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pucksandpower · 1 month

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Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

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spacebarbarianweird · 6 months

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Widower Astarion Headcanons

Ok, we wanted pain - I bring you pain. @astarionsbeloved @wickedwitchofthewilds @sleepykitty21 @starlight-ipomoea

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion isn't an idiot; he knows you are mortal, a topic you've discussed before.

Jokingly, he suggested you find a vampire lord, but even if one were found, Astarion would never allow you to turn into a vampire.

"It hurts, it's painful. The existence of a vampire is miserable. I will never do this to you."

The price of mortality is death.

You made him promise not to step into the sunlight and to keep living, carrying memories of you into the future.

You die as you always wanted: in a glorious battle, or safe and comfy in your bed, or brought home by Astarion to a place you grew up in.

You die with no regrets, sorrows, or complaints.

Astarion is numb; all the feelings he learned how to express are gone with your last breath.

He dissociates; it's not him, not now, not real—he is somewhere else.

He hides in the shadows, safe in the darkness and lonely.

Unfortunately, Astarion has never learned how to be alone; you never left him on his own for a long time.

He realizes he can't meditate; there is a mental block preventing him from doing so in your absence.

It's even worse since he can't give himself a break.

Eventually, some friends of yours give him a Potion of Angelic Slumber. He sleeps for a few days in a row, without dreams and nightmares.

When he wakes up, the first thing he does is look for you, and then he realizes you're gone.

In this moment, Astarion breaks down, crying and cursing in Elven and Common.

His back hurts as if there are flesh wounds; the cold grip of darkness holds his undead heart. The tears burn the crimson eyes.

He mourns, grieves, wishes to be dead, but the given promise and the innate desire to survive prevent him from going into the sun.

For the first few years, he lives as a hermit in your shared house, starving himself by not hunting and spending months on your side of the bed without moving at all.

It's not life; it's an existence, miserable and hopeless when he imagines you alive.

A wake-up call is sudden but almost divine.

Deep in his thoughts, he finds himself in his own grave in Baldur's Gate, seeing you six feet above him as young as you were back during the tadpole adventure.

"I didn't get you out of this grave to let you bury yourself. Come on, you promised to me to live! Then, live! This is my last gift."

He wakes up, starving and cold, goes up and leaves for hunting. He hunts for a few days, satiating himself with animal and sentient beings' blood.

As his mind returns to him, Astarion washes and repairs his clothes, brushes his hair, makes himself look decent.

He ravages through your things, collecting them carefully in one place. You wouldn't want a shrine, so he sells the things he won't be able to use anymore.

He puts on your wedding ring (now he has two identical rings) and also a necklace you always liked.

He re-sews one of your gowns into a shirt; now, it feels like you are still with him.

Astarion leaves his first forever home and starts his own journey, taking the role of a sole adventurer - a monster hunter, a protector of the weak. He has always had this heroic side in him, just never admitted.

The most difficult thing is to stay alone; people praise him for saving someone from a monster, but they fear mingling with a vampire.

Sometimes, Astarion cries in his tent, cursing the evil gods for taking the only good thing he ever had.

He constantly talks to himself, imagining you standing beside him.

He actually enjoys these one-sided monologues because he can pretend you are still here.

Years pass, memories of the happy life fade. Astarion joins groups of adventurers here and there but always feels off.

Eventually, he finds the strength to live up to his promise, to enjoy what he has.

He explores places he has never been to, does things he has never done, and hears stories he has never heard.

He makes friends, mostly among long-living creatures. "Oh, my young vampire friend! It's been a while!" A wizard elf greets him with open arms. "I am 400 years older than you, idiot," Astarion chuckles and returns a hug.

Most importantly, he preserves the memory about you, paying bards and storytellers, talking about you at campfires, and putting you as an example of kindness and bravery.

Once, Astarion hears a song, "The One Who Saved Baldur's Gate." The motive and words are nice, but the more he listens to it, the more in shock he is.

This song known to every decent bard in Swords Coast is about you, a distant memory, a long-forgotten story.

He has fulfilled your promise, made sure you live in people's hearts. This day is bittersweet; he cries his eyes out, listening to that song over and over again.

But he feels happy, the first time in years.

With decades to pass, Astarion creates the Blood Guild - a union of vampires and dhampirs who prefer to hunt monsters rather than be ones. They also keep an eye on other vampires who are a danger to mortals, especially those who make spawns and thralls out of innocent victims.

Having immortal undead friends feels nice; having friends who understand his issues, too.

He finds himself in the position of a mentor; vampires come to him for advice and emotional support.

Then he meets a person, a runaway spawn, angry with what happened to them, determined to do whatever it takes to break their chains. Astarion agrees to help; they constantly bicker about every single thing—views on life, personal experiences, shared interests.

This new person is annoying, obnoxious, brave, and lovable. Suddenly Astarion realizes he doesn't want to stay in his tent alone; he doesn't want to speak to himself anymore.

The long-forgotten feeling of loving someone aches in his undead heart, but now it's not his turn to confess.

"You know, I've been manipulating you into helping me. I am sorry. if you want, I will go away."

"You are a good person, Astarion. No one is like you. But you deserve honesty and something real."

Astarion smiles back and hugs this person.

This relationship is different; the runaway spawn is nothing like you, different in every way possible—personality, appearance, behavior, views on life, everything.

At first, there is profound guilt, as if he betrays your memory by having another romantic relationship.

They talk, sharing the darkest and saddest parts of their immortal lives—crimes they had to commit, lives they lost.

Eventually, Astarion tells them about you—how wonderful you were, how kind, how brave, how much you meant to him. His new love smiles and takes away a strand curl from his face.

"So, this is the person I must thank for you?".

He helps his new love to break the chains by killing the vampire lord.

Returning back, Astarion starts talking about the future.

Adventures? Of course! His partner is also a spawn, they need healing and freedom the same way he needed many years ago.

And then - who knows? Life is full of cruel wonders. Especially, for immortals.

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire @marcynomercy

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poetglasses · 7 months

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In Defense of Jacks in ACFTL

I do have spoilers, so this is your warning not to venture further if you haven't finished reading.

First off, I love how the story was told and how it ended. Could we have gotten more of the other characters? Yes. Did we really need to? Maybe, but I certainly didn't mind the absence. I didn't think we needed to address every character that we've met. We saw Castor and Lala, and I was happy about it, but I was strictly here for Evajacks story, and that's what I got.

I think Eva and Jacks had character development in this novel.

Eva isn't as trusting and hopeful as she was in the previous two books, and I was happy about it! Girl was getting murder attempted on her, and her husband is a narcissistic, manipulative psychopath. The only people she could trust were 1) being kept away from her or 2) avoiding her because they thought they were doing the best thing for her if they did so *cough* jacks

Jacks watched the girl he loved die! He blamed himself for what happened to Eva, and then continued staying away because he felt guilty and thought he was keeping her safe in doing so. He didn't know Apollo took Eva's memories away. He was too busy making sure Castor didn't go within 10 feet of Eva because Castor did attack Jacks after he went back in time to save her! He was still around Eva, he was just hiding in the shadows or out in the balcony peering through the windows. He genuinely thought Apollo was the better choice for Eva because at least Apollo hadn't done anything to her (as far as he knew).

Jacks apologized to her under the phoenix tree, saying that when he went back in time, he thought the stones would have taken something from him, not Eva, or are we all ignoring that because of that beautiful love confession Eva gave? He wanted our girl to live! When Eva met Castor in the Cursed Forest, Jacks literally put a knife through his best friend's chest in fear of having a repeat of the first timeline! Castor wasn't even doing anything, he was just trying to have a conversation with her.

Jacks was the tortured lover we all knew him to be. He wasn't Jacks, Prince of Hearts, with a trail of deadly kisses in search of true love in this novel. He was Jacks of the Hollow, a man who loved his girl so much he wanted her to live instead of dying at his kiss. We all know how badly Eva wanted to kiss him, and we all know Jacks can hear her thoughts. Can we blame him for staying away? He literally said that if she died again, he could not bring her back. The idea of that was terrifying to him. He already used the stones, and going to Honora would have the possibility of turning her into a vampire, maybe worse.

Jacks felt different in this novel because he finally admitted how much he loves Eva. We've seen him do so many things for her throughout the series. Was he holding back in the other two books? I'd argue not really, but he certainly wasn't going to let her be with him. He didn't want to admit he was in love with her. Dude literally held her like a grudge in the first novel, a secret in the second novel, and then a promise in the third. The hints were there for us. He would literally do anything for her. He just didn't want to admit to himself he loved her because if he allowed himself to there was the possibility that she could die.

Does Eva die in this book? No, thank god. But don't act like you read their kiss scene and didn't fucking break a little when Jacks went "No! Not again".

#acftl #tbona #ouabh #evajacks #jacks x evangeline #stephanie garber #a curse for true love #evangeline fox #jacks prince of hearts #idk what sparked this post but here it is #do with it what you will #all i know is people were saying jacks was acting different #or maybe it was the whole novel but i'll make a post on that later too #I feel like the end just became more of a rant than anything #oh well lol

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eat-limes-bitches · 3 months

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Not Allowed To Die

PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: We never know how much time we have left and fate is a cruel mistress. We can only make the best of the time we have left.

WARNINGS: ANGST! Like omg so much angst not really a happy ending but it's not super sad either. Sad! Bucky, mentions of death, dying, tears

Word Count: 755

A/N: Would you like to be sad and or have your heart ripped out? Good. I was thinking about this the other day and it just felt like something so raw and real to talk about, especially since this is one of my greatest fears.

Enjoy! <3

It was around three am when Bucky woke up with a start. He heaved deep breaths into his lungs, physically willing his heart to slow down. He looked to his side and saw her still asleep, the moonlight drifting in through the window casting a halo on her hair as steady, strong, breaths fanned across her pillow. It was the sight of her next to him in their bed that allowed Bucky to finally catch his breath. He reached over with his flesh hand and traced her features with his finger, mapping every dip and curve, freckle and crease on her face, permanently ingraining her face into his mind.

His feather touches eventually woke her up. Her brows furrowed together as a sleepy “James?” left her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on the man staring at her with worry and fear etched deep into his features.

“James? What’s wrong?” She mumbled as she started to sit herself up. Bucky stared at her for a moment before blurting out “You are not allowed to die before me.”

This surprised her. She sat up a little quicker and looked at him, “What?”

Taking a deep breath, Bucky repeated himself, “You are not allowed to die before me. You, just can’t.”

She let out a deep sigh as she leaned back against the headboard keeping her gaze trained on the man she loved.

“Now James,” She started, reaching for his hand, “What on Earth brought this up, my love?”

Bucky takes a shuddery breath, his throat suddenly becoming tight as he tries to speak.

“I- I just realized how fragile all of this is. I realized that I m-might lose you and that scares me. I’ve already lost so much, I don’t think I’d be able to handle losing you too.” He chokes out, tears starting to sting his eyes, threatening to spill.

“I can’t lose you. I- I have to go before you.”

Now her throat constricted, the thought of him leaving before she did was not a foreign thought to her, with his line of work, there is always a possibility that he won’t come back, but something about him making that statement when the world was silent weighed a little more on her.

“Well that’s n-not exactly fair is it?” She choked out as tears started rolling down her cheeks. Bucky reached over and cupped her face in his hand.

