#kickin the new year off right

[itzpris-art]

Vincent A. Terrio, pencil and paper- it's been too long

[iamquiantrelle]

VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 2) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairing: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach

# summary: she's been his pa for almost a year and everyday is a struggle to function around him, but he'll never see her more than that...will he? and what will happen if he finds out she's also a virgin? masterlist.

It's been three days since The Comment™️, and Leila's standing in front of her bathroom mirror trying to make her box braids cooperate while simultaneously giving herself a pep talk about professional boundaries. The Madrid morning sun is streaming through her apartment window, making the gold threads in her hair shimmer like they're trying to show off.

"Just another day at the office," she mutters to her reflection. "A very expensive office with a very beautiful boss who thinks you're just okay."

Her phone buzzes – probably Yolanda's daily check-in. Her best friend had been skeptical from day one about this whole situation.

"Girl, you know how them African men be," Yolanda had said when Leila first got the job, and Leila had immediately jumped to defend against the stereotype because hello? It's 2024 and we're really still doing this?

But now? Standing here in her Madrid apartment getting ready to face another day of Aurélien's casual touches and unconscious flirting that apparently meant nothing? Maybe Yolanda had a point. Not about African men in general – that's still a trash take – but about Aurélien specifically.

Because yeah, he's French on paper, but his blood is pure Cameroonian and she's been around him long enough to see it clear as day. The way he'd shown off during that Bridge show with Samuel Eto'o and Francis Ngannou, like he was just kickin' it with his cousins. How he switches between French and that specific Cameroonian-French dialect when he's on the phone with his family. The way his whole demeanor shifts when his mama's cooking pondu.

She reaches for her most professional blazer – the one that says "I'm here to work, not to pine over you like a teenager." No more of those oversized sweaters he likes to cuddle into during morning meetings. No more letting him play with her braids while they review his schedule. No more melting when he calls her "ma puce" in that rough morning voice.

Her phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from the man himself:

Boss Man AT: Can you bring breakfast today? Missing your biscuits...

Three days ago, that message would've had her rushing to the kitchen to whip up his favorites. Now? She types back a crisp: You have a fully stocked kitchen and a recipe book. I'll see you at 9 for the Nike meeting.

She can almost see his confused face, probably wondering why his reliable source of Southern comfort food is suddenly acting brand new. But that's what he wanted, right? Just okay means just business.

"Keep that same energy," she tells her reflection, adjusting her blazer one last time. No more of this Georgia peach sweetness. If he wants okay, she can give him okay. Professional okay. Efficient okay. The kind of okay that doesn't make him honey brown sugar wings or laugh at his bad jokes or pretend not to notice when he falls asleep on her shoulder during long flights.

The kind of okay that doesn't catch feelings for men who see her as nothing more than a convenient source of soul food and schedule management.

Another text from him: Are you mad at me?

She stares at it for a long moment. Types and deletes three different responses before settling on: I'll have your schedule ready when I arrive.

Because what's she supposed to say? "Yes, I'm mad because you called me okay while I've been over here catching feelings like a whole idiot"? "No, I'm not mad, I'm just heartbroken because I let myself forget that I'm just the help"?

Her mama didn't raise no fool, even if her heart's been acting like one lately. Time to remember that this is just a job. A really good job with excellent benefits and a boss who's unfairly gorgeous and who probably has half the models in Europe on speed dial.

"Just another day at the office," she repeats, grabbing her keys and her emotional support water bottle. Just another day of pretending her heart doesn't do backflips every time he smiles.

But this time? This time she's keeping those backflips strictly professional.

Even if it kills her.

The drive to Aurélien's place feels different when you're trying to maintain professional boundaries. No more stopping at that little café he loves for pain au chocolat. No more singing along to his playlist that she definitely hasn't downloaded (okay, she has, but she's not playing it today). Just straight business, straight roads, straight to the point.

When she pulls up to his gate, she hesitates before punching in the code. Three days ago, she'd have walked right in, probably already planning what to cook for his breakfast. Now she hits the intercom instead.

"Yes?" His voice crackles through the speaker, sounding confused because she never uses this thing.

"It's Leila. Here for the Nike meeting prep."

A pause. Long enough that she almost thinks he's not going to buzz her in. Then: "Since when do you use the intercom, ma puce?"

"Since it's the professional thing to do," she answers, proud that her voice stays steady even though that pet name still hits her right in the chest. "Can you let me in? We're on a schedule."

Another pause, then the gate swings open. She drives up the familiar path, noticing Ocho already at the front door, tail wagging like he's personally offended she hasn't been properly spoiling him these past few days.

Aurélien opens the door before she can knock (because yeah, she was going to knock too – new professional Leila is committed). He's standing there in just his training shorts, hair still wet from the shower, looking like some kind of trap God had specifically designed to test her resolve.

"You're really gonna knock?" he asks, that little furrow between his brows that usually means he's trying to figure out a tactical problem on the field. "At your own house?"

"This isn't my house," she corrects him, sliding past without their usual hug even though Ocho is doing his best to trip her up for pets. "It's your house. I'm your PA."

She sets up her laptop at the kitchen island – not the couch where they usually do morning meetings, because that's too comfortable, too familiar, too many memories of him playing with her braids while they go over his schedule.

"Leila."

"The Nike people want to go over the new contract clauses," she says, pulling up her notes without looking at him. "And then you have that photoshoot for–"

"Leila." His voice is closer now, right behind her chair. "Look at me."

"We don't have time–"

"Since when?"

She finally turns, finds him looking at her with an expression she can't quite read. "Since when what?"

"Since when don't we have time? Since when do you use the intercom? Since when do you not make breakfast? Since when are you not you?"

And that? That actually makes her mad. Because who is he to question who she is when he's the one who reduced her entire existence to "okay"?

"Since I remembered what my job actually is," she says, turning back to her laptop. "Now can we focus? The Nike meeting is at nine and you still need to get dressed. Something professional please, not those ripped jeans you love."

"Ma puce–"

"And stop calling me that." The words come out sharper than she intended. "I'm your PA, not your–"

She cuts herself off because what was she going to say? Not your friend? Not your cook? Not your emotional support Black girl who's been stupid enough to catch feelings?

"Not my what?" Now he sounds almost angry, which is rich coming from someone who's the actual cause of this whole situation.

"Not important," she finishes, pulling up his calendar. "Now about the Nike meeting–"

"Who said you're not important?"

The genuine confusion in his voice almost breaks her. Almost makes her want to look at him. Almost makes her want to explain everything.

Almost.

"Your schedule is updated for the week," she says instead. "I've coordinated with Jules about that charity event, and your mother called about dinner on–"

His hand appears in her field of vision, closing her laptop. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just doing my job. The job you pay me for. Now can you please get dressed? We have a meeting to prepare for and you're..." she waves vaguely at his general shirtless situation, "...distracting."

That last word slips out before she can catch it, and she sees the way his expression shifts, like he's just caught the scent of something interesting on the field.

"Distracting?"

"Unprofessional," she corrects quickly. "You're being unprofessional. Shirt. Now. Please."

He doesn't move, just keeps looking at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve. "Did I do something?"

Yes. No. Maybe. You made me fall in love with you and then called me okay and I don't know how to handle any of this.

"You did nothing," she says, and at least that part is true. He did nothing because she means nothing. She's just okay. "But we're going to be late if you don't get dressed."

He stays there for another moment, like he's waiting for something. Then finally: "D'accord. But this conversation isn't over."

"The only conversation we need to have is about the Nike contract," she calls after him as he heads upstairs. "And please wear the blue suit! The grey one needs pressing!"

She waits until she hears his bedroom door close before letting out the breath she's been holding. Just another day at the office. Just another day of pretending her heart isn't breaking.

She can do this.

She absolutely cannot do this.

The Nike headquarters in Madrid is all glass and chrome and people who look like they just stepped out of a lifestyle blog. Leila follows Aurélien into the conference room, tablet in hand, trying to maintain that professional distance even though he keeps finding reasons to touch her lower back as they walk. Old habits die hard, apparently.

She's setting up her notes when she feels it – that distinct sensation of being watched. She glances up to find one of the Nike interns looking at her like she's a whole snack, and not in that lowkey way she's used to dealing with. Man is straight up LOOKING looking.

He's cute, objectively speaking. Marco, according to his badge. All honey-toned skin and warm brown eyes, perfectly styled dark hair and a smile that probably works wonders on dating apps. Not usually her type – she tends to gravitate toward men built like NBA players, dark skin, the kind of smile that lights up rooms (she's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT) – but maybe Yolanda's right. Maybe she needs to expand her horizons.

The meeting starts, and she's trying to focus on contract clauses and marketing strategies, but she keeps catching Marco's eyes across the table. He's definitely interested, shooting her these little smiles that make her feel seen in a way she hasn't since... well. Since that comment.

She's so focused on not focusing on Marco that she almost misses the shift in Aurélien's energy. Almost, but not quite. Because she knows this man's moods like she knows her mama's recipes, and right now? He's got that same energy he gets when someone makes a bad tackle in training.

"As I was saying," Marco's speaking now, something about social media integration, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"My PA handles all my social media coordination," he says, voice carrying that edge she usually only hears when journalists ask stupid questions. "Leila has final say on everything."

She blinks because that's... not true? Like, she helps with his social media but she definitely doesn't have "final say" on anything. She's about to correct him when she feels his hand on her knee under the table, a touch that would've made her melt three days ago but now just confuses her.

The meeting wraps up, all handshakes and professional smiles, and she's gathering her things when Marco approaches her desk.

"Hey," he smiles, and yeah, okay, maybe she could get used to this type that isn't her type. "I was thinking, you know, for coordination purposes..."

He slides his business card across the table, and she doesn't need to flip it over to know his personal number is on the back. This isn't her first rodeo with smooth corporate boys.

"For coordination," she repeats, trying not to smile too obviously. Behind her, she swears she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight.

"Purely professional," Marco grins, but his eyes say something entirely different. "Although if you wanted to discuss strategy over dinner sometime..."

"Leila." Aurélien's voice cuts through whatever smoothness Marco was about to deploy. "We have that thing."

"What thing?" she asks, because they absolutely do not have a thing.

"That thing," he insists, and now his hand is back on her lower back, more possessive than guiding. "You know, the important one."

Marco looks between them, something knowing in his expression that makes Leila want to explain that it's not like that, that she's just "okay" actually, that her boss just has boundary issues.

Instead, she takes the card, making sure her fingers brush against Marco's just because she can. Just because maybe she needs to remind herself that she's not completely invisible to the male population. Just because maybe she needs Aurélien to see that she can be more than okay to someone else.

"I'll call if we need to... coordinate," she says, and Marco's answering smile is bright enough to light up the room.

She feels Aurélien's fingers flex against her back.

"Great meeting," he says, but his voice suggests it was anything but. "We should go. For the thing."

"Right," she sighs, gathering her tablet. "The very important thing that definitely exists."

She lets him guide her out, very aware of Marco's eyes following them, even more aware of how Aurélien's hand hasn't left her back. The card feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, a tiny rebellion against... what exactly? Her type? Her feelings? The man currently trying to speed-walk her to the elevator like she might sprint back to that conference room if he moves too slow?

"So," she says once they're alone in the elevator. "What's this very important thing we're apparently late for?"

"Lunch," he says shortly. "With my mother."

"Your mother is in Paris."

"Then I guess we'll have to FaceTime her."

She looks at him then, really looks at him for the first time in three days. He's got that jaw clench going on, the one that usually means he's stressed about a big match. But they don't have any games this week, so...

"You're really going to pretend we have lunch plans just because that intern was trying to–"

"He wasn't trying to coordinate anything," Aurélien cuts her off, stabbing the lobby button like it personally offended him. "He was trying to–"

"To what?" She's actually curious now. "To ask out your 'okay' PA?"

His head snaps toward her so fast she's worried about whiplash. "What did you just say?"

But the elevator doors are opening and she's already moving, putting that professional distance back between them. She's got Marco's card in her pocket and a whole new perspective on her "type" and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of her power back.

She feels his eyes on her all the way to his car, and she's not thinking about what that means.

She's not. She absolutely is.

The drive to wherever they're going is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Leila's pressed against the passenger door of his Urus like she's trying to become one with it, while Aurélien's got both hands on the wheel (for once) and is chewing on his bottom lip like it personally offended him. Every now and then he mumbles something in that mix of French and Cameroonian dialect that she's pretty sure isn't appropriate for polite company.

She pretends to be very interested in her phone, definitely not stealing glances at how his jaw is doing that clenching thing or how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

They end up at this little place in the heart of Madrid that she knows for a fact isn't on his approved restaurant list (his nutritionist is going to have WORDS), but she's not about to remind him. Not when he's radiating this energy that's somewhere between "post-loss press conference" and "that time Jude ate his last protein bar."

They're barely settled into their seats when his phone starts ringing, his mama's face lighting up the screen.

"Maman," he answers, immediately softening like he always does for her. "Oui, je suis avec Leila."

"My baby!" His mother's voice carries through the speaker. "Why haven't you been feeding my son, chérie? He's looking thin."

Leila can't help but smile because trust Josette Tchouaméni to get straight to the point. "He has a fully stocked kitchen and knows how to use it."

"Ah, so that's why he's pouting? No more of your cooking?"

"Maman," Aurélien protests, but his mother waves him off.

"Don't 'maman' me. What did you do to make her stop cooking for you? You know Leila only cooks for people she l–"

"How's Papa?" Aurélien cuts in quickly, and Leila pretends not to notice the nervous tick in his neck. "Is his back better?"

They chat for a few more minutes, his mother expertly guilting them both about not visiting enough, before hanging up. The waiter brings their food – definitely not nutritionist approved – and they eat in silence for a moment before:

"I'm headed to Clairefontaine on Thursday."

"Yeah, I know," she doesn't look up from her plate. "I manage your schedule, remember?"

"You should come."

She squints at him across the table. She's only been to Clairefontaine once, before the Euros last summer. It wasn't awful – actually kind of nice, if you ignore how she spent half the time trying not to openly stare at what was essentially a collection of the finest Black men French football had to offer. But still.

"I have a hair appointment that day."

His lips curl into that smirk that usually means trouble. "So catch a flight after. Your girl doesn't close until seven anyway."

She narrows her eyes because how does he know her stylist's hours? "Why do I need to come to Clairefontaine?"

"Because..." he takes a deliberately slow bite of his food, "it's your job, ma puce."

The way he says 'job' makes it sound like something else entirely. She watches him continue eating like he hasn't just completely disrupted her plans for a peaceful Thursday of getting her hair done and definitely not thinking about him.

"My job is to manage your schedule, not babysit you at national team camp."

"Mhm," he hums around another bite. "And since my schedule includes Clairefontaine..."

"I can manage your schedule from Madrid."

"You could," he agrees, finally looking up at her. "But then who's going to make sure I eat properly?"

"The team has nutritionists."

"Who's going to organize my recovery sessions?"

"The physios."

"Who's going to keep me company when I can't sleep before matches?"

"I'm sure one of your many model friends would be happy to–"

She stops herself but it's too late. His eyes sharpen with interest.

"Is that what this is about? The models?"

"This is about maintaining professional boundaries," she says primly, stabbing at her salad. "Something you seem to have trouble with."

"Says the woman who just gave her number to a Nike intern."

"I did not give him my number. He gave me his card. For coordination purposes."

Aurélien actually snorts. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"You know what?" She pushes her plate away. "I don't actually have to explain myself to you. You're my boss, remember? Just my okay boss with his okay PA who–"

"What did you just say?"

But she's already standing, gathering her things. "I'll book your usual room at Clairefontaine."

She's halfway to the door when his voice stops her:

"It has a spa. For after your hair appointment."

She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't keep walking either.

"And Marcus will be there. You know he loves your cornbread."

Now that's just playing dirty. Marcus Thuram makes actual puppy eyes when she cooks.

"And Ibou's been asking about you."

"Stop trying to bribe me."

"Is it working?"

She finally turns to find him watching her with that look that usually means he's about to score a goal. Like he already knows he's won but he's going to enjoy the game anyway.

"I'll think about it."

His smile is immediate and bright. "I'll have the jet ready after your appointment."

"I didn't say yes!"

But he's already back to eating, that satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "Whatever you say, ma puce. Whatever you say."

She leaves the restaurant knowing two things:

1. She's definitely going to Clairefontaine

2. She's absolutely screwed

The drizzle at Clairefontaine is doing absolutely criminal things to Leila's press and curl while she stands next to Didier Deschamps, holding an umbrella and questioning all her life choices. Primarily the choice to listen to Theresa about "giving her hair a break from braids" without checking the weather app first, because now she's stuck in three days of rain before they head to Budapest for their match against IsNotReal (and really, of ALL the teams they could've drawn...).

But it's hard to be too mad about anything when she's got what might be the finest collection of Black men outside of Essence Fest running laps in front of her. Because listen. LISTEN. Nobody prepared her for this part of the PA job – standing here getting a whole panoramic view of what happens when God decides to show all the way out.

The French national team lineup has literally a flavor for every girl's type of man, and somebody needs to preserve this in the Louvre immediately because it's giving museum quality. You want light skins with braids? They got that. Light skins with locs? Present. Light skins with fades? Check. Tall dark skin thicker than a Snickers with fades that look like they could bench press a car? Baby, they got that too. Tall dark skin sprinter built with fades that look like they could outrun your commitment issues? Absolutely. Tall basketball player types with perfect taper fades? (She's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT.) Brown skins that look like they walked straight out of your prayers? Every single shade in the Fenty foundation range is represented and they're all just... running around like this is normal.

Her eyes might be doing a little too much as they jog past, that subtle up-down-up scanning that would have her mama reaching for a switch if she could see her now. But honestly? She's just doing what any person with working eyes would do – appreciating art. Very fine, very athletic art that's currently glistening in the rain like they're being professionally lit by God's personal lighting crew.

And speaking of divine lighting – here comes Aurélien jogging past with Cama and Jules, looking like every single one of her inappropriate thoughts decided to take human form. His curls are getting damp from the rain, skin gleaming, and this man has the absolute AUDACITY to throw her a wink as he passes. Like he didn't just catch her mentally drafting half the national team like it was fantasy football but make it fine as hell.

She rolls her eyes at him because she refuses to give him the satisfaction, but who is she kidding? That smirk he sends back is doing things to her blood pressure that should probably be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"Everything okay?" Didier asks in his heavily accented voice, and she realizes she might have sighed a little too loudly.

"Just thinking about the rain," she lies smoothly, definitely not thinking about how Aurélien's training shorts are a personal attack at this point. "And my hair."

Didier chuckles like he knows exactly what she's actually thinking about, which is mortifying because here she is thirsting over his players like she's running a whole scouting combine.

Another lap, another parade of fine men, and this time Aurélien breaks formation just to jog backward in front of her, showing off because apparently being a whole football god isn't enough – he has to be extra about it too.

"Hair looks nice, ma puce," he calls out, and she contemplates whether hitting him with her umbrella would violate her contract.

"Yeux devant, Tchouaméni," Didier calls, but she can hear the amusement in his voice.

Aurélien rejoins the group, but not before shooting her another one of those looks that makes her want to call his mama and apologize in advance for all the unholy thoughts she's having about her son.

