#and life ruining. so they pick the worst memory to get back

[comas-are-for-sleeping]

anyway do u think deadpool and wolverine is on streaming yet i need to find that on a totally legal website soon

as of saturday night IT IS NOT !!! which sucks and they lied

i know it is on the totally legal website soaper.tv or whatever its called ;)

ok coming back to here after writing all the tags thirty tag limit?? that is wild to me i didnt know that existed

[warmilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 11

______________________________

"Okay, I can't take it anymore, why the hell does everyone get gloomy every time we're at the manor? Everyone seems fine at duty?" Duke places his cutlery down, his tone nervous yet determined to find out what's wrong with his family

He noticed.

Of course he did, after he lost his whole life, he was given to Bruce, and he loved them, they loved him too, they were kind, understanding, and they were all he needed after everything

That wasn't the same for them, They were empty, only rare moments where they relish in happy moments

Did he ruin it? Did he do something? Or was the feeling of never truly being accepted is just because he's new? Does a certain test have to happen?

Worst part, Duke can't even complain, they showered him with love, and he tried too, he plans activities, though they always comply it doesn't help, he feels as if there's this void he can't seem to fill

What can he do to make his family well?

Is this because of that child?

(Name) Wayne?

He couldn't meet (Name), for they were already gone, when he first met Batman, when he first met the family, he didn't see anything wrong, no grieving, he thought it was odd, but it has been a year, no... Bruce would never forget a child, let alone his

Would he?

Then he saw, Duke thought he would try to make his family feel better, by asking questions about (Name), maybe recalling happy memories about that child would cheer them up

But they couldn't speak, Tim who is usually chatty would quiet down and keep to himself, Steph who would never make Duke feel lonely stepped away when asked

He saw no pictures, he heard no stories, He noticed no child.

His family, his new family couldn't have neglected and god forbid forgot a child?

The same one who took him in?

The same one he found peace with?

He knew the answer was right In front of him, Bruce often, though he cares about his kids, Duke knows Bruce is more of Batman than Bruce, And Batman loves his duty more than his kids

He knew the entire family put each other on second, Dick with the titans, Tim with young justice, Oracle with Birds of prey, this family puts family on second, but it doesn't mean they don't care

It sometimes makes Duke wonder if he'll find people that will push him to put the Wayne's second

Could it be, that everyone was so engrossed in their own lives, in their duty, their second make shift family, that they forgot about the first? that they forgot someone needed them, (Name) needed them

He knows they failed, and he's scared they might fail him too

Duke inhales and exhales, his eyes straight to Bruce "How long are you going to let your guilt eat you? You made a choice to pick your duty over your kid, so stand by it" he says

Duke knows they hurt someone, The Waynes hurt someone very vulnerable, but he can't bring himself to hate his family, they're the only one he has

Duke can't wait for the time he meets another family, maybe then he can let go of the Waynes

______________________________

"oh fuck we are so in trouble" you yell as a bunch of hippocampi swim further and further away from the camp

The harpies screech, and Mr. D- looks disappointed, as he's being held back by Hermes, you begin to think what would happen if Hermes lets go of his grip on Mr. D's arm

Percy shuts his eyes tight as he hugs his hippocampus "Thank you dad..." He whispered

Poseidon sending the hippocampi meant his father believed in him, that his father believed that he should be the one to save camp

And it made Percy believe he was enough, that he was strong

Despite the negligence Percy and the rest of the camp suffered, small moments that make the Gods show they care is enough for them

It made you wonder if your father had done the same, if he ignores you for months but pops in to check on you from time to time

Would you have stayed?

Would that have been enough for you?

Seeing as you hold on to the fact Aphrodite called you her favorite, you fear that you would have

______________________________

Duke knows the people he loves did something wrong, but because he loves them he can't bring himself to hate them, he waits to love another person more than he loves his family to leave

@ghostdoodlen @ratchetprime211 @delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven @sweetconnoisseurgardener @dhanyasri @bella-wolf100 @shortnsweetsposts @roseapov @d3sperate-enuf @d3kstar

[leaawrites]

Time will pass, but our love won't

Logan Huntzberger x fem!reader

Summary: When Logan asks Y/n the one question that could ruin their future together or make it last forever.

or

A different outcome of Logan asking Rory to marry him.

Warnings: use of Y/n, suggestive content (very little), female reader, family problems (on both ends), mention of marriage

Wordcount: 2k

Masterlist

One day before her Yale graduation. He could’ve chosen the day after, when she had been blackout drunk and was now suffering from the worst hangover known to man kind. It could’ve been while they were half asleep in the middle of the night. But one day before her graduation, when everything seemed to already be too much, she couldn’t say anything but, “I need time.”

Logan was disappointed - no wonder. He knew what he wanted and he was sure that he would get it. He wanted her. Forever and always.

After Rory broke up with him, she was the one by his side. When his father had another one of his bad days and decided to let it out on Logan, she was the one who picked up the phone, knowing what happened and said to him: “Come over.” Before hanging up and setting up the living room for a late night conversation with snacks and alcohol. Whenever he had a stupid idea she would tell him which consequences he could face, though when he decided to do it anyways - so most times - she supported him no matter what. Even when it ended with him in the hospital and her cursing him out for being so stupid, saying that she would never let him leave his apartment again - which was a white lie. She was there for him; always. He wanted that to last until he died.

His father told him it was a bad idea, after he came home drunk once again, slurring his words, slamming his door shut and climbing out the window, fleeing into her arms once again. This night made him think about it more intense then ever before. In her arms he felt save. He was surprised that she still let him in after he disturbed her sleep so many times before, even when she told him it was alright because she wasn’t even asleep in the first place. Always hovering over homework she started too late since she could study better at night, with a coffee sitting next to her and a empty cup already left in the kitchen sink.

Saying that she needed time wasn’t the best answer, it was better than “no” but worse than “yes” even when it was the truth. She needed time, for everything. There had to be a list, covered in little scribbles at the edge of the paper, filled with overthinking and anxiety. Just like now.

Y/n sat on her bed, paper crumbled together, pillow stuffed between her chest and legs as she held on to it tight. tears were welling up in her eyes, which always fled back to the little blue box that held at least a million dollars in it. She hadn’t opened it since he showed it to her. Her chest was cramping together at the memory of it.

They had been on a quiet walk after leaving her parents house, filled with people none of the two knew. They stopped in the middle of the park - or rather he stopped her - and he poured his heart out to her. There had never been a moment before where she felt seen as much as right there, though the ring ruined it. It didn’t specifically ruin the moment, but it did ruin her confidence she built up in the last couple days in order to not seem to nervous when getting her certificate.

It sat there so innocently, watching her. It was almost screaming at her to open it, so she did. Her fingers were shaking as she held it between her fingers, opening it with a hammering heart. As she sat it - closely and with a still mind for the first time - there was something so calming at the thought of having a secure future. With the house and the tree and the papers that she could write for, it seemed simple. and that was what she craved. All her life, the future was always a mystery. She was never certain where she would land in the end, there was no one really securing her in that sense. It had always been all or nothing. And most time, for her at least, it had been nothing. In 8th Grade the B’s seemed to let her know that she had to work even hard for an A. In her home, the books reminded her that nothing would be enough for her to have it all. But Logan offered her everything. He offered her a hand that would take her to that All she craved.

“You look half dead, Y/n,” Rory said, half laughing at her friend and half caring.

Y/n tried to laugh with her, though the only thing leaving her mouth was a yawn, explaining her dark eyes and ever closing eye lids. Though Rory and Logan had somewhat of an relationship, that never stopped them from being close. They never became best friends, and probably never would, but they offered comfort to the other when needed.

“Had a long night,” she said, trying to ignore the raised eyebrows and fleeting glances between Lucy and Olivia.

“A long night together with Lover boy?” Lucy nudged her. As two of Rory’s friends, Lucy and Olivia quickly bonded with her too, they were bitter at the beginning after learning that their friend’s boyfriend went out with another one of their friends after breaking up, though that quickly went away when Rory also moved on, discovering an old spark with Jess. Now, all they did was tease the girl for her boyfriend’s rumored past.

“Not with him,” she defended herself, cutting off the last part of her sentence. There had never been a major conflict between the two that wasn’t solved before midnight, she was unsure how her friends would react when she told them that something happened between the two.

“Oh no, what happened?” Olivia asked, sensing the uncomfortable feeling in her friends voice.

“Nothing major, don’t worry about it,” she waved them off, crossing her arms over her chest. A forced smile covering her tired face.

“Are you sure?” Rory asked, touching her shoulder in comfort. The girl knew better than anyone how Logan can be, so a million possible answer ran through her head right now, though none of them were about what actually happened.

Just as Y/n was about to answer, someone called out for the graduates to make their way over to the event. Y/n was the first one to walk towards the stage, away from the problem. Rory’s eyes followed her, not convinced by her behavior. Lucy and Olivia only shrugged before following their friend who walked faster than ever before - which was almost impossible.

People were buzzing around her, happy families full of smiles as their children finally path their own way or crying because they went away for good now. The sun was hot on her skin under the black robe as she stared at the certificate in her hands. Finally she made it. Finally she was able to flee from her past. It was finally her time. No weekends filled with guilt because everyone else got to go home to their family. No holidays spent alone at a lake house she couldn’t associate with anything but family drama and fights. Now, every weekend, every holiday, was for her to decide how it went.

“They’re not here, are they?” A voice said, making her look up. Logan cast a shadow over her body as she sat against a tree on campus. He looked down at her, holding his hand out to help her up.

“On a business trip,” she said, while pulling herself up. Standing now face to face he saw what everyone else saw for the first time. The broken girl he only got to know behind closed doors. She wasn’t sad about her parent’s absence, it happened before. Now it didn’t face her anymore.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve made them come here for you,” Logan said, hands stuffed in his pockets. An awkward silence settled over the pair that was full of smiles and giggles most times.

“It’s not that important,” she said, smiling at him in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Both knew what caused the tension, now she only had to take the knife and decide what to do with it. “Not as important as something else.”

“I remember when I graduated,” Logan said, trying to make their conversation last a little longer in case it was their last. “I was a little tipsy - that’s a big surprise, huh? - And I did trip, and I reached out and grabbed the robe of Marcia Hadley, who was so not the person to grab.”

“Logan,” Y/n said, making him stop talking. She always had been the one who was rational enough to start a conversation when it was needed, even when it might hurt.

“I love you,” he said, taking her hands in his. “If this is the last time I tell you that, I want you to know that I mean. There is no one I’ve ever loved or cared about as much as I do with you.”

“Logan,” she tried again to stop his rambling, though he wouldn’t shut up.

“I have everything planned out, everything. There is nothing you need to worry about. You want to never work again? It’s alright, I won’t be happy about it, but if you want to, do it. You want to have a Porsche that I can’t even pay? I will work extra.”

“I made a list,” she cut him off. “And I have thought about it a lot, as you can probably see,” she moved her hand towards her face, making both laugh, “and that ‘All or nothing’ motto that you have, I’m unsure about that.”

“Y/n,” Logan sighed, almost pleading for her to stop talking words he didn’t want to hear.

“Let me finish, please,” she said.

“I always do,” he joked, raising his eyebrows.

Y/n ignore his comment, though her checks warmed up a bit. “As I already said, I’ve made a list and I came to a conclusion, because - if I’m being honest - I only had one thing staying on there.” Slowly she lost her hands from his, pulling the little blue box out of her pocket.

“Y/n, don’t do this to me,” he begged, the color leaving his face.

“Ask me again,” she said, putting the box in his direction.

Logan looked up at her in surprised, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and hope. “What?” he asked, hoping he didn’t misunderstand her.

“Ask me again,” she urged him.

“Y/n L/n, do you wanna marry me?” He asked again, opening the box only to find it empty. He looked at it confused, fear threatening on his face as he feared he lost it.

“I will,” she said, left hand lifting up to meet his face. Logan’s face lit up, the heat of the sun finally filling his veins. As he was about to close the gap between his lover and him, she stopped him, hand placed on his cheek to push him back a bit. “Under one condition.”

“What now?” He sounded almost desperate to finally kiss her.

“We’re not gonna marry in the next year, only figuring our new life out with new jobs and a new home. When we have that all figured out, you can finally make me Mrs. Huntzberger officially,” she told him.

His stance fell for a second before he straightened his back again and nod his head. “Alright. One year and not longer.”

“You’re a desperate man, Huntzberger,” Y/n said, smirking as she came closer to his face.

“Only for you, Mrs Huntzberger,” he said, laughing at her. Closing the distance felt like a vow already. They knew that it wasn’t gonna be a long year, not if they spent it together at least.

[thetarotwitch111]

What’s their biggest secret? - pick a pile

Spotify reading: taylor’s version

Here’s to show you my spotify readings, is like tarot but using music! I interpret the lyrics of the songs that start playing, connecting them to your life.

✨help me keep bringing you free readings with some TIPS.

Thank you in advance.

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T.S 1:

Don’t Blame Me + August

They’re caught up in a love they probably shouldn’t be. It’s one of those intense I can’t get enough feelings, even though they know deep down it’s not going anywhere. They might play it cool on the outside, but inside? They’re totally obsessed. Like, they know it’s bad for them, but it feels too good to walk away from.

