#check ins with sarah

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

I just came back from a Taylor Swift Club Night and it was so fun!! (Really gotta thank my therapist for talking me through my anxieties and encouraging me to go 😅☺️)

But anyways, i just wanted to check in how you’re doing since the club night made me think of you, since you’re going to one of Taylor’s shows 🙈

I hope you have a fun week ahead of you 🧡🧡

Hellooooo!! Taylor Swift Club Night you say? 👀 How was it? I was at a thing like that last year where they played her songs so you could sing along with it and it was glorious! So yay for you tackling things that are a little bit out of your comfort zone 🥳🥰

Otherwise I’m doing really well! I watched Dune 2 this week and am so happy that I got to see it!

[joelalorian]

Tides of Desire - Chapter One: A Prelude to the Open Sea

Pairing: Yacht Captain!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Series warnings: 18+ MDNI, adventure, alcohol, injuries, fluff, angst, smut. Reader is a badass. Additional warnings will be posted with each chapter as needed. No use of y/n.

Chapter One: A Prelude to the Open Sea

It was his favorite time of year, yacht season. Austin, Texas would always be home, but there was just something about the sea that called to Joel Miller like a siren, the salty air a balm to his weary soul. It warmed his heart that Sarah took to the sea just as well, tagging along from a young age as he captained charter boats in the Gulf of Mexico or Caribbean Sea for a few months between November and April each year. His brother, too, fell in love with the sea, joining Joel in the charter industry upon his discharge from the Army. While Joel spent years working his way up to Captain, Tommy fell into the safety side of yachting, thriving as a deck hand and eventually falling into the role of Bosun. Tommy preferred the hands-on, leadership with some manual labor style of the role and had no inclination to move up for a while.

Sarah would be joining them for her third season as an official crew member, serving on the interior staff once again, her first time as the Chief Stewardess. Having grown up in the field, she knew the ins and outs of the yachts her dad captained and could likely hold nearly any crew position. Yet, Sarah always preferred the interior staff roles. She loved designing elegant table settings and the creative aspects of event planning, even if the grind of cleaning up after obscenely rich charter guests had its less than stellar moments.

“Ya all packed up, baby girl?” Joel asked as he passed Sarah’s bedroom, hefting his luggage down the stairs. “We gotta head out soon. Tommy’s coming to get us any minute now.”

“I’ll be right there!” Sarah called back, zipping up her carry-on bag. She always overpacked. Never knowing just how the season would go adventure or weather-wise, Sarah wanted to be prepared for anything. Hence, she was checking two large suitcases and taking a carry-on and large purse on the plane with her.

“For fuck’s sake, kiddo. Are ya moving out or somethin’?” Joel griped as he heaved one of the suitcases and the carry-on down the stairs. “We can do laundry on the boat, ya know.”

Tommy’s arrival cut off any sassy response Sarah might have made, and Joel made sure the house was secure before they took off for the airport. His buddy next door would keep an eye on the house and mow the lawn when needed, as he’d done for years now.

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The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the tranquil waters of the Caribbean. An elegant yacht, a vessel of luxury and escape, sat at the marina awaiting the rest of its crew to board.

Joel stood tall on the bridge, the epitome of a seasoned captain with a stoic demeanor and skin tinted by the southern sun. On the deck, his long-time first mate, Frank, called out friendly greetings along with orders to the crew already at work. Down below, Bill, the yacht's engineer, inspected the engines with a meticulous eye, grumbling to himself about the slightest imperfections of the otherwise pristine ship.

Sarah stood portside with clipboard in hand, greeting each crew member as they arrived and directing them to their bunks. There were a few familiar faces from over the years, many crew members returning to spend another season with the Millers, yet her interior team was entirely new.

Once everyone arrived and settled into what would be their spaces for the next few months, the team leaders called meetings with their crew – Sarah and the interior team settling in the sky lounge while Tommy met with the deck crew in the tender storage space. Once they introduced everyone and went over the important aspects of their respective roles on the yacht, the two teams reconvened in the main salon for the crew meeting with the captain.

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From the moment you spotted the super yacht in the marina, you were in awe. The sleek 100-foot powerhouse towered over the other boats in the mooring, looking more than ready to take on the Caribbean Seas. This was your third season as a deck hand, having changed careers after burning out quickly in the corporate world. Though it might have been a complete waste of your undergrad and graduate degrees, you switched gears to yachting as a means of self-preservation. The hard work of life on the seas reminded you of pleasant summers spent with your grandpa sailing the English Channel and Mediterranean. He taught you everything you knew about boats and the water. You never lost those skills or that love for the sea when you left England for university in America, having been a fierce competitor on your school’s sailing team.

Now, you found yourself joining a new crew on a super yacht for the third year in a row and you could not be more excited. You heard great things about Captain Joel from your prior captains and knew that he treated his crew like family. He commanded respect by taking care to treat the crew with the respect they deserved. You also heard he was gorgeous, but you couldn’t focus on that. You were here to work and didn’t want to get distracted.

Your eyes widened as you walked up the passerelle and met a tall young woman with a mane of springy dark curls. “Hi, I’m Sarah, the Chief Stew!” she greeted, brown eyes shining as brightly as her smile.

Her exuberance was contagious, and you flashed a broad smile in return. “Hi, Sarah,” you replied, giving your name in return, and watched with a keen eye as she checked you off on the clipboard in her hand. “I’m one of the deck hands.”

“I see that.” Sarah met your eyes again. “My Uncle Tommy is the Bosun. He’s awesome, you’ll love him.” Her eyes assessed you further, apparently approving what she saw. “Some also say he’s quite handsome. Though, some say that about my dad, too. Personally, I don’t see it.”

“Cheeky girl!” you laughed, already knowing that you two would get along well. “I can already see you’re going to be a troublemaker.”

“You have no idea!” Sarah confirmed with a smirk. “Come on, I’ll show you to your bunk.”

Sarah gave you the penny tour on the way, pointing out the main areas that you would need to know and explaining a few things about the other crew who arrived so far. The yacht was beautiful and the enormity of it became even more obvious as you moved through the various levels and rooms.

“You’ll be rooming with Tess, the chef. She’s awesome. My dad has been friends with her my entire life. She always prefers the top bunk, so you have the bottom.” Sarah was a fount of information. “We’ll be calling crew meetings in about an hour, so get settled and explore.”

“Thanks, Sarah,” you replied before turning to sort through your things. Left to your own devices, you had your portion of the cabin setup just how you wanted in no time. Before you knew it, you found yourself wandering around the ship, orienting yourself and getting familiar with each area.

Turning a corner on your way to the main deck, you ran smack into a body resembling a solid wall. “Oy! I’m terribly sorry!” you rushed to simultaneously apologize and regain your balance. Your eyes inched upwards along the broad chest in front of you, roving over a scruffy beard, and finally settled on a pair of startlingly deep brown eyes that stared at you in equal wonder.

“Pardon me, darlin’.” The voice emanating from that sinful mouth was deep and rich, causing the hair on the back of your neck to raise with goosebumps. Reaching out a large hand to make sure you were steady, he continued, “You must be one of my new crew members. ‘M the Captain, but you can always call me Joel.”

Good lord, people were not lying when they told you Captain Joel was hot. He was the most gorgeous man you’d ever set eyes on. Broad and tall, he struck an imposing figure, but his dark eyes were kind, wide like a puppy’s. The contours of his face were pleasing to the eye. It took you a few moments to realize you were staring wide-eyed without responding, and quickly cleared your throat.

Giving him your name, you added, “I’m one of the deck crew.”

Joel nodded. “My brother is the Bosun. Have you met him yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve only met Sarah… and now you,” you replied. Was he aware that his warm hand was still on your arm? The heat of it searing into your skin in a tantalizing way, threatening to send you to distraction. “I’m sure I’ll meet everyone soon enough.”

“Are you British?” Joel asked suddenly, his tanned cheeks flushing. His free hand raised to the back of his head, ruffling the dark curls there. “Sorry, I just noticed the hint of an accent.”

“I am, though I’ve been in the States for quite a while now and have lost most of the accent I used to have. You could say I’ve become Americanized,” you joked, earning a deep chuckle from Joel.

It seemed that neither of you were interested in getting back to what you were originally doing, the conversation flowing as you shared some of your yachting experience and Joel told you about the rest of his crew and how he liked to operate as a Captain. You decided you could listen to him talk forever – he was enthralling, voice deep and flowing like a rocky stream. All too soon, though, a call came over the radio on Joel’s hip, letting you both know that it was time for the deck crew meeting.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you said, trying not to feel sad that the conversation had to end. Before you could turn to reorient yourself, Joel spoke. “I’m heading in that direction; I’ll show you the way.”

It was a quick, quiet walk to the main deck which allowed you to focus your mind. Joel left you with a soft touch at the small of your back and the hint of a smile before you turned your attention to the other members of the deck crew.

You could see the family resemblance as Tommy introduced himself as Bosun. Damn, the brothers were far more attractive than they had any right to be - the Miller family had a serious gene pool! As if able to read your thoughts, the young woman next you chuckled and teased under her breath, “And another one bites the dust.”

Confused, you glanced at her, keeping half your attention on Tommy’s speech. “What?” you whispered back.

“All the women fall for them.” Her chin jutted toward Tommy, her eyes shifting to the bridge where Joel was stationed. “I hoped you wouldn’t be so predictable.”

Oh, this girl was cheeky! You tried to remember her name from Tommy’s introductions… Kellie? Nellie? No, it was Ellie. This Ellie was… something. “It’s not my fault they’re bloody fucking hot, yeah?”

The pair of you cracked up, drawing Tommy’s ire. “Am I interrupting something more important, ladies?”

Your face warmed as you shook your head, mortified to be called out so early on in the first day of the job. Meanwhile, Ellie merely smirked at the man. “Please, continue with your enthralling speech, Tommy. We’re just dying to hear the rest of it.”

Tommy scowled, the exuberance of his speech now shaken.

At once, you knew the pair of you would get along well. Ellie was so… spunky. And it wasn’t often you got to work with another woman on the deck crew.

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“Hey Dad,” Sarah chimed, stepping onto the bridge to see Joel going over a tide chart for the coming days.

“Hi baby girl,” he replied, slipping the black plastic framed glasses from his nose and popped them in his shirt pocket. “How’s the crew looking this season?”

Sitting with a sigh at the small table in the corner, Sarah stretched her long legs. “It’s looking real good this year. With Uncle Tommy, Tess, Bill, Frank, and Ellie back as always, the new folks should fit right in. I love that we have two women on deck crew.”

Joel nodded. “Tommy said they might be trouble though. He was grumbling about Ellie sassin’ him during his big welcome speech.” The father and daughter shared a good laugh knowing how seriously Tommy took his role as a leader and how hard he worked to perfect that speech over the years. “How about your stews? Ya gotta good team?”

Sarah’s eyes lit up as she nodded excitedly. “For sure! They are going to be great. Sammy has a ton of energy and is focused on hospitality, so he’ll make a great First Stew. It’ll be fun having a guy on the team, too. Talia is friendly but quiet and really organized. She’s already showing signs of taking Emmy under her wing, so she’s a perfect fit for Second Stew. And Emmy is the sweetest thing. She’s like a sponge and is really creative.”

His heart warmed seeing his daughter taking a leadership role at such a young age and already getting to know her team and how to organize them on the first day. Joel was so proud of her it made his heart hurt. “Sounds like you got it all under control. Guess it’s time for the big crew meeting. Call everyone to the main salon, please.”

Making the call over the radio for everyone to meet in the main salon, the pair of them hefted a couple of boxes of uniforms for the crew along with them. They were the first to arrive and Sarah spent the time segregating the uniforms for each crew member, laying them out on the center table for everyone to grab. Joel stood at the head of the room as the crew filtered in and took a seat on the elegant leather sectional. Once everyone was settled, he called the room to order.