The rain picks up and she can feel her press and curl starting to revert. Theresa really gonna have to catch her hands when she gets back to Madrid because this is just disrespectful. But then the team comes around for another lap, looking like a whole Nike commercial directed by God himself, and maybe... maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

She's just here doing her job, really. Managing schedules. Taking notes. Definitely not ranking every player by fine-ness while pretending to pay attention to Didier's tactical discussion.

But she's absolutely getting braids next time.

And probably need to schedule a confession.

Because the thoughts she's having about Aurélien in those shorts are absolutely not suitable for public consumption.

*************************************

Walking into the Clairefontaine cafeteria with her dinner tray feels like high school all over again, except this time instead of mean girls and math nerds, she's surrounded by some of the finest specimens of manhood France has ever produced. The air is thick with rapid-fire French conversations coming from every direction, and listen – Leila's trying her best out here but her Duolingo streak is only two weeks old. All she's got to work with is what Aurélien's taught her, which is mostly just curse words for traffic situations and terms of endearment that make her heart do stupid things.

She's scanning for a quiet corner to recalibrate after spending all afternoon trying not to obviously thirst over the practice session (and maybe say a prayer for her hair which is somehow still holding on), when–

"Mon chérie amour!"

That deep voice could only belong to one person. Her eyes find Marcus Thuram, all 6'4" of him, looking like he walked off a GQ cover. He's waving her over like an excited puppy, except he's built like a whole defensive line and honestly? It should be illegal to be that fine and that adorable at the same time.

Michael Olise scoots over to make room for her, and suddenly she's surrounded by what might actually be the most attractive table in all of France. There's Ibou with his model face, Ousmane with those big doe eyes of his, Khephren (who definitely got the same genes as his brother), Mike Maignan looking like Black Panther's M'Baku's fine ass cousin (which is exactly why she calls him that in her head), and William Saliba who's just... respectfully fine as hell.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, literally a foot away are Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – who's currently looking at Marcus like he personally offended his entire ancestral line. What is his problem?

"You have to cook for us tomorrow," Marcus is saying, fixing her with those puppy eyes that should come with a warning label. "Please?"

"The nutritionists will murder me," she protests, but Marcus's pout could probably end wars. Actually end them.

Khephren says something in French that makes Marcus flip him off, and she catches just enough to know he's teasing his brother about the puppy eyes.

"Maybe I can make something before we leave..."

"Why does he get special treatment?" Mike cuts in, looking absolutely offended. "What about me?"

And suddenly it's like she's unleashed chaos because they're all talking at once in French, each making their case for why they deserve her cooking, and her head is SPINNING.

"Tranquille!" she yells in French, one of the few words she actually knows how to use properly, and they all freeze mid-argument, looking at her with varying degrees of surprise.

"I'll cook for everyone, okay?" She can't help but smirk at their hopeful faces. "Rice and beans..."

"Yes!" Mike's practically bouncing in his seat.

"Macaroni and cheese, fried chicken..."

The way these men start rubbing their hands together like cartoon villains is sending her.

"And," she pauses because she knows what's coming, "the pièce de résistance... collard greens cooked with smoked turkey necks."

"Oh mon dieu!" William actually looks skyward, prayer hands and all, like she just announced the second coming.

"Wait," Jules pipes up, "no cornbread?"

And then they're ALL looking at her like she just canceled Christmas, a whole table of professional athletes about to riot over the possibility of no cornbread.

"Yes," she groans, but she's fighting a smile. "There will always be cornbread."

Marcus grabs her hand and actually kisses it like she just promised him the keys to heaven instead of some soul food, and she catches Aurélien's fork bending slightly in his grip.

"You're an angel," Marcus declares, still holding her hand. "A Black American angel sent to save us from protein shakes and steamed chicken."

"Si tu ne laisses pas sa main," Aurélien's voice carries over, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, "Vous ne pourrez pas tenir une fourchette pour en manger."

But Marcus just grins wider, because apparently he has a death wish. "Shut up."

Leila looks between them, trying to figure out what's happening, but then Ibou starts listing all his favorite soul food dishes in his accented English, and she's pulled back into what's becoming an impromptu menu planning session with some of the most attractive men in Europe.

Just another day at the office, right?

"The mac and cheese," Mike is saying with the seriousness of someone discussing world peace, "it will have the crust on top, non?"

"Boy, who you think raised me?" Leila puts a hand to her chest, offended. "Of course it has the crust. What kind of woman you think I am?"

"The best kind," Marcus grins, and she swears she hears something snap at Aurélien's table. Probably another fork. RIP to Clairefontaine's cutlery budget.

Khephren leans forward, all earnest eyes and ridiculous cheekbones. "The last time you cooked, Aure brought leftovers to training and wouldn't share."

"Because it wasn't for y'all," Aurélien cuts in, and when did he get close enough to join the conversation? "She made that for me specifically."

"Technically," Jules pipes up because he lives for chaos apparently, "she made it for movie night but you claimed the whole container."

"Speaking of claiming things," William says with a smile that means trouble, "Leila, you free Saturday? There's this nice restaurant in Paris–"

"She's busy." Aurélien doesn't even let him finish.

"I don't remember asking you," William shoots back, still smiling. "Unless you're her secretary now too?"

"I'm her–" Aurélien starts, then stops, jaw working like he's trying to find the right words.

"Her what?" Marcus asks innocently, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Her boss who thinks she's just okay?"

The whole table goes quiet and Leila nearly chokes on her water because how did he– she looks at Jules who suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

"That's not," Aurélien's actually flustered now, "I didn't mean–"

"Because if she's just okay," Ibou joins in because apparently it's National Roast Aurélien Day, "then you won't mind if she comes to Liverpool next weekend? My mama's been asking about her cooking."

"Your mama hasn't even met her!"

"But she will when Leila comes to visit."

"She's not going to Liverpool." Aurelien said flatly.

"Again," William’s grin is wicked now, "pretty sure that's not your decision, mon ami."

Leila watches this tennis match of tension with growing fascination.

"I'm right here," she reminds them. "And I can decide for myself where I–"

"You should come to Monaco," Khephren cuts in smoothly. "Much nicer than Liverpool. Better weather."

"Excuse me?" Ibou looks personally offended.

"The disrespect," William shakes his head. "Everyone knows London is better than both."

"London?" Mike scoffs. "Milan clears."

And suddenly they're all arguing about whose city is better, each making their case for why she should visit them, and she's sitting there wondering how this dinner turned into The Bachelorette: European Footballer Edition.

"I have an idea," Marcus says loud enough to cut through the chaos. "Why doesn't Leila decide where she wants to go?"

They all turn to look at her expectantly, even Aurélien who's looking like he's one suggestion away from tackling somebody.

"I..." she looks around at all these ridiculous, beautiful men and can't help but laugh. "I haven't even cooked for y'all yet and you're already planning my European tour?"

"The cooking is just a bonus," William winks. "It's your company I want."

"Isn't that right, Auré?" Jules adds with fake innocence.

Aurélien stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes against the floor. "We have an early training session tomorrow. Leila, we should go over the schedule."

"The schedule that's already printed and distributed to everyone?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes. That one. Now."

"But we haven't even gotten to dessert," Marcus protests. "She hasn't told us if she's making sweet potato pie."

"Or banana pudding," Mike adds hopefully.

"Or–"

"Now, Leila."

She looks at his face – jaw clenched, eyes intense – and sighs. "Fine. But y'all better not change any of these dinner requests while I'm gone. My grocery list is already looking like I'm feeding a small army."

"An army of fine men who appreciate you," Marcus says just loud enough for Aurélien to hear, and she's pretty sure she sees a vein pulse in his forehead.

"Five minutes," Aurélien grits out. "I'll be in the conference room."

He stalks off like a man on a mission, and Jules is trying so hard not to laugh he's actually shaking with it.

"So," William grins once Aurélien's out of earshot, "about that dinner in Paris..."

"Don't push it," Jules warns, but he's smiling. "Let him suffer a little longer first."

"Let who suffer?" Leila asks, but they all just share knowing looks that make her feel like she's missing something obvious.

"Just remember," Marcus calls as she gets up to follow Aurélien, "I asked for your cooking first!"

"But I appreciated it more!" Mike argues.

"Shut up," Ibou cuts in, "I offered a whole trip to Liverpool!"

She leaves them bickering, shaking her head but smiling. These men are ridiculous and fine and absolutely too much.

But mostly? She's wondering why Aurélien looked ready to commit multiple homicides over some dinner plans.

The conference room feels too small with just the two of them in it, Aurélien pacing like a caged lion while Leila stands by the door wondering what kind of alternate universe she's stepped into. The "okay" comment is hanging in the air between them like an uninvited guest, but he's apparently choosing to ignore it completely.

"You can't date the team," he says abruptly, stopping his pacing to look at her.

She actually chokes on air because WHAT? "I'm sorry?"

"The team. You can't date them."

"I wasn't–" she sputters, trying to make sense of this conversation. "I wasn't planning to?"

"Good." His jaw is doing that thing it does before big matches, all tense and sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll handle them."

"Handle them?" She's really trying to follow his logic here. "Handle what exactly? They were just asking about food–"

"William asked you to dinner."

"As a joke!"

"Marcus kissed your hand."

"Because I promised him cornbread! Are you hearing yourself right now?"

But he's already heading for the door, radiating big "I'm going to fight everyone" energy. "I'll handle it," he repeats.

"Aurélien–"

"Just... no dating the team." He pauses at the door, not quite looking at her. "It's not professional."

And then he's gone, stalking down the hallway, leaving her standing there wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

Because that wasn't about professionalism. That wasn't about team dynamics. That was...

"What the fuck was that about?" she asks the empty conference room, but the conference room, unhelpfully, doesn't answer.

And she's definitely not thinking about how his eyes looked when Marcus kissed her hand. Or how his voice got all low and dangerous when William mentioned dinner. Or how this whole thing feels a lot like...

Nope. Not going there.

She's absolutely going there, but first, she needs to figure out how to keep him from murdering half the French national team over some cornbread.

Being the only PA at Clairefontaine isn't supposed to feel like a big deal, but it absolutely is. Leila's trying not to think too hard about how many strings Aurélien must've pulled to get her here – because thinking about that means thinking about why, and she's not ready to unpack all that before breakfast.

She's good at her job, sure. Got Didier wrapped around her finger from day one. And yeah, okay, maybe she's particularly good at handling high-maintenance footballers thanks to her natural sociability and endless patience.

But still. This is the French national team. These things don't just happen.

Kind of like how it didn't just happen that she spent three whole days before meeting Aurélien practicing his name, saying it over and over. The way his whole face had lit up when she got it right that first time, like she'd given him a gift instead of just basic pronunciation courtesy.

And maybe that was the beginning of how seamlessly she fit into his life, like there'd been a Leila-shaped space just waiting for her to fill it. Like they were made to–

Nope. Absolutely not. We are NOT doing this today.

She pulls on her wide-leg navy sweats and the national team long sleeve she sweet-talked out of the kit manager last night (her smile works wonders on everyone except apparently the one person she actually wants it to work on). Her silk press is still miraculously holding on, pulled up in a ponytail that Theresa would probably yell at her for, but whatever. She's got bigger problems right now.

The cafeteria is already buzzing when she walks in, full of sleepy footballers trying to fuel up before morning training. She spots her usual suspects – Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – at their regular table, and takes a deep breath before heading over.

"Morning sunshine," Cama greets her in English, because he's actually an angel who notices when people are struggling with rapid-fire French at seven in the morning. "Sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can sleep knowing they have to cook for twenty professional athletes in Sunday," she replies, sliding into her seat.

Jules snorts into his protein shake. "More like thirty. Pretty sure half the staff want in on this soul food situation too."

Aurélien doesn't say anything, just watches her over his coffee cup with those eyes that are entirely too intense for this early in the morning. His voice, when he finally speaks, is still rough with sleep and she hates that it still affects her like this.

"You don't have to cook for everyone," he says, and there's that edge again from yesterday. "They can't just expect–"

"Pretty sure she can decide what she wants to do," Jules cuts in smoothly. "Right, Lei?"

There's that weird tension again, crackling in the air between them like static electricity. Cama looks between them all with raised eyebrows.

"Did I miss something?" he asks. "Because the vibes are really off."

"Nothing to miss," Leila says quickly, focusing on her breakfast. "Everything's fine."

"Mhm," Cama hums, unconvinced. "That's why Aure looks like that?"

Before anyone can respond, Didier's voice cuts through the cafeteria: "Allez, allons-y! La formation commence dans quinze!"

The scramble of twenty-something men trying to finish their breakfast at once would be funny if Leila wasn't hyperaware of Aurélien's eyes still on her. She busies herself with her phone, pretending to check his schedule like she hasn't had it memorized for weeks.

"Don't forget your jacket," he says quietly as he stands. "It's supposed to rain again."

She looks up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice, but he's already walking away. Jules and Cama share a look that she pretends not to see.

"So," Cama grins, "about this tension..."

"Don't you have training to get to?"

"Just saying, if this was a show, I'd definitely binge watch it."

"Go. Run. Now."

His laugh follows him out, leaving her sitting there wondering how this became her life – being the only PA at Clairefontaine, planning soul food feasts for the French national team, and trying very hard not to notice how Aurélien still looks back at her before he exits the cafeteria.

*******************************

The water break comes right as the sun decides to make a guest appearance, and Leila's trying not to obviously appreciate how everyone's training tops are clinging in all the right places. She's professional. She's composed. She's–

"Hey gorgeous."

She turns to find William jogging up to her, all six-foot-whatever of him with that smile that probably has half of London in their feelings. She returns his smile because listen – she might be going through it, but she's not BLIND.

"Need something?" she asks, already reaching for an extra water bottle because she's good at her job like that.

"Actually, yeah." He takes the water but doesn't step back, instead leaning slightly closer. "I was serious about Saturday. Dinner?"

"Oh!" The sound escapes before she can catch it. Her eyes automatically drift to where Aurélien is standing with Mike and Jules, looking like he's trying to murder someone with his mind.

William deliberately steps into her line of sight, blocking her view. "You don't have to ask permission, do you?" It comes out like half joke, half question, but his eyes are kind. He gets it, even if she wishes he didn't.

And you know what? He's right.

Because here's the thing: Aurélien really out here talking about "unprofessional" when this man has used her as a human pillow during team flights. Has played with her hair during meetings like it's his personal stress ball. Has straight up demanded morning cuddles before reviewing his schedule because apparently personal space isn't in his vocabulary.

But she's supposed to maintain "professional boundaries"?

Nah.

"Nope," she says, straightening her spine. "No permission needed."

Because she's grown. Because she needs to get over this embarrassing crush on her boss who thinks she's just okay. Because William Saliba is standing here looking like a whole meal, asking her to dinner with that accent that makes everything sound like poetry, and she deserves nice things.

"Saturday works perfectly," she adds, and his answering smile could power half of Madrid.

"Parfait," he says, and even that one word has her feeling some type of way. "I'll text you the details?"

"Looking forward to it."

He jogs back to practice looking mighty pleased with himself, and she very deliberately doesn't look in Aurélien's direction. She doesn't need to – she can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

And you know what? Good.

Let him see what it feels like to watch someone you... to watch someone else get attention. Let him deal with whatever this energy is that has him acting brand new. Let him–

"Cinq minutes!" Didier calls out, and she watches William flash her one more smile before joining the group.

Her phone buzzes almost immediately:

Jules: you really woke up and chose violence huh

Leila: I chose dinner actually

Jules: with Wilo though?? 👀

Leila: what's wrong with Wilo?

Jules: nothing if you're trying to send someone to an early grave

Leila: not my problem

Jules: the violence of it all 😭

She puts her phone away, ignoring the way she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight. Because this is good. This is healthy. This is her moving on from whatever fantasy she'd built up in her head about her boss who clearly doesn't–

"Les yeux sur la balle, Saliba!" Aurélien's voice carries across the field, sharp enough to cut.

William just grins wider. "Oh, ils sont."

And maybe... this is exactly what she needs. A date with a fine man who actually sees her. Who isn't her boss. Who thinks she's more than just okay.

There's something particularly violent about the way Leila's critiquing herself in the mirror right now, turning this way and that like her reflection might suddenly give her different answers. The black sweater dress is doing everything it's supposed to do – hugging every curve, every soft roll, every thick thigh that matches its partner. Her body's built like a direct response to gravity, all hips and breasts with a waist that's not exactly snatched but works with what God gave her.

"It's just dinner," she tells her reflection, but dinner with a whole professional footballer is different than those struggle Tinder dates she's been on. Those guys didn't come with paparazzi risks and teammate drama and a very specific boss who's probably planning murders right about now.

Not that I care what Aurélien thinks.

Her hair's falling just below her collarbone in that middle part that took twenty minutes to get right, makeup subtle enough to look effortless (it wasn't), and she's wearing this new perfume that smells expensive enough to make her feel like she belongs in whatever fancy restaurant William's picked out.

The thought of William has her breaking out in a nervous sweat because listen – the man is fine fine, but she's still very much a virgin and very much not ready to explain that to someone who probably has models in his DMs. What if he expects... what if he wants... what if–

"Get it together," she mutters, grabbing her clutch. "It's just dinner."

The elevator ride down to the main entry hall feels like it takes seventeen years, her heart doing backflips the whole way. She's rehearsing possible conversation topics in her head (please lord don't let her ramble about football statistics) when the doors open and–

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Because there's William looking like a whole meal in his white shirt, jeans, and leather jacket (that gold chain should be illegal honestly), but he's not alone. No, because that would be too easy. Instead, he's surrounded by Mike, Marcus, Ibou, and Jules the Professional Gossip, all of them looking way too pleased with themselves.

She makes her way over, trying to ignore the chorus of French catcalls and whistles (she catches "magnifique" and "sublime" and definitely some words that would make their mothers wash their mouths out with soap).

"Damn, Lei!" Ibou's grin is wicked. "You trying to kill our boy Wilo before the match?"

"The dress is doing God's work," Marcus adds with an appreciative whistle.

"I think you mean doing the devil's work," Mike corrects, fanning himself dramatically.

William rolls his eyes at all of them, but he's smiling as he takes her hand. "Ready?"

She's about to answer when she feels it – that familiar weight of attention that can only mean one thing. She looks back to find Aurélien has joined the group, and the look on his face...

Listen. She's seen this man angry before. Has seen him after bad losses, after red cards, after journalists say stupid things about him and his family. But this? This is different. This is something darker, something that makes her skin prickle even from across the room.

William must feel her tense because he squeezes her hand gently. "You good?"

She turns back to him, forcing herself to focus on this moment, on this very fine man who actually wants to take her to dinner. "Perfect."

He opens an umbrella as they step outside (because of course it's raining again), holding it over her like the gentleman he is. Behind them, she can hear the boys still carrying on:

"Vingt euros disent qu’ils s’embrassent avant le dessert!"

"Cinquante disent qu’Auro casse quelque chose avant qu’ils ne reviennent!"

"Une centaine dit–"

The door closes, cutting off their chaos, leaving just the sound of rain and their footsteps and her heart doing its best to escape her chest.

"They're ridiculous," William says softly, but he's smiling.

"That's one word for it."

They reach his car – another ridiculously expensive SUV because apparently that's issued with the France call-up – and he opens her door for her.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says it simply, like it's just a fact. Not 'okay'. Not qualified. Just beautiful.

