achieving the feeling of finally moving on, of finding peace. Something Jeremy knew not many people could experience.

At least Vicky was able to say good bye and resolve some things with her brother, Matt and her ex, Tyler before she passed away again. Even though she made it clear she wasn't happy both had a thing for Caroline - for some reason she had something against Elena's trio of friends.

Anna gave a sad smile and a short nod to Jeremy before motioning him to join Bonnie and everyone else there. Once Jeremy stood beside her, Bonnie opened her grimoire to begin her chanting but not before she glanced up at Anna for an extended moment.

" Yes, Bonnie, I'm sure about this." Anna answered her assumed question, smiling at the woman she deemed was good for Jeremy to have in his life, even if she was a little bit older. Anna wanted to laugh - maybe his next girlfriend, if he got another one, would be his own age. However, Anna hoped Bonnie would be in his life for a good long while.

Bonnie nodded before she added, "Thank you for helping us with Klaus and everything, and thank you for doing this."

Anna glanced around the group, trying to give a reassuring smile to a solemn Ric and Damon and a teary eyed Elena.

" You're welcome," Anna simply said before she closed her eyes and Bonnie began to cast the spell.

It took Jenna a couple months to recuperate and finally come to terms what happened to her a year ago. It didn't help relationships she had with Elena, Jeremy and especially Alaric were strained and possibly even shattered before her death. So many lies and deceit had been exposed before her demise and Jenna was not sure how she was suppose to feel about that.

At first Jenna only warmed up to Elena and Jeremy, the only family she felt she had. She didn't feel safe around Ric considering a majority of the aspects of their relationship was built up on lies. Yet, he never stopped coming by to help out in any way he could.

Eventually though, Jenna realized the most important part of their relationship was truth. It was the whole reason she forgave him right before she died. The fear of that death though had kept her paralyzed for those couple of awkward months, but Alaric never left her once, especially when she couldn't stand to be alone.

One particular night after Elena and Jeremy supposedly went to bed, Jenna and Alaric stayed up talking in the kitchen with a bottle of wine.

" Thank you for looking out for them again." Elena and Jeremy overheard Jenna tell Ric for the millionth time since she came back.

" Jenna, I told you - There was no way I would have let Elena and Jeremy be by themselves in this house… Besides, they helped me get through… everything too… and it was for a little while," Ric informed her, smirking awkwardly as he tried to make the last year seem like no big deal.

" Ric… it couldn't have been easy for you… after everything," Jenna admitted, referring not to not only to her death but also the permanent death of his "late" wife.

" It wasn't… but I dealt with it. We all had to. Elena and Jeremy are really brave and tough kids… young adults. As much as I look out for them, they were here to support me too," Ric admitted with a weak smile - this wasn't exactly a conversation he was looking forward to.

" Ric," she couldn't help the wave of emotions flooding through her as she looked at the man she could feel nothing but love towards him- even after the reveal of some of the lies and secrets he had hidden from her.

" You know even though I've been able to deal with all of this, it's ridiculous but… since you've been… gone… ," Ric paused to take a deep breath, keeping Jenna waiting a moment for him to finish.

Ric smiled, sparing a slight laugh, before he managed to finish, "I haven't been able to look at a single carton of Ben & Jerry's the same way."

Immediately, Jenna burst out laughing like Ric wanted - to see that smile and the certain twinkle in her eyes once again.

" Ric," Jenna finally managed to get out as she wiped her tears away.

" I know it' silly but it's true," Ric admitted, before cupping her cheek in his shaking hands, "And I can never be sorry enough for everything that's happened."

" Ric, it's not your fault," she replied as she stroked his hands - her eyes never leaving his.

" I know but…"

"Marry me," Jenna was quick to cut him off with her own confession… or rather, demand.

Alaric was taken back to a moment. His eyes going wide as he swore he didn't hear her right, "What? Jenna…"

" Ask me to marry you, Ric. Please. Just ask… I mean, if you want to."

Ric could only smile as she cast her eyes down to the ground - acting as shy as a high school teenager. He didn't need to be told twice as he got onto one knee and held her hands in his own.

" Jenna Sommers… We've been through a lot and… would you do me the honor of marrying me… being my wife?"

New tears formed in her eyes as Jenna beamed a bright smile, "Yes… yes, I would."

As the couple embraced, the two siblings couldn't hide their presence any longer. Elena and Jeremy hurried down the stairs to hug their aunt and soon… their new uncle.