“I s’pose no darlin’” He murmured as his breath caught in his chest.

“B-but I just can’t lose you. I- I wouldn’t survive it” He choked on a sob as his admission hung in the air. Y/n sighs and gathers Bucky up in her arms, tears still streaming down her face.

“Baby, we can’t avoid it. It’s inevitable but I need you to promise me something ok?” She says softly, pulling away slightly so she can look Bucky in the eye.

“If I do die before you, don’t let that grief bury you alive, my love, ok?” Bucky opens his mouth to speak before she silences him.

“Take each day as it comes. And promise me, when the pain eases, you'll let yourself feel joy again.”

“But, you’re my everything darlin’,” Bucky sobbed, pulling her into his arms. She wound her arms around him, further deepening the embrace.

“And you are mine. But you know what my ma told me? Love doesn't end with death. It transforms into memories, moments that live on, even when the people in them are long gone.”

The pair sat in silence, content to just sit in one another's embrace before Y/n pulled away taking a deep breath.

“Now, as things sit, right here, right now, at this moment, I’m not going anywhere any time soon ok? We still have a lot of living to do, together, alright?” Bucky nodded.

“But I’m still afraid.” He whispered.

“And that’s ok, my love,” She whispered as a ghost of a smile danced across her features, “As long as we don’t let that fear cloud the beauty that surrounds us right now.”

Y/n laid back down, pulling Bucky down with her so that his head was resting on her chest where he could hear her heartbeat.

“We’re going to grow old together, and make lots of memories, so when the time comes, and one of us has to go, we have a lifetime of love behind us. And who knows,” She whispered, “Maybe, just maybe we will go hand in hand, and I’ll follow you into the dark.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky x reader angst #bucky x you angst #bucky barnes x you angst

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beatora-truther · 4 months

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hello b*tfam tumblr pls don’t send me death threats but here is bruce’s children ranked from who i believe is his favorite to his least favorite

1. dick

i think this one speaks for itself tbh. i don’t think you can read any comics featuring the two of them or even comics where bruce mentions him and not come out thinking dick is his favorite. bc dick has the unique and unfortunate distinction of being not just bruce’s son, but his son-brother-friend-emotional-rock. dick knows him better than anyone in the universe. that’s why he’s so willing to drop everything whenever he feels like bruce needs his help. even when bruce won’t ask it of him. even when it’s to his own personal detriment. because if not dick, then who?

2. cassandra

i think a lot of ppl say cass is bruce’s favorite because their relationship is so unique that it’s hard to describe. i think he and cass are the most alike, so he’s able to relate to her in a way that he can’t with his other children. they share the same unyielding values. they share the same self-destructive behaviors that neither of them can recognize as being self-destructive. they share the same inability to reach out to others. and most importantly, cass understands batman in the same way bruce does. it’s not healthy, but that’s par for the course when it comes to bruce’s relationships right?

3. jason

this is gonna be a controversial one especially to my mutuals bc i know a lot of you don’t like jason (neither do i lol). but you need to separate the resurrected jason from the memory of jason bc that’s what bruce does. the way part of bruce is still stuck in crime alley watching his parents die, there’s also a part of him still digging his son out of the rubble. he does a remarkably good job at keeping the memory of the young and happy jason alive in his head while the actual jason is running around gotham killing people. their relationship can sour but that memory cannot be touched. that’s why the memorial case stays up. this doesn’t change anything.

4. tim

another controversial one here. we must dismantle fanon’s belief that bruce and tim always had a father/son relationship. we must remember that tim had a father for the majority of the time that he was robin. dick was tim’s brother, but bruce was not tim’s father. that came later. tim having a living father didn’t stop bruce from growing to love and care for him, but it allowed him to keep some level of emotional distance. because another thing we also must remember is the ways bruce changed after jason died. how do you stop blaming yourself for your son’s death? how do you let another child take up the same mantle? what if you get him killed too?

5. damian

let me start off by saying i do believe that bruce loves damian so much. i also believe love and like are not the same thing. bruce has had conflicts with all of his children, but the difference between them and damian is that he’s had a lot of good times with them too. that’s why they’re all so loyal to him despite his glaring flaws. bruce and damian didn’t really have that. it’s been tense since day 1, and every time they seem to make any progress, it’s all undone. and if i’m being honest, i think sometimes it disturbs bruce to look at damian and see parts of himself that he’s always hated. maybe their relationship would be easier if he could only see talia.

#lo speaks #i said what i said #i am NOT putting this in any of their tags i don’t want that smoke

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appleblueberry-pie · 2 months

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Yandere Miguel asks? Alright

Miguel who's already lost his daughter Gabriella and his wife when he messed up the Canon and the universe got destroyed. He's doing his little thing in the spider society when he finds a universe nearly identical to the one that got destroyed, the one where he replaced himself.

Only, in this universe, (Y/n) and Gabriella are meant to die instead of that universe's Miguel.

I imagine Miguel would tell himself a lot of excuses and rationalizations before bringing those two back to his universe (probably with a permanent form of a day pass). A little white lie to them won't also hurt.

Its a plot I've been wanting to write for awhile (as a fellow Yan author) but I've put writing on the back burner so I wanted to share this idea and see how'd you approach it :)

I'll be honest, I didn't feel like writing the entire backstory for what you want(which I usually would), but I went to straight action.

BLOOD MOON

He thought things would get easier from here. He thought he could finally come home, relax, see his beautiful and amazing wife, along with his precious baby girl. Because he's worked too hard in this lifetime. Too many short days and long nights, too many sacrifices made to keep himself and others safe. Too many deaths. Too many losses. Too many remembrances and forgotten memories. He just wanted it all to end. And he thought it did. Because he finally found you guys. Here you were standing before him with those gorgeous eyes he always got lost in. Telling him about his daughter and your day. So why were your words so venomous?

"I can't do this anymore." He kissed you on the forehead and closed the front door behind him. He walked past you and placed his work items on the table. "What was that, dear?" You stared at him as if he grew two heads. "We can't stay here forever, Miguel." He shuffles to get one shoe off before he finally comprehends your words. His face falls and he looks over at you. He had told you it was all in the past. Why are you bringing up old news? "Can't stay here?" He quotes you as if you said a joke. Your face twists into one of anger and you walk over to him.

"You know what I mean. Holding us here with no real motive besides keeping us for your own sick fucking pleasures. We're not pets, Miguel-" "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Where is this coming from? Pets?? Y/n, what are you talking about? I've never treated you like any kind of animals, you're my wife-"

"I don't know you!!" The growing silence allows you both hear the creak of a door opening from afar and Miguel begins to stare at you as if you mentioned something taboo. As if you're stupid. "Let's talk about this later." Miguel turns his back to you to go your shared bedroom. "No, I'm not going to talk about this later, Miguel, we're not from here! Look, I don't know what you want, or even who you are. But...you can't just-" Miguel feels his irritation that build up all day begin to rise again. His shoulders tense the more you talk, and your daughter peeking out her bedroom to witness this wasn't helping.

He turns to face you again, almost seeming to crowd over you. "I am your husband. I am your husband! I've given you everything you needed. I gave you a place to call home, a better home. You don't have to live off of minimum wage anymore. And finally, your daughter has a father figure to watch after her, aren't you happy?? Because I sure am! Gaby's been so happy now and so have you. Why can't you just.....appreciate the things I've sacrificed for the both of you???"

You scrunch your face and take a step back. This stranger suddenly spouting bullshit to you about your killed husband and saying that the two of you being in a random different universe is a blessing?? You're confused and scared and would rather live where you used to than wherever this foreign place is. He was beginning to piss you off. ".....How dare you?" Miguel raises his eyebrows when he notices your tone. "How dare you? My husband is fucking dead......You stole us away from home and now you're saying that whatever this shitshow is, is a blessing?" "Mommy?"

You shake your head and jab your finger into his chest. "You don't know the first thing about me." "I know you love teaching Gaby piano, I know you love going out on walks when the sun is setting, I know you love letting me drive you to places, I know you love when I cook you dinner, I know where you used to work, where you want to work, I know when you first told me you were pregnant with our babygirl, I have your vows memorized and I know that you love me. I know that you love me, so why don't you just let me love you, hermosa?" Miguel had backed you into a door and gently cradled your face into his hands. He softly whispers to you as if trying to snap you back into reality, as if it wasn't setting in the moment you realized this psycho was obsessed with you two.

"I would never, ever hurt you. I do everything for our family, nothing else. My two girls are the only things on my mind all day when I'm at work. And to come back home to you is everything I could ask for. And if there was anything else I could ask for, is for you to love me back. Please." He had gestured your daughter out of her bedroom and she ran into his arms. He smiled down at her, making her worried face shift into one of relief. Miguel laughs and kisses her forehead lovingly. You want to kill this man for ever putting his hands on you and your daughter. You failed to keep your girl safe and now she was in the hands of a monster she believed to be her dead daddy. Your worst fucking nightmare come true. Calling out to her and making her come to your side wouldn't save her. Attempting to kill him wouldn't save her because then the both of you would be stuck wherever you were. All you wanted was for her to live a normal life, and not even the universe could give you that. What were you gonna do?

Miguel noticed your blank face and sent Gaby away, grabbing your hand gently. You let him. He hugs you and whispers into your ear. "I'm done talking about this. You clearly need sleep." You look up at him, glaring, yet he continues to stare down at you with adoration. He leaves no room for argument as he opens the bedroom door to lead you in.

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timetoletmyimaginationfly · 4 months

Text

Inseparable Love

Nanami Kento x Reader

(Song Inspiration: Yellow by Coldplay)

You felt the sunlight kissed your skin. You hated looking at it. Your frail, bruised, and pale skin. Once full of life and now slowly dying. A knock was heard and you turned around to see the door open. You smiled weakly to see your husband walk inside.

“Kento,” you tiredly called. He came in with a blanket hanging on his arm. He gave you a smile and wrapped you up in the blanket before bringing you into his arms.

“How are you feeling today, my love?” he asked softly.

“I’m more tired today,” you said.

Nanami pulled a chair closer to your hospital bed. He caressed your cheek and you couldn’t help but lean your face in his palm. You were skin and bones at this point. You covered your shaved head with a beanie since you always felt unconscious to not have a head of hair anymore.

“Can you please stay with me today?” you asked. “Please?”

“Of course, my love. What do you want to do today? I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

“I want to go home and live my last memories there with you,” you answered. Nanami gave you a soft smile and nodded.

“We’ll make arrangements right now,” he said. “And when I’m on missions or at the school, a nurse will stay with you at all times.” You smiled.

“I like that,” you replied.

Nanami made sure everything was done today. By tomorrow, when he returns back to work, a nurse will remain by your side. And when he returns home, he will assist the nurse back home by paying for her ride. It was the least Nanami can do.

Nanami held you close when you two arrived home. It was just the same as ever. Nothing was moved. But it shouldn’t have surprised you. If Nanami wasn’t at work, he would stay at the hospital with you. He only goes home for a change of clothes and a shower.

“Kento-kun, let’s read a book together,” you requested. Nanami nodded.

“What book do you want to read, my love?”

“Anything fantasy and action related.”

Nanami lightly chuckled and shook his head. You could never give an exact book title. But at least you knew what genre you were in the mood to read. He sat on the corner of the couch and you sat on his lap. You relaxed, leaning back by his chest and a smile forming on your lips. When one of you was done reading, you would keep your fingers by the corner of the page, as if they are ready to turn it. After the second person finishes, their hand goes to the bottom corner and the two of you will slowly turn the page together.

