#I’m having FUN

[alaskan-wallflower]

Okay, fine, y’all wanna play the Steve angst game?

In my headcanon, Steve’s parents had a very messy divorce. His mom got addicted to cocaine during the divorce, and was sent to prison soon after the divorce had been closed. Steve watched his mama getting hauled away after that, to rehab, to jail for smuggling drugs, and his dad soon fed him even more lies. Steve was young when this all happened, so he didn’t remember much. He just remembers watching his mom change. He missed her anyway, he missed her perfume when she’d hug him, he missed the times she used to sing to him before he went to sleep, he missed how she’d leave the door open just a crack for him…but it’s fine now. It was gone for nearly ten years as of the book. But then he git the letter.

The same week Johnny killed the soc, the same week Johnny and Pony ran away. The same week Sandy sent Soda that letter. That same week. He opened it with shaking hands in the bathroom at the DX—nowhere else felt safe enough. He needed privacy. He didn’t even get halfway through the letter before ehe just..threw up. Hr felt sick. His mom had gone no contact for ten years, without reaching out once, only to write to him to “reconnect”? He wasn’t right for the rest of the week. He tried to be there for Soda, pushing his own letter down to hold Soda while he sobbed. His anger at the rumble was fueled by that letter. His anger at Ponyboy for asking about Sandy was fueled by that letter.

He stuffed the letter into the envelope and burned it with his lighter. He watched it turn into ash and smoke, and he wished he could do that to the rest of the reminders of her he held, but you can’t erase what’s engrained in your brain, can you?

[barren-heart]

not romantic partners or bros but a secret third thing where you build a secret tunnel system only you and your partner can access via your bed

[ghost-kings-court-jester]

May I offer you some Gale memes in this trying time.

[emry-stars-art]

I don’t know if you all realize how often I think about @02511213942 ‘s art and specifically the “Aaron and Neil were friends first” lol. Neil brought snacks for the study session

(I do know there’s a fic about the topic out there as well but I.. don’t read fic much so 025’s was my intro the au train of thought and I fell in love with it. Andrew’s throwback memory is their art from the above linked post and the whole thing is worth seeing again even if you’ve already seen it 😂💕)

Anyway Aaron, new counterargument: what if Neil brought Andrew a little treat tho

[kaynnnna]

[divorceduo]

Wanted to doodle gem n etho as twins(?) cuz I kept seeing so much art of them and I got inspired!!!!!

[strpw]

My honest reaction to the recent grian and scar’s traffic episodes

Also this

And this one 🥺

The gays must be gay but the more I watch traffic series the more I think that destiny is homophobic

[blamebonk]

Sadly sol has no magnificent beard to complete to outfit (could not find the spell for it)

[lemonlimestar]

attempt #99 of ridding the world of that stupid t-shirt&jeans ensemble

[electricxmayhem]

the gelphie carabiners….

[lizaisdrawing]

Burglar Wally AU

@/pastaghettiz on insta :)

[alaskan-wallflower]

eleven year old darry waiting with his parents to pick five year old ponyboy off the bus after he finished his first day of kindergarten

twelve year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of first grade and helping him print his name in chalk on the driveway while their parents watch

thirteen year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of second grade and comforting him after he started getting picked on for his name

fourteen year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of third grade, showing him how to do multiplication tables because pony wanted to be ‘smart like him’

fifteen year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of fourth grade and throwing around a football with him and his father

sixteen year old darry who skips football practice to wait at the bus stop for pony after his first day of fifth grade and racing him home after Pony started doing track

seventeen year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of sixth grade while he consoles pony about middle school and the problems he’s going through socially

eighteen year old darry waiting for ponyboy at the bus stop after his first day of seventh grade and talking to him about how he can start running track with the older kids with how good he is

nineteen year old darry who has to drive to school to pick ponyboy up early to tell him that his parents died while knowing he’s never going to be able to wait for his brother at the bus stop again

[stalecherios]

Rewatching the Fable S3 finale and can I just say? Violet shushing Icarus when the start apologizing after killing Fable is making me physically ill?

LIKE IN MY MIND MAP

Icarus is being cradled because canonical they are struggling to stand, and Violet is just wiping their tears as they try to get back up to start apologizing?

ABSOLUTE 5 STAR 3 COURSE ANGST MEAL IM JUST NOW SEEING

Absolutely DEVASTATING

[moldypumpkins]

Is that world famous band Dethklok recreating the famous Crash 1996 behind the scenes cast photo?