“Welcome to Radiance, y’all,” Joel started before giving some facts about the yacht, his experience, and officially welcoming everyone aboard. “As we’re all adults here, I expect appropriate behavior at all times. I only have a few rules. No drinking while on charter. No fraternizing with the guests. Finally, do not embarrass me or this yacht with poor behavior. Got it?”

His darks eyes moved around the room, landing on you for a few beats too long before shifting around again. He couldn’t look at you without being distracted. That was not good.

The meeting shifted to a fun game run by Sarah to get to know each other. Once they were finished, everyone grabbed their new uniforms – a few sets of daily wear, dress whites, and black dinner wear each. They all received rash guards with the boat’s name, Radiance, on it as well, for beach excursions.

“The rest of today is a free day – I suggest you use it to get to know the boat and each other. The real work begins tomorrow as we get the yacht ready for our first charter on Tuesday.” Joel bid them farewell, heading back to the bridge with Frank. Bill also disappeared back down to the engine room, not one for socializing, especially with such a young, rambunctious crowd. Tess and Tommy stuck around, interested in getting to know the new crew members.

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After a tour of the yacht guided by Sarah and Tommy, everyone ended up in the main salon again. “Anyone up for cocktails and the hot tub?” Tommy asked the group with a cheesy smile.

“Hell yeah,” Ellie responded, already running off back to her cabin to change, leaving a trail of chuckles in her wake.

You were definitely down for an adult beverage and a dip in the hot tub. It would be nice to relax your muscles before the manual labor began tomorrow. Tess and the other girls followed you down to the crew cabins. You all gabbed and changed before heading back up to the flybridge and the bar Sarah knowingly stocked earlier.

You slipped into the hot tub with an ice-cold beer in one hand, unaware of Tommy’s heated gaze taking in the sight of you in your bathing suit as he stood nearby with his own beer in hand. You opted for something simple and modest, yet it showed off enough skin to draw the male eye.

Soon, you were joined by Tess who settled near you with a rocks glass full of amber liquid in it. “Hey,” she said, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You certainly have the Miller brothers’ attention.” Her voice was low, directed to your ears only as she gazed at you with knowing eyes.

Not knowing how to respond, your face heated for the third time since you boarded the yacht. You searched the other woman’s eyes, trying to suss out her angle. You knew from Sarah that Tess was a close friend of the Millers and had worked with Joel and Tommy for a long time. Did she have a thing for one, or both, of them and see you as unwanted competition? Whatever the deal was, you did not want to be causing drama your first day of the season!

“I’m—” a splash cut you off as Sarah hopped into the hot tub, seating herself on Tess’s other side, effectively cutting off whatever you were going to say. Good thing, too, as you had no idea what was about to come out of your mouth.

“Woah! Sorry ‘bout that,” Sarah laughed as the water continued to slosh around from her near cannonball entrance. “Are we talking about anything good?”

Tess glanced at you with a shrug. “Just getting to know one another.” Her eyes stayed on you as she took a long pull from her tumbler.

“Cool, cool. So, tell me about yourself, England,” Sarah directed at you.

Quirking a brow at the unoriginal nickname, you replied, “That the best you can do?”

The younger woman beamed at you, the sparkle in her dark eyes bringing another pair of fine eyes to mind. “For now. I’ll do better once I know more about you.”

The next half hour flew by as the three of you shared stories about yourselves. You already knew you liked Sarah from the moment you met her, but even Tess was starting to grow on you. She was sharp and resourceful with a wicked sense of humor. She was a handful of years older than you and lived quite the adventurous life.

Before long, Tommy and the other deckhand, Connor, joined the three of you in the hot tub while the other three interior staff – Sammy, Talia, and Emmy – sat along the edge not wanting to get too wet. The drinks were flowing and quite a few had been spilled into the bubbling water. No doubt there would be quite the mess to clean up tomorrow along with the rest of the deck crew duties.

You fell into conversation with Tommy, learning about his time in the military and how he followed his brother into the charter yacht industry. He asked questions about growing up in England, the time you spent sailing with your grandfather, and your competitive sailing days. He was borderline flirting, and you could tell he was reigning himself in. You learned early on that it was best not to have yacht relationships, but sometimes it was difficult to avoid when you spent 24/7 with someone in a confined space for a few months.

“I love your accent. You sound so much smarter than us Texans,” Tommy said. Americans always loved your accent, though it lost most of its edge by now.

“It’s all an illusion,” you joked. He started leaning closer to you the more alcohol he imbibed, and you could feel Tess’s heavy gaze watching the two of you. Deciding it was time to call it a night, you told the group goodnight despite their protests. Grabbing a towel, you wrapped it around you and dripped your way down to the crew mess for a snack before climbing into your bunk.

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The following morning, you woke up before your alarm, hearing Tess gently snoring in the bunk above you. Wondering what time she came in last night; you dressed in your daily uniform as quietly as possible and freshened up in the bathroom. Closing the cabin door with a gentle click, you grabbed a yogurt for breakfast and made your way up to the tender storage to start your day.

It was only seven o’clock and it appeared most everyone else was still asleep, meeting no one on your journey. You took the opportunity to stroll around the deck, the salt air naturally waking you up. You stopped at the bow to gaze out at the turquoise sea. The water was flat, and a calm breeze ruffled your hair.

“G’morning,” a deep voice sounded behind you, the smell of coffee wafting through the air. Joel appeared at your side, his eyes raking over you in a pleasing way before shifting to the horizon.

 “Good day, Captain,” you greeted in return, a warm smile spreading your lips. He smelled really good – freshly showered with a cologne that accentuated his natural musk. It made your mouth start to water.

Jesus, you should have gotten laid before coming onto this boat.

“Ya want some coffee?” Joel raised the mug in his hand. “I have a fresh pot going. Figured y’all would need it after last night.”

A girlish giggle escaped you before you could stop it. “I don’t drink the stuff, prefer tea, if anything. I called it a night early, but I have no doubt everyone else will need the caffeine boost.”

“Not the typical party animal yachtie then?” The view forgotten, you both turned toward each other to continue the conversation, hips leant against the railing.

“Not by half,” you laughed. “I did enough of that in my university days. Not that I don’t enjoy socializing and having a good time though. I just like to make my hangovers worth it.”

That earned a hearty chuckle from Joel. “That’s one way of putting things into perspective. And I agree, the hangover has to be worth it.”

The two of you fell into comfortable conversation, sharing tidbits about yourselves until more of the deck crew started to emerge for the day. You locked away all the things Joel shared, wanting to build the story of him in your mind.

“This was quite pleasant. We should do it again sometime, Cap��n.” Your gazes held intensely for a few beats before Joel hummed in agreement. Then, movement over your shoulder caught his attention.

“Looks like Tommy’s gatherin’ the troops. Ya better get moving, sweetheart.” Between the term of endearment and the crooked smile, you could have turned into a puddle at the handsome Captain’s feet. Instead, you flashed him your most charming smile and dashed off to join your team for a grueling day of hard work.

And grueling it was as Tommy had you all scrub and hose down every inch of the exterior, check all the equipment, and reorganize the tender storage before doing it all over again to make sure it met his exacting measures. All the while, your mind stayed occupied with thoughts of Captain Joel. Even when you slipped into your bunk, physically wiped out and barely able to call out a ‘good night’ to an equally exhausted Tess, your subconscious allowed Joel to infiltrate your dreams.

[never-be-tamed]

WEEKEND AT THE OVERLOOK HOTEL

Do you dare to check in? 🛎️

The infamous Overlook Hotel, nestled in the isolated Colorado Rockies, has a dark and mysterious history. Known for its eerie atmosphere and paranormal activity, the hotel has attracted visitors looking for a thrilling experience. This weekend, a group of individuals, each with their own reasons, has checked in. As night falls, strange occurrences begin to happen, turning a weekend getaway into a nightmare. ⸻ imagine yourself in the situation and create your character as they are trapped in a horror movie come true. bonus: get your creative juices flowing and write a oneshot. what happened before the picture? where is your character headed now? are they searching for their friends/the people that arrived with them or are they investigating something different entirely? what else is lurking amongst the shadows?

TRIGGERWARNING!!!! + A LOT TO READ!

Einer nach dem anderen.

Das Gelächter war wie Musik in seinen Ohren. Ein kurzer Blick in den Rückspiegel genügte und Alexander schaute in die glücklichen Gesichter seiner Freunde, die herzhaft miteinander herumalberten, sorglos und voller Lebensenergie. Grinsend richtete er sein Augenpaar wieder auf die endlos lange Straße, die sich vor seinen Augen erstreckte. Es war ein weiter Weg nach Colorado und natürlich hatte sich der Russe (mal wieder) bereit erklärt, sich hinters Steuer zu setzen und die Meute zu kutschieren. "Ist es noch weit?", murmelte Nikita völlig genervt. Sie hatte es sich auf dem Beifahrersitz gemütlich gemacht und trommelte ungeduldig mit ihren Fingern an die Fensterscheibe. "Ich kann es nicht erwarten! Das Overlook Hotel! Ich habe so viel Gutes gehört! Es soll sehr mysteriös sein. Und auch gruselig!", erklang Sarah's aufgeregte Stimme hinter ihm und auch seine Schwester Accalia konnte es sich nicht nehmen lassen einen Kommentar abzugeben. "Würde mein Bruder vielleicht schneller fahren und nicht so viel träumen, wären wir sicherlich schneller dort und könnten uns selbst davon überzeugen." — "Bestie, du sprichst immer aus was ich denke.", kam es von Seiten Nikita's, ehe auch Iljà und Arthur ihren Senf zu der Situation hinzufügten. "Ihr Ladies könnt auch gerne laufen." – "Ja, mit euren schönen Heels. Die ganze Strecke. Bis nach Colorado." Die Jungs lachten herzhaft im Chor. "Mir völlig egal, ich trage Sneakers.", warf Ash ein und zuckte gleichgültig die Schultern. Seufzend warf Alexander den Kopf an die Lehne und schmunzelte. "So weit ist es nicht mehr. Entspannt euch." Nikita's verächtliches Schnauben ignorierte er gekonnt und konzentrierte sich weiter auf die Fahrt und ihre gemeinsame Reise ins Overlook Hotel.

...

"Wir sind da!!" Sarah hüpfte auf ihrem Sitz auf und ab, streckte sich anschließend über Accalia und Ash, um aus dem Fenster zu schauen. Diesen wiederum entfuhr ein entnervtes "Sarah!", während sie versuchten die Blondine von sich zu schieben. Das Overlook Hotel erstreckte sich vor den Augen der sieben Freunde. Ein prächtiges, düster wirkendes Anwesen, mit einer weiten Grünfläche rundherum. Es erschien nahezu unheimlich. Provokant starrten die Fenster zu einem hinab, formten glühende Augen, durch die dahinterliegenden roten Vorhänge. "Das kann ja lustig werden.", warf Iljà amüsiert ein. "Genau mein Geschmack!" – Nikita klatschte einmal in die Hände. "Na gut, genug davon. Lasst uns aussteigen und einchecken. Ich will hier keine Wurzeln schlagen."

Die sieben Freunde schnappten sich ihre Koffer und betraten das Hotel, ohne aber zu ahnen, dass sie es nie wieder lebend verlassen würden.