And maybe... maybe this is exactly what she needs.

Even if her traitorous heart still skips when she catches Aurélien watching them drive away in her side mirror.

********************************

The media room at Clairefontaine is thick with tension and the sound of FIFA, Aurélien absolutely demolishing the controller like it personally set up his PA's date with William. Jules and Cama keep sharing these looks that say more than words ever could.

"Je n'arrive pas à croire que Wilo ait fait ça. C'est censé être mon pote." ("I can't believe Wilo did this. He's supposed to be my boy.") Aurélien's voice is tight with something darker than just regular gaming frustration.

"Fait quoi exactement?" ("Did what exactly?") Jules asks, careful and measured like he's defusing a bomb. "Inviter une femme célibataire à dîner?" ("Asked out a single woman to dinner?")

"Elle n'est pas juste une femme célibataire, c'est ma puce!" ("She's not just any single woman, she's my dear!") The words explode out of him before he can catch them, and the room goes deadly quiet except for the game music.

Cama pauses the game. "Ta puce?" ("Your dear?")

"Ma PA," ("My PA,") Aurélien corrects quickly, but it's too late. "Je lui ai dit que c'était pas professionnel de sortir avec l'équipe." ("I told her it wasn't professional to date the team.")

"Et c'est professionnel de la câliner pendant les réunions?" ("And it's professional to cuddle her during meetings?") Jules' voice drips with sarcasm. "De jouer avec ses tresses? De l'appeler 'ma puce'?" ("To play with her braids? To call her 'my dear'?")

"C'est différent." ("That's different.")

"Comment?" ("How?")

Aurélien just grunts, going back to destroying everyone in FIFA. But Jules isn't done.

"Tu sais qu'elle t'a entendu la traiter de 'okay' à la piscine?" ("You know she heard you call her 'okay' at the pool party?")

"Mais elle l'est!" ("But she is!") Aurélien protests, then at Jules' murderous look adds quickly, "Dans le bon sens!" ("In a good way!")

"T'es vraiment con, mon frère." ("You're so fucking stupid, bro.") Jules throws his controller down. "Elle est plus que 'okay' et tu le sais." ("She's more than 'okay' and you know it.")

"Je peux pas..." ("I can't...") Aurélien runs a hand through his curls in frustration. "Je peux pas l'aimer comme ça." ("I can't like her like that.")

"Pourquoi pas?" ("Why not?") Cama asks quietly.

"Parce que... parce qu'elle est ma PA!" ("Because... because she's my PA!")

"Des excuses, toujours des excuses," ("Excuses, excuses,") Jules sighs. "On n'est plus des gosses, AT. On est des hommes maintenant. Si tu ressens quelque chose pour quelqu'un, tu dois le dire." ("We're not kids anymore, AT. We're men now. If you're feeling someone, you have to communicate it.")

Aurélien lets out a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. "C'est différent. Je ne l'aime pas comme ça. C'est ma PA. C'est comme ça qu'on se fait poursuivre en justice." ("This is different. I don't like her like that. She's my PA. That's how people get sued.")

"Et si elle ressentait la même chose?" ("What if she's feeling you too?") Jules asks carefully.

"Leila? Avoir des sentiments pour moi?" ("Leila? Having feelings for me?") Aurélien scoffs. "C'est drôle." ("That's funny.")

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning. Jules and Cama exchange another look that speaks volumes.

"Quoi?" ("What?") Aurélien demands, finally catching their expressions.

But neither of them answer, just watch him with this mix of pity and exasperation that makes him want to throw something.

"Elle portait cette robe ce soir..." ("She was wearing that dress tonight...") he says quietly, almost to himself.

"Oui, pour son rencard avec Wilo." ("Yes, for her date with Wilo.") Jules' voice is pointed. "Pas pour toi." ("Not for you.")

"Tu sais," ("You know,") Cama adds casually, too casually, "pendant que tu es là à dire qu'elle est 'juste okay', Wilo est probablement en train de lui montrer à quel point il la trouve extraordinaire." ("while you're here saying she's 'just okay', Wilo is probably showing her just how extraordinary he thinks she is.")

"Je vais le tuer." ("I'm going to kill him.")

"Le problème," ("The problem,") Jules says quietly, "c'est pas Wilo." ("isn't Wilo.")

And deep down, Aurélien knows he's right, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Arrête d'être une putain de chochotte," ("Stop being a fucking pussy,") Jules says, done with the whole situation. "Si tu veux Leila, vas la chercher. C'est aussi simple que ça." ("If you want Leila, go get her. Simple as that.")

"Ce n'est pas si simple," ("It's not that simple,") Aurélien protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. "Elle est ma PA–" ("She's my PA–")

"On a compris!" ("We get it!") Cama throws his hands up. "Elle est ta PA, et alors? Comment tu sais que tu vas tout foutre en l'air si t'es trop chickenshit pour essayer?" ("She's your PA, so what? How would you know if you're gonna fuck it up if you're being chickenshit?")

Aurélien opens his mouth to argue but Cama isn't done.

"Leila est géniale et toi tu te tapes des mannequins pour essayer de cacher que tu craques pour elle. C'est tordu, mec." ("Leila is cool and you're fucking models to try to hide from you feeling her. Twisted as fuck, man.")

"Je ne–" ("I don't–")

"Tu peux la laisser sortir avec Wilo – parce que tu sais à quel point il est persistant quand quelqu'un lui plaît – et être malheureux, ou tu peux régler ça maintenant." ("You can let her date Wilo – because you know how persistent he is with a person he's feeling – and be miserable, or you can nip this in the bud.")

"Exactement," ("Exactly,") Jules concurs, leaning forward. "Tu crois que Wilo va la traiter comme 'juste okay'? Tu crois qu'il va hésiter à lui montrer qu'il la veut?" ("You think Wilo's gonna treat her like 'just okay'? You think he's gonna hesitate to show her he wants her?")

The thought of William showing Leila anything makes something dark appear Aurélien's chest. The image of them at dinner right now, William probably making her laugh, probably touching her hand across the table, probably looking at her the way Aurélien wants to but won't let himself–

"Elle mérite mieux que 'okay'," ("She deserves better than 'okay',") Cama says softly. "Et tu le sais." ("And you know it.")

"Je sais pas comment..." ("I don't know how...") Aurélien trails off, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Comment quoi? Être honnête avec tes sentiments?" ("How what? To be honest with your feelings?") Jules scoffs. "T'as vingt-quatre ans, pas quatorze. Grandis un peu." ("You're twenty-four, not fourteen. Grow up a little.")

"Mais là, tout ce que tu fais c'est regarder un autre mec faire ce que t'es trop lâche pour faire," Cama shrugs. ("But right now, all you're doing is watching another guy do what you're too scared to do.")

Aurélien sits there for a long moment, thinking about Leila in that dress that made his brain short-circuit. About how she looked at William. About how she hasn't really looked at him in days, not since the 'okay' comment. Not since he tried to tell her who she could and couldn't date like he had any right to.

"Elle est probablement en train de l'embrasser maintenant," ("She's probably kissing him right now,") Jules says casually, but his eyes are sharp on Aurélien's face.

The PS5 controller in Aurélien's hands makes an ominous cracking sound.

"Tu vois?" ("You see?") Cama gestures at Aurélien's white-knuckled grip. "C'est ça qu'on appelle de la jalousie, mon pote. Pas très 'professionnel' comme réaction pour 'juste une PA', non?" ("That's what we call jealousy, my guy. Not very 'professional' reaction for 'just a PA', right?")

"Je ne suis pas–" ("I'm not–")

"Jaloux?" ("Jealous?") Jules cuts him off. "Alors pourquoi t'as l'air de vouloir commettre un meurtre chaque fois que quelqu'un la regarde trop longtemps?" ("Then why do you look like you want to commit murder every time someone looks at her too long?")

Aurélien's silence is telling.

"Écoute," ("Listen,") Cama says, serious now. "Wilo est un bon gars. Il va bien la traiter. Il va lui montrer qu'elle est spéciale. Et toi? Tu vas juste rester assis là à te dire que c'est 'pas professionnel' pendant qu'un autre mec fait d'elle sa copine?" ("Wilo's a good guy. He's gonna treat her right. He's gonna show her she's special. And you? You're just gonna sit there telling yourself it's 'not professional' while another guy makes her his girl?")

The controller finally gives up the ghost, splitting right down the middle.

"Putain," ("Fuck,") Aurélien mutters, staring at the broken pieces like they hold some answer he can't find.

"Le choix est simple," ("The choice is simple,") Jules says, standing up. "Soit tu continues à être un lâche et tu la perds, soit tu deviens un homme et tu lui dis la vérité." ("Either you keep being a coward and lose her, or you man up and tell her the truth.")

"Et si je la perds quand même?" ("And if I lose her anyway?") The question comes out smaller than he intended.

"Alors au moins tu auras essayé," ("Then at least you'll have tried,") Cama says. "C'est mieux que de la regarder partir avec Wilo en te demandant 'et si'." ("Better than watching her leave with Wilo wondering 'what if'.")

Aurélien sits there long after they leave, thinking about Leila's smile, about her laugh, about how she's probably giving both to William right now.

And maybe... they're right.

Maybe it's time to stop being a coward, yet first, he owes someone an apology for the controller.

…………tbd

[emmyrosee]

You’re completely out of reality today.

Rintaro’s flight is delayed until who knows what time, the twins brewing in your uterus are obliterating your back and bladder, and the love of your life Kaiya is intent on making your life a project today. With Akito staying at a friends house for a project, it truly is just you at the mercy of 1.8 kids.

You’ve danced the pregnant dance for nine years by now, but this is the first time in a long time you’re just about ready to break down into tears. You don’t know if it’s because you’re exhausted, your hormones are off the chart, or if you’re just so done with being pregnant for the past 8 months that the baby bump you usually adore is just becoming too much to keep.

You feel so sore, so gross from the sweat and other bodily fluid changes that come with twins. Nothing that any pamphlet, and doctor, even the Miya twin’s poor mother taking the time to call you and talk to you about it wasn’t anything to hold a candle to the exhaustion you’re feeling.

Eventually, it must boil over. And you do so without even knowing it, brushing Kaiya’s hair after a bath.

“Why you cryin’, mumma?”

“Huh?” Your hand stills softly, just clutching the hairbrush in your hand.

She turns around to face you, her small hand slowly reaching up to touch your wet cheek, and when you feel the warmth of her hand against your cool tear tracks, you’re quick to sniffle and move to wipe them away. “I’m sorry baby, mommy’s just feeling yucky today.”

Okay. Not what you meant to confess to your little three year old, but immediately, her eyes widen and she moves to crawl on your lap. You pick her up and plop her on your thigh, cradling her and trying your damndest to not wail right there.

“Mumma bootiful, mumma.”

Again, you freeze. You pull away slightly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks with fervor this time. “What…?”

“Mumma bootiful!”

“Mumma’s beautiful?”

“Yeah!”

Your lip wobbles and you tug her closer, “my baby… what did I do to deserve you? My cutie Kaiya.” You give her a flurry of kisses on her cheeks, and it has her giggling in joy.

“Mumma give kisses!”

“Mumma will always give you kisses,” you promise. You plant a few more to her temple, only stopping to take a few minutes to sniff her clean hair, rub her soft cheeks, and enjoy the silence of just you and your little girl.

A sudden kick to your side has you snapped from your daze, and Kaiya gasps excitedly.

“Which baby’s kickin, mumma?” She asks, and you ponder the thought for a minute. “Sachie or Sachiko?”

You think on it, then plant a kiss to her nose, “I think it’s Sachie; I think she’s got daddy’s sassiness, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” agrees, and with one more kiss to her temple, you nudge her softly to get up.

“Come on, stink. Let’s watch a movie before daddy comes home to ruin the fun.” At your words, she giggles and gets up, bouncing down the halls and leaving you to quickly clean the bathroom.

With a small bowl of veggies and a Disney movie playing on the tv, you pull a blanket over you both and let the calmness of Encanto bring you to a state of being half asleep; You’re not entirely sure when Rintaro finally does come home, but there’s a new movie playing, and Kaiya leaps off the couch excitedly.

“Daddy!”

You hear bags drop and your eyes open exhaustedly in an attempt to greet him, but the heaviness in them lingers as you try to keep them open. You hear Rintaro shushing Kaiya softly, followed by a few plants of wet kisses on her cheek. There’s murmurs of conversation, and you hear Rintaro’s steps coming closer as you stretch. “Hey babydoll; stay comfy, I’ll come get you in a bit.”

“Gotta get the chicken for tomorrow…”

“Huh?”

Kaiya giggles, “mumma still sleeping.”

“Guess so,” he chuckles. He plants a kiss to your head, mumbles to Kaiya to do the same, and your mind is so buried in its exhaustion to process even getting up to greet your man. “Come on Kaiya. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Okay daddy!”

There’s no footsteps that you can process, but you do hear one final thing that has you curling into the warmth of your blanket in search of his embrace.

“Mommy really is beautiful, isn’t she stink?”

“Mumma’s bootiful!”

—-

If my life ain’t this ion want it

[obislittleone]

Take It Off

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: y'all i know this is like... campy or whatever but humor me. I'm on a dbf joel kick and this was the only way I was gonna stop thinking about him 24/7. Still thinking about him rn but at least I can focus on my work tomorrow 😭 (shoutout to @theatrelove3000 for being on the joel kick with me)

Warnings: not many for this part really... the occasional swear word and like kissing but that's not really anything. Ig just the taboo relationship thing.

This is based off of a tiktok that can be found here.

Obviously, the song is Take It Off by Kesha.

MASTERLIST

- no outbreak au, age gap is about fifteen years, roughly. -

He chuckled again and nodded, watching as you almost turned away from him and his place at the bar, before catching you at the last second.

"You look mighty pretty, tonight," he let out sweetly, and your face lit up. You kept going in the direction of your friends but stepped backward in order to face him a bit longer.

The bar was always busy on Friday night, and most Saturdays were the same. Near every person of drinking age in Travis County could be found sitting at the long wood slab surrounding the bartender, or at one of the tables nearby. The busiest nights of the month, however, were the ones that cleared the floor for dancing. Line dancing, Swing dancing, and the sway of drunken people who could barely stand. Anything goes.

Music blazing through the windows brought on many patrons that sometimes never frequented the bar at all. You being one of them.

You'd never been one much for drinking your nights away, and in past experiences, you had turned out to be quite the designated driver. Your friends playfully joked time and again whenever you visited the establishment, how you never touched even so much as a beer bottle. In your own words, that doesn't mean I can't still have fun.

Dancing has always been something that could pull you out of your seat. College has been rocky, and finding fun things to do that didn't completely intoxicate you were limited... but when everyone gets up and starts kickin' round the concrete floors, you can't help but spring to your feet and join them.

Dance nights, you've been to more than you can count, but usually in places by where you go to school. College bars, campus built clubs, that sort of thing.

Tonight, you found yourself in a small bar your dad normally goes to. Of course, he hates dancing, so right now, he's nowhere to be seen. Someone you do notice on your way in, though....

Joel Miller.

Next door neighbor since you were sixteen and your father's closest friend since they started working together around that same time.

Joel was never someone you'd been able to call a personal friend, but he was someone you could depend on if you needed him. If your car wasn't working senior year and your dad couldn't pick you up? Call Joel. If you need help with the light fixture by the front porch and your dad doesn't have the right tools? Call Joel. Even just bringing home new furniture for your room while your dad was out of town... you called Joel. He was dependable, always one call away. In return of these good deeds, you'd babysat his daughter several times when she was younger. She was almost fifteen now, going into her sophomore year of high school. It felt crazy to think how long ago those memories were in hindsight.

You think your train of thought causes you to stare just a bit too long, and your friends begin to notice.

"Who's that?" Amy says with attitude... she isn't sure why the older guy in the corner seems to have caught your eye, but she doesn't hide her opposition to whatever it is.

You snapped back to the group and almost did a double take on where you were. It's Dance night, and you're here to have fun with your friends, not take a trip down memory lane. But if you did....

"That's my neighbor," you explained, smiling sweetly and trying to wipe the strange look from Amy's face.

"Oh," she dropped any hints of disgust that she wore only a moment ago and looked to the man herself. "For a minute there, I thought you might be into him."

"Amy, I know you don't go older... but that man's easy on the eyes," a voice came from your left, Kate. She had her hands mounted firmly on her hips as she took her time in scanning his appearance. Easy on the eyes, indeed. You'd always thought so.

He's a good man from everything you know. Everytime he's been at barbecues and house parties hosted in the neighborhood, he always made a point to ask you how you were doing, how you were liking college. He'd offer to grab you a drink or to help your dad with the grill. Honest to God, he's a real down to earth southern gentleman. Polite as they come, even when he doesn't speak much.

You suppose that with three younger girls staring holes through the side of him, he was bound to notice at some point. He caught your gaze and your friends' as well, offering up a nice smile and a nod in your direction. He stood away from the bar as if excusing him from any previous interaction, and you sighed, knowing that even with the music calling you to dance, you needed to make a small pit stop.

"Look at what y'all did, now I gotta go talk to 'im," you joke, starting over in his direction with a bashful smile.

You hear a bellowing 'you're welcome' from Kate, who likely could sense your faint attraction to the man. Given that you couldn't barely take your eyes away from him the second you entered, it dawned on her that there might possibly be something there. Obviously, she's just guessing, but your diminished swagger as you walk up to him tells her one thing: you're nervous.

Whether he makes you nervous, or you're just nervous to talk to him, it doesn't really matter to her. She's positive she's gained all the information she needs to know that you, at the very least, like him.

"Hey, I didn't think I'd see you here," you slipped beside him at the bar, facing his slumped over stature with a decent distance between you.

"I could say the same for you, I thought you were still in Dallas?" He asked, a confused look shown through a soft smile.

"I'm here to visit a while, might stay for the summer, actually."

He raised a brow, nodding and taking a swig of the beer he had. Maybe it's just the way him and your dad drink them all the time, but suddenly a beer of your own sounds somewhat appealing. You add on to your statement, trying to distract yourself from the new craving.

"Senior year is gonna kick my ass, so I might as well spend some time relaxin' for a bit."

Again, he nods, understanding how much stress it ought to be. He and your dad both never went to college. Thought about it, sure, maybe even looked at a couple schools... but they ended up doing just fine with the talents they had on their own.

"I imagine the last year s'not so fun... Remind me what you're going for, again?" He scratched the back of his neck, as if embarrassed to have forgotten. He reckons he asked you last time, too. Wasn't like you'd find it personally offensive that he'd not remembered. Your own grandmother couldn't even remember, so...

"Archeology, although I'm starting to think that maybe that wasn't the best Major for someone who lives in Texas," you joked, and he chuckled softly. He hadn't stopped wearing that faint smile ever since he'd noticed you were here.

"Ain't nothing wrong with it," he shook his head, trying his best to be encouraging. "Just gives you more places to go."

You gave him a look of sincerity. Even your dad had poked fun at you from time to time for your Major. 'Can't discover much out here, lovebug... just old pigskins and bottlecaps.'

"Thanks, I appreciate you sayin' that."

He shrugged as if it were no big deal. Validating your career decisions? That's an easy one on his part.

"No problem. Can I get you a drink while you're here?" He motioned to the bottle in his hands that you'd kept staring at during the entire exchange.