And then there’s the fact that this whole thing is probably long over, but they just can’t let it go. It’s very August, where they’re holding onto a moment that was never meant to last. Maybe it was a fling, maybe it was a situationship that burned out fast, but here they are, still thinking about it, still waiting for something to happen that just won’t.

They’re stuck in the past, replaying it all in their head. They act like they’re fine, but they’re secretly waiting for this connection to come back around, even though they know it’s a long shot.

Let me know if it resonates!

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T.S. 2:

Lover + Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me

Your person is dreaming of a perfect relationship. They’re imagining a future with this person, but they’re not being fully real. They’re hiding parts of themselves because they’re scared that if they show who they really are, it’s going to mess everything up.

On the outside, it’s all Lover vibes, like they want the romance, the closeness, all that. But on the inside, they’ve got some stuff they’re keeping hidden. They think if their person saw the messy, complicated sides of them, they’d leave. So they’re playing it safe, showing only the “””best”””version of themselves, but it’s draining them.

They want deep love, but they don’t believe they can have it if they let someone see all their flaws. It’s like they’re living in this balance between being loved and being scared they’ll ruin it.

Let me know if it resonates!

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T.S. 3:

Anti-Hero + Cardigan

They’re really hard on themselves and they’re constantly overthinking everything, feeling like they’re not good enough, or like they’re always screwing things up. It’s Anti-Hero all the way. they might joke about it or act like they’re fine, but deep down they’re their own worst critic. Every little mistake feels huge to them, even if no one else notices.

They’re also carrying around a lot of nostalgia. Cardigan is their whole mood because they miss feeling truly loved and seen. They’re comparing what they have now to what they had before, whether that’s a relationship, a friendship, whatever. There’s this past connection that made them feel safe, and now they don’t feel like they measure up, like they’re not anyone’s favorite anymore.

They’re stuck between their own insecurities and the memories of a time when they felt better about themselves. They want to feel that love again, but they can’t scape the feeling that they’re not enough.

Let me know if it resonates!

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[cod-imagines-fanfiction]

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend to be interrogated by the 141 (2.3k words, part 2)

Summary: Valeria despairs when you don't answer her calls and immediately returns to her residence, only to find you gone. In the meantime, Graves presses you for information, and Alejandro starts to understand why Valeria hides you so well.

TW: mentions of cheating, toxic Valeria and very toxic Alejandro (OOC but I think it adds juicy drama, sorry for ruining him!). Mentions of death and violence. apologies for the imperfect Spanish, I've been using Google Translate! I titled this as 'Valeria's girlfriend' but I ended up writing them as kind of unofficially married. Link to part 1 Link to part 3 Link to A03

Valeria knew something was wrong when you didn't pick up the phone. In all your years together, she never had to call for you more than once, you were always at her beck and call. Her face turned to stone as the call went to voicemail, it felt like her heart stopped and then started again with fire and poison. In hindsight, she should have worried about your safety first, but unfortunately, her insecurities got the best of her. Anger seethed within her as she thought of all the ways you had betrayed her the moment she left you alone. Infidel! Her right-hand man Rafael was looking at you closely when she left, no? How could she be so blind as to trust you? Of course, you were jumping around with her men behind her back - you seemed all innocent and pure, but sure enough the viper within revealed itself and finally slithered out of her tight grasp. Immediately, she called Rafael to check up on the house, and when he also didn't pick up the phone, she cut her trip short and packed her bags. El Sin Nombre doesn't need to explain why she's leaving early! She commanded her business partners to figure it out amongst themselves as she went to her chopper and rushed home. Her hands shook as she navigated the helicopter, her mind unable to stop thinking of all the ways you were intertwined with Rafael on your marriage bed; desecrating your marriage vows. Of course this would happen. Why would fate let Valeria get away with the betrayal she'd inflicted on Alejandro? It was only right that her karmic debt would catch up with her.

It was as she was lowering her helicopter on the freshly cut grass of your home that she began to realise her devastating mistake. Doors were left open with the curtains billowing with the wind, broken glass from shattered windows littered the entryway and, worst of all, dried trails of blood lead a path from the house to the bushes. Her heart caught at her throat as her eyes roamed frantically from one catastrophic sign to the other. Guilt coiled around her stomach and she cursed her darkness for having doubted your loyalty when really, you were fighting for your life. "Mi esposa," Valeria whispered as rushed out of her helicopter, the blades still cutting the air as she ran indoors, not even bothering to be cautious of any enemies that could still be lurking within the shadows. She knew there were bodies dumped behind the green bushes that you so tenderly cared for, but she couldn't make herself check for you there. Part of her hoped you were smart and had the time to hide somewhere good, but she knew you were as helpless as a child when it came to things like this. You, who were so kind and good, left to fend for yourself. How could she possibly think you'd remain unharmed within this field of work? Valeria selfishly forced a divine light like you to live in the shadows with her, of course you'd get snuffed out eventually. If not by Valeria's own hand, her selfishness and greed, her need to possess and own you at all times, then by the selfish and greedy hands of others. All these thoughts rushed through her as she ran from one hallway to another, rushing to your part of the mansion. Memories of violence clung to your home like spiderwebs, she could see the struggle that ensued in the doors left open when you'd normally keep them closed. In the flower vase that you lovingly refilled every week that now lay on the floor shattered, shattered like her heart. The flowers lay on the floor, dying.

"Mi corazon...," she whimpered and came to a stop right before your bedroom door, one hand clutching her chest as she stood there, too afraid to step in and face your fate. She could only hear the wind catching on your curtains and the light humming of your electric blanket. She could already picture the catastrophe. You were in bed, lathering your lotions on, probably adjusting your night light because you were too afraid to sleep in the dark without Valeria next to you. You were all snuggled for bed, probably waiting for her call on the phone, when somebody came for you. "God, give me courage," she said as she stepped inside and lifted her eyes.

It was as if you evaporated into thin air. She saw the marks your body left on the bed where you lay on it and your phone was still there. Valeria's eyes scanned every inch of the space, no blood or other fluids were on any of the surfaces. You were either taken, or whatever happened to you happened elsewhere. All your belongings were still there. She didn't want to have false hope, so she willed herself to look at the bodies left by the bushes. She charged through the rest of the houses, taking note of all the mess. Her chopper was still on as she crossed the garden you tended to, the sweet smell of roses faintly covering the stench of blood lifting from the pile of bodies. Rafael was there, along with the rest of her men who manned the house in her absence. Treacherous relief washed through her because you were not there. This was the most devastating attack that Valeria had ever experienced in all her years and she could not think of anyone that hated her enough to do this. A rival cartel? Unlikely. They were violent criminals, sure, but they still kept a code of conduct amongst themselves. El Sin Nombre was the biggest competitor out there, no one was so stupid as to do this.

Valeria went to the security room and saw the CCTV footage. Her heart stopped when she saw an all-too-familiar figure invading her home. The tall, dark man cut through her men and made his way directly to where her wife lay. It's like he knew exactly where she was. "Alejandro?" Valeria's heart dropped as she watched Alejandro prepare to break the door and attack her wife, who was shrouded in a naive innocence where she could never comprehend the attack she was about to experience.

Angry tears threatened to spill from her glassy eyes as she saw Alejandro's hand grab you by the throat and drag you out of your marital bed. The same bed that you made love in every night, now permanently defiled with the way he violently dragged you out of it. Bruises from his fingers would have definitely formed on your soft skin by now, if you were still alive. Valeria watched on as Alejandro handcuffed her wife and pushed her through the hallways, saying something to her ear whilst parading her through the home she was supposed to be safe in. It was no coincidence that Alejandro stared directly at one of the cameras as he pushed her wife forward, looking directly at Valeria's eyes. This was no incidental operation; this was deliberate and malicious. More so, it was fucking personal. Yes, this was where Valeria ran her operation, but it was also the home you and her nested in so lovingly. And now it was trampled all over by men in uniforms, just like those fallen flowers. She forced herself to watch on as you were put in a helicopter and disappeared in the night sky.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I hope you're ready to talk now, sweetheart." After a few hours of silence, the door to the container you were kept in opened, bringing in some rays of sunlight before shutting again. The American, whom you now knew was called Commander Graves, entered along with Alejandro. It had been many hours since your abduction, you had no way of telling how long exactly. But you were tired and restless, and cold. You thought they might move you to a cell at least, but they made no effort to transfer you out of the metal container. Too afraid to say anything when not spoken to, you sat still and waited. You wondered if Valeria had noticed your absence yet but even if she did, how could she find you? "I'm not sure what to tell you, sir." You remained polite hoping that courtesy would make up for your lack of talking. "Don't be like that, there's plenty to tell. How about we start with this little business trip of hers?" Graves circled around you, placing his hand on your shoulder before finally coming to a stop. " What'du hear about it?" Graves had many years of experience underneath his belt when it came to interrogation, especially the violent ones. And so did the 141. That was made very clear from the beginning. If this was any ordinary member of the cartel, they'd have buried them by now. But spouses were different; you hurt them and there'll be hell to pay. Even worse, there'll be no chance of making a deal with Valeria. "Like I said, I just know she went away for it, sir, that's all."

"Hm," he said and dropped his hand. He moved to stand right in front of you. "Well, you must know something. You know she's El Sin Nombre. You know she runs the biggest drug cartel in Latin America. You know she runs an international operation, you know she has friends in many places. What am I missing here?"

You looked up at him. "That's basically it, sir. It's a drug operation. But I don't know where it comes from, who her manufacturers are, or how she sells it. She doesn't deal with small details." Graves was starting to lose his patience, and not with her but with Alejandro. He couldn't understand why he insisted on extracting a housewife instead of the real deal. Here he was trying to gather intel on those Russian missiles with a trophy wife who hasn't had a day out of the kitchen, let alone discussions with the biggest terrorist organisation in the world. It was time to cut loose and make the call. "Hermano, take over for me will ya? I'll be right back." Graves walked away, wondering what General Sherperd will think of this whole situation.

You were alone with Alejandro now, who paced up and down the compound like a restless animal. You wondered to yourself how similar he was to Valeria, she had the exact same habit when she was stressed. They were very similar in temperament; too similar. Aggressive, hard-headed and dominant. Part of you gloated at the whole situation. Here was a Colonel of the Mexican Army, a well-decorated military man, wasting his time with you, someone quite irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, all because of- "Your wife," he said, disrupting your thoughts and you suddenly realised you were staring at him. "Is that correct?" He nodded at your ring finger. "Yes, sir," you replied timidly. He was exactly like Valeria, and it worked in your favour. You've spent so many years living with your partner that it was almost too easy to deal with people like her. People who could fill up a room with their presence; intimidating, powerful people who could hurt you badly. The sort of people who made the world go round. People, in other words, who could be domesticated.

Because violence and intimidation aren't the only ways to get what you want. Alejandro scoffed, "you've come a long way from that food stand, huh?" He looked at you with a faraway look in his eye, his mind having entered that shrouded area of the psyche where apparitions of the past hover, always eager to glide into the present in the form of memories. Your heart softened both at the memory he was referencing and because, at that moment, he seemed so pitifully sad, having lost himself in reminiscence.

Many years ago, you helped your Abuela run her restaurant in Las Almas, which stood very close to where the Mexican Army had its headquarters. Your Abuela was a genius in strategy and profited a lot from the laziness of soldiers who couldn't be bothered to cook for themselves but who also didn't want to eat whatever the Army served. And that's how you met Valeria, who was regularly sent by her teammates to fetch a group order. Valeria picked up the food because it was expected of her, an unfortunate burden of being one of the youngest women in her squad. But over time, she did it because it meant she got to see you. To everyone's surprise, when Valeria ran away to work for the cartel, that quiet girl in the small restaurant vanished too. "Alejandro." His eyes snapped back into yours. "Lo siento mucho. I really didn't know about you and Valeria. I am not that kind of person." You knew exactly what this was all about. Sure, they wanted to get El Sin Nombre and Valeria *was* the head of the biggest drug operation in the world. And she *has* made Las Almas dance to the rhythm of her tune for the past decade. But this was all just a big temper tantrum. And if you played your cards right, you could leave unscathed. You continued, "Whatever happens, I just wanted you to know that. I am truly sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone."

Something changed in his eyes. You could already picture what was about to happen. After your sincere self-flogging will come his pity, then the remorse. He might chuck you in a cell to show that he's treating you like the criminal collaborator that they all think you are, but soon enough he'll arrive bearing the fruits of forgiveness. Just like Valeria, you told yourself. Like moths to a flame. "Hm," he mumbled to himself, his eyes roaming all over you. "I get it now." He cocked his head to the side, "eres una cosa encantadora." At that moment, you felt a change in the air, something dark hovered between you two. It made you shiver.

"Tell me, Y/N. Have you ever been with a man?"

Hope you enjoy this part! Promised tags: @justmare @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @lesvii @silas-222 I'll bring Valeria and her partner together in part 3! I've also thought of a cute backstory for them that I want to get into :) also sorry for ruining Alejandro, i made him so toxic in this fic 😭

[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

xi.it’s okay we’re the best of friends

— the one where all you do is think about the feelings that you hide.

warnings: guys, my brain was failing during this so not really proofread, also please pretend the dress is the same in both pics lol, alcohol consumption. 2.5k words.

currently playing: drive by halsey!