"Das ist ja komisch.", murmelte Ash, die plötzlich im Gang stehen blieb, nachdem die Freunde am Counter eingecheckt hatten. Wie verdutzt starrte sie auf die Schlüssel. "Hm? Was genau?", Arthur trat an ihre Seite, doch ihm war nicht klar, wo genau das Problem lag. Ash wirbelte den Schlüssel vor seinem Gesicht hin und her. "Unsere Zimmer... Wir sind gar nicht beieinander. Hatten wir das nicht anders gebucht?" — "Mist, ich wollte mich doch nachts zu den Mädels schleichen." Sarah's Enttäuschung war kaum zu überhören. — "Lass mich mal sehen." Nikita trat hervor um sich dem Ganzen anzunehmen. Erwartungsvoll starrte die Gruppe in ihre Richtung. "Sie hat Recht. Das ist seltsam." – "Kein Weltuntergang.", erwiderte Accalia schnell und zuckte die Schultern. "Vielleicht hat sich in der Planung vom Hotel etwas verschoben. Wir sind immer noch im selben Gebäude. Machen wir das Beste daraus." Alexander nickte. "Lasst uns erstmal auspacken und ankommen. Wir treffen uns in einer Stunde in der großen Halle, schlage ich vor?" Die Meute nickte zustimmend. Kurz darauf löste sich die Gruppe auf und jeder machte sich auf den Weg zu seinem Zimmer. Alexander's Augenmerk blieb an dem antiken Holztisch hängen, auf dem bereitwillig eine Flasche Whiskey stand. Schnell schenkte sich der Russe einen großzügigen Schuss ein, ehe auch er sich in Bewegung setzte.

Alexander schlich mitsamt seines Whiskeys und seines Koffers durch den langen Korridor im dritten Stock. 237. Die Zahl hallte in seinen Gedanken nach. Während seiner Suche bemerkte er beiläufig, wie unheimlich ruhig es in diesem Hotel zuging. Bisher hatte er noch keine Menschenseele entdeckt, außer natürlich der Empfangsdame und, ja... seinen Freunden. 'Diese Ruhe hätte ich auch gerne daheim', dachte er sich nichtsahnend.

Nachdem Alexander sein Gepäck verstaut hatte, begab er sich zurück nach unten. In der großen Halle angekommen, stellte er fest, dass er wohl der Erste war. Er schenkte sich gleich nochmal einen Schluck Whiskey ein und machte es sich auf dem Sofa bequem. Und er wartete.

Und wartete..

Und wartete....

Und wartete noch länger....

Eine Stunde später. Wo steckten sie bloß? Sie hatten doch vereinbart, dass sie sich alle in der großen Halle treffen würden. Und auch von der Empfangsdame fehlte jede Spur. Spielten ihm seine Freunde einen Streich? Zutrauen würde er es ihnen. Es wäre nicht das erste Mal, dass sie ihn reingelegt hätten. Er schnaubte. Nicht einmal Iljà war hier. Entnervt zückte er sein Smartphone und schickte ein energisches 'Wo seid ihr????' in die gemeinsame Gruppe.

Jedoch ohne eine Antwort.

Seltsam. Noch immer begegnete er niemandem auf seinem Weg. Dann vor seiner vermeintlichen Zimmertür verzog er verwirrt das Gesicht. Was? 238? Er hätte schwören können, dass hier sein Zimmer war. Doch das machte absolut keinen Sinn. Er hatte die Nummer 237. Und das hier war definitiv 238. Hatte er sich geirrt? Hatte ihm die Situation, dass seine Freunde nicht aufgetaucht waren so zugesetzt, dass er nun Gespenster sah? Aufmerksam blickte er sich um. Wo ist 237? Eigentlich müsste sie unmittelbar in seiner Nähe sein. Der Russe suchte wie verrückt jede einzelne Tür im Korridor ab, doch fand er seine Zimmernummer 237 nicht. Wurde er gerade wahnsinnig? War der Whiskey ihm bereits zu Kopf gestiegen? Unwahrscheinlich, er vertrug eine Menge. Was war hier nur los? Erst tauchten seine Freunde nicht auf, obwohl es so vereinbart gewesen war, keine Menschenseele war in Sicht und nun suchte er wie ein 10 Jähriger nach einer verfluchten Tür.

Noch einmal kontrollierte er die Schilder an den Türen und dort, wo vor einigen Sekunden noch 238 gestanden hatte, stand plötzlich... 237? Hatte er den Verstand verloren? 'Was für ein Schwachsinn', murmelte er. Wütend über sich selbst und seine scheinbare Unfähigkeit Schilder zu lesen, schlug er die Tür hinter sich zu. 'Ein wundervoller Ausflug. Ganz wundervoll.'

...

Ring-Ring. Der Nachrichtensound seines Smartphones ertönte. "Na endlich. Wurde aber auch Zeit.", murmelte er und machte sich schon bereit seinen Freunden eine Standpauke zu verpassen. Doch was er las ließ ihm das Blut in den Adern gefrieren.

Hilf mir? Er überlegte nicht lange. Er sprang auf und rannte so schnell wie möglich zu Sarah's Zimmer. Auf dem Weg dorthin überlegte er sich, was er mit ihr machen würde, sofern das alles ein Scherz war. Er würde ihr eigenhändig die blonden, langen Haare abschneiden. Das würde er tun. Egal wie sehr sie flehen, schreien und weinen würde. Das hätte sie sich dann selber zuzuschreiben. Doch als er ihre Zimmertür offen vorfand und sein Blick sogleich auf den Blut verschmierten Boden fiel, waren alle negativen Gedanken wie weggeblasen. Vorsichtig öffnete er die Tür... und erschauderte.

Sarah. Ihr lebloser, blutüberströmter Körper lag ihm zu Füßen. Überall war... Blut an ihr. Ihre Augen rollten sich starr nach hinten. Verzweifelt fühlte er ihren Puls, doch... Sie war tot. Es war zu spät. Alexander's Herz schlug wie wild in seiner Brust. Er konnte nichts mehr für sie tun. Hilflos sackte er an der offenen Tür in ihrem Blut zusammen.

Eine halbe Ewigkeit verging in der er einfach nur so da saß und ihren leblosen Körper anstarrte. Sein Hosenbein tränkte sich in ihrem Blut. Sarah's Verlust traf den Russen mitten ins Herz. Doch er musste jetzt stark sein. Er musste die anderen finden und ihnen erzählen was passiert war. Sie mussten hier raus. Dieses Hotel... SIE MUSSTEN HIER RAUS!

Er überwand sich aufzustehen. Iljà. Er wird wissen was zutun ist. Mit schnellen Schritten begab er sich in den zweiten Stock. Auf seinem Weg fiel ihm der Glaskasten an der Wand des Korridors auf. Darin befand sich eine Axt. Ohne groß darüber nachzudenken, wieso hier ein Glaskasten mit einer Axt hing, zerschlug er das Glas und krallte sich die Waffe. Er war gewappnet. Was oder... Wer sich ihm auch in den Weg stellen würde, er würde denjenigen ohne mit der Wimper zu zucken erledigen. Das schwor er sich.

Iljà. Wie wild hämmerte der Russe gegen die Zimmertür seines besten Freundes. "Iljà. Mach doch auf verdammt!" — Stille. Vielleicht war er einfach nicht in seinem Zimmer. — Vielleicht lag er aber auch wie Sarah in irgendeiner Ecke und war tot... Alexander blieb keine andere Wahl. Er musste die Tür einschlagen. Froh darüber, dass er die Axt hatte mitgehen lassen, schlug der Mann immer wieder auf die Holztür ein, bis er sich letztlich einen Spalt freigekämpft hatte, um seine Hand hindurch zu führen. Er hielt einen Moment lang inne.

Dann öffnete er die Tür.

Er konnte es nicht übersehen. Das Bett. Und der abgetrennte Kopf Iljà's, der auf der Bettdecke platziert war, als wäre er ein Souvenir oder ein Dekoartikel. Schockiert blickte Alexander in die leblosen Augen seines besten Freundes. Sein Kopf war abgetrennt, sein Körper nirgends zu sehen. Alexander verlor sein Gleichgewicht und Tränen bildeten sich in seinen Augen. "Nein, nein, nein!" All die gemeinsamen Augenblicke mit Iljà zogen noch einmal vor seinem geistigen Auge vorbei. Und erneut brach sein Herz inzwei.

Er konnte nichts mehr für ihn tun.

Accalia. Verzweifelt suchte er in den endlosen Hallen des dritten Stocks nach seiner Schwester. Immer wieder rief er nach ihr, doch nur die Stille antwortete ihm. Ihr Zimmer hatte er leer aufgefunden, was ihm wiederum ein Stück weit Hoffnung schenkte. Doch mit jeder Minute die verstrich, wuchs die Unsicherheit und Sorge in ihm. Seine Schritte führten ihn in die große Halle, in der er einige Stunden zuvor noch auf seine Freunde gewartet hatte. Und abermals schnürte das Geschehen Alexander die Luft ab.

Arthur saß regungslos auf dem Sofa. Seine Augen waren entfernt worden, welche unmittelbar vor ihm in ein Whiskey-Glas gelegt worden waren. Accalia saß direkt neben ihm, ihr war ein High-Heel in den Schädel gebohrt worden. Alexander's Verzweiflung wuchs. Er hatte keinen blassen Schimmer was er tun sollte. Das alles war wie ein böser Traum aus dem er inständig hoffte zu erwachen. Doch leider war das brutale Geschehen bittere Realität, aus der es keinen Ausweg gab.

Er konnte nichts mehr für die beiden tun.

Ash. Der erste Stock. 'Bitte, lass sie leben', schoss es ihm durch den Kopf, als er ruckartig ihre Zimmertür öffnete. Ash's lebloser Körper hing an der Garderobe unmittelbar vor ihm. Sie wurde aufgehängt, als wäre sie ein Mantel. Ihre Sneakers wurden ihr um den Hals geschnürt. Es tropfte immer noch das Blut von ihrem Gesicht und ihren Händen. Erschöpft und verzweifelt sank er auf den Boden. All die Erinnerungen die er und seine Freunde miteinander geteilt hatten, all das Lachen, all die freundschaftlichen Gesten, all das lag nun schwer auf Alexander's Gemüt. Wie eine dunkle Wolke, die ihn niemals wieder verlassen würde. Doch so schwer die Last auch war, einen Hoffnungsschimmer gab es noch.

Er konnte nichts mehr für Ash tun, jedoch...

Was war mit Nikita? Sie war die Letzte, die neben ihm noch übrig war. Mit allerletzter Kraft zog sich der Russe hinauf und umklammerte fest seine von Blut verschmierte Axt. Er musste sie finden. Noch war nicht alles verloren. Ja, er hatte viele Verluste zu beklagen, man hatte ihm fast alles genommen, doch blieb ihm immer noch ein kleiner Hoffnungsschimmer, auch wenn er keine Ahnung hatte, ob sie überhaupt noch lebte.

Nikita's Zimmer befand sich im ersten Stock. Er fühlte sich erschöpft, kraftlos und verzweifelt. Was würde er tun, wenn er sie ebenfalls tot auffinden würde? Sollte er das Hotel dann einfach so verlassen als ob nie etwas geschehen wäre? Wie sollte er mit all dem nur leben können? — Ehe er seine Gedanken zuende bringen konnte, bemerkte er von Weitem Nikita's offene Zimmertür. Sie stand regungslos mitten im Raum. Wie von einer Tarantel gestochen rannte er zu ihr. Ins Zimmer 238.

"Niki! Geht es dir gut? Die anderen... Sie sind alle..." Alexander verstummte augenblicklich als er Blut von Nikita's Arm tropfen sah. "Bist... bist du verletzt?" — "Nein.", ertönte ihre verzerrte, dunkle, andersartige Stimme, als plötzlich messerscharfe Klauen aus ihren Fingern wuchsen. Stille. Langsam dämmerte es dem Russen. Das war nicht seine beste Freundin. "Du bist nicht Nikita." Langsam drehte sich die Gestalt vor ihm um. Ihre Blut unterlaufenen Augen blickten ihn geradewegs an. Stille. 'Was oder... Wer sich ihm auch in den Weg stellen würde, er würde denjenigen ohne mit der Wimper zu zucken erledigen. Das schwor er sich.' — Er hatte es geschworen. Entschlossen umklammerte er seine Axt und war bereit das Monster zur Strecke zu bringen. "Alex!", schrie Nikita ängstlich, als er ihr gerade die Axt in den Schädel rammen wollte. Panik und Verzweiflung spiegelte sich in ihren Augen wieder. Das war der Moment in dem Alexander zögerte. Und er würde den Preis dafür bezahlen.