You finally realized how much you'd been glancing at it and had to stumble out a response under a slightly nervous laugh.

"Is it okay if I take a raincheck? I should get back to my friends, they get lost without me."

He chuckled again and nodded, watching as you almost turned away from him and his place at the bar, before catching you at the last second.

"You look mighty pretty, tonight," he let out sweetly, and your face lit up. You kept going in the direction of your friends but stepped backward in order to face him a bit longer.

"Don't look so bad yourself." And that was the reply you'd settled on. You finally made it back to your group, but you swore you saw a hint of a blush creep over the man's face. It was funny, to think that the big and strong next door neighbor was red in the cheeks by a compliment you paid him.

"What the hell was that?" Amy asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She was clearly confused and a bit peeved, but for why, you had no idea.

"What do you mean?" You didn't mean to play dumb, you genuinely didn't know what she was on about.

"You're into him," she said flatly, and you couldn't answer in words, but lucky for you, your face gave away everything you could have said, anyways.

"He's into her, too," Kate chimed in nonchalantly, and that revelation snapped your head around as quickly as it possibly could to meet her eyeline.

"No, he isn't... he's just bein' polite s' all," you denfended him, but in all honesty... if he was into you, it's not like you were appalled at the theory in the slightest. "He's my dad's buddy, I've known 'im a long time."

"Honey, let me offer you some good advice," Amy pulled you in so that only the group of you could hear. "Don't let your daddy know he looks at you like that."

You didn't even stop to think about how he was looking at you. It was the same he'd always looked at you, right? But then again, he'd never taken in your appearance and called you pretty like he'd just done. Mighty pretty...

"You guys are seein' things that aren't there..." you shook off their suggestions, and tried to get on with the night.

"If you say so," Kate replied, not without looking between you and that neighbor of yours again. He was certainly a looker. "But if you're not interested, maybe I'll ask him for a dance?"

You laughed a little, not wanting to discourage her idea, but knowing from experience that, "Joel doesn't dance, but you can ask him all you want."

"Mister neighbor guy has a name, huh? Joel..." Amy repeated it like it was some sort of spell. You laughed at her and Kate before speaking again.

"At this point, I don't care who you ask, but we came here to dance, s' I wanna dance."

The first few dances you participated in were just lines, several fun songs blasting over the speakers to bring out more patrons. Now, the lines broke apart and the song 'Step in the Name of Love' came on. It wasn't uncommon for this song to be played as it was a favorite in the bar, but you weren't interested in dancing to it at the moment, given that some swing partners started going out for it.

They seemed to agree with you and headed over towards the open floor. The lights of different colors rotated around the room to set the mood, and about fifteen other people had been drawn out to the cleared area for dancing by now, but the night was far young.

-

You watched as Amy and Kate wrangled themselves some lonely boys by the sidelines and pulled them to the clearing for some fun. Normally, you'd do the same, but something about Joel Miller being at the bar and watching the crowds made you feel like maybe you'd rather sit this one out. Didn't stop some poor soul from trying to get you out there, though.

You felt a sly hand pull you by the waist and away from the floor-to-ceiling wooden beam you'd been leaning on. He was cute, but not your type. Blondie, blue-eyed. You gave him a warm smile and shook your head.

"I'm takin' a little break," you nodded for him to go out and find someone else, but he continued to pull you, now by your forearms.

"C'mon, hot stuff," he started swaying a bit to try and get you to do the same, but again you pulled back into the beam, leaning there again and giving a slightly less friendly smile as you shook your head again. "S' just a little fun."

At this point, you knew he probably had a few drinks in him, if his glazed stare was anything to go by. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him more pointedly.

"There's a bunch of girls over there waitin' to dance, you should ask them."

"I didn't ask them, I'm askin' you," he started getting closer again, and you were about to just walk away and go to the bathroom. Your usual escape plan for avoiding weirdos.

"And I'm sayin' no, bud," you gave your last effort to shove him off, but he huffed, and came even closer. By now you'd missed your chance to cut around the beam and head to the bathroom. Boys down here ain't as courteous as the ones in Dallas, you guessed. That, or they didn't see unfamiliar faces around often, and tried to take advantage of it.

"Hey, baby... you ready for that drink?" A voice came from your left, and you turned to see Joel coming over, an innocent enough look on his face, though you knew he'd been watching and came to help you out.

"Yeah, definitely!" You smiled brightly at him and the guy took a step back to stare him up and down. Much bigger build, much older, and you knew him by the looks of it. The kid huffed out and knew he wasn't getting his way this time around. You sidestepped him now that you had room, and dismissed yourself, "Excuse me."

You hooked your arm around Joel's elbow as you walked back towards his spot at the bar. Standing here, now, you realize he had a perfect view of your situation.

"Thank you for saving me," you laughed, sticking close by him until you were sure that kid had gone off. "This doesn't usually happen in Dallas."

He shook his head, it was no problem. Didn't need thanks, just wanted for you to be where you were now.

"I've seen that kid here before, he's harmless... but I wanted to make sure you didn't feel uncomfortable by 'im," his explanation felt like he was trying to justify himself. As if he needed a reason for saving you.

"Even so, I appreciate it. I didn't feel like swingin' tonight," your own explanation followed, but one second later it felt like a lie... you wouldn't mind swinging with him, but he doesn't dance.

"Yeah, I'm not much one for any of it," he chuckled, confirming your last thought to be completely true. Joel does not dance. "You looked good out there, though."

You ducked your head in an attempt to hide the pink spread over your face, but he seemed to catch it. He smiled to himself. He'd never been like this around you before, but maybe the reason for that would be the lack of presence of your dad. He'd never dare to look at you like this in front of him, never did before.

"It's been a while since I came to a dance night here, figured I'd show my face again," you stumbled into your reply, a little nervous again from his words. He'd been watching you from here, you can tell just by turning your head that he had a good view of the floor, too.

"I'm glad to see you back," he tapped his beer on the counter slightly, his smile still evident. "How about that drink?"

The bartender had been close by, and you hailed him over to grab you a beer. Same one Joel was drinking. You didn't have a preferred taste to any drinks in specific, but both Joel and your dad drank Bud, so you were going to try one.

You took a sip when the bottle was in your hand, and even though you didn't expect yourself to like it... it wasn't bad at all. You went for another sip and Joel chuckled at your side.

"S' good, huh?"

"Better than I thought it would be."

By now you'd gotten used to the taste, and as you kept drinking, the words you said to him became easier to say. You weren't quite buzzed yet, but rather relaxed. Whether that had anything to do with the alcohol, or just that he was a familiar presence, you didn't really know.

"So how are things? I know Sarah's goin' into sophomore year, yeah?" you asked, the counter becoming your friend as you leaned more into it.

"Been fine," he thought about it some more, remembering what Sarah had been telling him. "She's glad to have a break from school, but she's real bright, gets all A's n' that sort of thing."

"She's probably gonna have schools lined up to give 'er scholarships in a few years," you told him, and he nodded, taking a moment to let it sink in.

"I can't be thinkin' that far ahead, already blows my mind that she's in high school."

"My dad used to say the same thing," you smiled faintly at the way he used to tell you, 'Stop gettin' so big, girl. Gonna have to start carryin' a shotgun around, keep the boys away.' "Guess I'm all grown up, now."

That, he knew for a fact.

"Yeah, grown up," he repeated, taking another swig of beer before turning back to face you.

You'd seemed to have something on your mind, but until now, weren't able to voice it. Maybe the alcohol was doing it's job after all.

"I know you don't dance," you started, and he chuckled lowly. He knew where it was going but didn't dare interrupt you. Not yet, at least. "Maybe just this once you'll make an exception."

He actually thought about it for a second. Maybe he could make an exception, just this once, for you. He'd been caught in a few conversations by some buddies who were here tonight, but besides that, he'd mostly entertained himself by keeping an eye on you. Watching you dance, talking with your friends, and then getting hit on by that blonde kid.

"How about next time?" He asked, knowing how slim the chances were that he'd be at another dance night over the summer. He'd only come tonight because a few buddies had been here.

You understood that was the nice way of saying no, and you understood he wasn't much for that kinda fun. You didn't blame him, it took a certain type of personality to enjoy the spectacle.

"I know s'not your scene," you sighed out and set the now empty bottle on the ledge of the bar. "But I'll be out there incase you change your mind."

He gave you a small nod and you turned to leave, but with the confidence flowing through your veins in the form of a beer, you stepped back up to him quickly, pressing the smallest kiss you could conjure against his cheek, "Thanks for the drink."

You didn't even wait to see how he reacted, you were already turned around and ready to go back to the dance floor. You found your friends by the edge of the room, and they'd just come off from swinging.

"Where'd you go? We didn't see you the last few dances."

"Some kid was givin' me a hard time... Joel scared 'im off easy," you told them, and though Amy seemed to not notice the implications, Kate seemed rather intrigued.

"He did, huh?" She gave you a pointed look with her eyebrow raised.

"Oh hush, I'm back aren't I?" You gave her a playful smack to the arm and she held her arms up in defense.

"So, you gonna dance now, or what? Thought that's what you came here to do?" She mocked, using your words from earlier.

Truth be told, you wanted to dance, but with the kind rejection of the person you'd wanted to dance with, the mood had been changed slightly.

The current song was ending, and in only seconds the next one to start playing drew droves of people onto the floor. It's been a pretty popular song as of lately in the line dance society.

Take it off, by Kesha.

You knew the steps, the walls, the restarts. Probably better than any other song you'd danced to tonight. It had been a favorite of yours in Dallas, and you wouldn't lie, you were glad to see it made it's way into Travis County.

Your friends squealed and pulled you along to the floor, and you didn't even try to fight them off. You went to the back corner, which coincidentally (not at all) could be seen the easiest from the part of the bar that Joel was hanging out by. At the start of the song he'd been engrossed in conversation by the person next to him, but once he caught wind of you stepping foot into the mix, he'd fixed his attention in your direction. His buddy still rambled on, but he'd only give an occasional nod, or a soft 'uhuh,' to tell the man he was listening.

You had waited for the chorus until you looked right at him. You did the steps, and given that the wall was facing the bar, you wanted to be a little punk and tease him.

He'd watched as you stepped and turned, how the jersey you were wearing loosely hung onto you when you did. You'd worn black fringe boots with a pair of black shorts and fishnets beneath them. The shorts could barely be seen for the length of the Ranger's jersey over everything.

You saw him tense up a little, and you couldn't be sure if it was your doing, but it didn't matter... you were determined to get a reaction out of him regardless.

You took the skip step and followed the instructions of the song:

Turn me on...

Now, turning towards the other side, you grabbed the bottom hem of your jersey:

Take it off....

And you did. The polyester knit fabric was pulled up and over your head to reveal the tight black tank underneath, cropped at the mid section and clinging to midly sweaty skin. You flung the jersey to a corner of the room, and some of the guys on the floor were whistling.

Joel's eyes never left yours, even as you turned and faced the next wall. Every time you turned around, you were looking right back at him, a smirk plastered over your lips as you mouthed the words. His jaw clicked, and he huffed deeply, finally out of conversation with the man beside him. He drank the rest of his beer and left the bottle on the countertop.

You didn't realize he'd left the bar until you had turned from the last wall. You kept dancing, but couldn't find him anywhere in the bar. Maybe he'd been fed up with you and gone home... but that was unlikely.

You waited for the song to end, then stepped off the floor, nodding for your friends to stay through the next song. You told them you were gonna try and find your jersey, and they were more than happy to keep dancing without you.

You scanned the room, now able to see behind the crowds of dancers, but couldn't see Joel even still. You went up to the bar to see if he'd just moved seats, but he wasn't around there either.

You figured he did actually go home, because when you looked and saw the clock on the wall, it read 12:05. Sure, it was a weekend. But Joel's a set schedule kinda guy. You knew he'd probably already been out too late.

You turned back around and went searching instead for your jersey, but it hadn't been where you threw it. You could swear tonight was just a night for you to loose things, until there was a tap on your shoulder.

You spun around and smiled widely.

"You lookin' for this?" Joel stood with your jersey clutched tightly in his hand. He held it out to you and you took it thankfully, sliding it back on.

"Yeah, thank you," you'd waited to say anything further until your head had peaked through the top. "I didn't see you at the bar, figured you'd gone on home."

"I was thinkin' bout heading out soon, wanted to make sure I saw you first."

You weren't exactly sure of his meaning, but damnit, the sparks in your skin when he said those words. Your stomach fluttered and you almost didn't know what to say.

"Well to be honest, I'm glad you caught me... I'm thinkin' about calling an uber and gettin' outta here, too."

He raised a brow and proposed an idea.

"I can take you home, if you want." The offer was kind and genuine, but to be completely honest, he just wanted the extra time with you. He liked being near you, because you were good company, and also... mighty pretty. "Not like it's out of my way."

You laughed lightly at his joke. Truly, why waste the time in calling someone else to drive you home when he could do it? He lived next door, it would be crazy not to.

"That would be great, actually," you agreed, smiling to him in thanks but then turning back to the dance floor. "I ought to go let them know."

He nodded and let you off, watching as you went to find your friends. They seemed like nice girls. Not quite like you, but nice all the same. You seemed to enjoy their company well enough.

You found them by the edge of the floor, heaving and sweaty from the last dance. They saw you and waved you over, sitting into some chairs by the wall.

"Are you gonna swing at all?" Amy asked, her hands on top of her head to control her breathing.

"No, I think I'm done for tonight," you handed Kate the watter bottle she'd gestured for you to grab her on the next table. "But you guys are good, I got a ride home."

Amy dropped the look of neutrality on her face when she realized.

"With the neighbor?" Her eyes went wide when you nodded, but you hadn't illuded to anything else, just that he was giving you a ride home.

"Girl, I knew it. I'm never wrong," Kate jumped in, looking around the bar to see where he was at. "That man's got it for you."

"Y'all just needa calm down, alright? He's just bein' nice... Besides, he lives right next door, it's not like he's going out of his way for me."

Kate rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat, waving you off. She wasn't annoyed, but she knew you weren't telling them everything, and she knew that the man next door, Joel, was clearly attracted to you in some capacity.

"Alright, girl, you go on, now.... and enjoy your ride."

Amy winked at you before you started walking away, laughing at her antics and flipping her off as you left. It was always in good fun, but sometimes they were just too accurate on their assumptions.

You found Joel where you left him, scrolling through some texts from your dad. He probably was letting him know he'd be dropping you off. He looked up when you stopped in front of him, a sweet smile he was met with.

"Ready?"

"Mhm," you hummed in response, watching as he held out his elbow for you to take, just like earlier. "Ever the gentleman."

He chuckled, waiting until you hooked your arm around his to start walking to the door.

Being so close to him all throughout the night, you'd started feeling a sense of familiarity that hadn't been there before. His smell, his energy, the way he walked. It all became so much more apparent than it ever had been. You noticed how naturally big his arms were, and how broad his shoulders looked in the shirt he was wearing. Black and white baseball tee, which hugged tightly his arms and shoulders, but hung looser around his ribs and waist. He wasn't muscular by any means, and in some places, you could tell he was a little soft... but it was a good look on him. Attractive.

Getting to his truck, he opened the passenger door for you before going around to his side and jumping in. He watched you pull out your phone, and for a second, you weren't even sure why you had in the first place... force of habit.

You swiped out of instagram and opened snapchat, tapping him on the shoulder as you held the phone up. He looked over and saw you were trying to take a photo. He leaned over, an awkward smile on his face when you snapped it.

"What's that for?" He furrowed his brow, starting up the truck and pulling out.

"S' just for me," you told him. You saved it to your camera roll, discarding it afterwards and neglecting to post it. No filter, no caption, just you and Joel miller sitting in his truck.

"So, how you liking Dallas?" He attempted to keep the conversation going, and you smiled at him for it. He was normally someone who kept quiet in a setting like this. On the drive home after a rowdy night out. It was unlike him to want to speak so much, but nevertheless, you entertained him.

"It's alright, a lot bigger than here, but I kinda like the small town scene better."

"I never took you for a city girl, but I knew you could do well there," he replied honestly. He kept his eyes on the road, every once and a while into his mirrors. You figured that was for the best, because then he couldn't catch you staring so much.

"Still prefer this, though," you said softly. You'd looked back to the window, and missed when he finally looked over at you, a sweet look in his eyes. He's happy you're home. You know that much... but he can't tell you outright because, why is he so happy that you're home? You're not his buddy, you're only his buddy's daughter.

"Everyone's gonna be glad to have you 'round for the summer," he said it as inconspicuously as he could... but you still read between the lines. He's happy you're home.

"Maybe not Mrs. Stanton," you joked. The woman had been your elderly neighbor to the other side of you and wasn't necessarily a fan of any person younger than thirty. She liked peace and quiet and mundane life. Parties and Barbacues were not her setting, and she loathed your dad and Joel for throwing so many over the years. All for the sake of you and Sarah, of course, birthdays, graduation, etc.

"She's never glad about nothin', I don't count her."

Nearing the edge of your neighborhood, you yawned and turned back to him, seeing as he was carefully making his way onto your street.

You laughed a little, then fell into a comfortable silence the rest of the way. Travis County is a small place, not much around, everything is within twenty minutes distance or less, just about.

-

"Thanks for drivin' me home."

"No problem, darlin'," he parked in front of your house, even though he could have just pulled into his driveway and made you walk across the yards between.

You smiled at him sweetly and he couldn't help himself anymore, he just had to ask...

"And thanks again for that drink," you said, looking at him over the console. He'd leaned ever so slightly closer to you, and you could swear neither of you were gonna look away.

Those brown eyes were so damn captivating. Ain't no way you'd survive being a victim of their longing stare. Just as well, he seemed to be in a similar trance, with you being the one to cast the spell.

"Can I kiss you?" It was almost a whisper, and though soft in your ears, it rang out over and again.

You didn't even answer him. You just closed the space between you, pressing your lips against his in a gentle motion that was almost too much for him to handle. He'd not even thought twice before asking you, and now he was kissing his best buddy's daughter. You were always wordlessly off limits to him, but right now, it didn't feel that way.

He held you by the back of your neck, pulling you deeper, closer. He didn't stop it from getting hotter, heavier, and maybe he should have. It was far too late for that, now.

Your arms dangled over his shoulders, the broadness of them that you'd admired only twenty minutes ago. So broad, so strong.

He raised the center console up for you to slide across, and you didn't bother to say a word before you straddled his waist, still buckled in his seat belt.

The audacity of this scenario. Your dad was in the house the truck was parked in front of, and here you were sat on his best friend's lap and making out with him shamelessly. Joel was playing with fire, and buried in the back of his mind, he was well aware of that fact... but damnit, he wasn't stopping for nothing.

His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, covered in the fishnets he'd kept such a close eye on earlier. Something about the secrecy of this, the fact that no one could ever know, made it that much more exciting.

You both jumped apart at the light over your driveway turning on, being caught by the suddenness of the flash. You saw a neighborhood stray cat walk across the yard soon after, and realized it had set off the censor for the light.

You breathed out a breath you didn't remember holding, and looked back to Joel with sleepy eyes and swollen lips. "I should go."

He nodded, helping you slip off of him and into your own seat, gathering your phone and keys before opening the door. He caught your hand just before you got out, and gave it a tight squeeze.

You smiled at him and continued to get out of the car, giving your last words before you shut the door.

