#chatterbox les

[skulllflower]

So it's been a minute since I've been on here. But uhh my life has pretty much gone to shit. I lost my mom in October and I am not doing okay. I wake up everyday and wish this wasn't my life. I miss her so much. I miss the person I was becoming. I'm so lost without her. I want to escape from this paint but I know I can't.

I feel like I'm messing things up. I don't know what I'm doing without her anymore. Life feels so dull. I want to go back in time and cherish every moment with her. I want to be able to tell myself to take more pictures with her. I miss the sound of her voice, her laughter, her presence. The house feels so empty without her.

I'm scared almost all the time because I have no idea what to do. I have to figure out my life again when I didn't even know what I wanted to do in the first place. I can't sleep and I have no appetite.

I miss her so fucking much.

[formula-ghost]

The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k 

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here). 

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!]  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy. 

The first was a house for his parents. 

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything. 

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started. 

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him.  “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car. 

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early. 

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth. 

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently. 

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of. 

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars. 

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions. 

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious. 

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left. 

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it. 

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature. 

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more. 

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked. 

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said. 

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind. 

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you. 

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness. 

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed. 

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal. 

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears. 

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years. 

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you. 

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence. 

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe. 

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist. 

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around. 

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy. 

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth. 

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public. 

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go. 

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into. 

“Did you plan this?” you asked. 

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face. 

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you. 

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. 

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him. 

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck. 

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit. 

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock. 

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him. 

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him. 

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him. 

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in. 

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release. 

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after. 

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car. 

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs. 

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him. 

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse. 

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring. 

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway. 

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it. 

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally. 

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring. 

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had. 

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive. 

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind. 

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it. 

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major. 

And it scared you. 

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications. 

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond. 

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you. 

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking. 

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air. 

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone. 

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable. 

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her. 

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation. 

“Talk to me,” he said. 

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit. 

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true. 

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you. 

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing. 

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.” 

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well. 

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away. 

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family. 

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes. 

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping. 

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal. 

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco. 

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear. 

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek.  You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted. 

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled. 

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it. 

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down. 

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time. 

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way. 

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan. 

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them. 

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic. 

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you. 

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster. 

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner. 

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun. 

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out. 

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too. 

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide. 

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee. 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing. 

His pockets were empty. 

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word. 

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing. 

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though. 

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box. 

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?” 

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything. 

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others. 

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car. 

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found. 

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation. 

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal. 

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you. 

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled. 

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions. 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered. 

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring. 

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared. 

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression. 

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it. 

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you. 

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles. 

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now. 

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?” 

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie. 

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you. 

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded. 

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?” 

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”  

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide. 

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry. 

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears. 

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you. 

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you. 

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal. 

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back. 

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world. 

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever. 

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome. 

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now.  You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day. 

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest. 

He just hoped you were ready. 

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket. 

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night. 

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves. 

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth. 

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at. 

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you. 

“Marry me,” he whispered. 

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.” 

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand. 

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that. 

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there. 

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real. 

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear. 

[cheriecelestial]

Batboys as Desi Films

𝐃𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

Raj and Simran meet during a trip across Europe and end up getting stranded in the middle of nowhere after they miss their train. Despite their initial clashing, they fall in love. However, Simran’s traditional father has arranged her marriage elsewhere. Raj must win over Simran’s family to marry her, leading to a series of heartfelt moments, comedic misunderstandings, and ultimately, a dramatic climax where love conquers all as the couple fights for their happiness against societal norms.

Dick is so raj coded with his quips and charisma. Their chaotic banter and chemistry is off the charts. Any Indian who hasn’t watched this gets their desi card revoked immediately, I don’t make the rules. This movies fits Dick’s dramatic flair perfectly.

𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐝

Goliyon ki Raasleela Ram-Leela (2013)

The modern adaptation of William Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” set in rural Gujarat, India. It follows the love story of Ram, from the Rajadi clan and Leela, from the Sanera clan, who belong to rival gangster clans engaged in a long-standing feud. Despite the enmity between their families, Ram and Leela fall deeply in love, leading to a tragic and tumultuous journey filled with passion, violence, and sacrifice.

It fits Jason’s love for guns and classics. An absolute visual treat with cinematography and all the songs are absolute bangers.

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞

Jab We Met (2007)

Aditya, a heartbroken business tycoon, someone who was dwelling in the lowest ebb of his life and was almost on the brink of giving it all up, aimlessly boards a train to escape his depressing life. On his journey he meets Geet, a talkative and vivacious young woman. Geet is on her way to meet her boyfriend, but her plans go awry, and she ends up stranded. Aditya, feeling sorry for her, decides to help her get to her destination safely. Along the way, they encounter various adventures and challenges that bring them closer together. Despite their contrasting personalities, they develop a deep connection. However, when they part ways, Aditya realizes his love for Geet and sets out to find her. In the end, they reunite, realizing they are meant to be together.