“I’m sleepy,” you said. Nanami bookmarked the page. He carried you in his arms and brought you to your shared bedroom. Nanami laid you down before lying down next to you. He held you close, scared that you were going to disappear if he woke up from his nap with you.

“I love you, my darling,” he said.

“I love you too, Kento.”

Months passed. You grew weaker and weaker. Nanami ended up spending every waking moment with you, taking off of work unless it was an emergency.

Nanami paid the nurse more for her to stay 24/7, making a room for her to stay in and allowing her to make herself at home just in case something happened. She reassured Nanami that her phone will always be on her if she stepped out. And he appreciated her for letting him know if she was going to go away to see her family. Nanami couldn’t argue with that.

But Nanami did most of the caring. He helped you make food, carried you around the house despite your protest, and helped you bathed. You slept more and he would read his book in bed while you slept.

“Tomorrow, on Halloween, I have a mission,” Nanami announced quietly. You nodded, understanding that he couldn’t back away from the mission.

“Be safe and come back home to me,” you said. Nanami softly kissed you.

“Of course, my love,” he said. “I always do, don’t I?” You smiled and let out a soft chuckle.

“You do, honey.” He held you close to him. “When I die, hopefully I’m at the beach in the afterlife. I’ll wait for you and we can enjoy our time forever and ever.” Nanami let his tears escape his eyes.

“When my time comes, I’ll be there with you,” he said.

“And don’t worry about me on your mission. Do what you have to do, okay?” Nanami nodded. “What should we do today?”

“We can just stay like this. Want me to cook you dinner? I can make you soup.”

“Miso soup,” you requested. “And hot tea. It’s really cold.”

“Yes, my love.”

The next day before he left, the two of you finally finished the book. You managed to stay awake until he had to leave that night. The two of you were inseparable. It became hard for the two of you to separate. You managed to sit up from bed with his help. You wanted to tie his tie. He watched you try. It wasn’t perfect but he didn’t bother to try and fix it. You straightened out his jacket and fixed his hair before you lied back down.

“I love you so much, Kento. Please be safe. Please come back home to me,” you said sadly.

“I love you so much too. I’ll come back to you, my love. I always do,” he said and kissed you one last time before he reluctantly left. Once he left, your nurse entered the bedroom. You smiled and when she sat down on the bed, you held her hand.

“I don’t think I’ll make it tonight,” you said. “I-I can feel it. Tell Kento-kun that I’m sorry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But if he doesn’t come back, don’t think ill of him,” you said. The nurse just nodded.

“I have never seen a couple love each other like you two love each other,” she said. “It’s very beautiful. Makes my heart ache.” You lightly chuckled and squeezed her hand.

“Kento-kun is the best husband,” you said. “I think I’ll go to sleep now. I haven’t gotten any sleep today.”

“Ma’am, is there anyone I should call in case something were to happen?” You nodded.

“A list of numbers are in my dresser. Keep calling someone if they don’t answer. Maybe call Ieiri Shoko. She’s most likely to answer.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll check up on you every now and then.” You nodded and slowly closed your eyes, your thoughts on Nanami.

Nanami can feel the cool breeze. He hears the ocean waves crash on to the shore. His feet on the warm, and wet sand. That was when he knew. He knew he didn’t make it. He remembers Mahito standing in front of him. He remembers seeing Yuji and telling him that he’s got it from here. And he remembers thinking about you one last time before he was killed.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he said as he looked up at the sky. “I couldn’t come back home to you.” He walked along the shore, feeling at peace even though he feels empty. He just needed you and the afterlife will be complete.

“Kento-kun!”

The voice was barely heard, but he knew your voice anywhere. It was different. More lively. More loud. Nanami turned around and watched you in a white dress, waving at him excitedly. Your hair flowing down, moving with the breeze. He watched you run to him. You jumped to hug him and the two of you fell onto the sand.

Nanami looked at you. It was as if the cancer never affected you. You were now glowing. Your face is full of life. You were stronger, he can feel it with the hug you gave him.

“You didn’t—“

“You didn’t either,” you said with a pout. Nanami smiled. His hand rested on the back of your head and pushed your head so he could kiss you deeply.

“In that case, I’m back home, my love,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you came back home to me.”

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujutsu kaisen #nanami fluff #nanami angst #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami jjk #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff

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lakesbian · 4 months

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here's every way wildbow accidentally made pre-meiosis "russel" thorburn transgender that i can remember. if you can think of any reasons i forgot please add on

his parents named his younger sister "ivy," as if the obvious grandmother-pandering name "rose" had already been used up. blake theorizes that they used a male version of "rose" for PMT, but this is nonsensical--there is no male form of the name rose, and everything he comes up with as a possible option (in other words, everything wildbow came up with as a possible option) is a major stretch. most don't sound even tangentially like the name "rose." it makes far more sense to assume that PMT was afab and had the deadname rose. (this also makes sense on a thematic level wrt how rose thorburn jr is supposed to be the Real heir that grandmother is forcing blake to die for, but that's getting besides the point)

rose has memories of being harassed over the inheritance by her female cousins, and the idea of these memories just being wholly pulled out of thin air when basically everything else involves memories either being split btwn blake and rose or erased altogether is weird

blake is friends with, like. a lot of gay people. textually runs in poor gay artist circles. the idea of them adopting this weirdly cool cis straight guy is funny but it makes a lot more sense if PMT was trans + gay and only got turned into a straight guy (and a straight girl) yesterday, due to the homophobia demon

PMT literally thinks "Besides, why devote any more attention to your son, when you could just start over? Have that beautiful baby girl you wanted, right?" which is also like one of the only pieces of internal narration we get from PMT in the entire story. first girl they named rose ran away and did some shit with their gender so now they have a second girl they can't name rose but can still try to raise to go for the inheritance

in the same chapter as when pmt says that, callan is like ohhh you think youre going to worm your way in-, implied sentence ending being "-to the inheritance," which is, like. the family knows it's going To A Girl. so.

PMT was childhood friends with paige, who is The Gay Cousin. it is deeply sensible to imagine them bonding over this, regardless of whether or not PMT (or even paige) knew at the time

it is, like, fully possible for a cishet dude to get sick of living with his shitty toxic abusive family and abscond at the age of 17, but also homelessness is an extremely prevalent issue among transgender kids in abusive families. the narrative of a transmasc kid growing up in an abusive, catholic extended family where girls are pressured to compete for a very gendered inheritance + leaving at the age of 17 & finding a new home among a bunch of gay artists is Significantly more compelling than the cis dude alternative. it just is.

okay i think im running out of, like, logical errors that make sense only if pmt was trans prior to the Obliteration, so as for the thematic stuff. like i said, rose being the half grammy decided was supposed to be "real" and blake being the half that's supposed 2 die for her 2 exist, rose just being unhappy and disconnected by nature of existence while blake is the parts of pmt that escaped from the constraints of the family + found happiness, so on and so forth. "catholic grandmother literally obliterated her transmasc nonbinary grandchild by splitting them into two binary gendered halves & expecting that the man they could've been die to allow the acceptable woman--literally forced to dress in grandmother's clothes--live on and do as grandmother wished" is Everything, doing the same thing but to a cis man grandchild is significantly less compelling

Others who r very old/operating on what are explicitly stated to be oppressive and antiquated gender roles as per the book's themes about inherited/traditional forms of harm keep mistakenly calling blake she/her and rose lmao

??? probably some other thangs im forgetting

#pact time #pact textpost

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nerdpoe · 1 year

Text

TWINcognito mode (Tim and Danny Pretend to be Twins AU)

AO3, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Danny was floating in contaminated ectoplasm, which was absolutely fucking disgusting. If this was Beelzebub’s idea of a prank, then Danny was going to fill his precious lava lake with jello.

‘Come with me,’ he’d said, ‘We’ll go spy on the living for some fun,’ he’d said.

Then the stupid Demon had knocked him out and now Danny was suspended in the equivalent of sewage.

But something wasn’t right; he had memories that weren’t his and a fighting style that itched under his skin, and his sense of self was muted in a way that only the living felt.

Then the ectoplasm drained, and-

-Danny stood at attention in front of a strange man who was giving off serious stranger danger vibes, bewildered, as said man droned on and on about how he may be another version of Timothy but he would be just as formidable-

-Danny was standing on top of a building, and by this point he was pretty sure that he’d been brainwashed. He needed to find his progenitor, Tim would know how to overcome-

-He was staring at himself, and the self he was staring at stared back in turn.

“Ra’s?” He asked.

“Ra’s.” He answered.

“Brainwashing?” He asked, tilting his head.

“Yes,” he answered, holding his arms out to allow the hit he knew was coming, “Can you undo it?”

His other self smirked.

“I know better than anyone what I’m capable of; of course.”

Red Robin swung out his arm, Danny felt a prick in his neck, and he fell-

-Danny woke up, and for the first time in who knew how long (he knew, it’d been roughly a month of not being himself and also being himself, removed but there), he felt like he was actually present. He could hear Tim rummaging around the kitchen, hear the distant sounds of the city, and started taking stock.

His wrists and ankles hurt, as did his neck. His muscles were sore, like he’d been thrashing around or fighting back. Given the state his progenitor must have dragged him back in, both were likely. He’d likely need further work with an actual therapist to undo the rest, but his head actually felt pretty clear. There were some lingering traces, and he was sure he’d hesitate if he heard a certain phrase or eight from Ra’s, but those could probably be slowly worked out of his system.

Sure, he could just die and go back to being a nearly all-powerful god thing, but…he’d kinda missed being alive. Plus, it wasn’t like he’d completely lost his powers. He could still feel them, they were just muted.

He knew he could fly, had a bit of supernatural strength, could still toss energy bolts and create a shield, but the other powers? Locked away and sealed into his incorporeal form. The powers he just intimately knew he had were the only ones that his current moral body could handle.

So at least he still had a piece of his original self; it would help differentiate him from Tim. A whole person he hadn't known, but now knew better than he’d ever known Jazz. It was weird to think about. At least when Dani had been made, she hadn’t been forced to take reconstructed versions of his memories.

Slowly, he sat up; wincing as the electrodes on his skin fell off. He felt shaky, strained, and…wait.

“Did you just…shock the brainwashing out of me?” he asked, watching as Tim rounded the corner and handed him a cup of coffee.

The laugh that Tim let out was just short of unhinged; a memory that Ra’s hadn’t known to replicate then.

“If electroshock was good enough to turn me into JJ, then theoretically it should be good enough to train my brain away from League brainwashing,” Tim snorted, and Danny was suddenly very sure he Didn’t Want To Know, “We’ll have to keep an eye on you to make sure though. Probably set you up with a therapist or eight.”

“I’m sure the Justice League would have some good suggestions,” Danny agreed mildly, sipping his coffee, “We just need to follow proper protocol for finding a clone that isn’t brainwashed or needs assistance overcoming brainwashing.”

Tim sipped his coffee.

Danny sipped his coffee.

“But we don’t want to do that, of course.”

“Oh no, no we do not. It’s been too long since we’ve had fun, I think.”