"I'll see you," he promised, his eyes assuring you of his words. To hell with those brown eyes, they were gonna be the death of you, and you knew it.

"I'll see you."

A/n: if anyone wants a part 2 lemme know otherwise this is a oneshot lol

(Tags are always open!)

[pascal-princess]

[ playing dangerous ]

a/n: this is my first ever fic so pls be kind!! also not proofread so any mistakes i apologise.

— warnings : dark fic (18+), joel isn’t what you think in this, domestic abuse! (not joel), drugging, dom!joel, big!joel/small!reader, age gap (not mentioned but it’s there, around 26 years), kidnap if you squint ig. + plus tommy.

“Joel it’s all kickin’ off next door man”

Tommy’s voice filled his ears through the phone as he sighed… not again… surely.

“What this time?”

“It’s that dude, I ain’t gotta clue what his problem is but she’s gettin’ the brunt of it yet again” Tommy’s eyes scanned through the blinds that were peeled apart by his fingers, peering into your window trying to get a good visual of what was going on.

This had been going on for the past few months, your boyfriend Rick had a bad gambling addiction… and based on his results you’d either get pounded brutally into the bed as his victory celebration, despite your cries. Or… like today; a hissy fit which every time without fail, resulted in bruises and tears, as his anger at his loss seemed to be all your fault.

This time; tommy could hear the heavy thuds of furniture being thrown across rooms, and twinkles of glass that smashed beneath your feet. He could hear the soft whimpers and sobs that left your body as Rick practically screamed at you.

“it’s all your fault you fuckin’ bitch, you make me do this”

“Joel what do i do, man? I can’t jus’ leave er’”

“Stay where you are, I’m comin’ home”

Joel hung up the phone and got into his pick-up truck and began the short drive home; he knew you were a sweetheart, a soft innocent angel who wouldn’t hurt a fly. You always smiled at him and even once baked him cookies, which he admired for a good few days before throwing his diet out the window, consuming the gooey chocolate chip delights you made. He couldn’t understand why you stayed, why you let Rick treat you the way he did. He also couldn’t understand how Rick could treat you such a way.

Maybe you were secretly an awful person, he thought… or hoped. Because the thought of someone as kind and caring as you receiving the exact opposite just because of the fact that you won’t fight back killed him inside. He refused to admit the feeling of jealousy that ached inside of him; but he often thought of what it’d be like to hold you at night, to be the man to make you smile, to wipe away your tears instead of being the dick that caused them.

His anger grew more and more as he approached his driveway, speeding up a bit as he swerved in and pulled to a halt, the tires screeching against the concrete. He threw open his door and made the short walk to your front porch, knuckles thumping against the wood as he waited for a response… that was when he realised… silence.

He banged again and called your name this time, willing you for a response. You could’ve heard a pin drop, and it was scaring him.

He was just about to kick the door down when he heard the lock of the door flick, and watched as it slowly peeled open, too slow.

“Joel?” your cracking voice called his name and he could’ve burst into tears himself.

“Sweetheart, ya’ alright?” he pushed open the door a little more to get a view of your face, and god he wished he hadn’t.

“Honey” He sighed, eyeing the swelling bruise that imprinted itself onto your cheek, the redness of your face from crying just intensifying it.

“Joel, please just go” you kept yourself hidden, yes, Rick was gone. He walked out as soon as he was finished releasing his stress, with the words “i’ll be back later” but you still felt the quivers of fear make their way through your body.

“I can’t do that, you know i can’t” His hands were placed on his hips as he scanned everywhere he could for more marks, and all he could see was bruises, old and new, littered across your arms. Even the softness of your feet covered in dried blood from stepping on the glass.

When that caught his eye he knew you needed attention.

“Right, you’re comin’ over so i can get ya cleaned up” He reached for your hand but you pulled back abruptly.

“I can’t, Joel. I can’t leave”

“Then i’ll carry you”

“You don’t get it!” you raised your voice a little louder to get the message across.

“You’re right, I don’t get it. But I ain’t gonna leave you alone right now so you either move, or I move ya myself”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t gonna let up, so you made the brave decision to step outside… wincing as your feet made contact with the hard stone below you. Joel was there right away, scooping you up into his arms and hoisting you on one side of his hip as his other hand closed your front door. He eyed you for a moment, making sure he wasn’t hurting you before making his way over to his house.

All the fear coursing through your veins dulled as you felt joel’s touch, he was much bigger than you which at the start intimidated you, but now all you wanted to do was crawl into his embrace and let him take care of your problems.

Joel was one of your favourite people; when you moved in you two immediately hit it off, becoming very quick friends. From what you heard from Tommy, Joel wasn’t the type of person to be overly nice to everyone he meets, but you were different. He would always help you out when you had issues with the plumbing or gas, as Rick was never interested in doing any of that. He would bring over leftovers for you as he knew you struggled to eat after a particularly bad fight. Basically anytime Rick wasn’t there, Joel was. Insisting on taking care of you when things went wrong. Helping you get out of bed, and brushing your hair for you on the worst days.

Tommy was already waiting with the front door open, allowing Joel inside as he carried you through the threshold.

“She alright?” Tommy asked and Joel nodded slightly, taking you through to the kitchen and perching you up on the counter, picking up your leg and inspecting your foot for the first time.

“You gotta’ start wearing shoes, sweetheart”

You gave a slightly amused breath at his words but he wasn’t laughing in the slightest. He was angry.

Angry at me? you thought

He moved to one of the cupboards, pulling out a first aid kit and making his way back to you, pulling a stool over and sitting in front of your legs, pulling your feet into his lap and getting to work with the antiseptic.

“ouch!” you winced as the stinging made its way through your body.

“I know babygirl, m’sorry. i’ll just be a little minute more and then you’re done, m’kay?”

That was another thing that was unusual with Joel, his affection towards you. It was clear that he cared about your feelings, maybe it was just because he knew that you didn’t get much at home… or maybe… just maybe…

“All done, sweet girl” you were pulled from your thoughts as he placed the bloodied cotton pads onto the counter beside you and you winced internally at how much blood there actually was. He picked up a thin bandage and began to wrap each of your feet. making sure the cuts were covered.

“Thank you” you spoke quietly, even when he was finished he still held your feet in his lap, the warmness and softness of his jeans bringing you comfort. It made you yawn and made your limbs stretch slightly.

“You tired?” he asked. You shook your head, you knew he’d have you sleep here if you asked but you didn’t want an excuse to stay any longer, on the off chance that Rick was already on his way home.

“I better get going” Joel’s hands held onto your hips as you slid down off the counter, your feet feeling way better touching the floor than before.

“She ain’t leavin’” Tommy’s voice interrupted the both of you, you turned to face the younger brother who was standing in the door way, essentially blocking your exit.

“I-I have to”

“No frickin’ way!” Tommy protested, raising his voice a bit.

“Tommy” Joel warned.

“No, absolutely not! You think we’re gonna let you go back there after everything that sick son of a bitch has done? You’re fuckin’ crazy”

“You don’t understand” You spoke softly, a whimper caught in the back of your throat.

“No you don’t understand! You wanna fuckin’ die huh? You got some sorta death wish?” Tommy was stepping closer to you, not with the intention of intimidating you but out of pure frustration with you.

“Tommy! Back the fuck off” Joel stepped forward now too, both brothers exchanging looks that told you this had been more than a one time conversation. You couldn’t help the tears that burned your eyes, begging to be released, your lip wobbling with every breath.

Tommy was an incredible friend to you, but he was the harsher one out of the two brothers when it came down to you. Joel was better at hiding his true feelings but Tommy, wouldn’t let you hear the end of it.

“What if one day we ain’t there huh? what’s she gonna do? who’s she gonna run to? If she ain’t already dead by that point” his words were harsh and brought all your emotions to light.

“Stop it! please!” you burst into tears, chest tightening as your sobs began to wrack your body.

Joel was immediately at your side pulling you into his embrace tightly and running his hand through your hair, whispering sweet words.

“M’sorry, honey. But you ain’t leaving tonight and that’s final” Tommy spoke before disappearing into the hallway.

“He ain’t tryna be mean sweetheart” Joel whispered as you clung to him.

“I-I know” you spoke hiccuping through your words.

“He’s just worried about you, and so am I”

You pulled away from Joel’s embrace, wiping your eyes. Of course you knew it was wrong, Of course you knew you could get seriously hurt or end up dead. But if it was that straightforward you would’ve been gone a long time ago.

“Can you at least stay until i get some painkillers in ya’?” Joel asked, and it wasn’t a big ask at all… but to you it felt like a hefty question. But it wouldn’t hurt right? You could take the painkillers then head straight back home as if nothing happened.

You nodded and Joel gave a soft smile, and took your hand, leading you through the house and up the stairs.

“I keep everythin’ in my bathroom cabinet, jus’ better that way” he seemingly answered every question you had without you even having to ask.

He led you to sit on his bed as he went into the bathroom, rummaging for a few moments before returning with little white capsules in his hand, he reached into his night stand and grabbed an unopened bottle of water, twisting the cap and handing you both items.

He watched you carefully as you took the pills, swallowing them with water and taking a few more chugs of the water as you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. You handed the bottle back to him and he placed it back on his nightstand.

His room was so cozy, you had never been up here before. Shades of grey and black accented the room, lights dim and sheets soft, his bed big enough for 4 people never mind just him. You could tell this room probably wasn’t his idea as Joel wasn’t one to prioritise his own comfort. It was so cozy that your eyes began to droop, and your head began to sway.

“Lay down, babygirl” Joel instructed and even came to your side to aid you but you pushed him off.

“Nuh-uh I can’t, have to go home”

“Just lay down for 5 minutes, c’mon i don’t want you passing out” he insisted.

“M’kay, 5 minutes” He helped you lay down as you got comfortable on his plushy sheets, it was almost unusual how sleepy you were. You felt your eyes begin to shut against your will and felt your breathing begin to slow. You were falling asleep, but no matter what you did you couldn’t stop it from overcoming you. Your body drifting into a deep slumber before Joel’s eyes.

If only you’d of seen the bottle of sleeping pills sat out on his bathroom counter.

-

When you woke, it was way darker outside, an ambient light flashing through, you squinted for a minute until you realised it was police lights. You searched your surroundings realising you were wearing a t-shirt and bottoms that did not belong to you, and you were also laying on joel’s pillows, the covers atop of you. You threw the covers off and began to stand up, your sleepiness still coursing through your body. how long did i sleep?

You padded towards the window, looking out and gasping at the sight of Rick being pushed into the back of a police car, his protests actively ignored by the officers, you began to start panicking but something caught your eye, or someone.

Tommy stood on the front porch, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he watched the car drive down the street, the officer driving giving him a wave as they passed… they know each other?

“You’re awake” your body jolted as you spun round to face Joel, who stood in the middle of the room holding a mug of what looked and smelled like tea. He motioned for you to take the mug but you ignored him, eyeing him with a look of betrayal.

“I know you didn’t want this sweet girl but i-”

“Didn’t want this? Joel do you have any fucking idea what you’ve just done? He’s gonna get out and he’s gonna come straight for me, do you understand that?” you ran your hands through your hair, pacing back and forth and contemplating all of your options.

“Hey, hey, hey” Joel sat the mug down and walked over grabbing a hold of your shoulders and pulling you to him. “He ain’t gonna hurt you no more, understand”

You looked into his eyes and saw nothing but pure sureness in his eyes.

“He comes anywhere near ya i’ll kill m’ myself”… again, the sureness… but something else lurked in his irises, something dark.

“You’re not killing anyone Joel” you pulled out of his grip and began to walk away, searching for your lost clothes, rummaging through his wardrobe and under his bed.

“Where’s all my stuff?”

Joel sighed and walked over to you again.

“It’s in the laundry, why are you so desperate to leave? He’s not here anymore” You heard the frustration in his voice but why was he angry at you, it meant you could go home peacefully.

“Because it’s my home, Joel”

“This is your home” He said plainly, which in any other circumstance would’ve been sweet but you couldn’t shake the feeling of something being wrong.

“That’s kind Joel but I really gotta-”

“You think now that i’ve got you i’m just gonna let you go?” He chuckled.

The air shifted as you looked into Joel’s eyes that seemed to have nothing but pure lust for you, he had been drinking.

But it wasn’t until your eyes caught the little orange pill bottle sat open on the counter that it finally clicked. And he noticed when it clicked. His eyes followed yours and he sighed at his mistake, before giving a slight scoff.

“Sorry, probably shoulda’ put that away before”

“Joel?” You grew more and more frightened as the seconds grew by, this wasn’t your Joel. This Joel had something dark and malicious about him.

“Hey, it’s alright sweetheart” he came up and held your face in his hands…

“I’m gonna take care of you now”

-

a/n: please let me know if you want a part two i’d be happy to write one! any comments and reblogs are so greatly appreciated thank you so much for reading.

love, mila🎀

[dreamse]

i was stuck on t*ktok and came past one of those rly bad reel-series/stories .. and now i want it as a plot

based on two high school/college sweethearts, except he is hoping to make it big in the nhl and she gets pregnant. his mother pays her off to keep quiet, to get rid if it, and so they break up. years go by, he makes it big, she's kickin' it with her daughter and a dead-end job at a local practice ice rink, when news comes out that he's taking a break. nobody knows why, until he shows up at the ice rink as a new coach. snotty head coach's daughter has her sight set on him, and is set on embarrassing the girl she doesn't know he was about to give a promise ring to right before they broke up all those years ago. fires her in front of him, giving him a way in by offering her a personal assistant job .. all the while not knowing he has a daughter. anyway, she turns down the job until they run into each other again, lil situation going on and he poses it again as a challenge. she takes bait, and scene !

[maddogqs21]

Hey Everyone,

I am wanting to start writing fanfiction, and I have two that I am working on for the smiling critters fandom. I was just curious as to if anyone would be interested in it. I have one that is a one-shot collection, but the other, which I am calling “New Beginnings” (for now), would be a multi chapter fic. Pretty much it would be how the kids that later became the critters met, and then a few more arcs.

I would like to note this about the tags, there will be a romantic relationship tag, but that would only apply to the prologue and mentions to it throughout that only would apply to the older version. Anyways, the teaser is under the cut. I am working on character info so I have a few paragraphs here and there about the characters before the first chapter, so I may post them later

Skittering was all he could hear from his cell. It had been a long time since he had seen the sun, even longer if you don’t count the playcare sky as having a sun. He missed the light, how it used to invigorate him, now it is a stark reminder of how fake everything was. He hung his head, shaking it. How could it have all gone wrong? He should hate his best friend, he really should, but all he felt in his heart was a deep pain. As he looked up, he remembered the conversations they would have. They had all been stung up like he was currently, but one by one, they were dragged off, never to be seen again.

Kickin had been to his right, and was the first one to disappear. He remembered their conversations, always a mix of pessimistic and optimistic, to at times, extremely ridiculous. He could almost hear Kickin’s chuckles at his own bemusings. In the early days, they would just add on to the other’s words.

“Hear me out, I know that this is a really dumb idea, but, stay with me here…” Kickin snickered at himself, unable to finish his sentence.

”Let me guess,” Bubba groaned, “this is another one of your ‘I have been thinking about this for a long time, and I think I should tell you, but if I would have said it earlier, I would have been beat one way or the other’, and based off our previous conversation about the fake sky, you are gonna say something about us being abducted by aliens? Or is this the one where you think we are on our way to Mars as we speak to take care of a space station before they decide to send kids up.”

Kickin only burst out into laughter, as Hoppy shouted, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HE GUESSED IT AGAIN?” DogDay heard scraping and heard Crafy’s “At this point, we should just let Bubba translate Kickin’s musings before he even says it. This is the 486th time,” and Picky’s “Honestly, when are they going to admit that they have been dating for years! He knows Kickin like the back of his hand, and I swear Kickin has figured out all the ways to get him to-“, “KICKIN, WHY IN THE HELL WOULD SOMEONE WANT TO-“, “SCIENCE, BUBBA, SCIENCE!”, “WHAT ARE YOU EVEN ON RIGHT NOW?” Bubba’s voice cracked, everyone just bursting out into laughter.

“These are the times that I wish they would just-“, but before Bobby could finish her teasing remark, all of the girls burst out laughing. Little did they know, that this was their last time laughing for years to come.

He shakes his head of the memories, sighing sadly at the trail of Kickin’s blood that went right in front of his cell. He had dislocated both of his shoulders, and with Bubba’s instruction, learned to put them back into place. But as he stepped out of the cell block, everyone froze, his blood curtailing screams echoing for what felt like hours. The next thing he knew, the mini critters started tearing into the chicken. He could have sworn he heard Bubba choke out a sob as Kickin reached for the elephant before the others head hit the ground with an echoing thud.

”Dammit,” he swore, as he felt the mini’s eating away at him. Must be time for them to eat. He closed his eyes as each bite started to fade away in his mind. How he wished he was young again, free from the knowledge, experiences and pain.

His mind takes him to his happy places. The little houses that the playcare had made for them based off of the cartoon, to the last time they all ate together before going to the playcare, but his most favorite place was the playground where he met the ones he cared about most, back when he was only 7.

[martyrmystik]

I think Tumblr needs to know about my dumbass Poppy Playtime AU I literally JUST made today so uhm... Here's the AU I've been hyperfixating on-

More information under the cut!

This is the first half of the Smiling Critters references (I loved making their designs omg)

Basically to summarize why they are a significant part in this AU:

This is an AU where the Smiling Critters survive, using anything and everything they can to continue to do so. It's a small resistance group (hence the AU name, "RESISTANCE") trying to fight against The Prototype! They still have their dynamics and everything else but they have more freedom to express themselves (hence, the clothes and accessories. And how Kickin' Chicken is wearing two bandana's because yes, he is extra.) AFTER the events of The Hour of Joy. By that time they were like what? 1st-2nd graders considering the experiments that were done? Now they are more like teenagers in this AU since I still follow the plot-line of the actual Poppy Playtime story taking place 10 years later-.

As for how the group works, everybody has their own little role and is in charge of something, they aren't made useless as it is a group based off of teamwork and friendship (despite the casualties.) Here's some of the roles they fall into:

(IF I SEE ANYBODY SEXUALIZE THESE CHARACTERS ISTG. THATS ICKY AND GROSS and I will make sure you get smited by lightning, because even if these guys are aged up THEY ARE STILL MINORS!!!)

Kickin Chicken: The vice president if you will, the leaders right hand man. (Because Dogday is the leader.) He's kind of full of himself but the confidence and pep talks help the team keep motivated, even if he is a bit self-centered

Bobby Bearhug: Assistant to Kickin Chicken (although they have a rivalry.) and also the medic. Is also the one who helps Dogday with anything considering in this AU he still has half of him torn off. (More on Dogday in his own section sometime later)

Hoppy Hopscotch: Basically explores the facility in any area at any time to gather new information on ways to try and get out (all of them are actively looking to escape btw!)

Craftycorn: Maps out stuff (maps, plans, other things) using her drawing abilities, although she also acts as the therapist friend because her art is soothing to others.

Bubba Bubbaphant: THE LITERAL. EMBODIMENT. OF. THE NERD EMOJI. He is a actual know-it-all which can come in handy but that makes him seem like a dick sometimes because of his knowledge.