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softyn FIRST POST SINCE MAY AND MOTHER WANTS US DEAD

ynstars I LOVE YOU SO MUCH SLAY

aid4anfeels ugly bitch

lecsainz516 whose wedding is this, charles and carlos were there too

formulayn did @/charles_leclerc take these?

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THE COMMENTS FOR THIS POST ARE LIMITED.

August 5th, Madrid, Spain.

WHEN Charles said you needed to make new memories in Spain to replace the bad ones, you didn’t have a wedding in mind. However, with the rollercoaster that is your life as of lately, you don’t swim against the current anymore. Just going with it is not a bad way to live when you’re still trying to reach the surface and get away from the wreckage.

Things aren’t good. Not yet. The press is still having a field day with all that he said, she said merry go round. Aidan and Victoria are fighting to play the victim and Mia Kim is on a mission to paint you as the worst sister-in-law who could have ever existed. Which, to be fair, paints her in a weird Freudian light.

But things are better than they were the last time you were in Spain. And that’s something to be grateful for.

“Are you sure?” You asked Charles on FaceTime for the third time that night two weeks ago, he had just asked you to be his plus one to one of his Ferrari mates’ wedding. “Are you a hundred percent sure they won’t mind?”

The last thing you wanted was to feel like an intruder, and with the type of attention you carry around like a dark cloud over your head, ruining someone’s special day was not an experience you wanted to add to your repertoire.

“Of course they won’t mind, soleil.” Charles assured, he was still in Hungary after the Grand Prix. “Tommaso told me I could bring anyone, and I want to bring you.”

The last time you saw Charles in person was in New York City, almost two months ago. It doesn't mean, of course, that you stopped communicating. Whenever Charles is on his phone, you can be certain you'll receive a text, a picture or a random iMessage drawing. You handle time zones as best you can without sacrificing too much sleep time, especially for the one who has to drive a car at 300 km/hr.

Although he insisted on you coming to any Grand Prix of your choice, you thought it best to stay away from the paddock for a while. Plus, you had some work to do. You didn't love Talk Shows while promoting, most hosts did horrible, unfunny jokes, and you were the butt of a lot of them, but if being in some of them helped you to speak about your situation and dismiss whatever rumor Victoria, Aidan or Mia (or just about half the internet) had going on, you were willing to make the sacrifice.

You were also willing to attend a complete stranger's wedding just to see Charles again, but you didn't want to give that thought the depth it demanded from you. Not in the seven hour flight from New York to Madrid, and not now, as you're getting ready for Charles to pick you up to go to the wedding.

Your blue dress is frankly magnificent, and you are aware of how good you look, but it doesn't hurt that the first thing Charles does when the doors to the lift open, is compliment you. Well, to be fair, the first thing he does is gather his thoughts and try not to feel stupid after basically picking his jaw up from the floor.

"You look gorgeous," Charles says, clearing his throat. His sudden anxiety makes you chuckle, as his Adam's apple bobs up his neck. "I missed you so much, soleil."

You are mildly disappointed when he doesn't hug you the way he did back in New York, and you dismiss the feeling almost as quickly as it appeared. Although his words linger in the air, he missed you, and you did too.

"I don't want to ruin your hair," he explains, as if he's read your mind, and smiles wider.

"Right," you shake your head, it was obvious. "You look pretty good yourself, Charlie," you add, always trying to return the compliment, and only managing to make it awkward.

There is something about men in suits that makes them twice as attractive, and it's unfair when it comes to someone like Charles, who is already way too handsome as it is.

"Thank you," Charles is always nice enough to accept your half-assed, anxiety induced compliments. "Shall we?"

You nod, and when he offers his arm to lead you to the car, you link yours through it taking a breath so deep, it makes your lungs ache.

"Do you like weddings?" Charles asks as the engine of his car roars to life. A red Ferrari is the only way you manage to describe it, afraid of getting details wrong. Although you're certain Charles would patiently explain anything you needed to know about it, you don't ask.

"Everyone likes weddings," you reply, setting both hands on top of your knees. "Right?"

Charles chuckles and shrugs, "I guess so,"

You love weddings, except when you're expected to be the bride.

"Charles," you pat his shoulder and he takes his eyes off the road for the briefest second. "Are you completely sure the bride doesn't mind my presence?"

You don't want to give yourself some sort of importance you don't deserve—the bride has more important things to worry about—but particularly nervous about how your presence will be received at the celebration.

"Seriously, y/n," Charles soothes, his right hand leaves the steering wheel and searches for your own blindly, accidentally landing on your empty lap. He takes his hand back immediately, red creeping up his neck. "It's fine." he resolves, his sight way too focused on the road now.

"Alright," you whisper, smoothing the skirt of your dress. "Alright."

Both of you remain silent the rest of the way as you take in the Spanish landscape and Charles drives like his life depends on it. You promised yourself you'd ask for as much information on the happy couple as you could, but your voice is lost in the pit that opened in your stomach.

And the evening is just beginning.

It's after the ceremony, at cocktail hour that you find everything out about Tommaso and Bárbara thanks to none other than Carlos Sainz, who seems to really have a thing for gossip and also, for making fun of you for crying during the vows.

"Leave me alone, Carlos," you warn for the last time, this time threatening him with your closed fist. "Not my fault you don't have a heart in that big-ass chest."

This makes him laugh harder, and even Charles chuckles against the lip of his whiskey glass.

"I miss you so much around the paddock, y/n!" Carlos sighs, patting the place above his heart. "For real."

You click your tongue. "Sure you do,"

Carlos and you talk a lot less than Charles and you do, of course. But if Charles calls you during whatever free time he has while in the Ferrari Suite, you can trust Carlos to insert himself in the conversation.

"And a lot of the other drivers do too," Carlos' tone is mocking again, and you glower at him.

"Stop picking on me," this time you punch him on the shoulder.

"I'm being serious. Lando has a crush on you,"

You talked to Lando a few times, mostly when he and Carlos were being boys and hitting each other in the balls outside the Ferrari Suite and Lando made small talk as he tried not to touch his private parts. A crush is an exaggeration, Lando just told you he thought you were cool for making movies.

"Why don't we take some pictures?" Charles suggests before downing the rest of his whiskey. You don't miss the look he gives Carlos.

"Why not?" you smile at Charles, shrugging. The place is beautiful and you would love to have a memory of this whole thing that you can go back to.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Carlos calls as you two walk away, uninterested in the impromptu photoshoot.

Charles directs an annoyed look at him again and then makes it go away to return his attention to you.

"What was that?" you ask, taking Charles' arm again for him to lead you to where the rest of the guests are more scattered and won't photobomb your pictures.

"What was what?" Charles lifts an eyebrow, forever the expert at playing dumb. Or, not really.

You shake your head, this is another deep thought you don't want to venture into. There is enough of this weird tension already, and you're not sure if Charles feels it too.

─────────

"Your girlfriend is beautiful," a lady is patting your hand, a gentle smile on her face as she looks at Charles. She's the spouse of another Ferrari team member, and the first thing she did was compliment your dress before even asking for your name.

"Oh, I'm not—"

"We're just friends," Charles clears up, gentle as well. "But y/n really is beautiful."

The woman raises both eyebrows and laughs, an 'oh you kids' snicker that isn't unkind. "Of course, of course."

It's the first time of many during this party that Charles has to say you're not in a relationship, and it seems to get easier every time the words come out of his mouth.

Although it's true, you're not sure why it nags at you.

You cry again during the couple's First Dance and verbally threaten Carlos to leave you alone as you wipe your tears carefully, doing your best to keep your makeup intact. He laughs, but takes your threat seriously and remains quiet. This whole Tom and Jerry thing is amusing but he doesn't want to actually make you angry.

A few songs in, after you're done bickering with Carlos and you have finished your third glass of champagne, Charles asks you to dance with him.

An slowed-down version of Sixpence's 'Kiss Me' plays as you take the dance floor. You blame your giddiness on the fact that you finished that flute of champagne in record time.

"What is it?" Charles questions, smoothly placing one hand on your hip while the other holds your palm. His thumb runs up and down the curve of your wrist.

"What if I step on your foot?" you retort, looking up at him. That's only one thing that makes you nervous, although you know how to dance. You took lessons for both Supercut and Parisian Valentine.

Laughter bubbles from Charles' chest and you join in, although this makes you even more nervous. It would be stupid to say you don't see how handsome he is, even if he's just your friend.

"I won't mind," Charles promises, and his fingers press a little harder against your hip bone.

"Okay, then."

It's obviously not a complicated endeavor to sway around the dance floor with Charles, he lets you set the pace, lacing your fingers together after you spin back to him.

"Thank you for coming with me, soleil," he says in a low voice. You can smell the alcohol in his breath although it's been a while since he stopped drinking, he still has to drive you back to your hotel. "I really missed you these two months."

"I love weddings. Thanks for inviting me," you squeeze his shoulder, the contrast of your manicured nails against his shirt distracts you momentarily from the fact that you can feel his breath against your jaw.

It's the second time today that you miss the chance to tell him you missed him too, and you know he notices it by the way he leans away.

The song ends before your tongue decides to respond to you again and Charles lets go of you. A few seconds feel like an hour as you stare at each other, unable—or unwilling—to say anything of what either of you really want to say.

"Care to dance?" a guy with longish hair and dark eyes is offering you his hand now, as a faster song starts and the lights around the room turn brighter.

You break eye contact with Charles and when you look at him again, he just nods, taking a step back to your assigned table.

"Sure," you tell the guy, a tense smile on your face. "Let's dance."

The ride back to your hotel is silent again, and you're too tired to find a way to fill it.

Charles' energy has shifted and this makes your stomach turn. Your anxiety worsens every time you feel someone is 'off' towards you, and that someone being Charles makes it a hundred times worse.

He takes the elevator to your room with you, placing his hand gently in the middle of your bare back to let you in first.

"We're okay, right?" you whisper, looking at your distorted reflections on the silver wall of the cubicle.

You see Charles' reflection frown and then his face turns to you. "Of course we're okay, y/n. Is something wrong?"

You shake your head, the loose strands of your bun tickle your nape. "I'm just wondering."

Charles is never bothered by your need for reassurance, not even when he needs reassurance himself. That he's not being a complete and absolute moron by wanting the woman all the boys want to dance with, and holding onto that little slither of hope that he might have a chance with her. He's the one standing next to you after the party, still.

"We are okay. Didn't you have fun today?" he asks, pushing those thoughts aside. You're friends. Just friends.

"Of course I did!" you inhale sharply, "I just— nevermind." you take your hand to the back of your head, already tired of the half undone bun that threatens to give you a headache.

"I had fun. I always have fun when I'm with you," Charles follows you out of the elevator and down the hallway to the third door marked with a 3321.

You're still struggling to find the exact hairpin that holds your hairdo together, and Charles pinpoints it almost at the same time as you do, pulling it out swiftly to make your hair fall down your shoulders.

It's a meaningless gesture, Charles hasn't given it a second thought or stopped walking. But a shiver runs down your back as his knuckles graze your nape.

"Thanks, Charlie." You say, swallowing.

"Of course," Charles puts the pin inside the pocket of his trousers with a shrug.

You stand in front of the room for a minute, having a stare down again as you rub the back of your head.

"Thank you again for today, Charles." you're the one to break the silence, keycard already between your fingers. "I had a great time."

"I'm glad, soleil." Charles his dimples appear when he smiles and your breath hitches when he leans towards you. It feels like you've been showered with ice cold water. "Good night, y/n," he says and presses his lips against your cheek.

"Good night, Charlie," you wave him goodbye from the door as he walks back to the lift.

The feeling of his lips against your skin is there, even after you've washed your face and tucked yourself into bed.

─── team principal radio: ❝thank you for reading! surprisingly, i don't have much to say this time other than i really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that I appreciate each one of you dearly!♡❞

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[dr-spectre]

As someone who's been in multiple fandom circles and calls themselves a Splatoon fan, I've seen a lot of focus and discussion on "THE LORE!!" and "CANON!!!" and to be honest with you... it's getting really tiring and I think people are just WAY TOO obsessed with what a wiki or an intern at Nintendo says rather than forming their own perspective on events and coming to their own unique conclusions.

Now, I wanna say, if talking about lore and discussing which elements are canon or not makes you happy and you love talking about that, then that's perfectly okay. It's fine. It's not for ME personally because my focus on Splatoon is the gameplay, music and the storytelling chops of each Hero Mode.

Story >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Canon for me any day of the week i do not care.

Because, to get away from Splatoon for a second, for my Sonic fans out there, you remember when Sega and the people behind the show Sonic Prime said that it was canon to the mainline Sonic timeline? And if you said otherwise you were technically wrong because "oh Sega said this, so it MUST be true!"

........But then everyone said that Sonic Prime cannot be canon to the mainline Sonic timeline because it has a fuck ton of inconsistencies? Yeah.... funny. Basically, don't put a lot of focus into "what actually happened" and "oh this is what the multi billion dollar corporation said!" because there's always gonna be one guy out there that goes "um this information kinda fucking damages the story in a severe way." (And sometimes that one guy is me.... hehehehe....)