Ehe er sich versah, sprang ihn die Kreatur an und warf ihn zu Boden. Seine Axt war außer Reichweite. Nikita oder... dieses Ding beugte sich über ihn und lächelte sanft. Einen Moment lang dachte er, sie ist es. Niki. Seine Niki. Seine beste Freundin. Doch als sich ihr Lächeln langsam zu einer bestialischen Fratze verzog, schwand alle Hoffnung aus Alexander's Geiste. "Du bist der Letzte.", spuckte die Gestalt in Form seiner besten Freundin ihm entgegen, bevor sie ihm mit ihren langen Klauen die Kehle aufriss und so sein Leben beendete.

Das Gelächter war wie Musik in seinen Ohren. Ein kurzer Blick in den Rückspiegel genügte und Alexander schaute in die glücklichen Gesichter seiner Freunde, die herzhaft miteinander herumalberten, sorglos und voller Lebensenergie... "Alexander Wolkow!"

Nikita's Aufschrei warf den Russen augenblicklich aus seiner traumatischen Gedankenspirale. Oder eher Vorahnung?

"Siehst du, ich habe ja gesagt, dass er träumt beim Fahren", murmelte Accalia gehässig.

"Wann sind wir da? Im Overlook Hotel?"

...

The End.

Featuring: @shevampyre @betterstay-dead @drkcurse @daemonoria @zeitrcisender @madame--fist (it was an honor guys!)

If you read till the end, I appreciate you!!!

tagged by: @verflcht (thank you!!!! This was fun)

tagging: Die 5 anderen Hochstapler! @t-hevessel @stcrseeker @godfrcy @chaoticmvse @wisepolitician @fri-luftsliv @ghoulishblood & anyone who wants to do it!

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

Hi Sarah. I am feeling very unwell right now. I have always wanted to be childfree. For a while it felt like that meant no partner either and the pressure from my own mother has also always felt very suffocating. In recent years she has even taken to calling me brainwashed which feels like a knife in my heart and a complete disregard for my own identity and wants. I am 26 now and still don't want children and I met a partner who initially seemed not to want them either, but everytime we see a child now he says "don't you want one someday?" and it feels as if he is slowly trying to change my mind so one day I will. I love him so much, but this is taking such a toll on me. It makes me question if I should just compromise and have a kid in my thirties or leave someone who ticks off every box except that one? Did you ever face pressures like this? Does your mother respect you instead of treating it as an attack on her or making you feel that something is terribly wrong with you? Have you and your partner always been on the same page about it or was there ever a period of confusion like this? I understand if this is all too personal to answer explicitly, but I just felt compelled to ask you since you always have some beautiful insight and helping words for us (and you shine so bright).

Hi friend! Thinking of you - this is such a heavy thing to have weighing on your brain. It's a big and immensely personal life decision - it's a lot to figure out on your own and between yourself and your partner let alone all the added weight of the opinions other people in your life might have on this choice.

My husband (🥰🥰🥰) and I have always gratefully been aligned on our choice about what we want to do as a family and it was something established early on when we were dating. We also still do regular check ins (it comes up intermittently as some of our friends make the choice to have children and we gather to celebrate these additions to their/our lives or have their littles around as part of group events and dinners) even now. "It's so fun watching XYZ grow up - but I'm still confident in our decision to not have one of our own. Are you still sure?" / "Instead of kids, I'm really excited to adopt more cats with you" / "I like the life we've built with us and Allistor as a family. Are you still happy with that?"

My parents inquire about our choice every time I see them and my mom in particular doesn't accept my response about our choice. Despite having consistently given the same answer for at least 6 years - I imagine she still thinks I'm going to change my mind. I anticipate navigating our relationship in the next few years especially to be difficult and emotional.

All that said, there's a lot of nuance and highly personal feelings in this decision. People are absolutely allowed to change their minds about kids. People are absolutely allowed to be resolute and sure in their opinions (yes or no). One partner may be on the fence and the other may be so sure one way or the other and through personal discussions and conversations, you make a compromised choice based on what's right for the two of you. Regardless of where you land, you deserve the freedom to make the choice that you want to make and to be with a partner who respects and aligns with that choice (can confirm it is 100% possible) - and the intricacies of finding that alignment can be validating or devastating depending on where you each land.

I'm sorry I can't be more helpful for you but I recognize and feel you on how immensely difficult this is. I wish you transparent, respectful and open conversations with your partner on this. I'm here for you!

[undercoverpena]

okay but I have brain rot for…

assassin!joel miller x f!reader 👉👈

like think assassins creed II — I blame Florence for this, @ghostaholics and @thetriumphantpanda for not telling me this is a bad idea 😂

below is just imagine style bullet points of my brain rot. they may not make sense but look, if this is something we want, the rot is there. warnings; assassin behaviour, hints at smut, Jo making people fall in love as usual.

• imagine joel discovering that his family have been executed: sarah, tommy, tess—all gone. fleeing when he realises his face is on posters, going to a distant cousin's house only to find out his heritage of being an assassin. and he wants retribution, wants blood, wants the people who made the call to pay. so he trains (think of the arms 💪🏼)

• it’s some years later, when he returns to the city to enact revenge, when he first meets you. some woman of high standing, living in your uncle’s house—learning to paint. Joel hears a disturbance and sees some guards shoving you around, your fist connecting with one before it gets nasty, and he swoops in, saving you. you leave behind some brushes in your dash to get home.

• he finds you some days later, your eye-catching sight of him as you continue to paint. “I know you’re there, assassin.” and he eventually shows himself, handing you the brushes back. you’re eyeing him, waiting until he steps back into the shade, thanking him as he makes his exit. there’s more back and forth, accidental run-ins, him spotting you in places you shouldn’t be, until one day, when his grunts and silence don’t seem to work, he asks if you have a death wish. “you’re blade is blunt.” the tip of your brush pointing at the one on his wrist, “I can help you with that, for the death wish.” you kiss him, soft, chaste—enough to render him silent and still, but not an invitation for him to do more. he declines the offer of your help with his blade, but takes your handwritten note with your address.

• joel checks in on you, tells himself its just to be sur. but he does it more and more frequently. once finding you reading at your balcony. another time painting, and he’s pretty sure you clock him again. another you’re crying, something that pulls at him but he ignores.

• it isn’t until his wrist blade snaps that he comes to your room later that night, entering via the balcony. you tell him your uncle knows a maker, someone who can help him. and he protests, that this is dangerous, but you argue back that you want to help. but he needs you to know, so he continues and continues about what he does to people, what he does to those who have killed his family—how he does it, that vengeance won’t end when the last head rolls—watching tears fill your eyes. that there is always more, more injustice, more poison to rid, and then you grab his arms, pulling him from his speech. “then rid it, Joel. remove it. make the city something to be proud of.” he’s taken back, but you kiss him. something he deepens this time. whispering you don’t care, pressing it to his lips. more words whispered between kisses, between you removing his layers: I don’t care, I understand, I get it, I’m yours. and the latter spark something, a possessiveness rising in him, as you strip the last thing from him that makes him the thing that perches on rooftops.

• secret kisses where his hood remains up, and your hands slide around the inside of his cape. tucked away in alcoves of the city, you making threats that he best show up tonight, and he never makes promises—because his line of work doesn’t allow for them—but he kisses you like he wishes too.

• pulling you into an abandoned house when you’re on the way to an event—you having ditched your chaperone, knowing he is always watching. the skirt of your dress lifted, his hand between your thighs as you ask if he’ll be “keeping a look out for me tonight?” and his ministrations increase, his mouth ghosting over your whimpers and the way you say his name, before he tells you, “best believe it.”

• it’s a lot for Joel to trust people. and while he usually doesn’t come to you when he’s hurt (just appears with new bruises and fresh scars) one night he doesn’t think of anywhere else to go. the wound is bad, landing awkwardly on your balcony—unaware you’ve been scurrying away medical supplies from the market for weeks, just in case. you stitch him, apply ointment and bandage him. eventually curling up to his sleeping frame. he wakes with a warmth on his good side, pain pulsating on the other, opening his eyes to a sleeping you—a version he doesn’t get to see, doesn’t get to experience. a stolen, perfect moment that solidifies how much he feels for you, and also how dangerous all of this is. but when you open your eyes, he forgets, pressing gratefulness to your lips. then he spots how your nightdress is stained, ruined, realising that he’s done that—poisoned it in the same way he has your life.

• one time, he’s a little late to save you from a handsy, out of control “suitor” throwing the man out the window into a hay bale so he can tend to you, not wanting you to see his violence—even if you hear about it, the entire city speaking on him. he begins to blames himself, that he’s old. that you deserve better. but you just let him ramble until he’s out of words, and then you kiss him, “because I choose you, Joel.” he doesn’t say what those words mean to him, but he shows you later. he does worry what he’s doing to you by letting you keep getting closer, knowing full well he’s doomed you, in a different way than you’ve doomed him.

• when a kid breaks into his HQs, he takes one look at their frizzy hair and dirty feet, and asks why they’re here. the girl, Ellie introduces herself, said Marlene sent her to him, that she was told he’d look after her—know what to do. that there’s still ties between the fireflies and the assassins. he tells her to bathe, while he sends a pigeon to you to bring clothes for her. you meeting Ellie, and her enamoured with you and your kindness, something Joel knows all too well himself.

• time goes on, him and your relationship never delving out of a situationship. your uncle pushing more for you to marry, Joel stealing moments here and there with you. behind statues and marble pillars, down quiet streets and in your bedroom—hand over your mouth so no one in the house knows you’re not alone as he fucks you, his praise whispered in plenty. “because you’re so good for me, always taking me so well”—you leaving half-moon marks in his side as he does so, leaving a bit of you on him, the same way he leaves bruises on your hips.

• when Joel discovers your Uncle is someone involved in the demise of his family he experiences a conflicting array of feelings rising in him. so much so, he interrupts you during an art class—pulling you outside to tell you, to ask you if you knew. but he can tell instantly from the way your eyes widen and shimmer, that you don’t. and so, the two of you begin to work closely together, to unravel the mysteries that is your uncle.

• until one night when you learn it all, what your uncle did to his brother—your own father—Joel in the wings, hearing it all: from the confession to the way your heart shatters. that your uncle sent your mother away so he could find you a suitor of his choosing, and it isn’t until the house goes into lockdown, do you find yourself separated, trying to find Joel, running and running until your uncle’s hand is coated in his blood and Joel is on the floor. and you don’t think, don’t even question, taking one of the blades from Joel’s belt and holding it to your uncle’s neck, a choice there, but there’s no shake in your hand. feeling, slowly, Joel’s hands come around your waist, giving you the strength.

[speechlessxx]

he wants what’s only yours. [andy barber x reader]

PART TWO OF CLANDESTINE. 

summary ⇒ jealousy is an ugly monster, but good thing andy barber looks so damn good in green.

warnings ⇒ age gap (reader is referenced to be 19 but this is technically a flashback), BFD!Andy, jealousy, choking kink, daddy kink, slight special guest x reader ;), references to sex and wanting to take part in it. 

MINORS DNI

word count ⇒ 2.5k

PART ONE

Despite that declaration of “wanting to see you again”, you didn’t see Andy Barber until the next spring.

It wasn’t that he avoided you or that you him, by any means. It was simply the entanglement of every single entity that linked you together.

Jacob and his mother, Laurie – Andy’s ex-wife – lived in New York City. With Jacob in the residence hall one floor above yours (damn you, coed housing), it became impossible for you to sneak in the man, especially since your roommate would definitely snitch to Jacob. On the other hand of the Barber entanglement, the former Mrs. Barber had promised your mother to watch over you, a promise she fulfilled to the T by bringing over food, groceries, sometimes even toiletries, and the surprise check-ins.

You could only imagine the catastrophe that would ensue if they found their Mr. Barber hiding out in your dorm.

There was no escape from either of them, and therefore, you could not find a way to meet Andy in private without the mother and son finding out.