[unforced3rr0r]

THE DEAL || CA

———————————————————————

part 1 of ??

summary: Carlos hated having a PR manager especially one who was his age. Convincing her to leave was the best plan he'd ever had, but what happens when he realises he doesn't want her to go when it's too?

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warnings: enemies to lovers, kind of asshole Carlos

a/n: this is going to be a series, I’m excited about it!! Let me know what you guys think and if you want to be on the taglist!

MASTERLIST

Being Carlos Alcaraz's PR manager was not for the weak. The job description seemed like it would be a breeze and when your boss had suggested switching F1 drivers for tennis players you really believed you’d be getting the quieter deal.

You’d occasionally watched tennis and it seemed the biggest issue you’d face was a broken racquet.

Carlos should’ve been even easier, he didn’t have a girlfriend and never seemed to be pictured with any women so the most frustrating part of the job was gone.

But Carlos didn’t want a PR manager. He certainly didn’t want a PR manager that was his age telling him what to do and how to act.

The first time you met you thought you’d caught him on a bad day not recognising the cold brown eyes stare watching you.

You’d prepared for your job, watching interviews and clips of Carlos before you started and the arms crossed man that soon in front of you was not the ball of sunshine from the videos you’d seen.

You had to admit you’d been looking forward to the job at first, a funny, charismatic, attractive tennis player should’ve been fun. You’d seen the way Carlos treated him like family and you were expecting the same attitude.

But quickly things turned. You’d watch training frequently, observing from the sidelines picking up the terms and technical parts of his game for notes and interviews.

Carlos would be laughing with Juan Carlos or his brother or one of the other members of his team when his eyes would meet yours.

In a second his eyes would go from lighting up to narrowing in on you, his laugh disappearing and posture going rigid.

At first, it was manageable, your job could mostly be done from a distance and you could deal with hardened stares.

You thought it would be temporary, that once he realised you were here to stay you’d finally get to meet the Carlos everyone else did.

But it seemed with every interaction his facade grew. A team dinner after Turin you just so happened to be on the furthest end of the table, and while Carlos took the time to talk to his entire team you found yourself left out of the conversation.

Juan Carlos spent months reassuring you that Carlos would get over it but the winter break was ending and with a new season on the horizon you didn’t know how much more you could take.

You were starting to get exhausted by Carlos constantly making your life more difficult.

You were missing deadlines because he wouldn’t give you answers to questions, doing damage control when he posted near nudes on the internet and made sure reporters didn’t piss him off with dumb questions.

Every week that went by you slowly lost the confident attitude the team had got used to seeing, quietly sat in the corner working away rather that trying to involved.

Juan Carlos had noticed the shift in demeanour but he feared there wasn’t much he could do. It was between you and Carlos to figure out.

...

It was the weekend before the Australian Open when you were ready to snap.

The time difference was rough, with your eyelids feeling heavy but sleep escaping you. You sat surrounded by work that you needed to done, while your room called your name.

The day had already been too long, landing in Australia at seemingly the crack of dawn when you realised your bags hadn’t made it to Australia with you.

You’d spent three hours arguing with airport staff when you decided to give up and hope they found their way to the hotel.

You went straight to watching Carlos train, taking media photos and organising some content for the day. That in itself was excruciating as everything you asked him to do took ten times longer than it should’ve.

But now you were sat in your hotel, tired and drained and desperately needing a change of clothes.

You were trying to organise Carlos' media plan for the first week of the tournament, but trying to get him to respond to any of your messages was infuriating.

You needed his answers to the pre-planned questions so you could check them over and give him some nice talking points about off-season but every time you checked your messages you were met with 'delivered'.

It wasn't late, but the jetlag was beginning to hit you which was feeding into your anger. Every second that Carlos ignored your messages was a second you were missing sleep.

Just as you were ready to give up assuming he’d gone to sleep, you received a notification that he’d posted on his Instagram story. That was your last straw.

You audibly groaned, slamming your laptop shut and storming out of your room with it under your arm. You marched yourself to the elevator angrily tapping your foot as the elevator seemed to move at the slowest pace ever.

The ding echoed in your brain, and as you stepped out you were hit with a new wave of anger. You heard his dumb laugh echoing through the walls. This dumb, annoying, stupid tennis player was laughing while you had been begging for him to respond to a simple message.

You stormed down the hall, your chest angrily pounding. You were at the end of your tether. You were so tired of dealing with this man baby.

It had been months of being ignored, ostracised and treated like you had some kind of contagious disease and you were over it.