“And wouldn’t you know it; I thought of something funny. Wanna do it?”

~~~~~~~

It was funny.

For them, anyway.

The overall gist was; Danny would go to Dinah for therapy, and they’d have to trust in her professionalism to keep his existence secret until he was ready.

Ready for Danny meant, of course, when he and Tim finally got made by the rest of the Batclan.

They were going to play it off that Tim had always had a twin. Daniel Janus Drake-Wayne had always been there, pushed into the background because his parents didn’t want an accident with his powers to get out to the press.

And hadn’t that been a shock for Tim, to learn that his clone-twin had powers?

They’d managed to work it in, though.

So the plan was to make it seem like they’d never hidden that Tim was a twin, doctor literally every single piece of evidence they could electronically to show that Tim had a twin, and work in shifts to drive the family up a wall. All photos had been doctored, signatures had been forged, they’d even forged Bruce’s signature on some doctored adoption papers.

“Oh, I’m emancipated. Do you want to be?”

“Nah, it’d be even funnier if they thought they’d pushed the one still under his guardianship out of the manor.”

“A bit cruel, but yeah that’d really make them scramble. Perfect.”

They would, eventually, start dropping hints that they weren’t there for XYZ meeting, etc.

The family had pushed Tim to the side, and like, sure, it wasn’t really a big deal. But it was super inconsiderate and by proxy they’d also pushed Danny to the side as well, so payback was a bitch and payback was making the entire batfamily question their abilities as detectives and good family members.

“We should get Kon and Bart in on it. Cassie as well, we’ll never sell it without her.”

Tim nodded, already sending out a coded text to his friends. They’d arrive in two hours, when they could make enough excuses to leave without getting caught or raising suspicion.

“I think we should divide up the time they’ve seen us and say that some of that time, for the more public appearances, it wasn’t me.”

“Ohhhh, try to remember the ones you were super uncomfortable at and we’ll say that was me.”

Danny and Tim grinned at each other.

The prank was way too involved, way too intricate, and they were having way too much fun planning it to stop and think about potential consequences.

“Currently I’m trying to break open a pretty big case, I need you to fill in for me at family brunch in a week. Then there’s an extended training exercise in the woods for a week immediately afterwards; all of us are to attend. Substitute heroes have already been selected for our territories. Is that doable?”

“Sure, I’ll get started on freaking them out. Nothing too obvious, but I’ll have to target Bruce a bit differently if I want to avoid confrontation.”

“Of course.”

“I think I like puns. I’ll start with those.”

“Practice now and perfect it; that way it doesn’t seem like you’re new to them.”

“Of course, I’m practice-ly a natural.”

The dead eyed stare that Danny got was worth it.

~~~~~~

Danny stared at his new drivers license; it was designed to look a bit roughed up and older. It was almost identical to Tim’s, picturewise.

He hadn’t really been thinking about it, but he was kind of starting to really like the idea of having an identical twin. He was still hashing out his personality versus the one that Ra’s had tried to install in him, but he felt like having someone to call family, even as a prank, would help him figure it out.

He could still feel echoes of his family bonds, and there was a tentative new one between him and his…twin. He needed to think of himself as that to prevent referring to himself incorrectly in the future.

There were the faint bonds to his parents and his sisters, back in the Infinite Realms, and even fainter ones going to who he assumes were the ‘batfamily’. He hadn’t told Tim, and he was pretty sure he didn’t need to, but he was grateful to get to know them outside of the designation of ‘that clone that got dropped on us’.

And there were Tim’s friends; they’d dropped by, oohed and ahhed, and declared Danny their friend as well. Danny wasn’t sure if the friendship would last, but again; the more family or friends he had, the more secure he felt about himself.

So even if they were on loan from Tim, Danny was grateful for them.

Also they had been 100% on board with gaslighting the batclan and seeing who would notice. From Danny’s memories he had based from Tim’s, he was certain Cass would find out first.

He was pretty sure she’d go along with it.

Danny knocked his forehead on the window as the Uber came to a sudden stop, and the driver nervously looked back.

“Uh, here we are Mr. Drake-Wayne,” the poor man looked like he was terrified to be parked in front of the gates to the Manor, “I can assure you of Uber’s ability to keep customer IDs secure though, there really wasn’t a need for a fake-”

“It isn’t, thanks,” Danny said quietly, letting himself out and walking towards the gates.

This place…was so much bigger than his generated memories recalled.

He heard the Uber tear away, and focused on trying to muster up the courage to walk through the gate. He’d gone over it with Tim, it would be easy. All he had to do was just go in there and socialize.

Was the anxiety he was feeling a Danny trait or a Tim trait? Shit, did one of them have anxiety? Did both of them?

He could almost hear Jazz berating him in the back of his mind, going on and on about taking his mental health seriously. He would have to tell Dinah and talk about feelings.

Gross. He wasn’t looking forward to-

-A car horn blared behind him, almost causing him to give up the game early as he spun around and glared at Jason, a hand behind his back and ready to summon a ball of ecto-plasmic energy.

Jason glared right back.

“Come on shitstain, did you forget how a fucking gate works?”

Danny frowned. What would Tim do?

Another car directly behind Jason’s honked its horn in response.

“Don’t be rude, Jason!” Ah, Dick. A…A witness. Danny had himself a witness.

Ah.

Aha!

That was what Tim would do.

Danny smiled serenely, taking great pleasure at the sudden paranoia and confusion that flashed over his older brother’s face.

“Don’t,” Jason warned softly, grip on the steering wheel tightening.

Danny moved towards the car.

“Timberly I swear to god-”

Danny walked to the car-a classic 1970 mustang, nice-and gently ran his hand along the hood.

Jason snarled and tapped the gas, clearly only intending to spook Danny away from the car.

But Danny stepped forward and into the giant, mostly steel vehicle’s momentum. He made sure to use a little extra strength to dent the front, certain that his mortal body would bruise, and dramatically dropped down.

“What the fuck-” “Tim!” The scream Dick let out was nothing short of guttural, and Danny realized he may have forgotten to take into account the possible PTSD of both siblings.

The door to Dick’s car slammed open and the eldest of them bolted around Jason’s car towards Danny, only for the footfalls to pause long enough for Dick to deck Jason in the face. Perfect. Yes, yes this would do.

Danny grinned as he picked himself up off the ground, quickly wiping it off his face before Dick could notice it.

Jason saw it.

Jason’s glare intensified as Dick hurried towards Danny.

Danny allowed himself to be dragged away from the front of the Mustang and turned his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Jason, safely where Dick couldn’t see.

The blackening eye really did suit the man, Danny thought to himself as he was bundled into the back of Dick’s car. But it was as the Ancients said; talk shit, get hit.

~~~~~~

Cass had frozen at the top of the steps and just stared at Danny as Dick fretted over him.

Danny stared up at her and smiled, allowing his giddyness at the prank to show in his body language for a half a second.

Cass smiled back, letting out a short laugh before she descended the stairs. She made a point to glare at Jason and protectively put a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

Jason spluttered, gesturing violently towards her and then towards Danny. The third oldest snarled when Cass very obviously turned her head away from him, before finally scoffing and storming into the dining room.

“You’re all fucking against me! I’m gonna remember this you little asshole, you better be prepared!”

Danny snickered and stepped out of Dick’s hold.

“I really am fine, you can stop-”

“Tim, I know you and Jason don’t get along but please don’t ever make him hit you with his car again. What if it had been serious?”

Danny flushed, averting his gaze. Damn, he thought he’d done a really good job of acting too.

“Look at this!” Fingers brushed his hair out of his face, focusing on poking at a small bruise on his forehead from the Uber window, “This bruise is gonna be awful, what were you thinking?”

“If you knew, then why did you punch him?” Danny grumbled, the flush increasing as Cass started tousling his hair.

Dick snorted.

“He shouldn’t have made the threat to begin with; we all know you don’t handle threats well or normally.”

Danny opened his mouth to defend himself, but was stopped by a large hand resting on his shoulder.

“Tim, what’s this about Jason hitting you with his car?” Bruce asked, concern managing to worm its way into his voice.

“I’m fine-”

“Tim, your version of ‘fine’ is two days of no sleep and a broken arm,” Dick interrupted, sounding very much like a tired father himself.

“Well, they said ‘break a leg’ but I needed those.”

Dick and Bruce froze, both turning an evaluating gaze on Danny.

“Oh no,” Bruce sighed, reaching out to trace the bruise on Danny’s forehead, “He’s got brain damage.”

“Hey Tim, nice to see you,” A voice loudly interrupted. The voice that said it, for how bright it was, sounded downright cold.

The group froze, all heads turning as one towards Barbara. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a nice smile, and any who knew her (or knew of her well enough to probably know her) knew better than to think she was actually happy.

“I can run the equipment downstairs to make sure he isn’t brain damaged, no need to bother Leslie. Besides, we need to have a little talk.”

~~~~~~

Danny sat on the medical cot.

Bruce and Dick had run to the dining room as soon as they could, the cowards.

Barbara sat in front of him, her fingers steepled as she waited for her own tech to outdo the Bats.

Her phone let out a small ding, and she finally nodded. All recording devices except hers were active. Tapping at her phone, she held it in front of her as his own voice echoed through the speaker.

“Ra’s?”

“Ra’s.”

Man, their voices sounded almost identical. The only real difference was the inflection used.

“Brainwashing?”

“Yes, can you undo it?”

It really sounded like he was just having a conversation with himself.

“I know better than anyone what I’m capable of; of course.”

The recording stopped. Barbara set the phone back down on her lap.

“So. I could swear that you weren’t on any records at all prior to two weeks ago, Daniel. Mind explaining how that happened?”

Danny did mind. The prank had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning, but actually explaining it made it seem dumb in hindsight, and Barbara was scary and reminding him of Jazz-

“The only reason I didn’t rat you out and set the Bats on you is because Cass didn’t say you were a threat. Where’s Tim, Daniel?” Her words were sweet, but Danny knew better.

The time for games was suspended, and he needed to rat out his twin.

“Uh, he’s in the Nest. There’s a meta-trafficking ring, and he’s been trying to find out who the leaders are for like, a month.”

Barbara groaned, reaching up to rub her temples.

“What, so he decided to trade places with his ‘twin’ at the last minute to avoid brunch?”

“And training.”

“Of course he did. I’m assuming he’s also largely responsible for all the documents detailing that you’ve existed forever. What are your thoughts on all of this?”

Danny shifted, uncomfortable with being forced to consider his own feelings on the matter when he was still trying to figure himself out as a person. What he did know, however, was that he was very much okay with this.

Maybe a carefully political answer would appease her?

“It’s a nice, slow way to introduce me to this family without the stigma of being a, ah…’twin’. I’m still recovering from my time with Ra’s, so something like this is just a fun way to get to know everyone. Secretly.”

Barbara’s stare, much like her, was not impressed.

Okay, fine.

“Alright; it may be payback for being assholes to Tim when Bruce was gone and we may want to mess with them. Nothing big, just see how long it takes them to notice? We already have something to hold over them since they didn't realize right away. We’re treating it like a training exercise as well. Pretty much only you and Cass passed.”

Now she looked mildly intrigued.

“...Do you wanna be a part of the test?”

Barbara sighed and threw her hands up.

“Sure, why not. I’ll play along. I do have a condition, though.”

Danny nodded, staying exactly where he was and trying not to vibrate in place.

“I want to use your ‘past’ to teach Bruce about the importance of communication.”