So, you just bided your time.

That is, until Jacob recounted to you and your friends of his encounter with his father’s new girlfriend during his last visit home – or as he put it, “the lady walked out of the house bowlegged!” And while the boys laughed and the girls silently wished it were them, you couldn’t help but feel this pit of despair forming at the bottom of your stomach.

Because, just like that, that hope you carried that those late-night calls and texts that brightened your day brought vanished. Everything became empty promises – a rouse meant to flatter you, to ensnare you into a trap. Like another notch on his belt.

And that night in the bar bathroom had simply become a real mistake.

Which lead to this disastrous decision.

It started with an invitation extended to you and your other college friends from Jacob to stay at the Barber family vacation home in Cape Cod for spring break. And while spring in Massachusetts was anything but, a free trip and an escape from the stressful midterms waiting for you back on campus seemed worth it. The only caveat, however, was that his father would be living amongst the younger adults for the entirety of the stay as he was “attending” to the house – something about “renovations in the boathouse, or something,” Jacob said with a shrug.

And, okay, you knew to be the bigger person – to forgive and forget, to tag along silently and give Andy the cold shoulder. However, you were a hurt, defiant, and well, yes, very petty nineteen-year-old. And as childish as it was, it was nowhere near as childish as hooking up with someone whilst trying to “woo” your son’s best friend.

Which lead to you in the passenger seat of a Beamer that still had that awful new car scent that made your headache. Convoying in front of you – much to your driver’s dismay, something about driving too slow for his liking – were Jacob, his girlfriend; Sarah; and two other friends from NYU; Peter and Michelle.

You watched as the coastal life flashed by you through the window. With the Cape not being in peak season, you found that it was rather empty, lifeless almost – like a perfect little getaway.

“Quaint,” the occupant to your left said under his breath as Jacob pulled into the driveway. He eyed you as you continued to bite your fingernails and he sighed, “you probably shouldn’t do that.”

“Huh?” You asked before he took your hands away from your mouth and held them in his.

“Nervous ‘bout something?”

“Uh, something like that.”

Without another word, he accepted your answer, but not before bringing your left hand to his lips, planting a kiss. You tried not to snatch your hand away from him. It wasn’t any fair to him, not at all, but you wanted to show – no, prove – that you were completely over Andy, and Hugh Ransom Drysdale was your weapon to prove that.

However, Ransom was not invited to the Cape. In fact, he wasn’t really a friend to anyone in your group at all He didn’t even go to NYU. A, then, incoming junior at Columbia, Ransom was more of a nuisance to Jacob, and a continuous thorn to your side for the past year or so.

You met him on your first trip to New York City last year. Jacob had invited you to come visit his mother and tour the NYU campus after finding out you both applied. You graciously accepted the invitation, and on an activity-less day, you opted to explore the city while Jacob slept in. A decision that ultimately got you lost until you tapped on the broad shoulder of a young man texting away on his phone.

Rather than directing you towards the right direction, a black car pulled up next to the man and he offered to take you back home. He seemed harmless enough though you knew the outcome of this could’ve been far worse, but you got into the car anyway, formally acquainting yourself with Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

He had an aura of entitlement that was masked by sophistication, and his egotistical personality put you off, but he was handsome, wealthy (not that it was a criteria, it just helped), and nice (when he wanted). He took a liking to you, saying that he’d “take you under his wing”, but you had always turned down his advances. Ransom not taking no for an answer put Jacob off, but you always defended your … acquaintance.

And besides, it was nice feeling wanted sometimes.

So, when this devilish plan to prove that Andy was no more than a notch on your belt, you decided to take Ransom up on his countless attempts.

As everyone got out of their respective vehicles, stretching their legs to feel relief, Andy made his way out to greet the guests.

“Jacob!” Andy had called out with open arms, and Jacob, who rolled his eyes, begrudgingly accepted the embrace. “Nice to see you, Sarah,” he nodded to her, and she beamed.

The formalities between the two new faces that climbed out of his son’s car fell upon deaf ears as Andy’s eyes found you emerging from the BMW. There was a pounding in his chest as you finally made eye contact, but much to Andy’s displeasure another figure came out from the driver’s side.

Andy’s hands clenched into fists as his side.

The motherfucker didn’t even bother to open your door.

You quickly averted your stare from the older man, diverting your attention back to Ransom. You waltzed to him and pouted, “I’m really cold.”

And to your relief, Ransom only chuckled just before he shrugged off his own insanely expensive jacket to drape over your shoulders. “There you go, pumpkin.” Had you been Sarah or Michelle, you knew Ransom would’ve gladly told you to “eat shit.” “Better?”

“Extremely, thank you,” you smiled, shyly as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Take care of it,” Ransom warned. “Or, not I could just buy another.”

You dared a glance back at Andy who scowled at the sight of another man – no, a boy – touching you. “Mr. Barber,” you feigned a smile as Andy made his way towards the both of you.

He nodded a fake formality before turning his attention to your guest. “Hey son,” Andy said. “Never met you before,” he extended a hand. “Andy Barber, Jacob’s dad.”

“Ransom Drysdale,” he had taken Andy’s hand and yelped as Andy tightened his grip.

“Andy – “you muttered.

“So, you’re the boyfriend?” He asked, ignoring your intervention.

“N-no.” Ransom stuttered, and suddenly the pressure on his hand was relieved as Andy loosened his grip enough for Ransom to escape. “I mean, I’d like to be. Gotta do some convincing, of course.”

“She’s said no like a million times, Drysdale!” Jacob had called as he and Peter unloaded the trunk of their car. “Take a hint.” Snickering from the others followed afterwards.

Ransom huffed and rolled his eyes. “And in a million and one, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“C’mon,” you said, pulling Ransom towards the back of the Beamer. “Let’s get our bags, yeah?”

“Go ahead inside, Princeton,” Andy said, a roughness to his voice that no one could really quite place. Jacob only laughed at his father’s nickname, deciding that the hostility was most likely due to the fact Andy could just tell Ransom a douche.

Ransom, again, rolled his eyes. “Colombia,” he corrected, but he was used to others bending over backwards for him, so he thought Andy’s offer to retrieve his things was merely hospitality.

So, he only shrugged, and tried to drag you along with him, but Andy had called out, “Missy, can I have a hand?”

You groaned. “Oooo,” Jacob had teased as he and Sarah walked past you hand in hand. “You’re gonna get chewed out for bringing a boy.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sarah had slapped his shoulder. With her free hand she gave your arm a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“Keep an eye on those two,” you asked her, glancing between the wide-open door as Ransom had already gone in and Jacob. “You know how they get.”

“Of course,” Sarah winked before disappearing inside. Michelle and Peter soon after, and the door slammed shut.

It was only you and Andy now.

You let out a sigh as you slowly made your way towards the back of the Beamer. Andy, true to his word, had began unloading the trunk and you eyed him suspiciously. So, you wordlessly followed his lead as you began to take out one of Ransom’s many luggage bags.

“Didn’t know you’re into the white collars,” Andy finally broke the silence.

“Don’t start,” you muttered.

“Why’d you bring him, huh?” He asked. You ignored him, which obviously pissed him off as he repeated the question through clenched teeth. You pulled out the last of the bags, but again, you didn’t respond; only trying to antagonize him even further.

You grabbed what you could as Andy shut the door, but quickly after he grabbed your arm, the luggage falling from your hands and onto the thin snow. He pushed you up against the back of the car, encaging you between him and the vehicle. “What the hell!” You snapped at him.

“Oh, don’t get feisty with me,” Andy said, digging his waist into yours. “Why the hell did you bring Mr. Trust Fund Brat?”

“Peter and Michelle are dating. Sarah and Jacob are dating. I didn’t want to be the only single one while all my friends are coupled up!” You reasoned, slightly proud of the impromptu lie. “I’m not gonna be the fifth wheel, Andy.”

“You know damn well you weren’t going to be,” Andy husked into your ear. “You tryna be a big girl, huh, baby?”

“Tryna foster age appropriate relationships, more like it,” you frowned. Oh, he didn’t like that. “Hey!” You yelped as he snatched Ransom’s jacket off your shoulders and threw it onto the snow. “That’s Prada!”

“That’s Prada!” He mocked. “How dare you bring him here.”

“How dare I?” You gawked. “How dare you act like a scorned boyfriend when you’re anything but.” You tried to push him off you.

“Is that why you brought him? To show me you have a little boyfriend now?”

“Have you ever considered that not everything is about you!” You hissed. “Maybe I like him!”

“Bullshit.”

“I do!”

“Oh, honey,” Andy chuckled, coldly, “he can’t do anything for you.” He leaned into you, nose brushing up against yours. His breath hot against your skin, making you feel like melting like the snow around you. “He’s just some dumb kid with daddy’s money.”

“Andy – “

He encaged you against the back of the car, trapping you like a hunter does its prey. He stared down at you like you were helpless, and perhaps, beneath his ocean blue stare, you were. “Baby, he can keep you wrapped up in his expensive jackets. He can buy you a yacht for all I care, but he can’t do anything for you.” He scoffed, “I bet he doesn’t even know where to put his hands.”

His hands released yours, but you didn’t dare move a muscle. Suddenly, they were behind your thighs, hoisting you up against Ransom’s car. You gasped as Andy leaned into you, and you could feel the intimidating bulge forming against you.

“That you like them here,” he whispered, lips ghosting over each other as his hands wandered to give your ass a teasing squeeze. You locked your legs around his waist, keeping him there – not that he was trying to escape, anyway. “Oh, but you like them here, too.”

You let out a squeal as one of his hands had enclosed around your neck, squeezing until you could barely breathe. Oh, this one shouldn’t turn you on as much as it did for sure. Your moan was strained as Andy smirked down at you.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how to kiss you, huh, baby?”

You shook your head though your movements were limited. “No, daddy.”

Andy groaned before pressing his lips against yours. You had forgotten all about the luggage bags scattered around you, or the fact that Jacob and your friends – and your now forgotten plus one – were inside the house behind you.

No, in that moment, as it had always been, it was just you and Andy.

You had began to grind against him when Andy pulled away, hand releasing your neck and you took a huge breath. Andy’s hands gripped you, halting your movements against him, shaking his head. “Only good girls get to do that to their daddy, and baby, you’ve been very, very bad.”

You tried to pull him in for another kiss, an attempt to convince him that you were, indeed, his good girl, but he tutted. “Why’d you bring him, sweetheart?”

You pouted. “Jacob said you had a new girlfriend.”

Andy scoffed, brows furrowed in confusion. “I do not.”

“Then who’s that woman walking out of your house? Bowlegged and limping?”

“Could’ve been you, but you decided to bring Princeton.” Andy teased and you rolled your eyes at him. “Bowlegged and limping,” he thought aloud, trying to recount his memories. “Duffy? Only lady that’s been around was her – she was injured on the job and came around asking for some file – wait. You brought Mr. Prada Jacket because you were jealous.”

Suddenly, you were embarrassed, face turning hot, so you hid it in the crook of his neck. “Oh, no.” You muttered as he laughed.

“Oh, baby, you know the only girl I’ve been wanting is you.”

“Fuck me,” you muttered, and he only laughed a little louder.

“Oh, I intend to, but not when Princeton’s here,” he muttered into your ear, nudging your head up so that you could meet his eyes. Andy finally let you down and you stared at one another for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, awkwardly, scratching the back of your neck. “I shouldn’t have – “

“You should’ve just asked.” Andy said, “But jealousy looks good on you, baby.” He grabbed your arm and pulled you closer towards him. “Now, if you do wanna get out of Cape Cod, bowlegged and limping, you be a good girl and send Princeton packing, okay?”

You smiled, devilishly at him and nodded. “Okay, daddy.”