It was rare to have such a wonderful, heartwarming moment in those brutal years. Even though it was a memory Elena could smile fondly at it, the dark moments of her life never seemed far from thought.

The unnecessary deaths… the lives lost… the close calls… the pain suffered through it all…

Elena woke with a start, eyes wide with uncertainty as the dreams slowly faded from the forefront of her mind. Only resulting turmoil of emotions remained, making Elena a little apprehensive about eating anything the way her stomach tightened with senseless fear.

She felt the best idea at that moment would be a walk around the grounds of the bed and breakfast. The rain seemed to have let up for a moment in the early morning but Elena put on her jacket all the same.

The grounds weren't large or extravagant like the boarding house but there was room for Elena to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. She made her way towards the tree line of the property and just followed it, loosing herself in thoughts and memories.

Without warning, a hand struck out and wrapped its fingers around Elena's arm. Instinctively, Elena tried to pry the hand away before the owner stepped out from the shadows of the woods.

"Katherine," the man whispered as he grabbed Elena by both her shoulders to look her fully in the eye.

Elena wanted to faint, how she could have been so naïve to forget about the tomb vampires roaming around. Just yesterday, one of them would have mistaken her younger self for Katherine as well.

"I think… you're confusing me for someone else…" she managed to get out, hoping that would work as the skies darkened and the rain began to fall.

"No, you are Katherine. Despite the modern clothes and hair, you look exactly as you did all those years ago," the man informed her, tightening his grasp.

"Please… just let me go."

"Not until you explain…"

"I can't…"

"Then you shall pay for what you did along with your precious Salvatore brothers…"

Elena fought desperately against her assailant as he tried dragging her into the shadows of the forest.

"Hey, You!" An elderly woman's voice called out to the pair, shining a bright light into the man's eyes.

Elena took that moment to push him away from her and herself out of his grasp. She made a mad sprint towards the bed and breakfast owner before rushing through the door.

"Hurry… please shut the door!"

Luckily, the owner followed her request and closed the door as she re-entered the house, "Are you alright dear? Who was that man?"

Elena didn't answer; all she could do was hold onto the door's handle tightly as she scanned the yard and surrounding woods.

Damon grabbed his jacket, slamming the door to the boarding house before getting into his Camaro and driving off.

"I make her cranky? God, really? Hate to see what would happen if I actually managed upset her or even make her angry," Damon growled as he made his way to the bed and breakfast.

"No consideration for my feelings… no matter that I saved Stefan's life or how many times I've saved her life. What does she expect? I'm a vampire," he growled as he threw the car's gear shift into park.

"How do we ever manage to get together? That girl must live in some weird alternate reality," he muttered while slamming the door, heading up to the house as he thought about the 'other' Elena.

He knew he should apologize to her since she had warned him the tomb vampires attacking. Of course, he had every intention of doing so as long as his egotistical, self serving psychopathic mouth could keep shut.

Damon was just making his way across the lawn, reading himself to jump to her window until the owner ran towards him while a grim expression took over the old woman's face.

"There you are, thank God. I had no idea how to get in touch with you and…" she began to babble before Damon cut her off.

"What happened?" Damon bit out his words as he tried not to think of the worse that could have happened to Elena.

"She's alright, son - so don't threat; she's just shaken up. She was taking a walk and she ran into someone who upset her. Can you please come in and calm her down? I'm afraid nothing I have tried has worked so far…" The woman did her best to explain as she led Damon into the house.

Elena was curled up on the couch, clothes were dry and clean but hair was mangled and wet. Her dark head was buried in her arms a top her knees as she stayed silent and unmoving.

"Elena?" Damon was unsure how to approach her, the way she was then made him feel worse than last night when she was thrashing around in the arm chair.

Elena popped her head up with relief evident on her face at Damon's voice.

Damon slowly approached her before taking her into his arms, "Hey, It's okay - I'm here now."

Elena just nodded before she whispered in his ear, "A tomb vampire was here… he thought I was Katherine."

Damon eyes widened in understanding as he wrapped his coat around her before turning to the owner, his eyes dilating, "I think it might be best if she stays with me for a while. We are just going to get some of her things, alright?"

The elderly woman just nodded blankly before she left the two alone once again. Damon was quick as he urged Elena up the stairs to pack a few of her new clothes before leading her into his car.

"Can you tell me exactly what happened?" he asked as he began to drive to the boarding house.