Danny had no idea how she would do that, but sure. As long as he got to fuck with these people, he was fine with whatever she did with his doctored history.

“Yeah, sure, sounds good.”

~~~~~~

Brunch was…an affair.

Damian tried to poison him, Jason kept kicking him under the table, and Dick kept trying to put more food on his plate.

So, Danny stared Jason dead in the eye as he reeled his foot back and kicked with enough force to shove Jason’s chair back a good foot.

Then, turning his attention to Damian, he held the little shit’s stare as he picked up the toast that had been tainted, slowly lifted his hand, and shoved it into Dick’s mouth without looking.

“Thank you Dick, but you should toast-ally have some.”

He felt Dick smile delightedly against his hand.

“Richard, do not swallow that! Spit it out!”

“No Dick, eat it; teach the little demon that there’s consequences to his actions.”

“Did you just try to tip my chair? You little shit-”

“I have the antidote, Big Brother.”

“Thanks Cass! Dami, we’ve talked about this-”

“Master Damian, there will be no poison at the table.”

“Tim, why would you put poisoned toast in Dick’s mouth?”

“Guys why is Tim weird-”

“He’s always weird Duke, I’ve seen him stay up for seventy-two hours just to prove a point.”

“No but there’s something really, really weird about-”

“I’m fine Duke, it’s just a little side effect from the Lazarus water.”

“Wait, the what?”

“The what?” Bruce’s voice ripped through the air, silencing everyone.

Danny frowned. This wasn’t technically something he was supposed to do, but…as the younger twin, he felt it was his responsibility to also inconvenience Tim. His job description was to be a sibling of this family, and a younger sibling he would be. He’d been a little brother once before, and he’d gladly do it again. To the fullest extent of his abilities.

Also he felt like Tim should have asked for help regarding his stalker problem ages ago.

“Well, Ra’s keeps trying to woo me and chases me around Gotham. I was bound to get dosed at some point, it’s not my fault.”

The chaos that ensued after that statement did Danny’s heart some serious good. Yes, this was perfect.

~~~~~~~~~

The batplane was a fun experience. Genuinely; Danny hadn’t gotten to enjoy the flight over to Gotham, and flying was fun no matter the form it took.

“Drake.”

Oh, Danny had been looking forward to this one.

“Wayne.” Danny responded, fighting to keep the joy out of his mouth.

He got to be the big brother this time. Him! Damian was a tiny terror, but he had nothing on the chaos gremlin that was Dani. There was only one thing Danny could do here; destroy Damian’s composure.

“Good, you know my name-”

“Yet you don’t seem to know mine,” Danny sighed, putting on his best disappointed face, “You keep saying Drake but never the full thing; Drake-Wayne.”

Behind Damian Dick was mouthing words at Danny. Probably such words that would tell Danny to behave.

What a pity that ‘Big Brother’ did not mean ‘Parent’, then. Not that Danny had such a good reputation for listening to his parents, and Tim never listened to Bruce anyways.

“I refuse to call you a name that you do not deserve-”

“Hey Bruce, did I trick you into signing my adoption papers?” Danny called out over Damian, drawing Bruce’s attention away from talking to Jason, allowing a shit-eating grin to stretch out over his face.

“No, Tim.”

“Hey Bruce, am I still adopted?”

“Yes, Tim.”

“Hey Bruce, are you gonna send me back-”

“Tim, we’ve been over this. There is nothing you could do that would make me overturn my decision. You are a part of this family, emancipated or not, and there is no escape.”

Huh. While that answer had been a bit more passionate than Danny had expected, it still worked.

“Sounds like I earned the name, Dami.”

Damian’s face was growing red with rage. Luckily, Danny knew just what to do to make it worse; by layering on sarcasm.

“But don’t worry, as your big brother I understand that it is my duty to lead by example. So I forgive you, el-witwaat, for your mistakes. Maybe when you’re older, you won’t make such obvious oversi-”

Danny jerked to the side, dodging the knife and breaking out into slightly hysterical laughter.

“I will find you this week,” Damian hissed, his arms restrained by Dick, “And I will kill you.”

“Timothy, stop antagonizing Damian. Damian, stop threatening Tim.” Bruce sounded every bit the tired dad he was.

“But he-!”

“What was that name you called him?” Duke interrupted, turning his seat. Damian let out a wordless cry of rage, struggling with Dick to get out of the chair so he could presumably stab Danny into silence.

“Oh, what name?” Danny asked, resting his chin in his hand and watching Damian with a wide smile. “Do you mean Dami? That’s the nickname that Dick gave him. Or-oh, wait; did you mean el-witwaat?”

“Cease this at once! Richard let me go-!”

“Sorry Duke, it’s a nickname that only I get to use on him.”

Damian froze, narrowing his eyes at Danny suspiciously. Good. He was right to be suspicious, because Danny wasn’t done.

“But it means the sound that a bat wing makes when it’s flapping. It basically means flip-flap.”

“That’s adorable,” Dick breathed, accidentally letting go of their youngest.

Bruce had to put the plane on autopilot to wrangle Damian and force their youngest to calm down.

~~~~~

The week of training was largely uneventful. For Danny, at least.

Danny found out he could still turn invisible and density shift, and promptly spent the entire time reenacting the poltergeist movie on his new siblings.

Jason kept waking up in entirely different parts of the forest they’d chosen, miles away from the checkpoints. Jason had opted to not sleep, which was doing wonders for the ‘ragged and deranged’ look he was going for.

Danny’s personal favorite moment was pretending to walk into a clearing just as Jason was waking up, surrounded by sticks, and idly commenting “Wow Jason, it looks like you’re in a…sticky situation.”

The wordless screech of rage had been music to Danny’s ears.

Damian was driving himself into the ground trying to hunt down Danny, who just maintained invisibility and density shifting to keep just out of Damians reach for literal hours each day before leaving to mess with the others.

Danny took great pride in that he managed to tuck Damian in every night without waking him up, thoroughly confusing the little demon just as much as he was bruising the kid’s ego.

Duke was left alone. Not because Danny thought he should be spared from their sibling bonding exercise, but because he’d see Danny coming thanks to his powers. There was literally no way for Danny to sneak up on him, and he was pretty sure Duke had clocked him as Not Tim anyways.

Dick lost his socks. All of them. Even the ones on his feet. Then Dick lost his sleeping bag. Finally, Danny collected as many spiders as he could and tucked them away, all neat and tidy, into Dick’s bag.

Dick had been an asshole, and justice needed to be served.

Danny did not feel satisfied or vindicated, however, as when Dick opened his bag and was met with the spiders, all he did was nod and step back to allow them to escape, only saying “Yeah, I deserved that. Good job Tim, I didn’t see you at all!”

Danny retreated. He’d have to have a planning session with Tim to plan a way to get back at Dick properly, then.

Cass was spared out of fear.

Bruce, though. Bruce was approached differently.

If Danny used his powers, there was a chance that the Detective would pin Danny as Not Tim, and with insufficient evidence there was a risk of being seen as a threat. Danny very much wanted to avoid an interrogation.

So Danny had opted to leave his new-old drivers license on the plane as the group was dropped off at various points; he knew the Bat as well as Tim. He knew that Bruce would find the ID, knew he would search it, and knew he wouldn’t say a word until he was sure about something.

And Danny, thanks to Tim’s memories in his mind, also knew that Bruce would never admit to a mistake as big as missing the fact that your adopted son was a twin. Bruce would try to guess who was who, and pretend like he’d known the entire time.

When Danny had stopped by the Base Camp to check in, Bruce had three tablets in front of him, all with information on Danny, and was cradling his head in his hands.

The only thing he heard Bruce say was something about possible brain damage, dimension travel, and messing up the time stream.

Then Bruce had frozen and scrambled for one of the tablets.

Danny decided he’d seen enough, and he was missing out on Damian time.

By the time the week was up, Cass and Duke looked refreshed, Danny accomplished but exhausted, and Dick, Jason, and Damian nearly crawled their way into Base Camp.

And Bruce?

Bruce refused to meet Danny’s eyes, and tried every way possible to avoid saying the name ‘Tim’, but also avoided saying ‘Danny’. Good. He wasn’t sure which one Danny was.

The groundwork had been laid.

Danny felt like patting himself on the back; this was a job well-done.

~~~~~~

Upon Danny’s return to the Nest, he and Tim compared notes about everything that had happened over a nice cup of coffee.

“Oh, also I’m pretty sure Bruce thinks that he fucked up the time line when he was trapped, and that that’s why he doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh! That’s perfect! Yes, that’ll stop him from mentioning it to anyone else. We’re in the clear to proceed as normal.”

The future was bright, and the road to happiness was paved with their family’s confusion.

@terzatheunderscorerima @darkbiscuitvoidstudent @akikkobara @reach-for-the-horizon @bitter-coffeecup @moodycow210 @kisatamao @thefantasmarex

#dcxdp #dpxdc #tim and danny pretend to be twins au #phanfic #TWINcognito mode

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mxtxfanatic · 6 months

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I’ve been stuck in 2ha fics for a minute and have seen a few metas and posts surrounding Mo Ran’s character, but something I don’t think comes across very well from the book to fanwork and (some) discussion is that Taxian-jun doesn’t exist without the long-hatred flower.

Like, I see a lot of modern au fics, for example, that tackle the Mo Ran 1.0 to 1.5 shift by having Mo Ran be disillusioned by Chu Wanning and that being his villain origin story, but what gets lost in that remix is that in canon, while Mo Ran was hurt by being whipped by his shizun, after he thought about it for a while, he decided to apologize to Chu Wanning to reconcile rather than hold a grudge. Because Mo Ran, at his core, is someone who is naturally good and would rather die than enact vengeance on others. That’s why both the timing and the effects of the flower are particularly evil: Mo Ran is cursed because he chose reconciliation over petty grudges and the curse forces him to go against his nature by holding onto said petty grudges to “repay” them to a ridiculous degree while erasing any good memory he has, which is what had previously fueled his will to live.

With that said, Mo Ran 1.0/Taxian-jun is able to transition to 1.5 and eventually 2.0 not because he realized that Chu Wanning loved him all along (as a disciple at this point), but because the Chu Wanning from the original universe nullified the effects of the flower, allowing him to finally see that Chu Wanning loved him all along and that he actually doesn’t want revenge. And we can see that effect of the nullification immediately! Taxian-jun becomes 16-year-old Mo Ran, finds out that Shi Mei, his “first love” is actually still alive at this point, and immediately decides to prioritize keeping Shi Mei alive over enacting revenge on Chu Wanning. Because at his core he’s motivated by love! And when Hua Binan brings Taxian-jun’s reanimated corpse into the new universe, his control is tenuous because Taxian-jun isn’t being motivated purely by spite anymore because the flower isn’t in effect anymore. This isn’t to say that Mo Ran was incapable of becoming Taxian-jun, but as the narrative proves, that is a version of him that only exists under mind-breaking abuse and duress, which only happened when he lived under the Mo family’s reign of abuse for years before finally snapping and then once again under the effects of a curse that rewrote his memories to convince him that he was living under mind-breaking abuse and duress. Without those conditions, Mo Ran always chooses hope and love, and even as he looks back on those moments where he reigned terror, he wishes he could have chosen/been afforded death instead (much to Chu Wanning’s upset). So all this to say that Mo Ran isn’t saved by realizing he was living under a misunderstanding; he is saved by having the thing leeching out all of the good in him destroyed.