You stood before his door and knocked repeatedly. You heard him call out that he was coming and you prepared yourself to greet him.

The door swung open, a cheesy grin on his face as he turned see who was at the door. The second he clocked you it faded and was replaced with a nonchalant stare.

He opened his mouth no doubt to ask why you were here but you pushed past him into the hotel room. Juan Carlos and a few other members of the team were in the room and immediately as they saw you they went silent.

"if you wouldn't mind. Alcaraz and I need to get some work done and clearly, he can't handle any distractions." A few of the guys snickered and they didn’t waste any time standing up and heading for the door.

You heard Juan Carlos wish the Spaniard luck as he walked past. Laughing as he patted him on the back. The door closed and Carlos scoffed as you situated yourself on his sofa.

"¿Qué carajo?" (What the fuck?) The Spaniard's tone made you laugh, a dry, fed-up kind of laugh.

"What the fuck indeed. Sit down, shut up and only talk when I tell you to." He looked at you utterly bewildered.

"You know you're supposed to work for me? not the other way around." God you wanted to kill him. You stood up angrily turning to face him with fire in your eyes.

"Funnily enough, that is what I'm trying to do. That is what I have been trying to do for months but for some reason you want to make that as hard as humanly possible for me. Frankly, I'm fed up so sit the fuck down. please."

"No." He stood his ground and crossed his arms as you really considered attacking him.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I don't want to." He turned to head to the small kitchenette, turning on the coffee machine that sent an infuriating buzz throughout the room.

“I don’t want to be stood here, but because you can’t answer a simple text, I am. So please let me do my goddamn job for once.” He scoffed, and leaning against the counter,

“Maybe I didn’t answer your text because I don’t want to answer the questions, ever thought about that?” His stupid grin made you want to throttle him.

"Well Carlos Alcaraz, the almighty. Unfortunately for you I need those answers so how do I get you to sit there and answer these dumb questions." your sarcasm permeated the room.

He paused for a moment, a slight hesitation as he reached for the mug on the side. He turned slowly to face you, a look of pure genius on his face.

"Quit." He moved around the counter calmly, standing in front of you. You hadn’t been this close to the Spaniard since the day you met him.

The invisible 3 feet rule seemingly being implemented by him after the first day.

"What?" Your confusion clearly entertained him as he smiled an evil, sort of confronting smile.

"I'll do what you want for the entire tournament. But at the end of it, you quit." You paused, the tension from the last few months piling up on your shoulders. Did he really hate you that much?

You weren't a quitter, you believed in working hard and figuring out issues. But Carlos had been treating you like an outcast for months and if it meant never having to deal with him again you were seriously considering it.

"One question?" Carlos raised his eyebrow and he zoned in on your focused demeanor.

"seguir." (go on.)

"Why do you hate me so much?" His calm demeanour faltered slightly, something flashing through his gaze that you couldn't quite decipher before it was quickly replaced with indifference.

He grabbed the mug, and moved to the sofa, lazily sitting down. His arm rested along the back and he glanced up at you.

"I don't need a PR manager and I'm sick of you treating me like a child when you're my age." The answer nipped at the back of your brain. You rarely treated him like less that he deserved and if you did it was only ever in retaliation.

"Maybe if you acted your age I wouldn't have to." He scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance.

"It's clear you don't want to be here either, just take the deal." You dropped yourself onto the sofa. Your laptop sat beside you and you let your head fall into your hands. You were defeated.

"I wanted to be here." You didn’t look up but if you had you would’ve seen Carlos’ gaze soften, a pang of guilt hitting him before it was quickly shoved away.

You thought back to your previous job. Travelling the world with F1 drivers had been difficult but those guys had become your friends, you loved your job and you had fun. You wanted this to be like that but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen.

Maybe it was time for you to find something else.

“Fine you win.” You let your hands fall to your sides, your gaze lifting and meeting the brown eyes that made your life a misery.

"I'll quit at the end of the tournament, but you have to give full energy to everything and I need a pair of pyjamas, my luggage got lost.” His eyes lit up with some sort of amusement. At your troubles or you’d you were sure but you needed a solution and he offered one.

Carlos smirked, the first time he'd even remotely smiled in your direction. He moved himself within touching distance of you, reaching out his hand for you to shake.

You interlocked your hand with his, his eyes baring down on you.

"Deal."

————————————————————————

taglist: @champagnecoastca

[lapinelantern]

Ur jester 💕