Grumpy x sunshine. The OG green flag. Epitome of ‘if he wanted to,he would’. Makes my chatterbox heart happy because of how much I relate to the FL. Favourite comfort movie of all time. ML kinda looks like Cillian Murphy’s scarecrow. “I like you a lot but that is my problem, you don’t need to worry about it.” Their fights and his little sassy comebacks and rants were so cute and fun to watch.

𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Jodhaa Akbar (2003)

The Mughal emperor Akbar, seeking to forge political alliances, marries Jodhaa, a Rajput princess. Initially a marriage of convenience, their relationship evolves as they learn to respect and love each other. Jodhaa struggles to adapt to Mughal customs, especially with their cultural and religious differences but her courage and integrity win Akbar's admiration. Despite conspiracies and opposition, including from Akbar's own court, their love prevails. The film explores the transformation of a young ruler, initially groomed for ruthlessness by his mentor Bairam Khan, into a wise and compassionate emperor who values mercy, diplomacy, religious harmony and cultural acceptance. Akbar's realization of the importance of religious tolerance, showcased through his abolition of discriminatory policies and his respect for all faiths.

The arranged marriage tag and the ‘raised as a weapon but softens and shows more compassion out of respect and love for his empress’ tag fits demonhead!Damian so much. The way he said mashallah after he pulled off her veil in the middle of a sword fight >>>>. I love how it captures the essence of India’s rich heritage and diversity. “Why seek paradise ? It is before me now.”

𝐁𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Khoobsurat (2014)

Milli, a free-spirited and eccentric young woman becomes the physiotherapist for a royal family. She brings her lively yet clumsy personality into the conservative royal household, shaking up their structured lives. It clashes with the formal atmosphere of the palace, especially with the stern matriarch, Nirmala Devi. Despite initial resistance, Milli's unconventional methods bring joy and laughter into the lives of the family members, including the brooding prince, Vikram. As Milli navigates the challenges of fitting into the royal household, she also finds herself falling in love with Vikram, leading to a series of comedic and heartwarming moments.

Very cliched (well it is a Disney film) and the second hand embarrassment is unreal but sometimes after a long day all you need is a feel-good cheesy rom-com. Oh to sit next to Fawad Khan in a red convertible while gazing lovingly at him. I like how she emphasises on improving the patient’s mental health to help him heal. Incase you haven’t noticed already, cold brooding™️ x silly goose is my favourite character dynamic.

𝐀/𝐍 - I’ll be honest with y’all, this was to satiate my desire of writing x desi! reader cuz I don’t have enough motivation or time to do it T^T

[lvnleah]

Pumpkin carving chaos.

a cute one about the chaos that comes with pumpkin carving and three kids!

As always thank you to @scribblesofagoonerr for the help on this one! Also features everyone’s two favourites Buddy and monkey!

“I wan’ this pumpkin please!” You told Beth, pointing at the pumpkin that she had just placed on the table. 

“That one?” Beth asked, getting a nod from you as you sat on the dining table chair. “You sure? You want me to put it in front of you?”

You nodded, “Yeah! My pumpkin, when is Buddy gon’ be here?”

“Soon munchkin,” Beth laughed, “Are you excited to do pumpkin carving?”

“Yeah! Mines gon’ be a silly face, not scary!” You declared proudly as Beth set up the table with newspaper and pumpkins at every seat. 

Ever since doing pumpkin carving with Beth and Viv a couple of days ago, you had been begging them to let you do it with your little bestie Buddy. You’d been talking about it non-stop and eventually Beth gave in and arranged something with Leah. 

Halloween wasn’t for a few days yet and Viv was currently in the hospital having another operation on her knee so Beth was using it as something to distract you with. You watched as Beth set up the table with newspaper, carving tools and pumpkins, you sat with Twix happily on your lap as you waited for your best friend to arrive. 

Moments later, the familiar sound of the doorbell rang. You jumped down from the chair and ran towards the door with Myle and Beth following close behind, “Buddy’s here!” 

“Wait a second Roo,” Beth called out as she walked behind you, “Wait for me to open the door please.”

“Hurry up, Mummy!” you urged, bouncing on your toes as you waited by the door with Twix tucked tightly under your arm. 

Beth laughed, taking her time as she reached the door. “What happened to patience, little miss?”

You let out a huff. “I wanna see Buddy though!”

Beth chuckled at your impatience, “What about Auntie Le and Monkey?”