(Also on a smaller note, Taxian-jun isn’t uneducated because he was on the street for so long and therefore “too old” to be properly educated. Taxian-jun is uneducated because all of his memories of learning were good memories tied to Chu Wanning, thus they got erased. Mo Ran 2.0 re-educates himself in his late teens/early 20s because the problem was always the flower, not some “inherent” inferiority he was stuck with from his upbringing or an unwillingness to learn.)

#2ha #i know i said i was gonna stay out of this one until maybe i reread it #but I’ve been in the 2ha fandom reading fics #and as much as i love the angst #there’s just no way to accurately translate the story into aus #without the existence of the flower #but i also think it cheapens mo ran’s character to run with ‘he was naturally jaded until romantic love hit him’#2ha spoilers

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thewritingofspencerrose · 5 months

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New Years Eve

George Russell x Alonso!Reader

camilaalonso_ bringing in the new year with those i love most 🤍

tagged georgerussell, fernandoalo_oficial, and amelierose

merc1fan love that we get a mercedes x aston crossover purely because alonso's daughter called george hot in one interview and he ran with it

lando norizz so, how is spending new years with your in-law georgie?

alex albono yeah, this is what? year two that you've spent with alonso right?

russell george we don't even know how this keeps happening cami and i just looked up and he was there he didn't even know we'd be at this party

sharl lechair i thought you were going to propose tonight?

russell george ...

alex albono she didn't say no did she??

lando norizz she wouldn't say no, she's been in love with him since we joined the grid

"Something on your mind Georgie?" I can't help but ask, noticing how he's been fiddling all night, now with his phone, even before we realized Papa was here.

"No, no, everything is okay, why do you ask?" is his question, eyes wide as they meet my own. "The boys were just asking how I always end up spending new years with your father," He jokes before I can even offer and answer.

And I can't help but laugh. How do we always end up with my father on this holiday?

"My father is a teenager in a 42 year old's body," is the explanation I can offer, him laughing and wrapping me in his arms, kissing the top of my head while the party continues around us.

"Can we step outside? Away from the chaos?" His whispers reach my ears, his breath hot against the side of my head.

"Yeah, of course, are you sure you're okay, mi coraźon? You look a little red?"

I reach up to feel his forehead, but he catches my hand, kissing my palm before linking our hands, his body creating the path for us as I follow.

It's cold outside, the snow on the ground emphasizing the time of year that we find ourselves in as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

15 minutes, that's all that stands between us and the new year.

I can't help but shiver, it's my favorite time of year yet my body will never adjust to the temperatures after living in Monaco for a couple years.

"Here," Georgie prompts, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders. "Can't have you starting the new year with a cold, now can we Love?"

"Thank you," Is my whispered response, pulling him to lean over the railing, eyes set on the snowy expanse of the country club, what is golf greens in the summer now just a blanket.

I can feel George moving away and I miss the heat he offered by just being beside me, my personal furnace for the last three years.

"Cami?"

Turning around at my name, every thought is leaves my mind at the sight in front of me.

"Camila Jade Alonso," George begins again, down on one knee with a box in one hand, his other reaching out for my own. "You have allowed me to be by your side for three years, four if you count the year I spent trying to convince your father to let me be with you," He reminisces, the both of us chuckling at the memory of a 2021 George trying everything in his power to get 'the great Fernando Alonso' to even acknowledge him outside the track, let alone date his daughter.

"From the moment I met you, I knew you would be the most important person in my life, and I can say one thing with certainty. Amor, eres el amor de mi vida y quiero seguir amándote hasta el día de mi muerte. ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? (Love, you are the love of my life and I want to continue loving you until the day I die. Will you marry me?)"

I've been nodding for the last minute, tears rolling down my cheeks as I hold a hand over my mouth to stop my cries from interrupting his sweet words.

Georgie stands, thumb coming up to brush the tears from my face with a smile brighter than the nights fireworks.

"So would that be a yes?"

"En cada vida diría sí a ser tu esposa (in every lifetime i would say yes to being your wife)."

"Cami, my knowledge of Spanish extends enough to only cover the words in my proposal and the curse words your father calls me from time to time," He reminds with a laugh, although you can tell my lack of a verbal answer is making him anxious.

"George William Russell," I begin again, running my hand through his hair. "In every lifetime I would say yes to being your wife."

"I was hoping that was your answer," He whispers, taking my hand to place the ring on, both of us smiling brightly as he looks back up to my face, bringing me into a kiss.

"I love you George Russell."

"Te quiero mas Camila pronto a ser Russell (I love you more Camila soon-to-be Russell)."

russell george she didn't say no, i hadn't asked her yet you're talking to a newly engaged man, boys

#original character #the writing of spencer rose #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #george russell x reader #george russell imagine #george russell x oc #alonso!oc #fernando alonso x oc #engagement #new years eve

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prince-kallisto · 9 months

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We learned several Unique Magic’s in this Book 7 update- spoilers ahead!

And I am sensing a running theme for Fae’s Unique Magic, and I think I know what Revan’s Unique Magic may be.

I’d like to see the Japanese dialogue for this- not that I don’t trust Ray haha, they’ve been so incredibly amazing live-blogging this update!! I learned so much from them. Other blogs have mentioned this too, but I’m very intrigued by Lilia’s line of “Did you know your son would enroll in that school in the distant future?”

For context, Lilia ripped up his letter from NRC, and Revan took the pieces out of the trash, pieced it together, and kept it safe in the Royal archives. Lilia was stunned for a noble of Revan’s rank to do such a thing- but I think Revan really did know what would happen hundreds of years in the future.

Why? Malleus’ Fae of Maleficence can put everyone in an everlasting dream. Lilia, as we now know, is Far Cry Cradle which allows him to view person’s memories, past and present.

Edit: My mistake, he can see in the memories left behind in OBJECTS, which makes a lot of sense and is less op but in a good way 🤣

And isn’t it strange that so far, Fae magic is able to manipulate dreams and see memories? Such intangible things?

What if Revan’s Unique Magic is the gift of prophecy? Just like how ravens symbolize in Greek Mythology- as they are considered a bird of Apollo, the God of Prophecy.

Ive theorized this before NAHCHDHFJD- why am I getting so excited? Nothing about Revan has been confirmed yet 🤣🤣 but now I feel even more certain because it would ordinarily be impossible for Revan to know about Malleus’ fate, ESPECIALLY because he’s been missing this entire segment.

At first, this was just a crack theory, but on that theory, I mentioned that what if Revan knew the outcome of the war? That he knew his wife would die at the hands of the Silver Owls and there was nothing he could do to prevent it? I wouldn’t blame the man for completely losing it- if not Overblotting from this realization. But his one sole hope was Malleus attending NRC with Lilia, and he needed to keep Lilia’s invitation safe at all costs, knowing he could come back for the letter one day.

And since I’m a Crowley is Revan crack theorist, I think this Unique Magic allows Crowley to know events that would be normally impossible to know. Everything about his plans just fall into place because he knows what will happen.

Revan was even the one to teach Lilia the human language. Trying to convince him that Fae and Humans can one day come to an understanding if they had a common language to share their culture and history with. Isnt it interesting how willing Revan is with humans despite the overall sentiment from other Fae? He is a diplomat, but what if he was trying to prepare Lilia for his own future at NRC?

And after all, Grim in the dream world calls Revan a “kind” man. Hm?

With this knowledge of the potential of Revan’s power, no wonder Lili is terrified. He knew all of the events that would happen, but it was all out of his control.

#guys my unique magic is actually the gift of prophecy #sorry you had to find out this way but it’s the truth #twst #twisted wonderland #twst theory #twst spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #twst revan #twst levan #twst dire Crowley #twst Lilia #twst Crowley #dire Crowley #KallistoPost #crowley is levan theory

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socksracoon10 · 3 months

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Waiting For Nothing

Pairing: Legolas Greenleaf x F!Reader A/N: I haven't written for LOTR for a while, so I thought I'd make ya'll sad with this angsty Legolas fic. Have fun! The hearts of the warriors are often small; they've grown accustomed to fighting and death. And in each battle they fight, a layer of their heart sheds off. It falls to the ground, and rejoins the earthly soil to be reborn in another's. The scars remain, but the feelings behind the memories will slowly fade, until there is nothing more than the shell of a man who attained glory with his rotting heart a testament to the last sliver of hope that echoed in the beating of his heart.

Your heart was rather large. Having lived most of your life as the poor peasant girl with no relatives by blood, Edoras welcomed you into open arms. You were friends with almost everyone, especially with Théoden's niece, Éowyn, who quickly became your best friend - Théoden even considered you his niece as well because of how close you two were. The two of you would go riding on horses, galloping around in joy as you remained oblivious to the impending doom that would soon terrorize the entirety of Rohan in just a matter of a few days.

"I can hardly see why you roam this castle so willingly when we know your place is outside in a small hut…" Grima Wormtongue spat when you had walked past him. You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips sharply turning into a scowl. The audacity of that vile creature to even speak in your direction. You huffed out in annoyance, biting the inside of your cheek as you chose your next words, carefully.

"Bold words coming from a creature that is more disheveled than an Orc," You snickered before haughtily marching off.

Within hours, you were kicked out of the palace and exiled from Rohan. You were back to being an orphan, right where you had started. Éowyn had looked at you with such pain in her eyes but she knew that if she were to act out against this cruel decree, she would face a similar fate and nothing could be done to save the Kingdom she so dearly loved.

Living in the outskirts was not as easy as you had initially thought it to be. In your mind, you had foolishly assured yourself that since you had been in this condition before everything would come naturally. It wasn't until the first hour passed did you sorely miss the place you once called home. With nowhere to go, you wandered around aimlessly, circling the borders of Edoras repeatedly to keep your mind occupied. By the 5th day, you swore you were dying due to starvation and thirst. You could barely move, your body lay stricken on a rock as you gasped for air. Your head tilted slightly to your right, the pain in your stomach blooming to elsewhere in your body and from afar, you noticed three horses charging towards you. You couldn't even sit up properly to examine the incoming invaders, and you weakly lifted your hand, silently begging for help.

The three horses revealed their masters on top of them, a tall dark haired man, another being that resembled a wizard and on top of the third horse was a dwarf, and in front of him the most beautiful elf you had ever seen. You had heard stories of elves before in your life, ones that were told by Éowyn, but never once did you think one would be standing right before you. If you were to die in this exact moment, you would've been very pleased that you at last saw an elf.

The man jumped off his horse and crouched down to your level, feeling your forehead before turning to the elf,

"Legolas, fetch her some of your Lembas bread, and you Gimli give her your water." The man instructed; not knowing whose name belonged to which creature, you looked between the four beings with curiosity, despite being so near to death's door. The elf crouched down besides you, allowing you to drink some water before chewing on his bread. Your hunger knew no bounds and you chewed and chewed, swallowing whole lumps of bread as you slowly began to regain some of your health. The man sighed in contentment, giving you a soft smile before standing up to walk towards the Wizard. The elf, on the other hand, stared at you with a gentle smile on his face and kept offering you food until you said no.