I could obviously talk about.... you know.... Hypno Callie again for the 50th trillion time.... (and i will)..... This bitch.... I wanna love you girlie i really fucking do but Nintendo and millions of people make it hard to....

Nintendo set up Callie's villain arc decently in Splatoon 1 with the Splatfest dialogue, the Squid Sister stories and the Sunken Scrolls, yet they ultimately damaged the progression of the arc by saying "nah fuck u she got kidnapped and brainwashed, removing all of her memories and free will because fuck telling a good story with satisfying set up and pay off that allows for character growth. Fundamentals of storytelling? What are those?" And it also destroyed Callie as a character by reducing her to an object that the player "must save from da evil Octavioooo" and "oh look at her! She put the stupid brainwashing shades onnn againnn!! such a dumb fucking moron dumbass piece of shit right guys?!? lmaoooooooooo!! explore the dangers of addiction and how you need to seriously change your life and be surrounded by those you love in order to change bad habits?? Themes?? PFFTTT! NAWWW! THAT'S LAMEEEE!! It's Callie! No one cares about Callie!! She's stupiddd!!!"

(I talked about Callie in a tumblr comment section one time and I got made fun of for by a guy way older than me. I love humanity.)

It also ruined DJ Octavio's character too because, if what Nintendo said is true about what he did then he cannot be redeemed in Splatoon 3. He cannot go back on the shit he's done. But they try to redeem him out of nowhere and now he's all chill with the New Squidbeak Splatoon and appeared in the Grand Fest.... Yet what he did to Callie which Nintendo loves to push is truly TRULY unredeemable and if that's the case then welp.... I call that bad writing, straight up. It's bad writing.

I really hate it when something happens in a story and you perceive it in a certain way where you feel like it elevates the events, but then the company behind the story chooses to pick the worst outcomes possible just because? And everyone rolls with it just cause? Ugh...

Lesson of today is, don't fucking listen obsessively to what a company says and suck it up. Consume media and come to your own conclusions on what happened. As long as you have tangible evidence to back up your claims you can make any interpretation you want to, whatever makes you feel happy bestie!

[sports-on-sundays]

boulevard of broken dreams / LN4 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!reader - Not many people know how true loneliness feels. Not many people know how true love feels.

Warnings: lots of description, angst, mention of self-harm, loneliness, pain, mention of death of a family member, dreams ruined, emotional pain, getting drunk to ease pain, change from 2nd person to 3rd when it felt right, panicking, jumping to worst case scenario, nausea, screaming, confusion, questioning will to live, blood, kind of violent dramatic descriptions. PLEASE do not read if you seriously struggle with some things like this! I would hate to cause anyone to feel more pain!!

Requested?: Mate nah.

Author's Note: I just wanted to write a thing. Listened to sad piano music and Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Green Day writing it. I hope you enjoy. Personally, I'm really proud of this one. Let's hope I got all the warnings in hah! Link to part 2

Sunshine, moonlight, daylight, night light, night life. On, off, under, over, around, on, and off again.

In the middle of your heart, if someone could dig deep down and pick through you, examine you, dissect you, they would find the softest little bleeding bit. But they would only find that after knocking down wall after all of slimy, tough, terribly dark black walls. No one would be able to find the strength to knock all those walls down. And even if they could, you'd never let them.

One can only be vulnerable if there is someone there to have their back.

All the vulnerability is pushed to that one little section of your heart; the most delicate place on earth.

All the pain.

It's impossible.

This road.

This road is made of brick and it's slippery. It's constantly raining. And you're constantly shivering. No one gave you an umbrella, because there's no one on this road to do so. Night after night, this rain beats on you. Your skin degrades away as if you were dead. For daytime does not exist on this road. You forget how sunlight looks. You constantly walk. Never wanting to sleep because the only place is the road. And you hate this road.

Yet it is your home, and any different would terrify you.

The friends on this road are the shadows. Shadows in the night caress your arms and kiss your cheeks, whispering of false realities, forgotten memories, and broken dreams.

On this boulevard of broken dreams.

There's no conscience of the pain any longer. You're so used to it, you're numb. And that's the way it should be. All you need is to survive.

You always ask yourself why. But if you're asking the question, why would you also know the answer?

There is no one on this road who knows the answer, and there never will be. If anyone knew the answer, then they wouldn't be on this road.

Stairways to heaven and highways to hell.

You're on the fast track to absolutely no where.

No one knows this road exists. You're one of the unseen. Most people live on the other side. They don't know this exists. Many of them are good people. They would help. If they could possibly stand it.

If they only knew. There's no way for you to call for help. All you hear is your voice echoing back at you as the dark starless sky closes in on you.

Like a snow globe. Never get in or out. Constant precipitation.

You're always shivering but you never get sick. At least not anymore.

Immunity.

Yes, and no one should be this immune.

No one should be this immune to this road.

Yet here you are.

On the boulevard of broken dreams.

9-5. 5-9. 24 hours non-stop.

Sunday is no different than Monday or Friday or Saturday or any other day of the week.

Money, money, money. Lots of people love it. Lots of people hate it.

Work, work, work. Get in the money to survive another day. Can't feel a thing because otherwise- how do you get through?

You get up, get dressed, get out the door, go to work, come home, get drunk, go to bed, and repeat it all over again.

Forever.

It's amazing how fast hope can be shattered with the cruel bitterness of this unfair world.

"Mama! I'm going to be a superhero!"

"Mama, I'm gonna be a football player."

"Mama! Mama! I've got it! I'm going to be a race car driver!"

And that time, you meant it.

Well, maybe you didn't, because it never came to pass. And your parents knew it. There was no way. Your family couldn't survive without government money.

But how can you explain that to a little kid? A little kid who had been told all her life that if you follow your dreams, they'll come true?

When you hold on to those dreams so hard, it's even more difficult to let them go. When you realized reality, you were ruined.

You were resigned to the fact that because of your position in society, broken heart, especially after your father passed away at a young age, and no chance to do what you dreamed of forever, that 9-5 in pain for the rest of your life was the path you were on.

The fast track to no where.

There's a girl in the corner, in the shadow, that no one would ever notice. High life superstars, and she's missing her heroes. Drunk, drunk, drunk.

She's missing them.

But one of them doesn't miss her.

Despite the crowd, despite the fun, the throng, the laughter, the music, the everything perfect after a good race, Lando sees.

He sees the girl in the corner that no one else ever notices.

"Do you need help?" in the gentlest of tones. He bends down, looking the broken, shell of a person, right through everything and into her eyes. Like he doesn't see the eye bags, the messed up hair, the cuts on her arms, the vacancy. Like he sees beyond the walls. Like he just wants to see the true person who has to be in there. Somewhere.

"Yeah," she murmurs. Her words slur, making it terribly difficult for the buzzed Formula One driver to understand her words. "Can you... get me another drink?"

You wake up the next morning, and as soon as you realize you don't remember what happened last night and you're in an unfamiliar bed and room, you feel your stomach drop. Your head feels like it's about to explode with the extreme ache in it. Nausea wells up and you swallow, filling yourself overflow with utter panic. The rate of your breath picks up, and as your chest rises and falls quicker and quicker, even if you wanted to call for some sort of help (if anyone would even come), you can't. You can hardly breathe, your vision becoming swirling and confusing as you gasp, feeling as if you're going to suffocate. You heartbeat pounds in your head faster and faster, and you realize that if anything happened right now, you'd have no way to save yourself. This sinks more extreme anxiety, and even more when you think of what could have already happened when you were drunk last night. What if you're stuck here, confused and panicking, with some creep who did unspeakable things to you last night-

The door to the room slowly swings open, and you cover your face in your heads, unable to set your eyes on whoever is there, just trying to breathe- stay alive- yet you're not even sure you want to keep living at this point.

"Hey, hey, hey," a soft speaking male voice says. You feel him come closer, and slip on the bed next to you. "Hey, I'm not here to hurt you," he practically whispers. "I brought you to my home, but only because... you were a wreck last night. Listen to me..." He speaks soothingly, but you still don't look up. "Listen. I think you might be having a panic attack, or something adjacent. And I'm here to help you, not hurt you. Okay?"

You nod, staring down. Just one hot tear slowly rolls down your cheek.

"Can I take your hand?"

You hesitate, before nodding. You feel the thin, strong, smooth hand slip into yours. "Breathe with me, okay?" he says softly, then starts taking in slow, deep breaths. With every inhale, he gently squeezes your hand, and with every exhale, gently releases it.

You go on like this, and once you've sighed, confident enough of your safety, you let go of the man's hand and look up at him.

For a second, you stare.

And then it clicks.

And your jaw drops.

"Are you... you..." you stutter in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm Lando," he smiles.

You stare in shock at the man. "As in, like, the McLaren..."

"Yeah," he grins softly. "And I'll be right back, okay?"

"Lando-!" you squeal with a terrible, exhausted voice crack. Your emotions are so messed up right now.

He comes back and gives you a plate of food, sitting down next to you. You ignore the food for a moment and fix your eyes on him.

"Why am I here?" you ask softly.

"You needed help and I decided to give it."

Your heart pounds in your chest. You exhale slowly. "O- Okay.." These words from him are so strange to you. So unfamiliar. "I..." Suddenly, expected emotions well up within you. Uncommonly. You throw your arms around him and murmur, "Thank you... you're the... this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me in years... And it's you. I must be in a dream... You're one of the reasons I'm still here... I love Formula One... I love... I love you..."

He hugs you back, before gently prodding, "Why don't you try to eat a bit."

You nod and turn to the little breakfast he's made. It's a bit bland, but you're glad for that. You're not feeling nearly at your best.

But at the same time, you're sitting next to Lando Norris.

Bittersweet and confusing.

"Thank you..." you murmur again.

"Of course you can say no," Lando starts. "But can I know your name? What's your story?"

You sigh. What hurt can it do to tell him? "Y/n. And I don't have much of a story."

"Really? Seems to me you'd have a pretty interesting one."

You shrug. "Just another broken life. There are plenty of those out there, Lando Norris."

"Clearly every broken life is important. Consider yourself."

You sigh. "Your story is the opposite of mine. Grew up rich, followed your dreams, perfect life."

There's a certain softness in his eyes. "What were your dreams?"

"Same as yours..." you murmur, your voice cracking. You hesitate, before finishing, "All I wanted was to be a race car driver. Nothing else more than that. And I would've done anything for it. If I could have."

Lando stares. You eat. There's a strange silence, before he says, "Did you kart?"

"For some years. It lasted about one and a half. Then my father passed away, and everything changed. Even more."

He stares down. "I'm sorry..." But then he looks up, his intense eyes meeting yours. He looks even better in real life. "Y/n, your story makes me so sad. I'm so sorry... I... I'd do anything I could to help you fulfill your dream, at least somewhat."

You look surprised. "Why? You have the perfect life. Why do you care? Besides, we both know full well it's too late for me."

He blinks and seems to ignore your last comment, likely because it's true and he doesn't want to admit it. "Because I have the perfect life. You deserve to be in Formula One just as much as me. Yet, we're... Well, in opposite places."

"Right..." You can hardly believe these words.

"You seem like such a... Well, something stole your innocence too soon. There's so much longing and brokenness and love in your eyes but you're just... A shell of the beautiful woman that's inside of you."

You blink. "Why do you say that?"

He murmurs after more hesitation, "Last night when you were drunk, you know what you did? Well you cried and you told me your struggles, yes. But before I was about to leave the room and let you sleep, you looked at right me and you said something like, 'I'm so lonely. Where did my life go? I can't stand this much longer. Sometimes I wish I just had someone- a friend, a neighbor, a boyfriend, a sibling- sometimes I wish I just had someone there for me.'"

You stare, now unblinking, unsure what to feel. It is true, isn't it?

Lando looks you straight in the eyes. Past everything. Into your most delicate, secret spot.

You fight back from letting yourself choke up.

"Y/n, if no one else will do it, I'd ought to be that person there for you. And I'd love to."

Moist and foggy, so nothing is visible. There are echoes of life in the outside world, but not on this road.

For the first time in years, your tired feet have stopped. Perhaps done. Had it with this. They're bloody and twisted from the years of this pain.

Where has the numbness gone?

The rain pours down

on this road

and you can't tell

if those are teardrops

or raindrops

streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, you see a light. A light that has found the end of the road that you've been searching for for years.

Don't lose it. Don't lose it.

You could use some company.

As the light nears, it hurts. You double over and fall down in the puddles of the road, screaming in pain. You're so used to the darkness. For years it's all you've known. The light hurts. It's terrifying.

The light comes closer and closer, faster and faster, and panic fills you, realizing there's no escape. Your eyes burn and you sob for it to let you go.

You hate this road. So why do you cry, begging to stay?

You tremble as the light approaches, covering your skin.

But when it reaches you, the expected terror is not what you experience. Instead, it's a feeling unfamiliar to you. Something that only the shadows would taunt you with. But this is it. The real one.

Tranquility.

Suddenly the beating of the rain stops.

You look up.

An umbrella.

And shining eyes.

You heart breaks once again, but this time you mind a bit less.

It's scary, but just what you wanted.

This light, this man, this sunshine.

This sunshine takes your hand and pulls you up. This sunshine leads you off this road. This boulevard of broken dreams.