Picky Piggy: I don't really have anything important to add to her, since I want to keep some of her lore a secret [might be revealed through the ask page I just set up for the AU on my page] HOWEVER she is the chef of the group and is literally the only one that can cook, if anybody else tried they'd all get food poisoning LMAO.

Here's some extra things in this AU that won't go in my other posts about this AU (maybe):

(So take notes if you want.)

- Catnap is redeemed, but it takes a VERY long time for him to get out of "old habits" as I'm going to word it. (Without spoiling too much of what I have planned.)

- I don't know what to plan for The Prototype yet but I'm talking with a couple of my mutuals on discord so maybe I'll figure it out eventually

- Dogday can normally stand and do other things because of the belts he has, however he can't put them on for too long (for like at max, more than 4 hours a day.) because they will wear into the plush, and he needs to put the belts on tight or they will come loose. He only uses such method when the group goes to hunt for food or similar activities, otherwise, he just uses a wheelchair when in the groups safe environment (the Playhouse!)

- This is going to be a shock to some people, but there is NO player character in this AU, not only is this a what if the Smiling Critters survived, but it's also a what if the player character never returned to Playtime Co.! This does come with some issues, like on how the asks are going to work, but trust me, I got everything taken care of when it comes to that!

- There also isn't really any shipping in this AU at all, I'm focusing on the story/friendship dynamics more than that, so if somehow you were looking for Dogday X Catnap this is, unfortunately not the place for that.

- This AU also has the personal interpretation of Dogday being part of the experiments some of the orphanage kids faced, as I don't really vibe with the idea that Dogday might be a Playtime Co. worker??? I don't know, I'm sticking with my idea for now but I will be keeping a close eye on canon if anything confirms or denies it, and I may adjust the AU accordingly if that's the case.

- Future posts may or may not contain other Poppy Playtime characters but the main focus is the Smiling Critters and The Prototype.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

References of Dogday and Catnap are already done but I may wait a bit on Tumblr to see how well this AU is being received :)

(I spent 6 hours on all references in total 😭😭😭)

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Still kickin' since the '70s: NASA's Voyager mission keeps exploring

NASA's Voyager mission launched in the 1970s. Today, it's making history as it conducts new science. But how are two spacecraft from the '70s not just surviving, but thriving farther out in space than any other spacecraft has been before?

A little mission background

Voyager is a NASA mission made up of two different spacecraft, Voyager 1 and 2, which launched to space on Sept. 5, 1977, and Aug. 20, 1977, respectively. In the decades following launch, the pair took a grand tour of our solar system, studying Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune—one of NASA's earliest efforts to explore the secrets of the universe.

These twin probes later became the first spacecraft to operate in interstellar space—space outside the heliosphere, the bubble of solar wind and magnetic fields emanating from the sun. Voyager 1 was the first to enter interstellar space in 2012, followed by Voyager 2 in 2018.

Today, Voyager continues not just because it can, but because it still has work to do studying interstellar space, the heliosphere, and how the two interact. "We wouldn't be doing Voyager if it wasn't taking science data," said Suzanne Dodd, the mission's current project manager and the director for the Interplanetary Network at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

But across billions of miles and decades of groundbreaking scientific exploration, this trailblazing interstellar journey has not been without its trials. So, what's the Voyager secret to success?

In short: preparation and creativity.

"We designed them not to fail"

According to John Casani, Voyager project manager from 1975 to launch in 1977, "we didn't design them to last 30 years or 40 years, we designed them not to fail."

One key driver of the mission's longevity is redundancy. Voyager's components weren't just engineered with care, they were also made in duplicate.

According to Dodd, Voyager "was designed with nearly everything redundant. Having two spacecraft—right there is a redundancy."

A cutting-edge power source

The twin Voyager spacecraft can also credit their longevity to their long-lasting power source.

Each spacecraft is equipped with three radioisotope thermoelectric generators. These nuclear "batteries" were developed originally by the U.S. Department of Energy as part of the Atoms for Peace program enacted by President Eisenhower in 1955.

Compared to other power options at the time—like solar power, which doesn't have the reach to work beyond Jupiter—these generators have allowed Voyager to go much farther into space.

Voyager's generators continue to take the mission farther than any before, but they also continue to generate less power each year, with instruments needing to be shut off over time to conserve power.

Creative solutions

As a mission that has operated at the farthest edges of the heliosphere and beyond, Voyager has endured its fair share of challenges. With the spacecraft now in interstellar space running on software and hardware from the 1970s, Voyager's problems require creative solutions.

Retired mission personnel who worked on Voyager in its earliest days have even come back out of retirement to collaborate with new mission personnel to not just fix big problems but to pass on important mission know-how to the next generation of scientists and engineers.

"From where I sit as a project manager, it's really very exciting to see young engineers be excited to work on Voyager. To take on the challenges of an old mission and to work side by side with some of the masters, the people that built the spacecraft," Dodd said. "They want to learn from each other."

Within just the last couple of years, Voyager has tested the mission team's creativity with a number of complex issues. Most recently, a fuel tube inside of Voyager 1's thrusters, which control the spacecraft's orientation and direction, became clogged. The thrusters allow the spacecraft to point their antennae and are critical to maintaining communications with Earth. Through careful coordination, the mission team was able to remotely switch the spacecraft to a different set of thrusters.

These kinds of repairs are extra challenging as a radio signal takes about 22½ hours to reach Voyager 1 from Earth and another 22½ hours to return. Signals to and from Voyager 2 take about 19 hours each way.

Voyager's interstellar future

This brief peek behind the curtain highlights some of Voyager's history and its secrets to success.

The Voyager probes may continue to operate into the late 2020s. As time goes on, continued operations will become more challenging as the mission's power diminishes by 4 watts every year, and the two spacecraft will cool down as this power decreases. Additionally, unexpected anomalies could impact the mission's functionality and longevity as they grow older.

As the mission presses on, the Voyager team grows this legacy of creative problem solving and collaboration while these twin interstellar travelers continue to expand our understanding of the vast and mysterious cosmos we inhabit.

[poetryiwroteatwork]

Preface to this work I'm writing over on Ao3

Walking up the porch steps, you tried to swallow down the building nausea. 

The ancient, wooden porch steps creaked under your feet, just as they always had. The sweet smell of peaches and grass drifted through the air, just as it always did. The unforgiving Georgia sun beat down relentlessly, just as it always would. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the gentle breeze drifting past, surrounding you in the idea of home .

It didn’t calm your nerves.

For the first time in… forever , you actually knocked on the front door. Actually stepped back. Actually waited for someone to answer. 

You prayed it wasn’t Mama. You couldn’t bear to answer her questions, to tell the news twice. Not right now.

This one prayer, at least, was answered in kind; the man you’d came to see opened the door. Dumbstruck, he stared at you through the storm door, unable to fathom why you were just standing on his porch when you’d practically lived there since that first summer all those years ago.

Silently, you stepped back and walked over to the porch railing, waiting for him to join you.

It took a minute, but he finally got his bearings, letting the screen door slam closed behind him. Shuffling over, he leaned sideways on the rail, facing you. There were a lot of things that had been left unspoken between you over the years. 

And yet, you knew that—for the first time—he was struggling to read you.

Staring out at the long drive, elbows on the rail, you tried desperately to swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m leavin’.”

Clearly not sure he’d heard you right, “Wha’?”

You were unable to look at him. “I’m leavin’,” bracing yourself with a deep breath, you forced the rest, “Movin’. Outta sta’e.”

The forced lightness to his voice belied his panic. “Yer kiddin’.” 

You almost looked at him. Almost met his eye. Almost caved. You forced yourself to keep your eyes forward and shook your head.

“This— I mean— Ya can’— Ya jus’—” Pausing, trying to get his thoughts in line, he ran a hand through his hair.

You waited, knowing what was coming.

“This's abou’ Jocelyn ‘gain.” His voice was hard, angry, just as you knew it’d be.

Sighing, you closed your eyes. “No, Len. I’s no’.”

“Ain’t it?” he snapped. “Ya keep sayin’ ya don’ like her an’ tha’ she’s bad news an’ whate’er. Bu’ now you’re leavin’ an’ tha’s no’ wha’ this’s abou’?” His voice was already starting to rise, just as it always did when she came up.

You squeezed your eyes tighter for a moment. “No. I’s no’. An’ I don’ know how many times I have ta tell ya, i’s more than tha’. She—” you choked, “She brin’s ou’ the wors’ in ya, Len.”

He laughs in disbelief. “Wha’ the fuck is tha’ suppose’ ta mean? Tell me. ‘Cause ya keep sayin’ shit like tha’, bu’ ya ne’er say why .”

And, just like that, the pain and betrayal you’d been feeling ignited. 

You whirled on him. “I have said why. You jus’ ain’t listenin’ .” Holding up your fingers, you started ticking things off. “She’s a complete narcissis’, a pathological liar, an’ a cheat. She’s gaslightin’ ya. She always makes herself seem like the victim, no matter da situation. She ain’t go’ no goals in life other than draggin’ ya down. She always insists she’s righ’, even ‘gens’ people she knows ’s go’ more es’perience dan her. She always needs ta be the center o’ attention. She’s usin’ ya for yer status an’ money.”

Leonard took a step back, surprised at your venom. 

But you weren’t finished. “An’ you . Yer es’hausted ‘cause she’s keepin’ ya up all hours o’ da nigh’. Which has yer insomnia kickin’ back up. She’s playin’ wit’ yer self-esteem an’ I can see ya fallin’ back inta a depression. Yer drinkin’ an’ standoffish an’ rude , an’ she’s got ya dissmissin’ e’rethin’ I go’ ta say. Ya ain’t seen any o’ yer other friends in months .” All but growling with frustration now, “She’s takin’ over yer whole life an’ you’re jus’ lettin’ her .”

Leonard didn’t move, still too stunned. 

You took a breath, squeezing your eyes tight. One traitorous tear slipped out, burning a path down your cheek. The fire dimmed inside you, suffocated by the thought of what was about to happen. 

“Ya told me once tha’ ya’d never date someone I didn’ like. An’ despite telling ya, multiple times , tha’ she elicits a trauma response in me, yer still wit’ her . Ya ain’t listenin’ ta what I gotta say, jus’ ‘cause it ain’t wha’ ya wanna hear.”

You opened your eyes, finding Leonard with his jaw set. He clearly wanted to go off again. You remembered a time when anger never would have been his first response. Especially not toward you.

Despite having told yourself you weren’t going to cry, the tears were rolling freely down your face now. “Dis ain’t abou’ her, Len. Dis is abou’ you. I can’ jus’ stand here an’ watch ya des’roy yerself.”

His voice, hard and accusatory, cut into your heart like a knife, “So, wha’? Dis is where ya say I either break up wit’ her, or yer leavin’? Yer makin’ me choose?”

You shook your head, finally pulling the letter out of your back pocket. “No, Len. Dis is where I tell ya goodbye.” 

You held out the paper and he snatched it. 

“I’m bein’ recrui’ed inta Starflee’. Dey wan’ me ta join deir research an’ analysis division.” 

He snorted derisively, “‘Course dey do.” Then, “Ya hate Starflee’. Fascis’ egotistical bastards an’ all tha’. Why da fuck are ya joinin’ up now?”

You sighed. “Dey also have da leadin’ programs in theoretical astrophysics, engineerin’,  an’ neuroscience. No’ ta mention, it’s da only place on earth ta learn xeno-communications an’ alien culture.” 

He blinked at you, lost for words. 

Softly, almost gently, “Da letter arri’ed yesterday. Dey wan’ me ta star’ dis semes’er… I’d have ta leave nex’ week.” 

That was a punch in the face. He looked down at the letter, confirming that it was indeed true. His anger melted before your eyes, turning into… something.

The two of you were supposed to go to Ole Miss for the next three years. Leonard was going to finish his pre-med and you were going to round off a few bachelor’s. Then the two of you would transfer to Johns Hopkins. Him for his MD, and you for studies in Neuroscience and Virus Research. 

This had been your plan since junior high, back when you’d first decided where your lives were headed. The two of you had been inseparable long before then, and it was only natural that you’d continue together. It had been a given; a done deal; an unspoken agreement.

Until now. 

You had a feeling your academic advisor had gone behind your back and sent your transcript to Starfleet herself. It was probably accompanied by a glowing recommendation and sent with the best of intentions.

Regardless, it was an opportunity, and you were taking it.

“So… Dat’s i’ den? Ya’ve already made up yer min’. Yer jus’... jus' leavin’. Jus’ like dat.” His disbelief was starting to harden. The anger was breaking through again.

Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“After e’erythin’. Yer jus’ gonna walk away.”

His cold, stoic anger only confirmed that you were making the right decision. “I tol’ ya I wadn’ gonna give ya an ultima'um. Dat I wadn’ gonna make ya choose.”

Bitterly, “So, yer choosin’ for me?”

You couldn’t say you weren’t.

“Ya really don’ like her dat much.” 

Another knife to your heart.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped toward him. Leaning in, you kissed his cheek. Looking him in the eye, you breathed, “I will always love you, Len. No matter wha’.”

And then you walked away. 

[twoforflinching-ktbedition]

//AUDIO BEGINS

Hello! Is this, umm... Han Jae? I hope I'm pronouncing that right. My name's Leila, I'm a pretty new arrival to the Dawnline Shore, and I was hoping you might explain what a 'Pankrati' is? If it's not too much trouble? One of my friends said he liked watching the Pankrati on a hacked omninet signal and that I needed to "learn how to pilot like those guys", and "stop whinging about your paracausal bone gecko"... Sorry, I'm getting off topic.

Is a Pankrati something I could pilot when my mech won't print properly? Can I watch one without letting my friend mess around with my omninet connection? I'd really like to learn more about the traditions out here, my grandmother used to live here and- I'm rambling again. Anyway, thank you!

Euler how do I sign an audio message? No it's- I'm dictating, yeah. Automatic? So I can just tell it to send an-

//AUDIO ENDS //Sent by Leila Marris-Orion @nhp-researcher180

Oh, yeah I guess I can explain pankrati, I already explained fuckin' sports.

Pankrati is a sport in the KTB, basically heavily regulated one-on-one mech battles. There's different weight classes, rule sets, whatever. Basically it's stuck up prissy nobles kickin' each other into the curb in war machines, and it's only really fun if you watch the ignoble circuits (or my matches, I'm fuckin' great).

Pankrati mechs ain't technically standardized. So long as you got all the proper limiters you can run just about any shit you want. As for watchin' it, I send out stream links to my matches whenever I got any if you want me to drop you one.

I honestly ain't the best to ask 'bout the traditions, I'm not a KTB guy, I've only been around here for... what, two years? Maybe? Indentured servitude is weird.

As for whatever the fuckin' "paracausal bone gecko" is... I'd rather not fuckin' know, actually, I don't fuck with paracausality.

-Han Jae-

[theeoriginals]

CHAPTER TWO:

ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

“where you lead me,” i said. “i’ll follow.” he laughed. “baby. baby. baby. i love you. and i’m going to build us a table and a whole lot of folks going to be eating off it for a long, long time to come.” - james baldwin, if beale street could talk

summary: the millers ring in the new year, and then celebrate sarah's birthday. joel decides he wants to settle down with blue.

warnings: the last chapter of just fluff lmao, enjoy

baby blue series masterlist

DECEMBER 31, 2002 / JANUARY 1, 2003

“Five minutes!” Sarah’s gleeful call echoed through the house, and the three adults chuckled at her excitement. 

Joel lifts his beer up, drinking the last bits of it before it gets too warm for him to enjoy. His arm tightens where it’s wrapped around Blue’s waist and she lets him pull her impossibly closer, a laugh in her voice as she and Tommy bicker back and forth. 

“Oh, come on, Miss Blue, you have to start the new year off with a kiss for good luck!” 

“And you think my good luck will come from you?” She questions incredulously, wrinkles crinkling in her face from the wide spread of her grin. “How many girls do you use that line on, huh?” 

Tommy waved a hand, smirking at the eye roll he earns from his brother. “Only you, Miss Blue, you’re the apple of my eye, the fire in my–”

“Alright now, Shakespeare,” Joel cuts in, giving his brother a faux-stern look that makes Sarah giggle. “She’ll be gettin’ a good luck kiss from someone who hasn’t spread his luck around the whole city of Austin.” 

Tommy’s jaw drops and Blue laughs loudly, the sound bouncing around the walls of the home that’s warm with the love they all have for each other. 

“Two minutes, guys,” Sarah reminds them, wiggling her way in between her father and Blue. They move easily enough, giving her the space she needs to fit amongst them. “My teacher says that a New Years kiss means you’ll find love that year,” 

“Your teacher is right, babydoll,” Blue lays a hand on Sarah’s head, tilting her head back so she’s looking up at them. “But even if you don’t get a kiss, you’ll still have plenty of lovin’ to go around.” 

Sarah smiles, but her attention is quickly torn away by the countdown beginning on the TV screen. “Look, look!” 

“We’re lookin’, baby,” Joel lays his free hand on her shoulder, sharing a smile with Blue as the timer ticked down, and the giant crowd gathered in New York on the TV began cheering as the ball dropped with each passing second.

“Ten, nine, eight,” 

“I’m saying it now, y’all, 2003 is going to be the year of the Millers. We’re kickin’ ass and takin’ names,” Blue raises a fist, earning a supportive cheer from Tommy and Sarah.

“Five, four, three, two– Happy New Year!” The four people called out over the raucous cheer from the television, and Joel leaned over Sarah’s frame to kiss Blue, the two of them smiling into it. 

Pulling apart, they shared a look before they leaned down and started kissing Sarah’s face all over, making the girl break into uncontrollable giggles. 

“Stop it, stop it!” 

Joel looks at his daughter’s flushed face, seeing her preen under the affection. “That should be enough love and luck to last you ten years, don’t you think, Blue?”

“At least ten, I think.” The woman wrapped an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and the teenager rested against her side. “She’ll be takin’ over the world before we know it.” 

“I don’t wanna take over the world,” Sarah shakes her head, scrunching her face up slightly. 

“Oh, really?” Tommy raises a brow at his niece. “Why not?” 

The girl shrugs and looks from her uncle to her dad, to Blue. “I’d rather just stay here with you guys.” 

Joel sighs, lifting a hand to cup his daughter’s cheek fondly. “You can do whatever you want, baby. You got all the time in the world.”

The night wound down shortly after the clock struck twelve, and Tommy ended up on the couch with his feet hanging over the end of it while Joel cleaned up as quietly as possible. Blue took it upon herself to help Sarah into bed, tucking the girl in as she faded into a sweet sleep. 

Leaning over the girl, she pressed a kiss to her forehead, smiling when Sarah leaned into the touch. “Goodnight, babydoll. Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” 

“Blue?” Sarah mumbles, sleepy eyes looking up at her in question. “Are you gonna be my mom now that you’re moving in with us?” 

The woman stills, looking at the open bedroom door and suddenly wishing Joel were there to handle this delicate question. Clearing her throat, Blue smiled softly. “You already have a mama, Sarah.” 

Sarah shakes her head slightly, brows furrowing. “Yeah, but she left my dad. I don’t even remember her, and dad never talks about her, but Uncle Tommy says she wasn’t right for dad, not like you are. So, I want you to be my mom.”  

“Oh, babydoll,” Letting out a somewhat shaky sigh, Blue smiles. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, alright? As long as it’s okay with you and your daddy, I’ll be anything you want me to, even your mama.”