[therealgchu]

Combined Snippet Sunday and WIP Wednesday

so, a little late, and a little early. thanks @fangbangerghoul for the tag!

i had a lovely 4-day weekend doing NOTHING but playing starfield, and then stuffing my face with texas de brazil on the 24th, and sushi on the 25th. i also, frankly, didn't get much writing done. i do have a chapter on the editing board, almost ready to be posted, but i wanted to wait until i have the next chapter at least drafted, which i did this weekend. plus, a bunch of outlines and notes. so, somewhat productive?

anyway, you can check out the prologue and first chapter of my fic, To the Shore over on ao3

without further ado, onto the snippet/wip!

Akila

Hwa was always a late riser, and today was no different. She and Sarah returned the previous evening at almost midnight after successfully retrieving another artifact. Hwa was thankful and pleased that she had her own room at the Lodge. Sarah reassured her that, yes, the room was hers to decorate as she liked, within reason. After the artifact was placed with the others, and she performed her perfunctory check-ins with the other members, she almost ran to her new room. As soon as she got in, she made sure the door was shut and locked. She threw her haversack on the bed and stripped down to only a skimpy tank top and panties.

This was the first time she had a bedroom all to herself in years. And, it was a HUGE bedroom. The bed was a king sized bed, full dresser and bureau, bookshelves, sitting chair, and even a safe. On Neon, only the very wealthiest, like executives at Ryujin or Syndicate heads, lived like this. However, she had since learned that, while this was larger and nicer appointed than most homes, homes in New Atlantis for average people were still quite a cut above anything in Neon. Even living accommodations in the Well, where she actually felt more comfortable, were nicer than Neon.

Hwa dumped out the contents of her haversack on the bed and started taking inventory of the treasures she found. There were a lot of Chunks food, which was great because they were hermetically sealed and could be squirreled away. She ate some Chunks chicken, and wrapped up the rest in a towel. While the safe was nice, she was more than cognizant of how easy it was to break into one. No, she thought, needed a better place. Instead she’d prized up a floorboard under her bed. It was here that she stashed her food supplies. Sure, it was cliched, but no one would ever think to look there, at least not these rich people; they’d check the safe, first.

She picked up the wooden duck and arranged it on the bench at the foot of her bed. The light planetarium was placed on one of the bookshelves. But her prize for the mission was down at the bottom - a ParsecPooch plushie. She shook it and giggled delightedly at the 8-bit music, and squeezed it tightly to her chest. Hwa kicked the haversack onto the floor, stripped naked, crawled under the covers, and curled up around the plushie.

[popculturelib]

It's Barbie Week at the Browne Popular Culture Library!

Although Barbie is widely known as a children's toy, there is a sizeable collector's market for Barbie dolls, and we have quite a few comprehensive books about Barbie, her friends, and accessories. They're quite helpful for people who want to learn about the history of specific dolls, design changes, and pricing.

We also have several catalogs directed at serious Barbie collectors looking for exclusive dolls and items. These are often higher quality than Barbie dolls meant to be played with -- some are made of porcelain instead of plastic. Many collector edition Barbies are tie-ins with other media or reproductions of vintage dolls. Below is one of our catalogs from 2003:

Here's a page from the catalog, chosen because the person who runs this account played with a Rapunzel Barbie when she was younger (though a way less fancy version):

A different catalog shows off more collector's edition dolls, such as a Bob Mackie Circus Barbie, complete with a swing (left) and a pair of dolls commemorating the marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton (right):

For more information about these items, check out our catalog listings below the read more.

The Browne Popular Culture Library (BPCL), founded in 1969, is the most comprehensive archive of its kind in the United States.  Our focus and mission is to acquire and preserve research materials on American Popular Culture (post 1876) for curricular and research use. Visit our website at https://www.bgsu.edu/library/pcl.html.

Books:

The Wonder of Barbie: Dolls & Accessories, 1976-1986 (1987) by Paris & Susan Manos

The World of Barbie Dolls (1983) by Paris & Susan Manos

The Barbie Doll Years: A Comprehensive Listing & Value Guide of Dolls & Accessories (2001) by Patrick C. Olds and Joyce L. Olds

The Collectors Encyclopedia of Barbie Dolls and Collectibles (1985) by Sibyl DeWein and Joan Ashabraner

Barbie Doll & Her Mod, Mod, Mod, Mod World of Fashion, 1967-1972: Price Guide (1996) by Joe Blitman

Barbie Fashion (1990) by Sarah Sink Eames

Barbie Exclusives: Identification & Values (1995) by Margo Rana

Catalogs:

Barbie Collectibles by Mail, Spring 2003

Barbie Collector, Holiday 2010 and Spring 2012

[justagalwhowrites]

HIIIIII I hope you’re doing well and I have a question about Lavender so I’ve been rereading from ch 1 and I got to Ellie introduction and that got me thinking about Doc and Joels own little bean so I wanted to ask what your thoughts were on the story if Doc hadn’t miscarried in the qz what do you think would or wouldn’t have been different not really an ask just looking for an opinion 😊

OMG Hi Bestie!

So, funny story, you're not the first person to ask this lol! There's another ask like this in my inbox right now and I keep thinking through it because IT'S SO HARD TO ANSWER. I am planning to write a one shot of this soon (probably before the end of Lavender?) and explore this possibility?

I think it would have been different. A few things that I've kind of solidified so far:

Doc and Andrew just cohabitate in this version. They don't try to function separately really at all. They're both traumatized and she's fucking terrified about having a kid on her own and when Andrew was like "well I had a little sister, I can help..." she JUMPS ON THAT (which he's thrilled about because he does NOT want to be on his own either.) It makes for some very awkward introductions when Joel comes to the QZ.

Joel still would have had a VERY hard time but it would have been masked for longer as he lived for his daughter. He probably would have settled into one of the gigs Doc helped line up for him, for example. There would have been a weird housing situation for a while where Joel was living with Tommy to try to help get Evie acclimated to him being around without just moving him in right away and Joel would have felt some type of way about another man living with his girls when he couldn't. His melt down about tying the pregnancy to losing Sarah would have been different because he'd be so absorbed by his kid's existence that everything else would go by the wayside.

I'm unsure about if he and Doc would have split up or not. I think he'd - at best - have been really distant from her for a while and she would just be hanging on for dear life trying to make it work. Andrew would want to deck him a lot. Jess would be doing a lot of check ins and Doc would insist everything was fine. If they split, they'd have seen a LOT more of each other because of Evie and would have ended up fucking a ton because it would have just happened.

Doc and Tommy would never have been a thing. Joel would have been more present in Doc's life which would have her blinders on toward Tommy at the very least if not all other men in general, plus the fact that she's the mother of his niece would have taken that right off the table. They are still very close friends. Tommy still thinks Joel is a fucking dumbass.

Ultimately, they'd end up together and happy sooner than they did in Lavender. Something would snap Joel out of his own head when it comes relating to Doc and being vulnerable in his love for her - potentially the explosion at the FEDRA facility that almost killed her. He can't cut ties with her the way he does in Lavender because of their shared child (who, we all know, he would NEVER cut off) so he'd be stuck with some proximity to her and that would break him. Like literally break him for a bit, he'd be a WRECK for a hot minute. (Related, Joel would beat the SHIT out of Tommy for the bombing in this reality - Evie could have been with her mother and just damn.)

More minor but McCarthy would have gotten his shit rocked right there on the street with Doc in this reality lmfao. Doc probably would have told Joel about it eventually, Joel would have known who he was and he'd have taken him apart then and there.

Sooooo yeah! More to come on this relatively soon. I've already started kind of drabbling on Joel meeting Evie in this version and I'm really enjoying that!!

Thank you so much for reading and reaching out! Love you!!

[gucciwins]

how are Harry and bel? Strong as ever? some fights in between? Is she travelling with Harry for the last leg?

We miss them 😭🫶

makes me so happy to know you still love them. I've got no plans to write for them again but check-ins are always fun 💜

Bel and Harry I feel do not fight (after all the big fights I’ve given them not anymore). The only thing they bicker about is Harry being jealous when she goes out with friends and she’s in a different country because he selfishly wants her at every show but he knows she has a life around him. Bel will send him updates and he’ll be like “come home to me.” Followed by “I know you can’t. I love you.” 

Bel also felt awful not being able to be there for the entire final leg so she always does something for each show and gets them special desserts made. She sends the entire crew care packages and Harry always had a bouquet of flowers waiting for him in his dressing room. 

She has been to a few shows. Bel will of course be at Slane Castle because she knows the history and how important it is. He didn’t ask her to be there but she wanted to. She’s going to all of Wembley because it’s home for them. Then she’ll go off to do a bit of promo and come back to Austria to finish off the leg for him. 

During each show, there is a mention of her.

“My girlfriend has been looking for a top like that!” 

“The flowers are amazing. Bel delivers some everyday to me.”

“Are you crying to fine line? My girlfriend too.” 

“Rock paper scissors. You lose, you call Bel. She’s sleeping right now or I would.” 

“Can you dance salsa? Bel taught us all.”

“Does Bel love Mitch or Sarah more? It’s Sarah.”

“Bring Bel out? She’s not even here.” 

“My girlfriend told me the hiddies needed to make an appearance.” 

[maybege]

Hi, May! How are you?

I’m glad you enjoyed reading my comments on part 1!! Will try to do the same with part 2 after I read it ☺️

Also: how is recovering from TTPD going? My roommate and I had a listening party yesterday and I’ve been processing ever since. Love the album but it’s also been very overwhelming (for me personally at least)!

I’ve re-listened to my immediate faves so far but I’ll have to sit and do a personal listening party at some point soon!

Currently obsessed with: Cassandra, who’s afraid of little old me, I can do it with a broken heart, and the thanK you aIMee. But I do also really like the rest. What about you?

Hello! I am doing good and I hope you are too!

Your lovely comments really but I also know that it takes a lot of time to write them so please don't feel pressured! The main thing is that you enjoy reading 🥰

I also did a listening party with friends yesterday! And I agree that it was very overwhelming - there are so many songs and so many refereences and tbh I did not expect Matty Healy to take up such a large portion of my "Who is this song about?" guesses .... But so far, I really love it and the more I listen, the more I understand.

My current faves are: so long, london, florida!!!, i can do it with a broken heart, down bad and maybe also fresh out the slammer? BUt I feel like this might change over time

[swayhere]

open to: anyone, any gender, ages 24-30-ish muse: sarah walker (canon character from 'chuck' but you do not need to know her or source material whatsoever), 26, bisexual, cia agent plot: i am a spy working for the cia. you got caught up in something (mun can decide but here's some ideas- criminal turned asset, genius tech creator being targeted by adversaries, regular person who stumbled upon the wrong high security information and is now in danger, etc.) i have been assigned as your handler for your protection and neither of us are super happy about it. @indiestarter

"you're really lucky. the agency must be trying hard to keep you happy," sarah tucked a few strands of hair away behind her ear as she spoke. "they're actually letting you have some kind of say in our cover story. i get a say, too, of course," she quickly added. sarah had read up on the asset. she'd been studying them for the last 48 hours to make sure she knew enough to integrate into their life and mitigate any threats that may pop up in the near future. she knew better than to give them control and let them run with it.

"the options are roommates - i'd be new to town and you just happened to be looking for a new place. match made in heaven." she gave a small eye roll but tried to hide it. "i could be your new girlfriend, which is actually less invasive believe it or not - i wouldn't have to live with you, but i could stay over when necessary." sarah paused before offering the final option, which was her least favorite because it provided the least amount of security. "there's a coffee shop next to your work. i could secure a job there, but i would rarely have direct eyes on you. the agency would require you to come by for frequent check ins."

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Won't You Be My Bodyguard? - Steve Rogers X Female (Celebrity) Reader

Title: Let's Dance

Steve Rogers X Female (Celebrity) Reader

Additional Characters: Stalker (Mentioned), Sarah (Mentioned), Lily James, some cops (Mentioned), and other random people (Mentioned)

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 |

WC: 3,805

Warnings: Very suggestive content after the 'keep reading' (near the bottom) in case you want to skip it, very long chapter, stalker stuff, break-ins, police, teasing, flirting, Reader wears a dress, mention of dying (no one dies), awkwardness, anxiety, guns, blood is mentioned, angst, and fluff

When you awoke again, Steve was gone. Rubbing your hand on the sheet, it was still warm. You felt your face flush as you sat up, stretching as you yawned lightly. You got out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, seeing Steve once again at the stove.