This sunshine has come in and knocked down the walls.

Seen what's hidden. Stepped away and stepped into your misery. To help you.

A smile so bright.

And for the first time in forever.

You step off this road and you see the stars.

[darlingsfandom]

Hey, can we have a cute wedding Cillian fic? Thanks x

You got it love xoxo!

Not going to lie, I got selfish with this and included details of MY dream wedding and own heart ache of knowing that if I ever get lucky enough to get married, my mother won’t be there !

Crisp morning air breezed over your skin as you stood outside with your hair done up in a nice bun, a few wavy strands framing your hands with little black flowers sprinkled in it. Your nerves were running at a thousand miles a minute , this was your wedding day the day you dreamed of since you were a child! The idea of it changed over the years of what you wanted from it and you got what you wanted.

“You alright?” Your best friend came out on the back steps of the church with you.

“Yeah I’m okay, just hard to believe he’s actually marrying me! He could have anyone and he chose me.” You looked at her about to cry until she placed her thumbs under your eyes.

“Don’t cry! You’re going to ruin your make up! But don’t be stupid! Of course he chose you! He adores the ground you walk. I’m sure Cillian would kill for you.” She held up your hand to see the ring on your finger. You smiled as the memories of his proposal flashed in your mind.

Cillian had got down on one knee in front of you while the two of you were at a little carnival and popped the question while you were getting your picture drawn by one of those cartoonist! He had bought you some cotton candy before making a joke about how sweet it would be to move up in your relationship and become your husband then hit out the ring to slid it on your finger.

“You’re going to be okay!” She rubbed your shoulder before taking off back inside since the cool air was making her shiver. On the other side of the church Cillian was getting ready with his side of the bridal party. He looked over himself while fixing his tie.

“Boys… it’s a good day for a weddin’” he clapped his hands together slowly while chewing his bottom lip. Cillian tried to play it cool but he was also nervous. The sound of the bells made you run back inside and into your room so your best friend could help you with the final touches. She gave you a few more spurts of perfume, fluffed out the bottom of your black wedding gown and double checked for any wedgies. You stood with her on your arm as the bridesmaids and groomsmen paired up to get ready to go down the aisle.

Soft music started up which meant that your niece was making her way down the aisle trying to toss the black, red and orange flower petals across the aisle but she would try to go back and pick a few of them up before tossing them aggressively at the ground because she couldn’t keep them, she was only three after all. Cillians beats friends five year old son carried the rings on the pillow along side her.

Your heart was beating loud in your ears as you squeezed your best friends arm. She squeezed back before turning to face you even though the black veil was covering your face , she lifted it enough to see your lips .

“You can see me you know.” Your lips trembled a little.

“Not trying to break a whole tradition , I get it’s for the groom but you never know what could actually happen… now you listen and listen good” She placed her finger on your chest. “That man, the one standing up at the alter asked you out everyone else in this fucked up world to stay with you for the rest of his life because he is madly in love with you and you’re not going to run away! I know you’re scared, you never thought someone was going to give you everything you deserved but he has! He has seen you on your worst days! He’s dealt with your crazy ass family and still picked you! You’re going to March down that aisle to become Mrs. Murphy or I’ll kick your ass because I love you that much. Got it?” She wrapped her arms around you tightly before kissing your cheek and walking over to her partner and looped their arms together. This was actually happening and she was right.

You stood at the end of the aisle sucking in a sharp breath gripping your bouquet of roses and let out the shaky breath before your foot lifted to take you down the aisle. All eyes were on you making your skin heat up as you made your way down. Cillian had his eyes on you but what you noticed through the lace that he was actually in tears with a smile on his face. Your own eyes swelled but you couldn’t cry just yet.

“Thank you… you may all be seated.” The Priest spoke up.

“Dearly beloved, we have gathered to witness a beautiful ceremony in which two souls have connected to become one that will carry on over time….”

You stood up there with your face covered listening to every word. Cillian held onto your hands and ran his thumbs over your knuckles. He knew you were more than likely scared out of your mind with everyone watching which is why it a small wedding with friends and family , no extended family type was there. You gulped when you heard the priest ask for the vows that the two of you decided to write for each other.

Cillian let go of one of your hands so he could hold his paper and cleared his throat.

“Y/N, usually I can speak about anythin and everythin but tryin to find the right words to say dat I love ya is where I struggled because there’s simply not enough ways to say how much I love ya. I make tis promise to ya dat until death do us part and even after dat I’ll follow ya in tis world until it ends. We can be poor , we can be rich , we can be anythin’ and none of it’s going to matter because I have ya in my life. You’ve made me a better man and for dat I truly am thankful because it takes an amazing woman to change a man. I’ve seen how cruel life has been to ya , I’ve seen how you’d hide yer pain and struggle but you’ll never go through it alone again, yer one of the strongest people I know. Not only have I had the pleasure of calling ya me friend, me girlfriend and me fiancée but now I’ll call you me wife now until forever and tats a promise.” Cillian choked here and there on his words while a few tears streamed down his cheeks that he wiped away with his thumb but not once did he let go of your hand.

“And now the bride..”

You turned so your best friend could hand you your paper and took your flowers for you.

“Cillian…” you cleared your throat.

“I could say there’s a million reasons why I love you but we both know that wouldn’t be enough. I could say there’s a million ways to say I love you but again that wouldn’t be enough. For the longest time I never felt like I was enough or that I would be able to feel true love but you’ve proven me wrong. Time really works in a mysterious way and after everything my path crossed yours and now it becomes our path, our journey and as much as change scares me I know i won’t be alone because I have you. If you were to ask me what love means I’d simply say your name because you’ve seen my worst days , the way my mind drifts, the way I’ve broken my own heart but I’ve also seen your worst days too! I’ve seen your heart break in pieces too but each time we’ve both put each other back together and for that I am thankful to be yours. I’ve waited for this day my entire life and now it’s my turn to finally feel happiness that I’ve never known and it’s because of you.” Your lips quivered as your voice shook and you held back your tears as the words flew out of your mouth and your heart was going to burst but in the best way possible. A final breath escaped your lips before they perked into a small smile.

“If anyone has a reason these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.” The priest spoke out before he said the words you’ve been waiting to hear all day. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Cillian lifted your veil slowly and smiled as he seen your beautiful face for the first time as the new Mrs. Murphy . He cupped your face and pressed his lips against yours lovingly. The claps started with a few cheers and a very loud “ewww” from your niece who was scrunching her nose while still playing with the petal she didn’t throw. The two of you laughed before Cillian grabbed your hand and started walking with you down the aisle.

“Auntie Y/N! Wait for me !!” Your niece called out chasing after the two of you. Both you and Cillian turned to see her sadden face until she was at your hip. You took one hand while Cillian took her other hand and walked with her out of the doors that separated the hall from the room.

“Is Cillian my uncle now?” She asked looking up at you.

“Yes he is!” You leaned a little to kiss his cheek. Cillian blushed a little before bedding to scoop his niece up and placed her on his hip. She placed her hand on his face and smiled. Your heart swelled at the sight before the rest of party of joined the three of you in the hallway.

Guests came out shortly after to congratulate the two of you before you grabbed Cillians hand again to pull him away from the crowd. He followed with you back towards the room you had got ready in. He closed the door behind him as he watched you sit carefully in the chair. Cillian walked over to you and sat down in front of you.

“Are ya okay me love?” His thumb drew circles on your knuckles again because that was the best way to calm you down.

“I’m happy I really am… I’m just upset she couldn’t be here.” You choked out while tears fell down your cheeks.

“Oh darlin, I know it’s bittersweet and that it’s cliche ta say but she’s here wit us in spirit. She’s smilin at ya! You look beautiful! She thinks so too!” Cillian helped you back up to wrap his arms around you tightly. His hands rubbed your back and you sighed into his chest before he grabbed some tissues to help you clean up. His fingers delicacy ran the tissue under your eyes then your nose before tossing it in the trash. “It’s gonna be alright and if ya need another cry tat’s okay . I’m here and I’m not going anywhere !”

You had married the man of your dreams and you couldn’t feel more lucky.

[signorinaclaudiacardinale]

Claudia Cardinale in "LIFE" magazine:

Italian beauty takes a desert bath on location in Nevada. /In this photo Claudia was filming "The Professionals" on July 8, 1966/

Claudia Cardinale, a wary beauty is afraid Hollywood will ruin her. Claudia Cardinale has a problem. At 26 she has become the most admitted international film star since Sophia Loren. Lusciously built along Italian lines, like Sophia, Claudia also has a special tender beauty in her face. Easy to work with, she is a director's pet. Unmarried, she has no close family worries. So what's her problem? Her problem is, now that she has finally agreed to work in Hollywood, she is afraid she will be over-glamorized and exploited-as Sophia was. Her first Hollywood movie, the recent 'Blindfold', confirms Claudia's worst fears of her. And she has two more coming up soon. Between Hollywood chores, she rushes away to make films in Italy, Spain, Brazil, anywhere but Hollywood. She gets paid less in Europe. "If I have to give up the money, I give it up," she insists, "I don't want to become a cliché."

She'd rather lose money than be a cliché In high spirits at being out of Hollywood and back in Italy, Claudia stopped her car to join villagers who had shouted "Claudia, Claudia", Then they all joined their favorite star for a picture.

Claudia likes the sun of Italy more than of Hollywood. Always rushing from one picture into another, she grabs five minutes to back on her Hotel Excelsior Lido balcony in Venice.

Anthony Quinn, who has acted with both Claudia and Sophia says: "I adore them equally But if I had to say, well, I relate easier to Claudia; Sophia creates an impression of something unobtainable but Claudia-She's not easy, still she's within reach".

Helping pick Miss Italy, Claudia lunches with each judges at Salsomaggiore. She got her own movie start by winning a rather specialized contest as "Most beautiful Italian in Tunisia". In Las Vegas, working on her next Hollywood picture, 'The Professionals'.

In Brazil a waiter proposed to her by mail, posted a marriage notice in his church, and changed his name to "Mr. Cardinale".

Claudia gobbles up a pile of magazines. She reads them to improve her English and keep up on fashions.

Claudia hangs on the words of Luchino Visconti, who directed her in 'Sandra', which won a Venice Festival prize.

Claudia says: "He sees me as cat that someday will turn into a tiger."

Credits:

�� Photographs by Howell Conant. 📰 Text taken from the magazine "Life" in 1966. 🎥 My Gifs are behind the scenes of "The Professionals" memories.

[trappolia]

JONATHAN SIMS ── i have loved you for the last time

Sleep does not come easy to Jon anymore.

There is so much for the Archivist to consume and so little of what is actually him that is left. The hunger is a plague that takes on a non-linear narrative in the miserable plot of his life. It eats at the crevices of his mind from the inside out so he can think of nothing but everything and the absence in the space between all at once; then at his tongue, the flat of it dry and coarse (When was the last time he had drunk something to hydrate himself? Does he even still need it?), and his throat, so when he tries to speak, all that comes out is a weak croak. He thinks the hunger has taken root deep in his marrow as well── he feels it creeping in his bones, the rot spreading to his bloodstream slowly but surely.

You stir beside him, and Jon thinks: Alas, at least his heart is safe.

It had been a long time since his dreary heart was nestled in the weak cage of his ribs, beating feebly to sustain a body that, in truth, lives for very little. Jon does not know when or how, but somewhere along the lines since you'd slipped into his narrative through the margins of his hasty notes, he'd found that you had come into possession of his heart. The wicked thing was cradled in your hands like the most precious of treasures even as you slept by his side, squeezed into the little twin bed.

You inhabit the side closest to the wall, a fact which contents Jon── for all the horrors you have subjected yourself to by staying at his side, he will be there as the first line of defence. In a more mundane sense, you've crafted your home in a home within this little nook, curled up beside Jon's thin frame. He sees you now, illuminated by the painful white of his screen, and Jon feels sorry for potentially ruining your quality of sleep, but there is so much work── always work and no play for the Archivist son, damned as he is by whatever is going on in his institute. At the very least, he comforts himself, you will sleep better than he ever will.

Jon takes a deep breath, steeling himself; as if with a mere lift of his shoulders, he can resemble a man who, at the very least, seemed to have some idea of how he could get himself out of this hole he has found himself in, but if you had been awake, you could have easily seen the truth behind the facade, that of his discomfort and, and most damningly, the unsureness he held within himself, of himself. Despite this, he brushes his fingers over the curve of your cheekbone and leans close to press his dry lips against your temple, before going back to work── reminding himself every now and then of who he is doing this all for.

In spite of it all, his unsureness and his fondness for you, Jon does leave you in the end ── not for the lack of love, no; that love remains even when he changed, twisted into more than a simple avatar of the Eye instead of the man who had left you cold in your bed with his goodbyes written in ink on a parchment nearby. He understands, even in the end of all things, that he was selfish to have left you before things truly took a turn for the worst (though one could argue that it had already been set in motion the moment he picked up A Guest For Mister Spider)── there is selfishness even in the thought that he left while still human, that your final memory of him before he took an exit from your life was not the him that saved the world this version of you lived in, alone and betrayed and confused.