“Dad loves you,” She says, matter-of-factly. “And so do I. Do you love us?” 

“‘Course I do, Sarah. Both of you– so much. I think I’m gonna love you for a long, long time. Long as y’all let me, that is.” 

Sarah smiles then, sleepy and content as Blue smooths her blankets out again and switches on the small night light on her nightstand. “Night, Blue.” 

“Night, Sarah. Sweet dreams.” 

─────

JULY 20, 2003

“The birthday girl gets what the birthday girl wants, and your birthday girl wants pancakes,” Blue looked at a tired-looking Joel, quirking a brow when he rubbed his hands over his face, the early hour on a Sunday morning making him wish he was back in bed with Blue, still asleep. “So get up and go to the store before she wakes up.” 

“The store?” He echoes incredulously. “I don’t even like pancakes, baby, I’m not goin’ to the store at 7am on a Sunday!” 

Blue sets her hand on her hip, giving him a narrow-eyed once over. “You better hope we got all the shit to make pancakes, otherwise you’re explainin’ to my babydoll why she doesn’t have pancakes on her fourteenth birthday.” 

Joel groaned softly, smashing his face back into his pillow as Blue turned on her heel and walked out of the room, heading for the kitchen. He gets up slowly, ignoring the persistent creak of his bones and aches in his muscles as he makes his way for the kitchen, bypassing Sarah’s bedroom door that was still shut, only reaffirming the fact that Blue was up far too early. 

“Blue, what are you doin’?” 

She looks at him over her shoulder, gesturing to the small mess she’s managed to make in the five minutes it took him to get out of bed. “I’m makin’ buttermilk pancakes, what’s it look like?” 

“It looks like there was a tornado in my kitchen,” 

“Your kitchen,” She scoffs as he comes up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and dropping his head into the slope of her neck, still holding onto the last remnants of sleep despite knowing there’s no way he’s making it back to bed. “The other night you said it was my kitchen, and it had to be clean in order for me to use it.” 

“Yeah, but that was just so Sarah would do her chores.” 

Blue makes a noise of amusement as she slowly mixes in the concoction of dry ingredients. “Get me the vanilla extract– and the cinnamon, please. Since it’s your kitchen, Master Chef. And keep your hands to yourself, you can’t scar your daughter on her birthday.”

“Oh, Lord,” Joel groans, stoutly not moving from his place draped around Blue. “She’s seen worse. Heard worse from Tommy,” 

“I can’t believe you just used your brother as an excuse to grope me in the kitchen,” 

“What are you guys doing?” 

Blue and Joel both startle, Joel stepping back from Blue as they snap around to face Sarah standing in the entryway to the kitchen with a sleepy frown on her face. 

Clearing her throat, Blue points a finger at him accusingly. “Your dad wouldn’t go to the store to get pancake mix, so I’m making ‘em homemade for you.” 

“I can’t believe you just threw me under the bus like that–” 

“Do we have chocolate chips?” Sarah grins excitedly, cutting her dad off as she bounds towards them, exhaustion suddenly nowhere to be found. “I want chocolate chips, and whipped cream!” 

Joel grunts as Sarah throws herself against him, hugging his waist tightly, but he quickly recovers and squeezes her as tight as he can without hurting her. “It just might be your lucky day, because we have chocolate chips and whipped cream.” 

Blue shares a secret look with Joel, smiling at the girl’s excitement. “And you know, I think there might be a present for you in the livin' room, but you’ll have to go check.” 

“A present? Is it a car?!” 

“A car?” Joel echoes incredulously as Sarah pulls back, meeting his look of shock expectantly. “You’re fourteen, not twenty!” 

“I’m getting a car before I turn twenty, Dad,” 

“Not with that attitude.” 

“Blue!” Sarah whines, turning to look at the woman who’s hiding a smile behind her hand. “Tell him that I’m getting a car before I turn twenty.” 

Blue shakes her head, holding her hands up in surrender. “I am not getting in the middle of this. All I can tell you is that a car definitely does not fit in our living room, so you might be disappointed.” 

Sarah feigns an eye roll and Joel pushes her back, pointing a finger in the direction of the living room. “Go get your present while Blue finishes these pancakes for you,” 

The teenager does as told, scurrying off to the living room before she comes back with the gift bag in tow. “Can I open it now?” 

Joel nods, and Sarah pulls the tissue paper out of the bag, her smile growing as she pulls out a folded shirt, the shark-tooth necklace tucked into it, and a set of earrings. 

“Earrings?” She frowns, looking at her dad. “My ears aren’t pierced.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest, heaving a sigh as he looks between his daughter and Blue. “Blue and I have talked about it–”

“More like I had to bribe you,” 

“We talked about it,” He huffs, earning a cheeky wink from the woman. “And if you still want to, she’s gonna take you to get your ears pierced today.” 

Sarah’s eyes widen and she grins, looking at her dad. “For real? You’re gonna let me pierce my ears?” 

“If you want to,” 

“If I want to, he says,” Sarah mocks. “Like I haven’t asked you every day since I was twelve!” 

“Well, I finally got him on board,” Blue leans against the counter, looking at Sarah. “So we’re goin’ out for lunch, and then we’re goin’ to get ‘em done, and when we get home we’ll have dinner and cake, and you can have the rest of your presents.” 

Sarah launches herself at the two adults, wrapping her arms around them to the best of her ability, making them both chuckle. “This is the best birthday ever,” 

“Just wait for your sixteenth when you actually get that car you’re talkin’ about,” 

“Alright, that’s enough now,” 

“Dad!” 

───── 

AUGUST 15, 2003

"Dad,"

Joel ignores the whispered call from his daughter, his nervous hand turning the lit candle ever so slightly in the middle of the table.

"Dad!"

Joel whips around, looking at Sarah with wide eyes. "What?!"

"She just pulled in the driveway."

"Shit," He curses, backing away from the carefully set table for three. It's the nicest the Miller kitchen table has ever looked, and he applauds Sarah for her help. The single red rose sitting in a cup-turned-vase beside the candle, against the black tablecloth she'd pulled from deep in their linen closet looked as romantic as Joel Miller ever could be. "Are we ready? I don't think we're ready,"

"Dad," Sarah lays a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring look. "You guys are practically already married, it's gonna be fine,"

He groans, forcing himself to calm. "You're right. She has no reason to say no."

"Exactly," Sarah smiles smugly as the sound of the front door opening alerts them both.

"Fret no longer, Miller family, your favorite person is home!"

Joel smiles, warmth flooding his face as he looks down at his daughter, seeing her matching grin. In unison, they call out to her. "Kitchen!"

Her footsteps come around the corner into the kitchen, and Joel finds himself floored at the sight of her smile, meeting her in the middle for a kiss that Sarah, for once, does not make fun of him for. "Hey, Blue,"

"Hi, baby," She leans in, giving him one, two more kisses before she parts from him and moves to drop a kiss onto Sarah's forehead in greeting. "I got some wine like you asked, though I'm curious as to why we're havin’ wine and not beer."

Joel huffs, briefly panicking as he shrugs his shoulders. "We're having a nice dinner, figured wine would go better," He gestures to the done-up table and her eyes fall to it, widening in surprise before a look of pure adoration floods her face.

"Oh, wow," The words are breathed out in awe, and Joel's reminded as to why exactly he wanted to do this in the first place. Because she's always looked at him and Sarah and the things they do as the best. From nosebleed seats at a football game, to simple, homemade dinners with a rose and a candle on the table, she acts like it's no less than perfection. It makes him feel giddy like a kid again.

"What's this for, huh? Did Sarah get honor roll again?"

"No," Joel cuts in, making Sarah huff as she goes to sit down in front of her plate of spaghetti. "Just wanted to have dinner with the three of us."

"Well, I love it," She grins at him before joining Sarah at the table, setting the bottle of wine in between their empty glasses. "And I am starving, so let's eat,"

Joel takes his seat with a smile, heart racing as he and Sarah share a secretive smile across the table.

"So, how was work?"

"It was alright," She waved her hand vaguely, reaching for her glass of wine as she, Sarah, and Joel talked amongst their meal. "Mr. Carden came into the center again asking about you, telling me you've been ignoring his calls."

Joel looks sheepish, but he feigns innocence as he shoves another bite of spaghetti in his mouth, manners be damned. Around the mouthful of food, he says, "I haven't gotten any calls,"

It comes out muffled, but she and Sarah both hear it, and they share mutual looks of exasperation before laughing at Joel's poor attempt at innocence.

"Joel Miller, are you ignoring that sweet old man?"

He swallows the bite of pasta, holding his hands up defensively. "I'm busy! I've been working!"

Blue shakes her head, still smiling fondly. "You just want me to be the one that has to make excuses for you,"

"Yeah, because you're so good at it, Blue,"

"I'm good at lying to people?!"

"On my behalf," He corrects, grinning crookedly as Sarah giggles uncontrollably beside them. "And I love you for it."

She points an accusing finger at him, pursing her lips to hide her growing smile. "You're supposed to be a gentleman, Joel,"

"And I am," Joel shrugs, lifting his wine glass to his lips. "But I only have to be a gentleman to you two. That's all that matters."

"You only have to be nice to me and Blue? What about Uncle Tommy?"

Joel heaves a sigh, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at the mention of his brother. "Uncle Tommy does not need me to be a gentleman, because he's an idiot."

Blue leaned over, whispering conspiratorially in Sarah's ear. "But we love him anyways,"

Sarah nodded, watching her dad shift nervously across the table. Eyes widening, she clears her throat pointedly, looking at Blue. "Dad has something he wants to ask you,"

"Sarah!"

The woman looked between them suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. "Does he now?" Turning in her seat to look at Joel, she raises a brow. "What is it you need to ask me?"

Shooting a glare at his daughter, he let out a somewhat shaky breath. "Well, uh, you– you know that I love you, right, Blue?"

"I do know that," She hums, smiling softly despite her growing nerves. "You told me about two minutes ago."

"Yeah," He nods, wiping a hand over his mouth. "And you know– you know that Sarah loves you, too,"

Sarah nods furiously, smile playing at her lips.

"Joel, is everything alright?"

He mutters a curse, quickly pushing his chair away from the table and getting down on one knee.

"Oh, shit,"

Sarah nudges her in the arm even as tears well up in her eyes. "Language,"

"Sorry," Blue distantly mutters, her eyes bubbling with tears the longer she looks at Joel. “Joel,” 

“Just– give me a minute, alright? I, uh, I’m not the best with words, but I got some things I wanna say to you,” 

She nods silently, pressing a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob that wants to break free from her lips. 

“Every day I wake up beside you, and I think about how lucky I am that Sarah wanted to go across the street and talk to our pretty new neighbor. Without her, I wouldn’t– none of this would have happened, and I wouldn’t have the two most important girls in my life. You love me and Sarah far better than I ever could ask for, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it, baby. I,” 

He stops, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I love you, Blue. I love you, and my– our daughter loves you, so will you do us both the honor of marrying me, and sticking around for a while?”

Blue laughs wetly, wiping her cheeks with a shaky hand. “Just a while?” 

“Forever is preferred,” He smiles softly. 

“Forever, then.” She nods, laying her hand over his trembling one holding the diamond ring up for her to see.

“Is that a yes?” 

“Of course it’s a yes, baby,” She laughs, practically launching herself at him and tackling him to the floor in a hug. “I’ll marry you a thousand times, if you want me to.” 

Sarah giggles, abandoning the table to join them on the floor. Blue and Joel move, easily letting her wiggle in between them, and they all share teary-eyed looks as Joel grabs Blue’s hand and slides the simple engagement ring onto her finger. 

She wiggles it against the gleam of the light before dropping her hand to her chest, clutching it tightly like she’ll lose it if she doesn’t. 

“Hey,” Sarah hums, garnering both adults’ attention. “If someone gets you a dog as a wedding present, can we keep it?”

Blue laughed, shaking her head at Sarah. “Who on earth is going to give us a dog as a wedding present, babydoll?” 

“Uncle Tommy if I ask him to,” She says it fast, and it takes a moment for her words to settle in before Joel and Blue burst into laughter, Sarah quickly joining them in their hysteria. 

Blue lays on the kitchen floor, happier than ever, wondering how moving into a little old house on a random street in Austin, Texas, had ended up being the best thing to ever happen to her. 

[lavendersartistry]

31: Halloween

Now also available on AO3!

This is for @novalizinpeace Catober. Thank you so much for this awesome October prompt to write for!

Thank you for reading.

October 2005.

Halloween.

The day of tricks and treats.

But it also marked a special day of 3.

Dia de Muertos. Day of the Dead.

——————————

"How did you even find these flowers? There's not much of a garden around Playcare."

Kickin stood before the makeshift altar that Eve and Bobby were tending to, holding one of the orphan children he and Eve adopted. Before the Hour of Joy, not much of everyone knew the holidays around the natural celebrations. So seeing this was a bit of a cultural shock. The little one in his arms seemed to be interested, however, trying to grab at the fake cempasúchil that was decorated around the altar.

Bobby turned and dusted her old, frilly apron with a warm smile.

"Crafty made them! She painted them to look like the real thing! No idea how she got it so accurate."

She looked back to the altar and fixed up some things that were out of place.

Like DogDay's photo.

"Either way, everything is perfect for him. I just need to find those lighters for the candles."

Eve walked off to the kitchen to find lighters, Kickin following in tow. 

Bobby stayed at the altar, looking at DogDay's photo. He seemed happy then, the cheerful and mature leader everyone knew. He wasn't perfect but he always did his best.

The red bear sweetheart clasped her hands together and fiddled with the friendship bracelet around her right wrist. She happily smiled, a silent prayer to her lost friend. She walked away, in search of Crafty to help with costumes.

——————————

In mist of everyone being so busy, CatNap eased through the corridors of Home Sweet Home. He was unfazed by the most of the decorations, certainly the old decorations from storage. But he wasn't familiar with the new decorations that looked like it was knitted together to show a picture.

He continued his way around, the usual mini critters right behind him in curiosity of where they were going. Yet the smell of food and sweet perfumes enticed him. So he walked to the source.

………

Oh.

CatNap sat in front the altar dedicated to DogDay, a slight pang to his heart at the sight of the things put down for him. Yet something seemed missing.

He unzipped his stomach, reaching inside the mass of balled fluff and structure of flesh.

A sun pendant.

CatNap gently placed the pendant next to the photo, a bittersweet smile to his face.

He could only wish his old friend could continue in peace, knowing how truly sorry he was after all these years.

[cinamun]

I’m having to put on my big gworl panties to unpack MerSean…

I think the only ship these two should explore should be friendship. Do I like the fact that Sean has managed to finally uproot himself from the indent he has left in his couch for a night out? Absolutely

Do I fear for Sean’s (and Mercy’s) health and well being if they do a thing: Absolutely

Boffum need to heal but not together, in that way. I feel Mercy should find some new unproblematic, good dick from someone else. Like there’s gotta be someone else just kickin’ it at Sky Fitness or the Cupcake stand in Uptown…or like The Art Gallery or something. Getting in bed with Sean is too close comfort. I want to save the good sis the time & energy before she gives it away.

Not even making this be about Jay but I feel like he would lose it. Going from Bishop to Sean, just might send him to an early grave. But even his feelings aside…Sean just got off the couch. We don’t need any more “soul ties” (if that’s the right word) with unhealed/mentally unstable (respectfully) men. Especially since she’s had a taste of freedom for what…like 2 weeks…and idk if we can even call it freedom because she’s not fully outta the clear. She’s confident…and having a good time with her girl Indy but…in the clear…far from it. 👀

The ship I do think she should explore: that music teacher position at Copperdale that miss girl had been eying. I think her tickling the ivories at that funeral is the real reason miss ma’am is living her most confident-infused best life. Them keys put some pep in our girls step, we can’t deny that.

*Please feel free to give me a better word for mentally unstable, if you have one. 💛

Its the practical rationale for me Chae!!!

Because look, the good brotha Sean literally just buried his boy (rip to the homie). While its nice to get off the couch (he says as much to Darren) and get out, have a lil fun (see the hint of a smile on the Harley), we don't need to rush into anything. Sean is still seeing the good Doc about 3 times a week and its going to take awhile for the Doc to work on YEARS of projecting, trauma, feelings of failed parenting and now loss. Sean has work to do.

And did Mercy ever have an outlet after the passing of Mr. Jackson Carruthers, Jazz Pianist? Perhaps not... she couldn't even be found when Georgie passed away and Bertie really needed her. She buries her own feelings and feels like she deserves punishment. That just doesn't go away after one bomb ass night out with a bad ass bestie.

She still has baggage and the tag says Bishop. The flesh is weak.

I'm so glad you mentioned the Music Teacher that Mercy very much wanted to be but was told "I don't want you working". Chile....

And here comes her son, Professor of the Pianistic Arts at Britechester, always a waiting list to enroll in his course because he LOVES what he does and the students LOVE that. I digress....

All very, VERY good points to soak in as we imagine the possibilities of these two very complicated characters.

[thisurlwasnttakenbutnowitis]

Every Epic Rap Battle of History Ranked, Part 2

Part 1

57. Genghis Khan vs Easter Bunny

Winner: Easter Bunny

Best line: "The Great Wall couldn't keep you out of China. Watch me rub my foot for luck and stick it right up your vagina!"

Okay, okay, this is probably higher than it has any right to be, but damn it, I just love this pairing. You have a historical warlord famous for his brutality battling with a peaceful holiday icon for kids and I think the contrast is hilarious. It's nothing spectacular, but this has to be my favorite of season 1's "two completely random characters with no relation" battles.

56. Wonder Woman vs Stevie Wonder

Winner: Wonder Woman

Best line: "My rhymes are signed, sealed, and delivered on time. You're a bald has-been, I'm in my Amazon Prime!"

While I was always aware of Stevie Wonder's music, this battle actually made me look into it and appreciate it more. I love the touch of how Stevie's music style in this is a mix of his own as well as that of his actor, T-Pain. Also the quote above might just be one of my favorite lines in ERB history - I LOVE when a line can manage to mix in wordplay that relates to both rappers. Mwah, chef's kiss.

55. Master Chief vs Leonidas

Winner: Master Chief

Best line: "300 asses need a kickin'. Give more teebags than Lipton."

We're in the section of the list of good battles with nothing to really complain about, but also with nothing spectacular so there's not really much to say. I'm not a Halo guy so some of the references went over my head - I didn't get "You're the solider they need you to be" until looking it up just now, and yeah, that's a pretty funny line that I didn't appreciate when I was younger. It was also a good call to have Lloyd still be the voice of Leonidas but cast an actual muscular man to be the body actor; we definitely didn't need another Hulk Hogan muscle suit situation.

54. Goku vs Superman 

Winner: Goku

Best line: "There's only one way that this battle's gonna end: One more Superman who's never gonna walk again."

Ray William Johnson was a great casting choice for Goku; he brings a lively and memorable performance to the show. Although I didn't think Goku was quite so angry? Idk, I'm also not a Dragon Ball guy (forgive me for being such an uncultured swine and not knowing a lot of these series). Lloyd's Superman is pretty basic by comparison; it gets the job done, but it's like Sinatra vs Mercury where it gets overshadowed hard by the other performer.