"Good morning, Y/N," He greeted you carefully, looking back to glance at you.

You gave him a shy smile before standing next to him. "Morning... So what did you make?" You asked, looking at the hot plate in front of him.

"I made waffles." He replied before it got quiet again. "Uh, I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable last night." He spoke and you shook your head.

"No, don't worry, Steve. It's fine." Knowing what he was hinting to.

Steve nodded, humming deeply before fixing you up a plate. "Here." He said, handing you the plate. "I put strawberries on top." He added.

"Thank you," You smiled, taking a bite. "Steve... Can I ask you a question?" You asked, chewing on a piece of your waffle.

"Sure..." Steve answered, his tone light.

"I was... Wondering if you want to be my plus one for the movie premiere tonight?" You asked, twirling your fork in your hand. "Like... For strictly security purposes..."

Steve paused, before he hummed, "Sounds fun, sure."

You smiled a little, "Thank you. I know the director personally, and he invited me, and you know... Being my boyfriend, it's only right for you to come with me." You spoke, taking another bite of your waffle.

"Then yes, I'd love to come with you." Steve hummed, finishing his own waffle. "What should I wear? Is this a black tie sort of event?" He asked and you shook your head.

"Nah, more of a formal casual thing. Just wear something fancy, ya know?" You told him, setting your now dirty plate in the sink.

"Okay, I think I have something that'll work." Steve hummed, setting his own plate in the sink with yours.

"Great. I'm going to get ready. The carpet is at five and I want to make sure I have something to wear." You spoke before rushing off to your room, leaving a very content and smiley Steve behind.

~~~

A couple hours later, you were finishing getting ready for the premiere and after party. You smoothed down your black silk off-the-shoulder dress skirt, smiling as you looked yourself over. It was a simple dress, in a mermaid style with a high slit on the side; showing off your thigh. You wore your hair up in an elegant bun, holding onto your clutch bag. After checking yourself over one final time, you left your bathroom. Walking out, Steve was standing at your full-body mirror, adjusting his tie. Catching a glance of you in the mirror, Steve froze before turning around to face you.

"Wow, you look... Amazing." Steve complimented, fumbling over his words slightly, a faint blush upon his cheeks.

"Thank you, you don't look too bad yourself." You smiled, helping Steve straighten his tie. "I'm really glad you're coming with me tonight." You said, looking up into his eyes, as you rested your hands on his chest; the soft cashmere suit jacket.

Steve hummed deeply, "Me too. Make sure to save one dance for me," Steve teased, making you tilt your head as you quirked a small smirk.

"What does that mean?" You laughed out, and Steve shrugged slightly, his hands coming up to gently rest on your waist.

"Once they all see you, I don't think they'll keep their hands off ya."

Steve's comment made your smirk turn to a small smile as your face flushed. Looking down slightly, you shook your head, "Don't tease me like that."

"Hey, it's just a fact." Steve chuckled, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before guiding you out of the room, out of the apartment, and to his car.

~~~

The drive to the premiere was a long one, but you enjoyed every second of it. Steve had gotten out of the car first, helping you out as the camera from the paparazzi snapped pictures of you both. As you and Steve walked down the carpet, you could feel the eyes from the crowds staring at you, and you sighed softly.

"Relax, there's nothing to worry about." Steve whispered, leaning in to whisper to you, his breath tickling your ear.

"They're just curious." You commented, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. "Plus... It's their job."

Steve kept his hand on your lower back. His warm hand helped remind you that he was there for you, and that everything would be okay.

Soon you headed into the building and the movie began.

You didn't know how long the movie was, but it was amazing. You stood with all the other people in the room as you applauded, some people even cheered. Soon everyone began to move to the large banquet hall where the after party was held. The room was decorated with bright red and white balloons, which matched the colors of the movie poster. There were several tables set up with food, drinks, and various snacks. You took a moment to take in the room as you stood to the side with Steve.

"Y/N!" A loud voice called out before you turned to see your best friend in showbiz, Lily James. She was beautiful, with her dark brown hair down, framing her face. Her pink dress sparkled as she walked towards you.

"Lily! Hi! How are you?" You greeted her, smiling sweetly at her.

"I'm great," She spoke before glancing at Steve and back to you with a smirk. "Who’s this guy?"

"Hmm? Oh! I'm so sorry." You fumbled before gesturing to the two. "Steve, this is Lily, my best friend. Lily, this is Steve... My boyfriend." You spoke, introducing them.

"Nice to meet you, Steve." Lily said, shaking his hand gently. "I've heard a lot about you."

Steve grew a smirk of his own, glancing to you briefly, "Really?"

Lily nodded, noticing the blush on your face as she continued, "Yes, we text quite often."

Steve hummed, looking back at you, as you groaned lightly, "Interesting."

You looked up at him, placing a hand on your hip. "If you must know... I just told her I like your hair."

"You like my hair?" Steve questioned, looking down at you with a raised brow.

"Yeah, it's really cute." You continued, feeling embarrassed as fidgeting with your small clutch. "I rather like dirty blondes." You mumbled in return.

"She thinks you should grow your beard out. She really likes the stubble." Lily blurted, winking, making you quickly turn to her with wide eyes. You wished you could just curl up and die now. "What?" She asked, but you could tell she was doing this on purpose.

Steve hummed before he leaned in closer to you to speak in a low tone, "Thanks... Good to know."

You nodded, smiling softly before turning away from him. "So, how do you two know each other? You haven't told me that story yet." Lily asked, having caught on to the awkwardness between you and Steve.

You and Steve glanced at each other before you both turned back to Lily. "Uh, well... I went out for coffee one day and he came in..."

"I asked if the seat across from her was taken at all, and she said no." Steve spoke up, "I sat down and we just... Hit it off." He finished, looking down at you as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you gently into him.

"Yeah, it kind of just happened. Fate really. Destiny." You spoke, looking up at Steve before Lily broke the small bit of silence.

"Wow. That's amazing." She gushed, looking from you to Steve. "So when did you guys actually start dating?"

Your eyes widened slightly as Steve let out a small chuckle, "Well... We've been dating for a few months now."

Lily looked at you, tilting her head curiously, "And here I thought you'd never meet a guy. And he even looks like Chris Evans. Pretty lucky to me." She giggled, shaking her head. "I'm happy for you two."

"Thanks," You answered quickly, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

You looked away from her, biting your lip as you watched couples dancing on the dance floor.

"So... You two should go out there." Lily spoke, bringing your attention back to her. "They're doing a slow one next."

"O... Okay." You spoke softly, smiling as Lily waved her goodbyes before heading off.

You let out a sigh as you bit your lip worriedly, Steve taking notice. Reaching up, he brought his thumb to your chin, gently tugging your bottom lip from your teeth. You looked up at him, staring into his ocean blue eyes as he smiled down at you. You could see an unknown look in his gaze and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Are you ready to dance?" He asked, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek.

"Mhm," You hummed, nodding your head slowly.

Steve smiled softly, his lips curving up as he pulled you close, sweeping you off your feet. You giggled as he spun you around, his strong arms wrapping around your middle as you made it to the dance floor. The slow song from the live orchestra began, Steve taking your hand in leading you into a small waltz. Your heart felt light as you moved with ease, your hips swaying to the beat of the music. You hummed along to the song you recognized as a Mozart as your fingers fiddled with Steve's collar, half day-dreaming, half anxiously fidgeting.

"Are you nervous?" Steve murmured into your ear, making you jump slightly.

"Mm... No... Why would I be?" You hummed, shrugging lightly as Steve gave you a knowing look.

"I've known you for a month, Y/N. I can tell when you're nervous." Steve spoke softly, his thumb rubbing small patterns into your hip.

"Well, I'm not." You argued, shaking your head.

"You know you can trust me..." He began, "Right?" He asked, frowning slightly as he worried that you didn't trust him enough to tell him how you were actually feeling.

"No. Steve. I know. I..." You paused, looking away from him briefly to take a deep breath. "I think I want you to be more than just my bodyguard." You confessed softly, not knowing if he heard you or not.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked, frowning slightly as he stared down at you with an intense gaze.

"I don't know what we are... We flirt and joke around a lot." You spoke quietly, looking up at him through your lashes, "I don't just see you as my fake boyfriend or my bodyguard... I see you as this super compassionate person who I can trust with everything. I really do love that stubble by the way. Not to mention you are amazingly handsome and so out of my league." You explained, picking up speed as you ranted anxiously.

You paused, taking another breath, "The thing is... I like you a whole lot. More than I thought I did."

Steve froze, unable to speak; completely speechless. Steve's heart was beating so fast he was worried he needed his inhaler, but looking into your worried eyes, glistening with unshed tears, Steve couldn't help but smile.

"Oh, sweetheart." He breathed, his voice cracking slightly as he leaned in, kissing your forehead softly. "We're idiots."

You hummed, shaking your head as you pressed your palms against his chest, pushing him away for a moment, "Now that's not the response I was hoping for."

Steve chuckled, he tightened his grip around your waist slightly. Pulling you back close to him, his lips pressing against yours softly. Your eyes widened before they slowly fluttered closed, letting yourself fall into the kiss as the slow song ended.

~~~

"I am not out of your league. It's definitely the other way around." Steve laughed softly as you shook your head, slightly swinging your intertwined hands as you walked up to your condo door.

"How about we just agree to disagree?" You asked, leaning forward to kiss him quickly.

Steve kissed you back, deepening the kiss. He pulled back, gazing into your eyes; unable to stop the smile on his face from forming.

"What?" You asked, admiring the man before you for a moment. "Why are you looking at me like that for?"

"You're beautiful." Steve stated simply, smirking as you huffed. "Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?"

You stepped back a bit, placing both your hands on your hips as you pivoted your weight to one side. "You telling me I don't look stunning everyday, Rogers?" You teased, watching as Steve's face reddened and his eyes widened.

"Oh! No! I mean- You are gorgeous everyday, Y/N." Steve stammered as he cleared his throat.

"You laughed lightly, shaking your head as you placed your hands on his chest. "Stevie, I'm teasing you. Don't worry."

Steve rolled his eyes jokingly, "That's not funny." He said, tugging the collar of his dress shirt. "I almost had a heart attack."

"Ohhh, I'm sorry, honey." You laughed out, scooting closer to Steve, unknowingly backing him into the wall. "I'll make it up to you, alright?" You smirked, looking up at him through your lashes as he looked down at you.

"Promise?" He asked, his voice strained and low.

You licked your lips, "I promise." Unable to look away.

Steve looked at you for several moments before he finally spoke, "Let's get going then."

Taking your hand again, you headed down the hall, only to stop at your door. Your very open front door.

"Steve?" You whispered out, breathing picking up a bit as you stared, "You locked up behind me, right?"

"Yes, I did." He spoke, his voice entirely different then before. It was hard, angry. "Stay behind me." He commanded you, pulling back his suit jacket to pull out a gun.

"Woah, you had that on you the whole time?" You asked, "How didn't I notice?" You asked in a hushed whisper.

"Don't worry about it. Stay behind me." Steve repeated, slowly walking around the room with purpose.

Steve aimed the gun out in front of him, hand on the trigger as he maneuvered around the broken glass, papers, and furniture. He held his breath as paused at a wall, peering around it before clearing the room.

"Steve!" You whisper-yelled, stepping around the broken table, standing behind Steve as you peered into the mess. "I think he took my laptop." You whimpered, holding onto Steve tightly.

"Shh, I'll buy you a new one." Steve hushed you softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I'm so scared Steve," You admitted, tears building in your eyes. "They're not here still, right?"

"I don't know. We still have your bedroom left." He muttered, before slowly making his way to the room.

You quickly followed, holding onto the back of Steve's suit jacket, hesitantly peering out to see your room. Stopping at your door, Steve nudged the door open with his shoe, eyes widening in slight horror, as was yours, when he saw your room. 'You are mine.' was written on your walls, painted in bright red paint. Checking your bedroom bathroom, Steve finally let out a sigh, putting his gun on safety mode before putting it back in his holster.

"Seems clear. That's good." Steve breathed out, placing his hands on his hips as he looked around the room.

"'That's good'? Nothing about this is good, Steven!" You exclaimed, running a hand through your hair, unpinning it slightly. "This person got into my home! Stole my laptop! Messed everything up and wrote these crazy messages on my walls! Everything is not good!" You cried out, finally letting the tears fall.

Steve watched you, his hands slowly falling to his side before he walked over to you, taking you into his arms. "I didn't mean it like that, Y/N... You know that." He let out, rubbing your back gently.

"I know," You sniffled, "I'm just scared." You explained, tears spilling from your eyes once again.

"Sweetheart, I promise, I won't let anything happen to you. I'll protect you until my last dying breath if I have to." Steve promised as he hugged you tight to his chest.

"I know." You sobbed, clinging to him for dear life. "That doesn't mean you have a free pass to die for me though." You mumbled into his now tear-stained shirt.

"I'll call the police, and they will find whoever this is. Just hold on." Steve smiled reassuringly, kissing your head gently. "We can stay at the hotel... Alright? Do you think you can pack some clothes while I call them?"

You nodded, slowly pulling away, "You'll be here still, right?" You asked, wiping away a tear with the back of your hand.

"Of course, look at me." Steve softly asked, placing his hands on your cheeks. "Know I'll always stay. I'm not running away." He joked softly, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

You nodded, forcing a small smile on your face, "Okay."