And when Jon begins to Know, he Knows that you never get rid of the belongings he'd left deserted about in your home, as though he has just recently left and is to certainly return any day now. He Knows that you never do stop waiting for him ── whether it is in the Fearscape you were trapped in or in the world thereafter, the world without your Jonathan Sims.

Life hereafter moves along, but for you, it feels as though it has paused in that singular moment that always passes, in another space and time, as though the clock in your living room will tick once again, and Jon will walk through your door as he always has. He Knows this, and he wishes he could tell you, but the last thing left of him in that world is the heart you don't realise you still possess, that you've never lost── Jon sits there and waits with you in that moment that will never come to pass, and you will never truly come to terms with the fact that the rest of him will never be able to come home to you again.

© trappolia 2024

[bludrogue]

Another Random Headcanon About Jason Todd

This is another weird experience I have had, but this is due to a personal experience. If I slam on my breaks too hard, witness a car accident in front of me, or bash the back of my head against the driver's seat (or any seat in the car for the matter), I tend to have the scent of burning oil fill my nostrils.

I don't know if that's normal, and sure, I'm projecting myself onto the headcanon, but I think it's an interesting experience. With that said, here's headcanon #3:

Headcanon #3: Phantosmia

-- Every time Jason has bashed his head against a hard surface, whether it be a wooden table, a brick wall, a lamp post, the concrete streets, a car door - honestly, the list is so long he can't even remember what he's smashed his head against -- the first sense to kick in was his olfactory.

-- Now he wouldn't care if this was just a physical response in general, but his nose always picks up on a scent that's never there. He's not entirely certain why his nose fills up with nonexistent fumes, this has been the case for as long as he can remember.

-- You'd think the scent of bourbon would remind him of Willis, the man always had one in his hand or in the cup holder of his arm chair. Jason can still recall the scent to this day - oak dipped in smoke, tinted in caramel, and saturated with vanilla. And as much as his mind can recognize the smell like he can recite a Shakespearen play off the back off his hand - that's not the scent his body would use to recall Willis.

-- No matter how many times Willis got close enough to burn his nostrils with his breath, it's never been the whiskey either.

-- Instead, it's fucking drywall.

-- Of all the scents in the world, it's fucking drywall. Because of course it is.

-- When he was a kid, it was this putrid scent of a heavy dose of rotten eggs nearing sulfur with a hint of chalk dust. And maybe those particular remnants are from a memory where Willis probably bashed his head hard enough into their shabby walls that he made a hole. Not that Jason remembers aside from the egregious smell - whether that's a side effect of the pit or straight up trauma, Jason is not would willingly attempt to recall any shared memories with his biological dad by choice.

-- If he could, he'd bury those memories deeper than when his body was trapped in the earth and surrounded by an ocean of soil.

-- But it's not just before being Robin.

-- During his time spent as Robin, if he hit his head hard enough, Scarecrow gave off a musty odor with a tinge of the world's worst garbage dumpster. Peguin, oddly enough, reeked of spoiled milk. And don't get him started on the Riddler -- that one he can't even describe with just words. (He weirdly gives off the scent of nail polish remover, do not ask him why.)

-- But the Joker?

-- The Joker's scent was nothing what he expected.

-- His sense of smell doesn't go toward the crisp and suffocating scent of smoke, the one that clogged his lungs so much that he wondered if that was the final straw to lead him marching towards death's door. Nor was it the smattering metallic smell emitted from the crowbar that bashed him over and over and over and - And his nose does not recall the Joker with the lead heavy scent of blood, no matter how much of his own spilled the day he died.

-- No, instead the monster carries the scent of fucking bubble gum.

-- Sweet, fruity, pink chewing gum.

-- Because of course the universe just has to ruin the little things, those simplicities of enjoyment. Like the birds chirping in the morning become screeching alarm clocks, his coffee mug always being chipped, a hole in his favorite pair of pants, just anything to ruin his day. He wonders whoever the fuck is in charge of mapping out his life is relishing in the misery he endures every fucking day. When he fucking gets his hands on -

-- Did you know it took him a solid year to even so much as spare a glance at a pack of the most basic, minty chewing gum again after his spent training with the League of Assassins? Did you know that it was until two years after his whole war between him and the bats he was finally able to even hold a stick in his palm without gagging? Did you know that only four years after all the bullshit he went through, he could finally place one stick of ice peppermint gum in his mouth for a solid ten minutes without throwing up immediately after?

-- He still can't handle the fruity flavor gum - no sour apple, no watermelon, no strawberry, no cinnamon, and especially no bubble gum flavored shit - without the dreadful urge to vomit lingering after.

-- And before Jason mended his relationship with the bats (or is still trying to, he has plenty of ups and downs with Bruce that he's getting dizzy from the ride.) Bruce's scent was ruined.

-- When he was Robin, Bruce carried the redolence of leather and a warm campfire. There was just something that screamed safety in his scent that he couldn't explain. The every time he woke up in the gurney from a concussion, the smell would hit before he would open his eyes and he knew Bruce was there.

-- But everything changed the night Bruce chose the Joker.

-- Bruce had hit his head hard enough against a porcelain toilet seat that his nose was bashed with the scent of leather instantly. He thought he had picked on his own jacket, but once the campfire wood wafted into the air he knew that was his designated scent for Bruce.

-- The emotional side was then crying for his dad, begging him to keep him safe from the monster in the closet, pleading to just let him come home, to choose him - his son - please - But the logical side was louder, especially when he aimed the gun at the Joker's head and gave Bruce a choice to make.

-- He had a job to complete and Bruce had a choice to make.

-- And Bruce decided and his scent was tainted.

-- Now, when there's a meeting held in the bat cave, or the only company he shares is with Bruce, he has to resist the urge to rub the scar on his neck to reassure himself he's not bleeding. To remind himself that his nose is just playing tricks to get himself to believe his throat is sliced open again.

-- But he never minded his olfactory any attention about these scents. Honestly, it was more subconscious than anything else, so why pay any attention to the matter? Plus, it wasn't like the matter was giving him any issues or disrupting his routine in any sort of way. He was still able to patrol and function to his usual capabilities -- which was not the standard, but still... functional.

-- And that meant had nothing to be concerned about. That these phantom scents had to be normal, right?

-- Maybe this was just another secret human function nobody spoke about. Kind of how the American education system fails to explain safety for sex because of the desire to keep a 'puritan' image.

-- But, as usual, he was proven wrong.

-- According to Tim, phantom smells were not a normal human function. Because, 'No, Jason. People do not have specific scents when you hit your head too hard,' and 'No, Jason. It is not common when you hit your head hard enough to smell a person or smell a nonexistent scent.' And blah, blah, blah.

-- He stopped paying attention after the third no.

-- But how did this conversation come about? Allow Jason to draw the scene for you:

-- Jason 'allowed' himself to be dragged to the manor by Bruce due to the severe concussion he received due to an Arkham breakout, followed by the orders of mandatory bed rest. And so, he was trapped under one roof with his siblings, who were piled into his room to force him to remain awake for the required hours necessary to be deemed safe from a coma.

-- He knew Dick was besides him, and the head massage he was receiving was not helpful in keeping him awake. But the others were somewhere in the room, he didn't need to open his eyes to know. He could tell by their scents.

-- The only person who wasn't in the room was Tim, who claimed he'd come right back without another word. (He's positive Tim went to go refill his coffee mug for the seventh time, and someone needs to get a handle on this kid's caffeine addiction.) But when Tim returned, he heavily smelled of apples - he always did when he was anxious.

-- Not that Jason usually minds if he hits his head, but this time the pounding was an incessant bitch who brought a drill to ram against his skull, so he couldn't handle the heavy scent at the time.

-- Jason immediately scrunched up his nose the moment Tim entered the room the moment he caught a waft of green apples. He rolled onto his side to have his back face the door, followed by a groan of, "Dude, Timbo, you fucking reek."

-- If Jason hits his head, sometimes he can practically smell Tim's potent and eternal state of anxiety. It's just as bad as Bruce's paranoia (but no one can ever beat that man in his levels of anxiety). However, when Tim is anxious, he carries the particular scent of green apples.

-- He hears Tim scoff, and there's a dip of weight at the corner of the bed. Jason lightly kicks Tim to shove him further away, only for the asshole to scoot closer.

-- "Hey, I took a mandatory after-patrol shower," Tim retorts, and he lifts his mug up to his lips and sips his coffee.

-- "No, you smell like fucking green apples," Jason hisses, burrowing his face into the pillow. If Tim gets any closer, his churning stomach might aim at Tim as his puke bucket. "You always do when you're fucking anxious about something, but Jesus fucking Christ, tone down the scent or, fuck, go sit in the arm chair."

-- "Green apples?" Dick mumbles, pausing in the movement of his hand. Jason almost whines at the loss of movement and he taps Dick's wrist. The moment Dick's hand continues those soothing circular movements, he relaxes.

-- What Jason doesn't see - or decides to blatantly ignore -- is the wide - eye stares everyone is glaring into his head. If Jason were to look, he would find a 'what the fuck' expression on each of their faces.

-- "Are you positive you're not smelling one of Tim's scented shampoos, tough guy?" Steph asks with curiosity lacing her tone. Tim has an array of scented shampoos and unscented ones -- the kid may be shit at self-care, but he certainly knows how to tend to his hair -- ranging from pomegranate to coconut to lavendar to oaky to vanilla, etc. (The list could go on.) But he certainly does not have a single apple scented shampoo.

-- "I'm positive," Jason replies. "He has a scent, you have a scent, everyone has a scent. Especially when I hit my head, it's normal."

-- People having individual scents is totally normal. He's positive of it. Plus, he's hit his head a multitude of times that the phantom scents kind of linger.

-- Tim taps the side of his coffee mug with his nails. "Jason... that's not- that's not normal."

-- Jason lifts his head from the pillow, the combination of scents burning his nostrils, but he ignores the hot twinge in favor of glaring at Tim. "It's fucking normal, Tim. I fucking experience it every time I hit my head."

-- "May I implore that none of your human experiences are what is considered 'normal', Todd?" Damian raises an eyebrow. He's settled on the ottoman by the end of the bed.

-- Jason opens his mouth to argue, but quickly clenches his jaw shut. As much as he hates to admit... the demon-brat has a point. Not that he needs to elaborate.

-- 'Is this a side effect from the lazarus pit?' Cas signs, tilting her head at a slight angle. Her eyebrows furrow together and the corner of lips curl - just as she always does when she's curious about a topic she doesn't understand.

-- "No." Jason whispers, keeping his tone gentle and crossing his arms over his chest. These phantom senses have always been around for him, even before the pit.

-- "So," Tim drawls, shifting the weight in the bed as he crosses his legs and holds his coffee mug. "When did this start?"

-- Jason narrows his gaze at Tim. "Fuck you, you're not my therapist."

-- Besides, he'll see his therapist next Wednesday, and he'll snitch on Bruce to his therapist. (And yes, his therapist is Harley.) He's not clinically insane - yet - but if this another 'Jason Todd anomaly', then why does he have phantom scents that hit his nose at random times? Especially when he hits his head?

-- "Wait, Lil' Wing," Dick pipes up, and Jason finds a cheeky grin on his face that warns Jason that Dick is about to ask a question he won't want to answer. "What do I smell like to you?"

-- "Yeah! I want to know too." Steph chimes in, resting her head in her hands as she places her elbows on the bed. There's a doe-eye look in her eyes that screams 'Pretty Please' as she flutters her lashes.

-- Heat crawls across Jason's face and spreads across his cheeks. He should have just kept his mouth shut, but he just had to go and whine about Tim reeking of fucking apples. It's not that he's embarrassed - not that he'd admit the truth out loud - but he's now more nervous than anything to reveal their scents. Especially now that he's more aware that having phantom scents isn't a typical human function.

-- Jason releases a breath, and decides to tell each one of them their identifying scent.

-- He has to admit, there are some positives to this phantom scents.

-- Dick carries the scent of sugar coated, blue cotton candy and mouthwatering salted popcorn. It reminds Jason of the one chance he took to sneak into the circus tent and hide under the bleachers as he watched the performance of the graceful Flying Graysons. He's always transported back to that memory when the scent hits his nose. But there's always a hint of hyacinth, and Jason has no idea where that comes from.

-- Tim may smell like apples when he's anxious, but he always carries a different scent of a different apple depending on his mood. If Tim is anxious or afraid, he reminds Jason of the odious redolence of a green apple. If Tim is mildly annoyed, enraged, or upset, he carries the scent of red apple. If Tim carries the scent of a yellow apple, it's an indicator that Tim is in a good mood.

-- Jason likes the yellow apple the most because A) That means Tim is in a good mood, and B) the smell of a yellow apple is a piquant flavor he has added on to his list of good scents. He doesn't feel has to avoid that apple without a specific reminder which is nice.

-- Steph smells zesty and sweet and reminds him of pop rocks candy, specifically the grape flavored kind. This could be due to her vivacious nature, but he nose tingles every time her scent appears. That could sometimes lead him to sneezing - which he doesn't admit to her.

-- Cas smells like Jasmine and sandal wood with a hint of roses.

-- Damian smells like paprika and cinnamon.

-- Duke smells like honey (and a part of him wonders if that's just because of the suit or the bee meme that his nose decided to join on the bandwagon.)

-- Alfred smells like his homemade chocolate chip cookies and hibiscus tea.