"What's your name?" The man asked,

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N)," You whispered, taking another sip of water. You coughed a few times, swallowing thickly before meeting his gaze.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gandalf the White, that is Gimli, son of Gloin and over to your left is Legolas of the Woodland Realms." Aragorn exclaimed, gesturing towards the elf beside you. You glanced back to face the elf, a small smile forming on your face. After acquainting yourself with the 4 beings, they heard your pitiful tale and realized that Rohan deeply needed imminent change. They allowed you to accompany them, seating yourself behind Aragorn as the horses charged forward.

Your eyes, however, remained glued onto the elf. You noticed his soft features, the way the wind seemed to swirl around him and only him, and his piercing eyes that scoured the land before him with diligence. His silence captivated you, and you did not know why.

With Grima Wormtongue out of the way, and your adoptive uncle restored to his glory, it seemed that you were finally welcome in the castle. Éowyn had rushed forward, capturing you into a warm embrace before kissing your forehead. She grinned at you, holding onto your arms ecstatically as she danced to and fro, dragging you deeper into the throne room. As she tugged at your hands, you glanced to your right to find the elf conversing with the dwarf, the both of them walking in the opposite direction with concern glazing their eyes. You wanted to listen, you wanted to be a part of them… but you did not know why. You yearned for the chance to just be alone with him, and whether it was good for Rohan or not, the chance soon came when everyone was ordered to seek shelter at Helm's Deep.

"You're rather quiet," You chirped, catching up to Legolas. The walk to Helm's Deep was excruciating and you feared that the boredom would kill you before starvation or even worse - the Uruk-hais. Legolas smirked, his lips curving ever so slightly upwards before he turned to face you,

"Forgive me. I am not one to converse so easily in such pressing times. Though, of course, must you include Gimli in our conversation, I shall pass a few jokes at his expense." He glanced over his shoulder to face Gimli atop his horse; the dwarf shook his head and grumbled,

"I'd cut yer pointy ears off if ye try to embarrass me in front of this lassie," He scoffed and you let out a laugh, before turning to Legolas,

"Come now, surely you would be able to carry a conversation without teasing the poor dwarf!"

"Perhaps, but I do not know for sure," He sighed, before resuming his silence as he watched the horizons.

Legolas knew. He could sense your attraction towards him, but he chose not to say anything about it. He hoped that it would pass, that you would not be bound at his feet, desperate for his affection. Because it would never work, and he did not have the heart to admit that he did not have any feelings for you. You were trying so hard, trying to spend more time with him. You were trying to distract yourself from the doom that lay ahead of you because everyone knew how big your heart was; all you could ever do was dream.

Éowyn and you had both tried to convince the King to let the two of you fight. There was nothing for you to lose, you both loved your Kingdom, tremendously. But as Aragorn reminded Éowyn of her duty, you turned to face Legolas whose piercing eyes never once left you. His lips formed into a thin line, and he followed Aragorn out of the room, leaving you in your thoughts.

"She's very affectionate towards you," Aragorn pointed out as they were leaving,

"I'm well aware," Legolas responded.

"What do you plan to do about it?" The man questioned.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Legolas, perhaps-"

"Perhaps we do not speak of it." Legolas jeered, his brows furrowing at the rightful heir to Gondor. "We have more pressing matters to deal with, the lives of 100 thousand men are at steak tonight."

"Ignoring her will only heighten her love for you, she will be desperate. She will be fooled into thinking that she has a chance. If you are going to reject her, at least have the courage to tell her directly!"

"That wee lass will be devastated," Gimli chimed in, fixing his helmet, "You sure you don't feel anything?"

"I'm positive, I do not." Legolas grimaced and shoved past his two friends to grab his arrows. The incoming surge of Uruk-hais was his primary concern, but the guilt he felt as he killed one after the other tormented him. With each arrow he shot, he felt his burden increase tenfold. Aragorn and Gimli were right, but why could he not bring himself to tell you the truth? To tell you that he had no feelings for you?

Because… then he would be lying. He watched you from afar at times, watched the way you'd dance with Éomer, your arm wrapped around his as you skipped around. You'd stand beside Théoden to catch a breath, your eyes searching for Legolas and when they landed on him, he'd instantly look away - as if he wasn't staring at you. As if he wasn't infatuated with you the same way you were with him. He was lying to himself, he wanted to break free. He wanted to stand near you, to hear you constantly chittering about something; his heart ached at the sight of you fondly playing with some children. His mind roamed to thoughts that turned into dreams; dreams of you and him together. But this was wrong, all of this was wrong. He would only live a short life with you, and when you died, he would spend the rest of his life in solitude.

He'd seen it with his father. He'd seen the way his mother's death impacted him; he was not a man of many words, but his cold demeanor lingered around Legolas, a constant reminder of the similar fate he'd feel if he decided to indulge in his present feelings. He decided that he had to do something about it, even if he couldn't face it himself.

"Would you like something to eat?" You asked, toying with an apple as Legolas tended to his horse near the campsite. He glanced over his shoulder, looking at you with solemn eyes. You could've sworn a tear drop cascaded down his pale cheeks. He harshly took a deep breath in, and shook his head,

"It is alright, I do not need anything to eat." He responded, his fingers wrapped around the reins of his horse.

"Well, perhaps I could offer you something? It is not material…" You began, stepping forward with hope in your eyes. It pained him, it pained him more than anything else in the world. He could not bring himself to do this, but at the same time, it would be even worse to accept your affections.

"Lady (L/N), please." Legolas exclaimed, finally meeting your eyes, "Do not continue. I… I cannot accept your affection."

You paused in your tracks, looking at him with wide eyes.

"I do not… envision a future of us two living a happy life." He was searching for proper words, his head turning around the room as if he was physically swimming through his thoughts, "I… My heart is heavy, I have never felt this way for anyone. I do not want to be the one to burden your heart, but I am afraid that you must keep those feelings to yourself. There is nothing that I can do. Nothing we can do."

"I… You… You don't even know what I was going to say…" You reasoned, and Legolas let out a huff,

"I do not need to hear you say it, I already know. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you tend to me. I am forever in your debt for your kindness, I thank you for it. But, it cannot continue. Aragorn, Gimli, and I will be leaving tonight." Legolas murmured, tugging on the reins as he drove his horse forward and away from you. Your heart sunk at his words, unsure of what was happening.

This couldn't be happening to you. Not before you even had the chance to tell him how you felt. What if he realized how true your love was for him? What if this was the last time you ever saw him?

"I shall be waiting for you." You stated, swiftly turning on your heels to face his departing form.

"Don't, you'll be waiting for nothing," Legolas whispered, his eyes softening at your words.

"Nothing is… indeed something," You breathed, your fingers linked together as you began to fidget, nervously. "Perhaps, you'll understand. Perhaps you'll… come back."

"Perhaps, but I would not count on it." Legolas sighed, before hopping onto his horse and riding off, leaving you alone for the night.

"I see you've told her how you felt," Aragorn had asked Legolas when they were far from Rohan, "Does it feel as if your heart is lighter now, with nothing to worry about?"

Legolas paused, hearing Gimli grumble a few curses under his breath regarding the elf. He opened his mouth to speak, before closing it. The elf thought deeply, his mind was utterly blank and he hated it.

"I feel…" He began, "I feel as if I've only made it worse. Not just for her, but... for me as well." He swallowed, thickly, before glancing over his shoulder to take one last look at Rohan. The wind was still, there was not much that he could hear.

Except for the beating of a very large heart that painfully yearned for him with each fleeting second.

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 11 months

Text

Linger On- Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

Summary: 10 years ago Joel Miller broke your heart. You spent the next decade trying to forget him and making a new life for yourself in Chicago. When your father gets sick, you move back to Austin to care for him, husband and son in tow. You find your life once again entangled with Joel's.

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: E (nothing explicit happens for a while. Just blanket warning for the whole series.)

Warnings: no warnings for this chapter except a whole lot of angst. Moving forward there will be lots of smut and infidelity. reader is able bodied. can have/has had a child.

Author's Notes: I used to write supernatural fanfiction a decade ago and haven't written anything since. And I only ever shared it with close friends. This is only my second fic since I started writing again and I am very nervous to share it.

This will be a long one so buckle up. We will be alternating between the past and present. We'll eventually discover the reason Joel and Reader split and will expore the intervening years for both while they try to navigate being in each other's orbit again.

All banners and dividers courtesy of @cafekitsune

You haven’t been back to Texas for nearly ten years. Even after all this time the wound still felt raw. The ache in your chest just as fresh as it was the day it was put there. Sometimes, if a memory caught you off guard, your heart would physically hurt. Your chest would tighten and you couldn’t find your breath. You wished you could cleave the offending organ from your body in those moments. Did you know that you could literally die from a broken heart? The stress causes your heart muscles to weaken and it can be fatal.

Your parents always came to Chicago for visits. They remember why you didn’t want to come home in the beginning. They were there for the whole damn thing. Your mom had spent many a night in your bed with you, never ending supply of tissues and ice cream. Your dad wasn’t much for words but he offered his support in other ways. A comforting hand on your shoulder or a kiss on the crown of your head. They also paid all of the expenses to get you moved into your new Chicago apartment two months earlier than you had planned.

After a few years you had to start coming up with new reasons to have the visits in Chicago. Usually you just blamed it on work. You were supposed to have moved on. You had moved on in a sense. The ring on your finger is evidence of that. Steve isn’t a bad man, he just isn’t him. He never would be and that was his fatal flaw. Your marriage’s fatal flaw. You would never truly be able to move on from him.

You spent half a year wallowing in your despair, trudging through the world on autopilot. You only left your apartment for necessities. Content to exist within the darkness and solitude of those four walls. You could hardly bear to even see the sun. It reminded you too much of unbearably hot Texas summer days spent at the lake, cold beer to keep you cool. You welcomed the frigid winter of Illinois. The days short and the cold oppressive. The nights were so cold, when you went out to do your shopping, it numbed your entire body. It was exactly what you needed. Your savings allowed you to exist in that bubble, painting and drinking and screaming, all the way through winter. By the end of March it popped. You emerged, much like the new blossoms of spring, energy renewed. Your resolve had been strengthened by the months of solitude. You had poured every one of your emotions onto canvas.

You knew, after you survived that first winter, that you would live. You didn’t think your life would ever be as vibrant as it was during that Texas summer, and you were right.

Once you emerged from the cocoon of your sorrow you burned every painting you made during that dark winter. You never picked up a paintbrush again.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Steve’s voice interrupts. You look from the rolling hills out of your window to him. His forehead creased in concern. You reach your hand to his and lightly pat it.

“Oh I’m fine. Just tired from the drive.” You assure him. You had never told him about the heartbreak you suffered a year before you met him. All evidence of your previous life had been wiped from your home by the time he earned an invitation. You mourn a little for the girl he would never know. The woman who danced and braided flowers into her hair. The woman who wore paint covered overalls and almost never wore shoes.

The woman he knew was an entirely different person from who she had once been. You couldn’t be that girl again. You couldn’t be the girl he fell in love with for someone else. You would never dance in the flowers with anyone but him.

You aren’t a hollow shell of a person either. You have joy in your life. You look over your shoulder into the backseat. Your son snored softly and was using his stuffed bear as a pillow to soften the door he laid his head on. He is the only thing that has ever filled the hole in your chest. You may not be in love with Steve but you would always be grateful to him for this gift he had given you.

Steve was a wonderful father. He shared every duty of those first sleep deprived months. Never complained about changing a diaper or a middle of the night feeding. He was just as attentive as a husband. He had never missed a birthday or anniversary. Not once in nine years. He still opened car doors for you and pulled your chair out at restaurants. He asked about your day and really listened when you told him.