53. Barack Obama vs Mitt Romney

Winner: Mitt Romney

Best line: "Republicans need a puppet and you fit. Got their hand so far up your rear, call you Mitt."

Man, remember when we thought Mitt Romney was the worst the Republican party could throw at us? Simpler times, man. Simpler times. This battle is the most-viewed in ERB history, which I think is kinda weird since I feel like people were way more into the 2016 and 2020 elections overall. But this was also the first election battle, and when ERB was still a relatively new series, so maybe it was the novelty of it at the time. Or maybe because Obama and Romney were both more well-liked than Trump, Clinton, and Biden. I dunno, I'm getting off-track here.

I thought for years that this battle was pretty well-balanced in terms of not showing favoritism to one side, though I thought Romney's line "I'm not gonna let this battle be dictated by facts" was a pretty biased writing choice. But it turns out that that's almost a direct quote from Romney himself, so uhh. I also love how both opponents break down into slinging childish insults at each other by the end, it really goes to show that it's not glorifying either candidate. And that's proven true by the iconic scene of Abe Lincoln coming down and bitchslapping them both. Classic.

The real Obama is known to have seen this battle too and apparently liked it given that he invited Peter and the actor who played Obama here to the White House, so that's neat.

52. John Wick vs John Rambo vs John McClane

Winner: John McClane

Best line: "And lighten up, Wick, with your brooding saga. How 'bout a little hakuna matata, Baba Yaga?"

This is the first and so far only battle that's a three-way fight from the start, so that really ensures that all three characters are given ample time to all diss each other. I like it! The highlight here is definitely Lloyd's McClane, he's a delight to watch, and he perfectly captures how McClane is the lighthearted everyman of the group. Zach's John Wick is no slouch either, capturing the cool seriousness of the character. Where this battle falls flat though, and the only reason it's not in A, is Peter's Rambo. It's trying to be funny and it's just… not really funny. It's the kind of Sylvester Stallone impression that would get a chuckle out of you if your high school friend did it in the halls, but it just feels out of place in a professional production like this.

I love the subtle ways the backing track changes between characters too, with McClane getting some sleigh bells added in for his part, Wick getting a deep synth noise, and Rambo getting some somber strings. Really nice stuff.

51. Artists vs TMNT 

Winner: TMNT

Best line: "Uh, Dona-tell me who you are again, dude, 'Cause I don't Gattamelata clue what you do."

My only complaint about this battle is that it's just too damn short. This would be a pretty short battle even by 1-on-1 standards, but when you have 8 separate characters, each one barely gets anything to say. But what's here is great. Rhett and Link and Smosh is a good pairing that gives a lot of energy to the artists, and the turtle suit that the team managed to make for the TMNT is great. When the only negative I can think of for a battle is that I wish there was more of it, you know it's a good battle.

A TIER

50. George Carlin vs Richard Pryor 

Winner: Joan Rivers

Best line: "Now there's seven words you can't say on a TV set. But this is the pissin' fuckin' cuntin' internet!"

I'm realizing now how much work this entire thing is given how much I've written so far and we're only just now cracking the top 50. Still not even halfway there, damn. But anyway, this is a great tribute to a whole bunch of legendary comedians. It's a whole lot of fun to watch, and every performer captures the larger-than-life personalities on display. Lloyd's Robin Williams is a particular highlight. The only downside is Bill Cosby's part, it's not really funny and kinda just kills the pace. But it's thankfully short so it's not enough to ruin it.

49. Mario Bros vs Wright Bros

Winner: Wright Bros

Best line: "You might fly like a hawk, but you fight like a kitty!"

This was the first guest appearance of Rhett and Link and also the first 2-on-2 battle, and I think it does a really good job. Mario and Luigi are played absolutely nothing like their actual characters, but it's so far off that it's honestly hilarious.

48. David Copperfield vs Harry Houdini 

Winner: David Copperfield 

Best line: "My grand illusions make your parlor tricks irrelevant. The foot of Lady Liberty is stomping on your elephant."

Now THIS is a magician vs magician battle that actually lives up to the idea visually, eat your heart out, Gandalf vs Dumbledore. While Houdini is definitely the more interesting person to watch in this battle with all of the stunts he performs while rapping, I can't help but like Peter's silky smooth Copperfield voice, it's gotta be one of my favorite voices he's done.

47. Eastern Philosophers vs Western Philosophers

Winner: Eastern Philosophers

Best line: "You tried to plant a new German psyche, but you just grew hate, me no Third Reichy!"

This is a very smartly-written battle, as it should be given the subject matter. Every philosopher gets a chance to sum up what they're all about, and the contrasts work perfectly - Lao Tzu's philosophy of letting life take you through its natural course vs Nietzsche saying you need to take control and fight for the life you want, and Confucius's teaching of respecting authority vs Voltaire's challenging of authority. …Socrates vs Sun Tzu doesn't really have a direct contrast like that, but hey, that's okay. You can tell a lot of research went into this one, and it's really worth looking into the meanings of the lyrics because some of it will definitely go over your head if you're not super into philosophy.

46. Blackbeard vs Al Capone

Winner: Al Capone

Best line: "You spent time in Alcatraz, I'm sure you were fine, if you dropped the soap as little as you drop dope rhymes."

Both Peter and Lloyd were clearly having fun with this one, they're both in their element when they're playing characters with big personalities and fun voices to imitate. The lyrics are great and dense too; this was the first battle of season 3 besides Vader vs Hitler 3, and I think season 3 is really when the series started hitting its stride with rappers' verses becoming longer and more packed with deeper meanings.

I only have two minor criticisms with this battle - first, Blackbeard's beard looks way too nice and clean, and it's especially apparent when Capone has a line about how dirty it is. Second, this video was sponsored by Assassin's Creed IV, which is all well and good, but forcing in a line about Edward Kenway and having him physically appear in the background really destroys my suspension of disbelief and dates the video hardcore. But neither of these things are enough to ruin an otherwise very good battle.

45. Rick Grimes vs Walter White

Winner: Walter White 

Best line: "Ask Gus, you don't wanna face off against me."

Okay, so, confession time: I have not watched either of the shows that are represented in this battle (Breaking Bad is on my to-watch list though). And oops, this vid's got a lot of spoilers for both series. Ah well. Despite not knowing a whole lot about either universe, I still think this battle is a lot of fun to watch. I particularly love the detail of a zombie crossing into Walt's side and getting distracted by meth - touches like that to tie the worlds of the two rappers together are always a treat.

44. Darth Vader vs Hitler

Winner: Hitler

Best line: "You stink, Vader. Your style smells something sour. You need to wash up, dog. Here, step in my shower."

Here we go. While Lennon vs O'Reilly might have come first, I think we can all agree that this is the real start of ERB. This is what made the series into a viral sensation and it's not hard to see why. The novelty of seeing a historical figure battle his fictional equivalent in a rap battle of all things was something unseen up until that point, and it helps that the lyrics were incredibly clever to boot - in addition to the iconic quote above, who could forget "So many dudes been with your mom, who even knows if I'm your father". I'm sure Disney would like everyone to forget that the Stormtroopers were named after Hitler's troops, but this battle stands as an eternal reminder of that fact.

43. Mr. T vs Mr. Rogers

Winner: Mr. Rogers

Best line: "I'll say this once, Laurence. I hope it's understood: Get right back in your van and get the fuck out of my neighborhood."

Peter's acting here is pretty similar to how he portrayed Bob Ross, but his portrayal of Mr. Rogers easily wins in my mind for how much more savage the insults are. Even though Rogers definitely steals the show here, Mr. T also manages to be very entertaining. It's hilarious how he's screaming at Rogers the whole time while Rogers consistently keeps his cool while hurling passive-aggressive lines.

Also, whew! We're officially halfway done with this list!

42. Jacques Cousteau vs Steve Irwin

Winner: Steve Irwin

Best line: "I'm a wild man, you're a subdued sub dude. The only crocs you could handle are some slip-on shoes!"

This battle's an interesting role reversal - usually it's Lloyd portraying the grumpy character and Peter portraying the lively one. But it goes to show that the two of them have the acting chops to go either way. Especially Lloyd, he's really entertaining when he can let his silliness out. I love how in the part where Steve is pointing to Jacques and talking about him like he's a wild animal, you can tell Peter is holding in laughter.

41. Tony Hawk vs Wayne Gretzky

Winner: Wayne Gretzky

Best line: "You and I have so many world records between us. 184, that's plenty of 'em… and I set 183 of 'em!"

This is a very slept-on battle, being the lowest-viewed of any of the pre-hiatus battles (though 18 million views still certainly ain't bad). I still remember my first time watching this battle as someone who didn't really know anything about Wayne Gretzky aside from "he was a hockey player", my jaw fucking dropped at that world records line. Absolutely killer setup and execution.

40. Jack the Ripper vs Hannibal Lecter

Winner: Hannibal Lecter

Best line: "I don't mind that you're naughty, Jack. I hate that you're sloppy."

I can't imagine that this one was particularly easy to write for given the very little we know about Jack the Ripper. I was gonna say, "Oh this battle was made before we knew his true identity", but apparently it's still not really agreed upon who he really was and the mystery gets "solved" again and again every few years. Anyway, Lloyd is great as Hannibal, his faces and mannerisms are perfect, and Dan Bull provides an interesting interpretation of the type of person Jack may have been. I love that Jack spends his entire first verse purely hyping himself up and Hannibal calls him out on being a narcissist, it's something that kinda shocks you as a viewer cause it's something you probably don't even notice on the first viewing, and you're also not expecting the video itself to point it out. It really sells the "Hannibal is one step ahead" kind of vibe.

39. Vlad the Impaler vs Count Dracula

Winner: Vlad the Impaler

Best line: "Imagine forests of corpses dripping on a buffet. You call that a nightmare? I call that a Tuesday."

Vlad the Impaler is probably the single most cold, brutal character ERB has ever had, and Lloyd gets some truly bone-chilling line deliveries in as him. Peter's Dracula is great too, the whole thing of a killer with class being disgusted by a killer who's just trying to be vicious actually makes it quite similar to Jack the Ripper vs Hannibal now that I think about it.

38. Babe Ruth vs Lance Armstrong

Winner: Babe Ruth

Best line: "So c'mon, little buddy, don't look so pissed. With all that blood and attitude, you're like a menstrual cyclist."

Like Hawk vs Gretzky, this is another athlete vs athlete video, and you'd expect the odds to immediately be stacked against Armstrong by virtue of the fact that you have a known cheater going up against an athlete with integrity. But Armstrong actually manages to put up a damn good rebuttal, taking shots at Ruth's personal life instead. I still think Ruth won, but both rappers actually manage to knock it out of the park, pun entirely intended.

Also unrelated to the battle itself but I've always thought the face Lloyd makes in the thumbnail of this one makes him look like James Rolfe.

37. James Bond vs Austin Powers

Winner: James Bond (modern)

Best line: "After 24 films, I'm still reaching new heights. Your third movie died, guess you only live twice."

I've always kinda wondered why Peter was cast as Austin Powers in this, I think Lloyd looks a lot more like Mike Myers. I guess they didn't want to have a battle where Peter is completely excluded while Lloyd gets to play two characters. That being said, Peter does nail the Austin Powers impression, so it's all good. This battle's a really cool concept, a character rapping against their own parody version, and then an earlier version of the character comes in and disses on their modern version. The battle does basically cease to be about Austin Powers at that point, but I think it works because neither version of Bond considers him a serious opponent.

This battle is loaded with great lines too - in addition to the quote above, we also have "I'm licensed to kill, you couldn't get a learner's permit", "Spell my name, all the ladies wanna B on D, any sex appeal you might have is beyond me", "I only need one round, golden gun", and "I don't need a Q to break your balls". Brilliantly clever writing.

I will say that the background effects for modern Bond, while they definitely do look cool, are a bit too much to the point of being distracting. Maybe it was a deliberate choice to contrast with classic Bond though, as a way to convey that the modern Bond films are a lot more about flashy spectacle than the more grounded stories the early films had, I dunno. 

36. Mozart vs Skrillex

Winner: Skrillex

Best line: "I attack, you decay, can't sustain my releases! Sidechain, Wolfgang! Bangarang you to pieces!"

This battle is everything that Bieber vs Beethoven should have been - a battle between a modern musician and a classical one that actually gives the modern one a fighting chance. Plus it actually changes the background music to match the style of whoever's rapping! This battle is great, no real notes here. Mozart's line about "in two more months the world will forget about your Skrill-excrement" has aged pretty well too given how Skrillex's star has definitely faded since this video's release.

This battle is also notable for being the only one where a real person that was portrayed in an ERB has actually performed it themselves! Skrillex, obviously, not Mozart. The real Skrillex actually came out as a surprise guest appearance in a live performance of the song and helped Lloyd finish it out. I admit, I didn't really know what Skrillex actually looked like, but seeing him side-by-side with Lloyd in costume, yeah, the team nailed his look.

35. Ragnar Lodbrok vs Richard the Lionheart

Winner: Ragnar Lodbrok

Best line: "Your son killed your ex, your ex killed your wife. I'm the Lion King, man, but that's a messed-up circle of life."

This is what I love about ERB, man. I had never even heard of either of these historical figures before this battle, but I watched it, loved the song, got curious what all the lyrics meant, did research on both men, and then went back and rewatched the video with the new knowledge to catch all the references. ERB is truly at its best when it's making learning fun.

Interestingly, the reason this battle was even made in the first place was because the mobile game that sponsored it reached out to Peter and Lloyd and asked if they would make a battle between two of the historical figures in their game in exchange for the sponsorship. Given that the battle was effectively made as an ad for a mobile game, it's shocking how good it turned out. You'd really never know that's how it came to be just looking at the end product.

34. Darth Vader vs Hitler 2

Winner: Darth Vader

Best line: "Roar like Chewbacca, the voice of Mufasa, I'm on the leader of your limp-dicked Luftwaffe!"

And here we go, the second of the Vader vs Hitler trilogy is easily the best one. I feel like it struck the perfect balance - it was bigger and more epic than the first while not feeling fatigued on the idea like the third. Season 2 kicked off with this and you could immediately tell the jump in production quality from season 1. This video had an intro and everything, continuing off from Hitler being frozen in carbonite from the first battle. It's great, what else can I say?

33. Cleopatra vs Marilyn Monroe

Winner: Marilyn Monroe 

Best line: "You still got no children after your third marriage. You lost so many babies, we should call you Miss Carriage!"

This was the first battle where neither Peter nor Lloyd play one of the rappers, even though it is not the first female-on-female battle (but we don't talk about Gaga vs Palin). But both performers do a stellar job; I love how Marilyn's demeanor goes from the giggling flirtiness we know her for to becoming increasingly pissed off and hysterical as Cleopatra hurls more and more insults at her (Marilyn's "Translate this into hieroglyphs: Your sandy vagina has a seven-year itch" would have won best line were it not for the sheer brutality of the Miss Carriage line). And getting a professional dancer to portray Cleopatra was a great choice; she's still one of the most visually interesting rappers to have ever been on the series. And no, I don't just mean that in an ogling way.

Also, I think this is the only battle where the same person starts it and closes it out? Which does lead to Cleopatra feeling like she doesn't get as much screen time, but it's certainly not a dealbreaker.

32. Moses vs Santa Claus

Winner: Moses

Best line: "It takes nine reindeers to haul your fat ass. You took the Christ out of Christmas and just added more mass."

This battle was definitely meant to be a stand-in for Jesus vs Santa; that was the matchup we all really wanted to see. But someone somewhere must have gotten cold feet about dissing a figure that millions worship, so Jesus got swapped out for someone Jesus-adjacent. Hey, I'm a Christian, and I know I still would have found a Jesus rap battle hilarious.

But whatever, even though it's not exactly what we wanted, what we did get was still great. The fact that they actually managed to get motherfucking Snoop Dogg as a guest star because he happened to be using the same studio as ERB at the time still blows my mind; I don't think any guest star is ever gonna top that. And they certainly had some fun with having him on board - I love that they managed to make jokes referencing him while still being appropriate for Moses, like "smoking all that burning bush", or "so much drama in the IsraeL B.C.". This is a battle that just always puts a smile on my face.

31. Nikola Tesla vs Thomas Edison

Winner: Nikola Tesla

Best line: "I don't alternate my flow, I diss you directly!"

I love how this battle really leans into how we now perceive Tesla and Edison, with Tesla being a hero for the people and Edison as the greedy villain who kept him down. Good stuff. Don't really have a whole lot to say about this one, it's just a good battle with two very memorable personalities, and Peter's Tesla voice is very pleasant to listen to. And of course, the electric synth in the background track was a must.

30. JRR Tolkien vs George RR Martin

Winner: George RR Martin 

Best line: "All your bad guys die and your good guys survive. We can tell what's gonna happen by page and age five!"

All right, so, I ain't the most well-versed in the fantasy genre, but I still really like this one. The underlying argument between the two men here is something I've seen time and time again on the internet - "happy endings are boring and predictable" versus "eschewing happy endings just for the sake of it isn't automatically good". It makes for good battle fodder. Also I just love Lloyd's performance here - it's so loud and boisterous, and his "No he didn't!" is A+.

Okay folks, click here for the third and final part as we rank the best of the best!

[briandraws]

Can someone confiscate my ability to think

RUNAWAY AU

The worlds of reality and cartoon have collided and merged, only causing the Prototype to wreak more havoc on both sides... Starting with the smiling critters little village.

And now, 4 years after the massacre of the village, the critters stay hidden in an abandoned toy factory...

‼️ THIS AU TAKES PLACE OUTSIDE THE OG PPT STORYLINE. THERE IS NO HOUR OF JOY.‼️

Info about each critter underneath the cut.

Dogday, The Leader

While trying to urge his friends to leave the village, the Prototype grabbed his legs and tore them off, leaving him immobile for a month before arriving at the factory.

Now he's twice the leader he used to be, always ready with a plan of action. While a wheelchair isn't great for the chase, it's his only form of movement.

Bubba, The Planner

If anything goes south during an expedition, you can count on Bubba for a backup plan. Quick thinking is very useful in a place like the factory. Along with backup plans, Bubba is very good with strategy, and will often confide with Dogday in plans of battle.

Picky, The Chef

Having left behind her cookbook in the village, Picky had to learn new recipes from the factory cookbook. And as such, she's earned a new knowledge of cooking, and can conjure a meal guaranteed to fill you up.

Kickin, The Inventor

You'd think it'd be Bubba who'd invent things. Nope! Kickin is always finding a great use out of garbage found around the factory, and often turns them into useful weapons such as spears or slingshots. He does have a bad habit of stealing materials from others to build his projects...

Hoppy, The Runner

Now faster and more flexible, Hoppy is responsible for finding safe and accessible paths around the factory, and she can be counted on to fit in a tight space.

Crafty, The Painter

Still keeping her creative spirit, Crafty has found ways to brighten the dull walls of the factory, and with her knowledge of colors, she can tell when something isn't quite right visually.

Bobby, The Lover

Even after having lost her charm to the brutal trees outside the factory, Bobby retains her loveable, huggable self even through the toughest of fights. Keeping the team spirit alive, you can count on her to brighten your day.

Catnap, The Swordsmith

The official weaponsmith of the critters, Catnap knows how to work the metal to his will. Having created hundreds of spears, swords, and daggers over 4 years, he's very skilled in his line of work.