~~~

Holding a small duffle bag in your hands, you waited for Steve by the front door in a simple pair of sweats. Steve grabbed his own bag and nodded to one of the police officers before the two of you made your way to Steve's car. The police, well four of them, came only a couple of minutes after Steve called. They pulled both you and Steve away, separated you in different rooms as you were interrogated... Well, they then asked you what happened. But, the way they were asking questions made you feel like they were interrogating you.

And on the car drive over to the hotel, you just wanted it all to stop. You wanted to go back to life when you weren't that known, back when you were just you. But, then you wouldn't have met Steve. You wouldn't say you thanked your stalker for that. No. Never. But, you thanked your manager, Sarah. Still, you wished that you could forget all your troubles; in any way.

Stepping into the hotel, you stood closely beside Steve as he got the key and the two of you made it to your hotel room. You tried to talk when Steve asked you anything, but you could only reply in hums or soft grunts. You couldn't stop seeing the red paint on your walls. Dripping like blood down, staining your white walls with sorrow and dread. It looked like a scene from a horror movie.

"Here, you get comfy. I'm going to call your manager, let her know we're here." Steve softly spoke up, gently guiding you to the bathroom.

You entered the room and shut the door behind you, unconsciously locking it. Setting your duffle bag on the double sink countertops, you looked around for something comfy to wear, finding some cotton shorts and an oversized tee. Steve's shirt. You stole it when you were doing laundry. Technically it was yours now.

Washing your face, you used the water to cleanse away the tears. You grabbed one of the towels and dabbed your skin gently, feeling refreshed after.

"Y/N?" Steve called out behind the door, knocking softly. "You alright?"

"Yeah." You called back, unlocking the door and opening it. "I just wanted to wash my face."

Steve smiled down at you, shaking his head lightly, "You don't have to explain, I was just worried."

You grabbed your bag and tossed it into the corner, biting your lip as you rubbed your arm. "I'm-"

Steve turned to you, raising an eyebrow, before his eyes trailed down your figure, eyes landing on the shirt. "Isn't that mine? I thought I miss-placed that."

"Yeah," You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Finders keepers, I found it in the dryer." You shrugged, "But if you want it back, you can have it."

Steve pressed his lips together, he sat beside you. "Nah, you look way better in it than I do." Looking down at you, Steve continued, "Do you need anything? Want me to go get you anything?"

You stared up at him wordlessly, feeling tears beginning to build up. Why was he just so perfect? Every time you felt upset, he was there to comfort you. And yet, every time you were sad, he was the one who made you feel better.

"I know you're probably tired-" Steve started, pulling you close to him.

You sniffled, nodding your head, "I am, but I just can't sleep."

Steve nodded, "Alright, well, come sit down on the bed, I'll bring you something to drink." He went to get up, but you grabbed his arm.

"No, I..." You paused, feeling your cheeks burn, "I need you, Steve." You breathe out, looking up at him. "Please." You begged.

Steve stared down at you, his eyes searching yours, "What do you need me to do?" He asked as you clutched onto his shirt tighter.

"I want you to help me forget." You quickly told him, your heart almost bursting with nerves as you waited for his answer.

Steve glanced at the hotel wall briefly before looking back at you, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, "Yes, Steve. Make me forget this, please." You repeated, looking up at him with such anguish.

Steve slowly leaned forward, seemingly a bit hesitant as he placed his hand on your cheek, finally placing his lips on yours. His kiss was gentle and soft, lips barely touching against yours. But, it was wonderful. It was everything. You felt warmth filling your body as he kissed you, the tension draining from your shoulders as he held you close. You moaned softly when Steve pulled away from the kiss, your cheeks flushed as you breathed out only for Steve to drive in again, his kiss now more passionate as he deepened it.

He ran his fingers through your hair, tugging slightly on it as he pulled you closer, your hands finding their way into his hair. He was too good to you. Everything he did was so perfect. He always put you first, and he'd never realize how much you appreciated it.

You gave yourself fully to his kiss, moaning softly as he pushed you back into the bed, holding you in place as he took control. You ran your hands along his back, fingertips tracing his spine before he pulled away from you. Your breathing quickens as you watch him pull off his shirt, revealing his toned, muscular chest. Licking your lips, you looked at the gorgeous man before you. You knew you'd forget. You'd forget and only remember Steve's name.

_________________________________________________________

@lucifersnipnips @princess-paramour @layla409 @royalwritesoftheuniverses

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for the last chapter!

[maryflowerw]

Where should I start?

@mindibindi

Just to name a few of your posts:

“ It might be worth some of the people on this post recalibrating their ideas of "success" Why should we “recalibrate” anything at all? It’s our opinion/vision. Period. Nothing to calibrate.

“ not mention being kinder and more realistic in their analyses of a woman who has been in the public eye for 30 years” Again, we have a right to express OUR opinions any way WE want. You don’t get to tell us how to anyalize or view anyone. Period.  You adore her? Fine. I don’t. 

“ I doubt y'all and your choices would hold up under such scrutiny” We are not public figures; SHE is.

“ I have never seen fans claim she was "traumatized" by her XF days. She has sensitively expressed some of the difficulties of that time, which again, she has every right to do.” Where to start here? 

“ I think any bitterness of this show has more to do with her relationship with the creator. Don't really have much to say about that. Y'all seem to think you know the ins and outs of her private life but guess what? You don't and have no right to.” Speak for yourself, honey.

“ Jean Milburn is a fucking ICON.” Again, to you! Not to everyone else and not even the critics.

“ She gets to be with a fab cast of young'ns AND she  gets to do other things, including spend time with her own family.” So we were the ones supposed to know the ins and out of her private life. Figures.

“ Correct me if I'm wrong (and I know you will), we don't actually KNOW why Gillian (or David) is not attending Philefest or any 30th anniversary celebrations. She might be working. Her head/heart/energy may be engaged elsewhere. She might need time off. She might be with her family.We don't know and frankly  she doesn't OWE us an explanation. She doesn't OWE us anything.” Celebrities basically owe their careers to their fans. No fans? No money. Simple. 

“ WE didn't give her her career anymore than CC did. Gillian WORKED HARD for everything she now has. She put in the hard yards. She didn't do it for money or ambition.” No, you are write, she works for free. Just like her cons.

“ She came back for Chris, David and the fans and did her job despite woeful material. How about YOU all show HER some gratitude?” EXCUSE ME?! I don’t have to show her anything at all! You want to suck up to her until your eyes roll back in your head? Suit yourself! 

“ Much like regular news media, I imagine Gillian uses these accounts to engage in her own own unique, fun way, but she's probably not on there by choice. I think if you think that then you need a bit of a reality check.” Reality check: Hello, Lucy?? Sarah?? et al.

“ White, able, cishet men remaining silent when  they see obvious injustice in their own workplace is complicity of the most complacent variety.” Yes and Gillian is a real feminist. 

“ you don't have the right to resort to vitriol” The usual MO today: a different opinion is just vitriol.

“ I think there is a bit too much emotion involved here and not enough reality.” Yes, specially from suck-up fans.

“ I don't think Gillian is perfect but if I don't like something she has done I can construct a fair argument that is based in reality and devoid of overly emotional, overly demanding vitriol. “ Well, some of us are not perfect like you:)

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

ONE day until TTPD and it’s Midnights Day. We did it! All ten albums! Sarah thank you for hosting this relistening party. It’s been a calm and safe space during the frenzy of release week. I appreciate you! 🕛🕛 Song: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve 🕛 Lyric: “I stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror” 🕛 Underrated: Mastermind and Dear Reader (both the album closer and 3am edition closer don’t get enough love!) 🕛 Bridge: YOYOK 🥹 -xo listening party anon

YOU GUYS WE MADE IT.

Thank you so much listening party anon for these daily check ins and for facilitating this incredibly fun and super rewarding journey through Taylor's eras. The last week has possibly been the most fun I've had on TSSQ in quite some time and you were instrumental in that so truly TY!

TSS Relistening Party: Midnights

Favourite Song: Dear Reader

Favourite Lyric: Never take advice from someone who's falling apart / Dear reader, the greatest of luxuries is your secrets

Most Underrated: Question...? BELOVED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lone-rhapsodist]

So, in case you missed it… Donna Zuckerberg replied to my email about the Classics project. Which is amazing! I really did not expect it! So now I feel like I have her blessing to contact Sarah Bond, who also worked on Eidolon in its heyday, and is now editor of a Substack called Pasts Imperfect, which is supposed to be on a similar vibe.

The reason why I contacted Donna Zuckerberg is because I am currently slightly dissatisfied with the project and I am looking for advice on how to develop it further. In case you don't know, I have recently created a Discord server for the project and invited people to join. There's about 7 of us at the moment, and it was alright at the start, but then things went cold, and now I am a bit unsure how to go forward. I think it's okay for now because it was always meant to be a community for those seeking help, and if no one needs help, well, that's fair enough! Also, I'm sure that, when more people join, things will pick up again. For now, I really needed someone at the start to check the server out, especially the rules/manifesto, and tell me what they think. Soon, I will put up a permanent invite and see how it goes. Perhaps having more of a community feel, with weekly check-ins, might help. Any advice in this respect is much appreciated!

However, I still think that a Discord server is not the most ideal platform for what I have in mind, and so I feel like, while I do want to keep exploring it as an option and see what works and what doesn't, I would also like on the side to start expanding things further and reach out to other people and communities who may be interested in the project. Hence the email to Donna Zuckerberg, and soon, one to Sarah Bond. But also, I think it is time I start reaching out to people in other places, such as Reddit or Twitter, or even Mastodon? Still under a pseudonym, I reckon. Although, with that said, I have been sending all these emails in my own name, and I do feel like, if there is enough support for the project from all these lovely people, perhaps it will be safer for me to come out in the open and advocate for it in my name. We'll see.

I'm also thinking about going back to writing. It has not been the easiest lately, finding time to sit down and write. I am even considering changing format… making it more interactive. I'm also considering starting a podcast. That is a bit of a weird idea, but I've been thinking about it for a while, as I find it so much easier to speak than to write. I don't know These things are all very much work-in-progress, but not so much that they cannot all happen at some point. The next step is to email Sarah Bond and see what she says. The rest will follow accordingly.