Elena just shook her head as she stared through the window to the rain outside. Damon looked at her for a moment before he sighed, turning his attention back to the road. In a short while, Damon pulled into the driveway, got Elena's things and led her into the house.

"I went for a walk," she began once he settled her in his room, "I… just wanted to clear my head and he came out and grabbed me. He kept insisting I was Katherine… I was so stupid…"

Damon just watched her as she stared at her lap, "Elena… I should…"

"Is the other Elena, my past self, is she safe?"

"Yea, Stefan should be with her."

Elena just nodded as she stared at the windows before she frowned, "Wait… Are you sure he's with her?"

"Yea…" Damon just rolled his eyes, "I'm positive those two kids are just fine."

"Please… call him… or her. Please Damon?"

Damon wanted to gag at her pleading but how could he say no to that face? How could he ever say no to Elena? So Damon called his brother only to have it go straight to voice mail and then called Elena only to have her ignore his calls.

"I'm sure they're just spending some… quality time together," Damon just shrugged it off as he went for his liquor cabinet.

"Damon… I know you don't one hundred percent believe me but I think… actually, I'm certain Stefan is in trouble. You have to go get him," Elena pleaded, a flood of emotions returning to the sound of her voice.

"Elena…" he whined as he doubt his brother would be the one in trouble, then again - Elena had been right about Katherine.

"That guy… who attacked you guys with the woman Stefan killed - he grabbed Stefan in the woods and took him to a house on the out skirts of town."

"Okay, just tell me where it is and I'll go get him," Damon suggested, even if Stefan was in trouble, it should be easy enough to get him back.

Yet, Elena just shook her head, "No, you'll need Mr. Saltzman to help you."

"The history teacher, really Elena?"

"Please, Damon - you're wasting time!" she yelled in frustration as she practically pushed him through the front door.

"Elena, even as much as I love to see how much you obviously still care for my brother despite what you've said," Damon remarked before turning to face her - not missing the visible flinch at his suggestion, "I just can't leave you after everything you've been through."

"Damon, trust me, I'll be fine. I've been through much worst," she informed her, trying not to think about the last part.

Damon took a moment to study her before agreeing, "Alright, I'll go check Elena… present/ not you Elena before checking the so-called house, okay?"

Elena spared him a smile, "And don't forget, you'll need Alaric's help. He'll have vampire hunting tools you can use."

Damon just rolled his eyes stating, "We'll just see about that," before grabbing his jacket, smirking at her once more before he left.

Elena waited to hear the Camero make its way out the drive before heading back upstairs to his room.

The large bedroom didn't encourage many memories, most of those were made in her room or his apartment but it reminded her of Damon, and that alone seemed to offer a strange comfort.

Elena decided to settle on the bed, once again drawing out the tablet of paper filled with the now uncertain future. Hopefully her being there hadn't changed too much and Stefan would still be alive when Damon arrived with Alaric to save him.

2014

"That's great, but when can you perform it?" Damon asked Bonnie anxiously, hope clear in his eyes. It made the guilt Bonnie was feeling so much worse.

"Tomorrow, at the earliest but definitely by the next day. Hopefully, I'll have enough strength by then and the time where Elena is pinned down."

"That's awesome, Bon," Jeremy smiled at her, gently rubbing her shoulders with encouragement and love.

"It still leaves some details and issues to be sorted out. What Bonnie is going to do is only the first half," Katherine stated bluntly.

"But it is a start," Stefan corrected her before kissing the top of her head, "And it's all thanks to you."

"Oh, please, don't remind me," she scoffed before downing some more wine.

"It's getting late, so how about we regroup tomorrow morning so we're… er, the human at least, are well rested," Ric suggested as he took in the slumbering Jenna on the couch.

Damon nodded as everyone said their goodbyes before Damon headed to his car. He stopped short before he turned to his brother and Katherine, "Where are you two staying?"

Stefan just shrugged before he rubbed the bad of his neck with his attention to the ground, "We were going to stay at a hotel…."

"Stefan," Damon sighed, making Stefan look back up.

"The boarding house is as much as it yours as it is mine. You two are staying there so get in," Damon motioned him before he got behind the driver's seat.

"Oh, so I'm an actual guest this time around," Katherine mused as she climbed into the back seat after Stefan.

Damon just growled as he glared at her through the rear-view mirror, "Don't push it."

Katherine just smirked as she put up her hands in mock surrender.

~Ѱ~

Thank you for reading!

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#vampire diaries #fanfiction #fanfiction.net #archiving #queued

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