Every one of these actions that should fill you with love for Steve make you feel guilty. Guilty that you could never return the love that he has given to you. Guilty that you don’t even think he is aware that you don’t. You probably wouldn’t be aware of it either, if not for that summer all those years ago.

If you had never experienced a love that deep, you wouldn’t be able to differentiate love from the comfortable affection you have for your husband. During the early days you had thought that you had the ability to love him. Maybe it was just a slow burn. Surely not everyone had the spark and intensity of a rocket leaving the atmosphere. You spent an entire year waiting for the moment to come. The moment that you realized you couldn’t live without him. The moment that the ache in your chest was replaced by something else. That moment eventually did come, the day you heard your son’s heartbeat for the first time.

Another day that fills you to the brim with guilt. You sat there holding Steve’s warm hand as they slathered your abdomen with freezing goo. Tears in both of your eyes but for different reasons. His tears were born of love for you and your child, pure happiness. Yours were born of heartbreak and regret. Not for your unborn baby but that you were sitting there with Steve. That you weren’t there with someone else.

After you wiped the sticky ultrasound gel from your stomach and redressed you turned to see Steve down on one knee. He had a little black box in his hands. Tears still falling from his eyes, he sniffed softly and opened the box. “Will you marry me? I was going to ask weeks ago but I wanted the moment to be perfect. Feels like there couldn’t be a more perfect time.”

Your mouth fell open in shock and you reached a hand up to cover it. Yours tears fell freely now, you were unable to hold them back. You didn’t trust your voice so you just nodded. He leapt from the floor of the OB’s office and scooped you into a tight hug. “I’m so happy I could scream!” He exclaimed. Your heart broke a little more at his hope for the future. All you could do was wrap your arms around him. You were unable to stop the spiral you were in. How did you go from wanting to break up with Steve to agreeing to marry him?

Two months before that appointment, you woke much earlier than normal. The weight of Steve’s arm draped over your side and his soft breath on your neck. You laid in the darkness unsettled by his presence. You kept waiting to be comforted by the knowledge that he was right beside you, but every time you woke up next to him you felt nothing. His being there didn’t bother you, but it didn’t do anything else for you either. The realization that all you could feel was indifference to his presence in your life hit you like a shot.

You had tried so hard to make this relationship work. You had tried so hard to make it as real for you as you knew it to be for him. You never wanted to make anyone feel the type of heartbreak you had suffered. What was kinder, though? To hold on to him with the hope that you may one day feel something other than indifference? Or to hurt him a little now so that he might find something real with someone else? Was it cruel to allow him to think that you reciprocated the “I love you��s” that he showered on you?

You knew what real love was. You had it once. And you would break your own heart over and over again if it meant you got to have that feeling back, even if it was brief. Steve deserved to have a love like that. He was kind and generous. He was endlessly patient and thoughtful. He deserved to have a love that filled him with the joy you had once known. He deserved to feel like his body was bubbling over with it. He would never get that from you.

You decided then, in the dark with him curled against your back, that you would let him go. Just because you would never have that type of love again didn’t mean you had the right to keep him from it. You felt the anxiety leave your body and for the first time in almost two years you slept peacefully.

The landscape of the Texas Hill Country rolled by you, almost mocking in its serene beauty. You never wanted to lay eyes upon it again. But once again, the universe had different plans for you.

8 years ago an ill timed business trip and what you thought then was food poisoning changed the course of your life. You thought it cruel to break up with Steve over the phone so you resigned yourself to wait until he returned. The day he left you couldn't keep any food down. You chalked it up to nerves but the following three days were much the same. The day before he returned you had an appointment with your doctor. When he returned with the results of your pregnancy test you vomited right on the floor of his office.

You had the exact same feeling a month ago when your mother phoned you to inform you that your father had been admitted to the hospital. He had suffered a stroke. He would live but was now paralyzed on the left side of his body. He would need round the clock care. Your mother’s own health was less than ideal. She would be unable to care for your father the way he needed. Moving back to Texas was Steve’s idea. He could work from anywhere and with his big promotion a few years back coupled with the much lower cost of living in Texas you could afford to take time to care for your parents.

The slowing of the car pulled you from your thoughts. You were turning into your neighborhood. New to you now, but the same one you lived in your entire childhood. “We’re almost there!” Steve exclaimed. “Yay!” You hear from the backseat. You had been so lost in thought you hadn’t even realized that Jamie was awake. He was grinning ear to ear. He had been so excited at the prospect of having a backyard to play in he hadn’t shown any disappointment in moving. He reminded you so much of your younger self. He took after you in ways that surprised you. He had never known those parts of you. He was a carefree child. His lust for life awed you.

The first question he asked when you told him you were moving to be closer to Grandma and Grandpa was about the yard. “Yes my love. The house we found has a really big yard.” You told him. His second question immediately followed.

“Can we get a dog?”

“Oh we’ll have to see about that.” You told him. But you both knew you would give in to almost any request he made. Finally

Finally, after two days driving, the SUV pulls into the driveway of your new home. The sale of your Chicago house made it possible to buy any house in Austin that you desired. But you wanted to be as near to your parents as you could get. You and Steve had managed to find a house one street over. It wasn’t in the best shape but for the location and price you couldn’t pass it up. Jamie would be attending the same school you had walked to every day for 6 years. The walk took you right by your parents house. You would drop him off in the morning and spend your day at their house, attending to whatever they may need. Then you would retrieve Jamie in the afternoon and bring him back to visit with his grandparents.

Your father’s stroke had reminded you that the time you had with them is limited. You wanted to spend as much of as you could in the home you grew up in. You wanted Jamie to feel the love that seeped from every pore of that house. Your home was not an unhappy one but it didn’t burst at the seams with joy like your childhood home did. Your son deserved to feel the warmth that kind of love provided.

You opened the door for Jamie and he hopped out, teddy bear in tow. You grabbed both of your backpacks from the floorboard of the backseat and made your way to the porch. The wood was rotting and the steps were creaky. Steve had assured you that you had plenty left over from the Chicago house to replace it immediately. The move happened so quickly that there wasn’t time to have it done before you moved in. The contractor was coming first thing tomorrow morning. You could put up with a terrible porch for one more night. You called your mom to let her know that you had made it safely and told her you would be by in the morning. Late morning. The drive had exhausted you and you were ready to fall into bed. Thankfully the movers had been there the day before unloading and setting up your furniture. But you had a little boy to feed first.

After pizza had been eaten, a bath taken and little teeth brushed, it was finally bedtime. “Don’t forget my story Mama.” Jamie said. Even though he was as exhausted as you, he still fought sleep. He didn’t want to miss a thing that might happen while he was asleep.

“I would never forget your story, my love.” You assure him. You open the box marked “Jamie-Books.” And grab the one sitting on top. You snuggle up next to him in his bed and open the book.

That’s where Steve found you an hour later as he was readying himself for bed. He smiled down at his little family and pulled the covers up over you both. A kiss on the head for each of you and he went on to the bedroom you shared, humming in contentment.

Voices from downstairs woke you. Jamie was snuggled into your chest, snoring again. With a chuckle you attempt to disentangle his limbs from yours without waking him. He stirred a little and rolled over pulling his teddy tight to his chest. You pad down the stairs and catch Steve walking out the front door with another man. Must be the contractor. You slip back up the stairs to have a shower.

After you shower and dress you make your way back downstairs. The smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen catches your attention. Steve is leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand. The other man is looking over some paperwork spread out on the island, back to you. “Honey! There you are.” Steve said. “This is our contractor. He has some great ideas for the porch.” The man straightens and turns around.

A wave of coldness overtakes your whole body as you meet the brown eyes that you had spent a decade trying to forget. The recognition in his eyes stops your heart. His mouth falls open and his brow furrows. He starts to say something and you decide in an instant how this is going to go. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” You stick your hand out and offer your name. You hope Steve couldn’t see the way you shook your head. He looks confused momentarily but extends his left hand to shake yours. You notice the wedding ring on his finger.

“Hello. Joel Miller. Nice to meet ya darlin’.”

You snatch your hand away at the use of the pet name. The name he had called you so long ago. Steve’s phone rings just then. “I have to take this. Joel, fill my lady in on the details if you don’t mind.” He doesn't wait for a response, just answers the call and runs up the stairs to his office, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask quietly but not trying to hide the venom in your voice.

“My job darlin’.” Joel answers.

“Don’t call me that, Joel.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “Please.” You beg. He can see the pain in your eyes and he would do anything, give anything, to take it away. He is well aware that he is the cause of it and that broke his heart. He starts walking towards you with his arm extended. Hand outstretched to comfort you. He stops midway when he sees your body stiffen. He had no right to comfort you anymore. He lost that when he lost you. “I’m gonna tell Steve we need to hire a new contractor.” You tell him. You just had to think of a good enough reason that wouldn’t rouse any suspicion. You could not have Joel in your home.

“You don’t have do that dar-“ he stops himself. “I can send Tommy to do the work if you’d rather.”

“I think that would be best.” You reply. You and Tommy had always been good friends and you felt the loss of him almost as deeply as you did his brother. He had tried to remain friends even after you and Joel had broken up but it was too painful for you. It hurt so much to be on the periphery of Joel’s life but not in it.

The two of you stand there awkwardly for a moment. The tension in the room was palpable. Joel breaks the silence. “You look different. I always thought if I ever saw you again you’d still be barefoot with flowers in your hair.” He smiles at the memory.

“I haven’t been that girl in a long time Joel.” You say sadly. His smile falls and you can see tears rimming his beautiful brown eyes.

“I’m so sorry, for everything.” His shoulders slump and he looks so pitiful you want to reach out and touch him. But you know doing so would break you in a way that could never be mended.

You turn to leave and softly reply “yeah, me too.”

You walk up the stairs as calmly as you can. You open the door to Steve’s office and catch his gaze. “One second.” He says into the phone.

“Hey I have to run to my parents’ house real quick.” You tell him. He just nods and resumes his call. You grab your purse and hurry out the door, not pausing to see if Joel remained. His pickup sat parked on the curb but thankfully he wasn’t in it. You hurry yourself into your car, jam the keys into the ignition and slam the car into reverse.

You just need to get away from that house. A decade’s worth of feelings are threatening to breach the dam you had built for them. And you won’t give Joel Fucking Miller the satisfaction of knowing that he could still get to you. You can’t let Steve know either. You had decided it would be best for him to never know that you knew Joel before your “introduction” in the kitchen.

You make it three blocks before the dam bursts. You pull over as huge heaving sobs wrack your entire body. The pain in your heart is so sharp you grab at your chest. Your breath is ragged and the sounds your cries make frighten you. You haven’t cried like this since that first lonely winter in the apartment you were supposed to have shared with Joel. You aren’t sure how much time has passed when your breathing finally slows and the tears finally stop. Your entire body feels like jelly. Every ounce of energy sapped from you.

You knew there was a chance of running into Joel when you moved back. You hadn’t expected it to be your very first day. And in your own home no less. You make your way to your parents house and all you can think is “what the fuck am I going to do?”

Chapter 2

Big shout out to @cannolighost for giving this a once over for me and giving me the confidence to post it!!!!

#joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou smut #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou #linger on #divider by cafekitsune #banner by cafekitsune

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