-- "And what about Bruce?" Dick's question is hanging in the air as Jason is drifting off to sleep. And Jason will never speak the truth of how Bruce smells now.

-- But he can always bend the truth.

-- "Used to smell like leather and campfire wood," Jason yawns into his pillow. "Used to smell safe."

-- "Used to?" Tim's question remains unanswered as Jason finally falls asleep.

-- When Jason wakes up, he notes that everyone is asleep except for Tim, who's claimed his spot in the armchair and curled around his laptop. His mug rests on top of the coffee table, his fingers are rapidly yet quietly typing away on the keyboard, and his focus is so honed in on the screen in front of him that he's caught off guard when Tim abruptly states, "Phantosmia."

-- Jason rubs the sleep out of his face. "Phanto-what?"

-- "Phantosmia," Tim repeats, adjusting his body weight on the arm chair and his eyes remain on the computer screen. "Or more known as a phantom smell, meaning you'll smell something that isn't there. Most people typically smell metal, burnt toast, or chemicals. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, just what occurs with either strokes or severe head trauma."

-- "Well, that explains a lot." Jason huffs, a smirk teasing his lips.

-- Even though he has an answer - which is pretty rare considering his medical history puts Santa's naughty list to shame - he doesn't believe having phantom smells is necessarily a horrible thing to have.

-- If the wind blows in just the right direction, he'll have scent of his mom follow him. Not his birth giver, Shelia, but Catherine. His mom carried the luscious scent of marshmallows, lilac flowers, and lit vanilla candles. And in his mind, it's still like his mom is there, still with him. Oddly, that was the last scent he remembers before he died in the warehouse and it's the safest he ever felt in years despite all the surrounding chaos.

-- "Thanks for researching, Timbo." Jason whispers.

-- Tim turns his head to Jason, and his lips lift into a grin. "Sure thing, Jay."

-- Phantosmia, while there are aspects of it he despises, he thinks there's a bit of a blessing buried in it too.

Hey guys! It's been a solid few days (I got super busy this week), but I thought I'd produce another headcanon. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! I'll post another head canon soon!

Other headcanons:

Head canon 1

Head canon 2

[stardustsides]

Love is a Beach

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Patton and Janus broke up months ago. The problem? They still haven’t told their friends, and their annual beach trip is looming. Not wanting to break the news and ruin the vacation, they come to an…unconventional agreement.

Pairings: Moceit, background Prinxiety

Content Warnings: Drinking/flashback to underage drinking, drunkenness, breakups, lmk if i missed anything!!

Word Count: ~2100

Author’s Note: The second chapter is here!! Writing the flashback in this chapter made me miss freshman year of college so bad actually i need to go back i fear.

~

Janus stood in the emptiness of the master bedroom and stared at the space where Patton had been. The late afternoon sun spilled across the polished hardwood floor, painting the room in a hazy gold. Muffled from downstairs, he could hear him telling Virgil that he would cook after all tonight, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He knew from six years of being in a relationship with the man that he cooked under stress. Memories of coming home to their apartment to find Patton in the kitchen surrounded by trays upon trays of cookies came flooding back to him, and his heart gave a painful tug.

He blew out a careful, measured breath and sat on the corner of the bed. He hadn’t been lying—Patton really was a terrible actor, which provided two massive problems for Janus: one, because they had to keep the charade up all week, and two, because Janus secretly found Patton’s complete inability to lie one of his most endearing qualities.

Really, this had been a terrible idea to begin with, but when he had come over to the apartment to pick up his things, he couldn’t help but notice the deep circles under Patton’s puffy red eyes, his unkempt hair, his rumpled shirt. No matter how upset with each other they still were, when Patton had turned to look at him, the only thing that he wanted to do was close the space between them, take him into his arms, and smooth down his hair. Even now, he hated seeing him so upset. And so, he did the only thing that he could think to do:

Propose the world’s worst plan.

They still hadn’t told the others about the breakup yet. It was getting to the point where it was starting to worry Janus, so he could only imagine how much it was destroying Patton. If the bags under his eyes were any indication, he had been turning the question of how to tell them over and over in that worrywart way of his. And so, the plan was concocted: by keeping the act up until after their vacation, they both got to enjoy one final week of normalcy with their friends, and it gave them time to cool down enough that when they did break the news, they could at least present a united front.

And, though he wouldn’t admit it, the selfish part of him wanted to avoid the crushing finality of telling everyone for as long as possible.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but then again, his brain had always seemed to turn to mush when it came to Patton.

The bastard was impossible not to adore.

And so, here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed that he would be sharing with his ex-boyfriend for the next week, in a lovely little house that he could so clearly picture the two of them sharing a life in, surrounded by all of their closest friends.

One week. That was all he had to get through.

One week, and then everything would change.

~

Dinner was, of course, delicious.

Janus twirled his spaghetti around his fork and tried to look as nonchalant as possible, situated directly next to Patton. He cut a sidelong glance at him—at the very least, he seemed a fraction less tense than a few hours ago, which he supposed was an improvement. He had been white-knuckling the steering wheel on the ride over.

His face was also prettily flushed, the way it always was after a few glasses of wine, which Janus was valiantly trying to ignore.

“This is wonderful, dear,” Janus said as naturally as he could. Patton started a little.

“Thank you!” He responded, the flush creeping down to his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. A small, traitorous part of Janus’s brain wondered how far down it went. “…honey.”

“I was thinking we could all head down to the beach at around ten tomorrow?” Roman cut in brightly. “Make some sandwiches, bring a cooler?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Virgil, picking at his salad. In spite of himself, Janus had to fight back a smile. Roman could have suggested they all walk over hot coals at six AM sharp, and Virgil would have readily agreed.

“Everyone good for margaritas after dinner?” Roman asked. He had worked as a bartender in college, and as such, always took it upon himself to make drinks for the group at large. Not that Janus complained. Roman knew exactly how Janus liked his drinks–syrupy sweet, the alcohol nearly undetectable–and scarcely teased him for it.

Patton nodded so emphatically that a bit of white wine from the glass that he was holding nearly sloshed over the side, and understanding hit Janus like a stone sinking in water. He’s planning on getting drunk.

Janus could hardly blame him–the thought had crossed his mind too, as a way to cope with the comically uncomfortable situation the two of them had found themselves in–but Patton was a notoriously chatty drunk.

The first time they had all drank together as a group was in freshman year, sitting in a cramped circle around Roman and Patton’s shared dorm room, playing some drinking game that Roman had found online and nursing some truly disgusting vodka mixers with whatever beverages they could scavenge from the vending machines. It had been two years before he and Patton had started dating, and at the time, Janus had been determinedly ignoring the way his stomach swooped at the sound of his laugh like a bird dipping and gliding in the air. He knew fully well from his older sister what happened to friend groups when two of the members started dating. Despite having only met in August, these were some of the closest friends that Janus had ever had, and he wasn’t willing to give it up on the off chance that Patton liked him back.

On his left, Logan took a shot of New Amsterdam, his face scrunching up in disgust as the others cheered. On his right, Patton, leaning against his dresser and eyes slightly unfocused, shushed them halfheartedly, mumbling something about keeping quiet for the RA. Remus reached to the deck of cards in the center of their lopsided circle, and drew the top one, crowing, “Queen!”

“Whaddoes that one do again?” Virgil asked, readjusting the weighted dinosaur from Patton’s bed he was holding in his lap. He hadn’t relinquished it all night.

“I gotta ask someone a question, then that person asks someone else a question, and so on. First person who doesn’t want to answer drinks. Logan–what’s the worst grade you’ve ever gotten in a class?”

Logan blushed beet red and glared down into his red solo cup, as if trying to divine the answer from his rancid blue Gatorade mixer. At last, he mumbled, “A B. Plus. In junior year English.”

They all roundly booed him.

Logan straightened up and cast his gaze around the circle. “Um…Patton. What is the worst thing you’ve done in the past week?”

Patton’s eyes immediately widened, and he looked guiltily down at the floor. “Yes’trday, I…killed a spider.”

“The horror,” said Remus.

“I didn’ mean to, it jus’ startled me!” Patton said, the alcohol slurring his words together. They had never gotten drunk together as a group before, and Janus suspected that this may be Patton’s first time getting drunk at all.

“‘S alright, Pat,” Virgil snorted, not much more sober than Patton was. “‘S your turn.”

Patton immediately perked up. “So I ask a question?”

“Yep!” Roman said from Patton’s other side.

“Can be anything,” Remus added.

Patton thought for a moment, then turned to Janus so suddenly he startled. Patton’s face was inches away from his, eyes glittering, a pretty flush on his cheeks. ”Janus!” he chirped, and nearly tipped forward into Janus’ lap. “Do you like me?”

The reaction was immediate. Remus choked on his drink, and Roman made a noise that was somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a delighted gasp. Logan’s mouth fell open as he gaped at Patton, and Virgil, despite his inebriation, tugged at Patton’s hand firmly and gave him a pointed glare, hissing, “Pat.”

Janus sat rooted to the spot, the world seeming to tip beneath him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Patton, looking at him so earnestly with those melted chocolate eyes, his lips slightly parted. He was so close that Janus could count the freckles on his face.

He could feel the response on his tongue; could feel the shape of the words, the weight of them. He opened his mouth, and managed a humiliating sound that was something like a frog croaking, which made the twins laugh even harder.

Yes, his brain screamed at him. Yes, I do, and if you keep looking at me like that, I might fall in love with you, too.

Instead, he took a sip of his drink.

~

Now he sat on the couch, margarita in hand and trying his best to ignore the way his nerve endings lit up at every square inch of Patton’s body pressed against his side.

They were all a few drinks deep by now; the twins had insisted on playing drinking games, despite the fact that they were certainly getting too old for such things. Still, it was a welcome distraction: facing off against Roman and Virgil with Remus in a game of pong as Logan and Patton watched bemusedly from the couch was a welcome distraction. At some point, though, he had tapped out, swapping places with Logan, and now he found himself on the couch with Patton.

The room had gone pleasantly fuzzy around the edges; Janus closed his eyes, allowing himself to savor the feeling. His friends were together, the house was quaint and cozy, and Patton was leaning against him, his warmth as comforting as Janus remembered. He could almost pretend that everything was as it should be; that he and Patton were still together, and that they could sit like this again, curled up on each other, not having to worry about jumping back as if the other had burned them.

Janus shoved the thought away; it wasn’t fair to Patton to let himself pretend. They had broken up, and Patton had probably moved on by now. Regardless of whatever lingering feelings Janus still had for him, he needed to respect that.

Patton shifted, and his head lolled gently against Janus’ shoulder. He had been strangely quiet all night—at least he was keeping his lips sealed about the agreement—but Janus was being very much reminded what a cuddly drunk Patton was.

He supposed he should be grateful; if Patton hadn’t decided to sit next to him, it might have seemed suspicious. But him sitting here brought on a new host of problems, chief of which is that Janus would have given anything for the two of them to stay there forever.

He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his mind. The breakup was his own fault, after all; if he had wanted this forever, then he should have stepped up when he had the chance. But still, that wouldn’t have been fair to Patton.

Things are better this way, he told himself firmly. He had been repeating the words over and over again for the past few months, hoping that one day, he’d believe them.

He shifted, and found himself nose-to-nose with Patton, who was blearily blinking up at him through long eyelashes. Janus didn’t know how long he had been staring at him like that.

“Hello,” Janus said, hoping that the flush in his cheeks could be chalked up to the alcohol. “Enjoying the party?”

“Mmmhm,” Patton mumbled sleepily. “Dr’nk too much.”

“I can see that.”

Patton’s brow furrowed, face scrunched up in a pout. “Mean.”

“Honest.” He could feel Patton’s soft curls tickling his chin. “Perhaps we should get you to bed.”

“No,” he whined. “‘M comfy.”

“You won’t be when you wake up on the couch tomorrow with a terrible hangover.”

He poked Janus in the arm. “You’re comfy.”

“Patton,” Janus said, sterner this time. This—whatever this was—couldn’t happen. “Come on, let’s get up.”

“You going to bed?” Roman asked from the pong table, wincing as Logan sank a shot into one of his cups.

“Mhm,” Janus said, looping an arm around a very reluctant Patton. “Someone had a bit too much to drink.”

“‘M fine,” Patton insisted, an argument that was made less convincing by the way he started hiccuping.

“Bed, Patton.”

Remus snorted. “Don’t let him trip up the stairs!” He called after them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Janus said back easily, even as Patton stumbled over his own feet.

They were almost to the landing, Patton tucked against Janus’ side, when Janus heard him mumble, almost too quietly for him to hear it, “I wish you din’ break up with me.”

If Janus hadn’t been so focused on getting him safely to bed, he might have accidentally dropped him. A million emotions clawed their way through his body, filling up his heart: guilt, longing, anger towards himself.

He pushed them all down and readjusted Patton under his arm. “I promise, Patton. It’s better this way.”

TAGLIST: @bluejay-of-the-west @scare-amor @harmonialcollisions @emoprincey @dragonboots @just-my-interpretation @spicycreativity @infawrit10 @emophoenixreborn @6-paris-6 @thedeadandthedecaying @moceit @lily-janus @instantromannoodles @betamash @nandysparadox @halfhissandwich @sanderssidesthehouse @littlerat2 @giraffeboat

[joanofexys]

ocs ask • Inner Life • For Bad withhh Jude 🥰

For Bad: Is there anyone who had an undeniable negative impact on your OC’s life? How did your OC deal with that change? Have they been able to move on?

Jude has a string of bad relationships before Merrick. I’ve threatened before to talk about his shitty dating history. But yeah high school through college is just a series of disasters. And this man is a professional at breaking his own heart

By far the worst is his first boyfriend. Quinn Rhodes ruins Jude Reyes’ life and he swears he’s never going to fall in love with anyone ever again.

Just imagine it. You’re a 16 year old Jude, a junior in high school, you just made starting dealer, and you are head over heels for senior starting striker, Quinn Rhodes.

You have your silly high school crush. You become best friends with him. You’re pretty sure he’s straight. He knows you’re not but he doesn’t seem to mind. And one night, a few weeks after prom, as he’s venting about how he and his girlfriend broke up prom night, he kisses you. And Jude is completely and utterly fucked.

There’s no label on it. They finish up the school year, Quinn graduates, and their little thing continues into the summer. They tell no one.

Quinn signs with USC, he’ll be just a few hours away, but they’re going to be seeing each other a lot. Jude becomes captain of his high school team his senior year.

Quinn asks Jude to be his boyfriend that October, over a midnight phone call. They’re attached at the hip during their breaks. Quinn meets Jude’s moms, they love him.

Jude signs with USC later that year. The two are ecstatic that they’ll get to play together. Their relationship doesn’t even make it to their first game of the year. Beginning of September, Jude’s freshman year, now stuck on the same team together, Quinn Rhodes breaks his heart.

I think we should see other people. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t explore in college. You deserve the chance to experience college dating. It was nice but we both knew it was never gonna last. I mean, it was high school, everyone knows high school dating is casual.

Jude hates him. Jude loves him so much. Jude wants him dead. Jude wants him to show up on the porch of his moms’ place in the pouring rain with a rose and say he wants him back.

He’s so fucking distraught. And this is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve 90% of the time. Quinn is the reason Jude learns to hide a lot of his emotions. This breakup has him obviously devastated and it fucks with the team hard. He’s just fucking miserable throughout September. He checks Quinn too hard. He practically runs out of the locker room. He begs to never be partnered with him again.

Fall break works some type of magic. When he comes back he’s the Jude that they remember signing. He’s the Jude that everyone thinks of fondly in later years.

He and Quinn still avoid each other like the plague but they make it through the year. Then Quinn transfers to Edgar Allan University. And that somehow hurts worse. Jude hates it. He wants to reach out to Quinn now and he can’t. He sent a few texts, make a few desperate calls, all for them to never get a response.

But he deals, and he moves on. And he deals some more with the other shit that life throws at him. And then he’s got too many of his own problems to be worrying about Quinn. And he’s got his team and new friends to look out for. Eventually Quinn becomes a distant memory. Something that aches if he lets himself linger for too long. Someone who still makes him feel bitter. But someone he can’t let himself get hung up on ever again.

So yeah, he moves. He deals, poorly at first, and then learns how to cope better. It might hit him again when he meets Emiko, Mara, and Florian. When he learns more about The Nest. Maybe then he’ll look Quinn up. He’ll see that he crashed and burned. Played too violently with his new team, got a career ending injury. That he’s an assistant coach now. He won’t pick up the phone. He’ll think about it. Wonder if Quinn even has the same number, draft a dozen texts that he’ll never send. And he’ll move on all over again.

[woso-dreamzzz]

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born” Y/n mumbles as she nurses the bottle in her hand. She rocks back and forth on her chair in alexia’s back garden her childhood home as she stared into alexia’s eyes. “Sometimes I wish at the hospital you just left me there. Alone.”

“Bambi you don’t mean that. Let’s get you to bed.” Alexia reaches forward and tries to grab the bottle in Bambi’s hand.

“Do not touch me and don’t call me that. You off all people do not get to call me that M…Alexia. You lost the right to care for me. Did you even want it in the first place? Do not care for me now. Where is Olivia or Ade or Grace even.” Bambi shouts slamming her bottle down and standing up but stumbles back. “You left me.”

“Bam- Y/N that is not what I meant to happen at all. Let’s talk more about it when you’re sober. Grace is at the air b&b with James. Ade and Olivia are at home in London. You need to go home. Your family needs you and you need them.” Alexia pleads her words falling flat like the lemonade in her hand. “Bambi what on earth has happened to you.”

“You happened, don’t you see? You ruined me since birth; from the very first moment you set me up to fail. I am not and never have been good enough for you. I am you in all the ways you cannot love. I am too much of a burden. I hate myself I want my body back cI want my life back I want my job back.” Bambi sobs. They rip through her hard and her ribs jerk with every single one that rips through her. She feels herself gag from how violent they are. She feels her skin scream from the tears burning her face. She puts her hands over her face and starts to walk towards Alexia. “I hate the fact I can’t hate you for destroying me.”

“Oh Y/N come here” she reaches forward and pulls Bambi into her arms. She feels the woman, her daughter relax in her eyes tears soaking through her coaching shirt. She looks into her patio garden doors and into the living room. She stairs at the train. The same train that Alexia blames for the ruin of her relationship with Bambi. But then below the model she can almost see Bambi. She can finally see Bambi under the coffee table. She can see her daughter. She carefully moves Bambi’s head so it’s nuzzled into her neck and moves hair to one side and she can see them.

The scars from when Bambi had chicken pox.

It was a rather fond memory for everyone but Alexia, seeing Bambi toddle about in massive oven mits and having the slight smell of porridge engrained in her skin. How she’d just lay on the grass and roll around to itch her back. Her body had healed reasonably well, she had no scars baring the three at the top of her spine. A perfect triangle. Alexia without thinking reached up and started to lightly scratch them and hum the same lullaby she would when Bambi was just a baby.

“I see you Bambi. I finally see you.” Alexia whispers into the night staring into her living room. Wishing she could turn back time and walk the 20 foot into her living room and to find her daughter. Her Bambi. She quickly places a kiss on her forehead.

“Bambi the worst thing I’ve ever done was not find you that night. I promise in every other lifetime I’ll find you. I promise in the next life I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be the best mama you’ll ever need.”

Bambi’s sobs soon turn into hiccups and turns into silence. Alexia thinks bambis asleep from how silent she is but a small whisper is heard. “I promise I’ll be a better daughter.i promise I’ll never disappoint you.”

“Please don’t leave me mami please don’t leave me again.” Bambi begs tilting her head up to her mother’s eyes putting on her most pleading eyes she can.

“Bambi I promise I won’t leave. I’ll stay with you I promise.” She looks into Bambi’s eyes and it’s almost like a mirror staring back at her “I didn’t realise how similar our eyes were.” Alexia whispers she study’s her daughter’s face and she can see it. All she can see is herself in her daughter.

She is quick to pick Bambi up like she was a child again and sling hee into her arms. Bambi was light. Alexia decides considering she’s just had a baby. She had heard through the grapevine that Bambi had struggled with an earring disorder growing up but she didn’t believe it until she stalked and found Bambi in Lyon one day. It was a contrast the the girl she though she new. Bambi wasn’t a fussy baby before. She’d eat anything but now. Bambi wouldn’t eat if that was hee choice. She needed to be perfect. She needed to go back to work

“Come on Bambi, let’s get into bed.” She turns and helps Bambi into the sitting room and guides her onto the couch but “mami stay with me please” but without looking Bambi starts to stumble and reaches a hand out and with a small tip the train model THE model alexia has kept in amazing condition for years falls onto the floor with a loud bang!

“For heavens sake Bambi! Can’t you just leave it alone for once?” The words fall from alexia’s mouth before she can even think what she’s saying. They feel heavy on her tongue desperate to leave. Alexia can see Bambi’s face drop. She can see how it burns her daughter.

“I don’t want you anymore alexia. Goodnight.”

Bambi didn’t stay the next morning. Nor did she see her mother until the birth of her daughter. Three years later.

Drunk Bambi being loose-lipped is the best ✔️

Bambi relapsing slightly after giving birth ✔️

Alexia continues to put her foot in her mouth at the worst of times ✔️

In love with Alexia keeping the train and being protective over it, her last relic of child Bambi ✔️

Bambi is in desperate need of a hug from everyone but I think specifically a Jenni hug would do her a world of good ✔️

[daydreamingyuta]

Journal│Haechan

Looking through your old memory box, Haechan discovers one of your old journals that exposes your true feelings for him. 

Genre: romance, fluff

Paring: Best friend!Haechan x Reader

Word Count: 1k

A/N: happy Haechan day!! 

“Oh! Do you know what I just remembered?” Haechan asks you, sitting up on your couch.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember, when we were like six or something, and we thought it would be a good idea to put a bunch of hairspray in our hair and make it stick straight up? I would do anything to see the picture of us that your mom took.”

“You know what? I think I have that picture.” You say as you get up and walk over to your closet. You keep a memory box inside, filled with old photos, items from your childhood, and your old journals. 

You pull the box down and set in on your bed while you and Haechan look through everything in the box trying to find the photo. It didn’t take long though and once you found it you both couldn’t stop laughing. 

“This is worse that I remember, our hair looks horrible.”

“I know, for some reason in my memory our hair was sticking up straight and looked super cool.”

“No, same but we just look like a mess. That’s actually kinda crazy how we can remember stuff happening one way but it didn’t actually happen that way at all.”

“Right! That’s why I’m so glad I started writing in my journals so young.”

“Ohh right, your little diary’s that you never let me read.” Haechan says as he picks one of many out of the box. 

It had been forever since you had looked through any of your old journals. You sat down next to Haechan as he flipped through. You quickly realized that it was from when you were around fifteen. 

You see a couple of random collages of you and your old friends. You take a moment to look at them, all of these people besides Haechan had left your life. Not on bad terms or anything, time just has a way of making a best friend turn into a complete stranger. 

Haechan flipped to another random page, it was all about your sixteenth birthday. You instinctively turned away and busied yourself with something else at the thought of your sixteenth birthday. As much as you would have liked to forget it, the memory of your worst birthday ever was still strong in your mind.

This was around the time that you had the biggest crush on Haechan, and he brought his new girlfriend to your birthday dinner. You can still remember exactly how you felt, excusing yourself to the bathroom where you cried for a quick five minutes, to not raise suspicion as to why you were in the bathroom for so long. Haechan didn’t exactly ignore you the whole night or anything, but that was how it felt. Now thinking about it, you kind of acted childish about the whole thing, but when you are sixteen, seeing your crush with someone else felt like the end of the world.  

So while you were trying to distract yourself from thinking about the memory, you weren’t thinking about the fact that Haechan was reading all about your crush on him. That he had no clue about. 

As soon as you realize this, you hear Haechan gasp. “You used to like me y/n?!?”

You eyes widen in both horror and embarrassment, “No.” was all you could say. 

“What do you mean ‘no’ I just read about how jealous you were of me having a girlfriend when we were sixteen.” He says laughing. 

Of course he would find this funny, but you are still mortified. You promised yourself to never tell him about your crush, in fear of ruining your friendship. And, in truth, you’ve never been able to fully get over him. Throughout the years you both have been through other relationships and during those times you learned to let your feelings go, but they always came back. 

“Haechan, this isn’t funny.” You say as you take your journal away from him. 

He senses that you are genuinely not ok with him finding this information out so he stops laughing. “y/n, I didn’t mean to laugh, I just had no clue that you used to like me back then. You didn’t exactly make it clear.”

“Of course I didn’t, I mean, how would you have reacted?”

“How would I have reacted? Well, back then, I would have done anything to hear that you liked me back.”

You head jerked up at his sentence. “Really, you used to like me back then?”

“Why do you sound so sad when you said that?” 

He pauses for a moment, as if working something out in his head, then he gets closer to you. He places his hand on your chin gently and holds your head up so that you are looking at him. “Do you still have a little crush on me y/n” he whispers with a smile. 

Your cheeks heat up and you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach, because, throughout the years of being his best friend, he has never gotten this close to you or talked to you in this way. 

“..I..”

“I know you aren’t the type to reveal your feelings, so just nod your head yes or no if being this close to you is ok.”

Your mind feels all fuzzy and you could hardly think straight, but you give him a slight nod yes. 

“Y/n, that was barely anything, I’m going to need a more clear answe-”

“Yes, Haechan.” you reply in a whisper. 

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in closer. In reality the kiss only lasted a couple of seconds, but it felt like it lasted a lifetime. Probably because you both have been waiting for it to happen for an eternity.

After you both pull apart from each other and try to steady your breathing, you both stare at each other. For some reason, when you see him, he looks so different. Maybe it was because his face was slightly flushed and his cheeks rosy, or maybe it’s because he’s looking at you like a kid on Christmas who just got the present they’ve been dying for. Either way, whatever crush you had on him before this kiss, was suddenly intensified, and you could tell that he was feeling the exact same way. 

“Y/n, I don’t know what you are thinking right now but, if you don’t let me take you out on a date and kiss you a million more times-”

You cut him off with another kiss, not wanting to hear a scenario in which you don’t let him do exactly that.