You scrunched up your nose, shrugging a bit. “Well, them as well,” you admitted with a grin, “but me and Buddy gon’ carve pumpkins like you promised! Hurry up, Mummy!”

“Alright, alright, I’m opening the door now!” Beth said, unable to hide her grin as she finally pulled it open.

“Roo!” Buddy’s voice rang out in delight as she launched herself forward, the two of you colliding in an enthusiastic hug.

“Buddy!” you squealed, wrapping your arms around her tightly.

“I’m here as well, remember?” Monkey murmured as she stepped inside. “Honestly, guess I've just been forgotten about now. That’s the harsh reality…”

Leah rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Oh, how will you cope?”

“She seems excited,” Beth said sarcastically, “What’s got you in a grump eh?”

“Malfoy here won’t let me hang out with Kyra alone,” Monkey huffed as Leah shut the door behind her. “Apparently we can’t be trusted alone!”

Leah sighed, shaking her head, “It’s for your own safety! Them two seem happy,” Leah said, nodding towards you and Buddy as you talked amongst yourselves about the pumpkins.

Beth nodded, chuckling. “She hasn’t stopped talking about Buddy coming round to carve pumpkins with her all morning,” she replied, her smile warm as she watched the two of you.

Leah shook her head, grinning. “Buddy has been the same, she’s been more of a chatterbox than usual.”

Beth raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Is that even possible?”

“Oh, okay, I see how it is!” Leah laughed, pretending to be offended. “That’s where Buddy’s got it from, huh? And here I thought it was just Keira telling her that.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Beth teased as they made their way into the kitchen. “She definitely doesn’t get it from Jordy, that’s for sure.”

“Ha, good one, Beef!” Monkey piped up, appearing behind Leah and holding out her hand for a high-five with Beth, which Beth eagerly slapped. “Guess I should go and help the little rugrats with the drawing side of it?”

Beth smirked, crossing her arms. “Sure you don’t mind the gunk?”

“If they try to get me with the gunk like Buddy did last year, then I’m running…” Monkey said, “Well, okay, maybe not running, but you know—quick walk and all that.”

“Sure, we get you. I’m sure you’ll be fine, Menace,” Leah teased, giving Monkey an amused smile.

You and Buddy were already in your seats, pumpkins in front of you, eager to start. 

“Mummy! Hurry up,” you huffed, swinging your legs back and forth. “We wan’ carve them!”

“Yeah! Hurry up,” Buddy echoed like a little parrot, “We need to carve scary faces to scare people!”

Beth chuckled, “Alright, since when did you two become such little monsters huh?”

Monkey took her spot next to you, grabbing a marker and handing one to Buddy. “Alright, rugrats, before you can carve, you gotta draw the face you want. What’s it gonna be?”

You gave Monkey a determined nod. “I’m making a silly face. Not scary. But maybe a little spooky, like… spooky-funny!”

Buddy scrunched up her nose, clearly deep in thought. “Mine’s gon’ be super scary! Have big smile cos’ then it’ll be friendly too. Like a monster that makes people laugh!”

Beth shook her head, trying to hold back her laughter as she pulled up a chair to help. “So, we’ve got spooky-funny and scary-friendly. I think these pumpkins are in good hands.”

Leah sat down next to Beth, grabbing a carving tool and showing Buddy how to use it safely. “Alright, little monster, remember, we’re just drawing faces right now, no cutting yet. Once you’re happy, then we’ll help with the carving.”

Buddy nodded, her eyes wide as she carefully started drawing. You, meanwhile, had already sketched out two big eyes and a wobbly, goofy smile on your pumpkin, giggling at your own masterpiece.

Monkey leaned over to check it out, chuckling. “Looks like a little pumpkin with attitude! Alright, Miss Spooky-Funny, I’ll help with the mouth. You want teeth?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Pointy ones, but not too pointy. I don’t want it to be scary-scary.”

As the drawing finished, Leah helped Buddy with her pumpkin design while Beth handed you and Buddy some tools for carving.

Beth took a deep breath as she held a small knife over the top of your pumpkin. “Alright, here we go,” she said, carefully cutting a circle around the stem. Once the lid was free, she lifted it with a triumphant smile. “Pumpkin top off—ta-da!”

Buddy peered into her pumpkin that Leah had just cut, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at da’ guts!” she squealed, reaching in without hesitation to grab a handful of the sticky, stringy mess.

You, on the other hand, wrinkled your nose in disgust, leaning away from your pumpkin. “Eww! Mummy, it’s slimy and gross! It’s stinky!”

Monkey pulled a face of her own. “I’m with you, Roo. That stuff is just… rank.” She shivered dramatically. “Keep yer’ pumpkin guts away from me, Buddy!”

But Buddy was unfazed, squishing the pumpkin innards between her fingers. “It feel funny! Look, it all gooey!” She held up her handful of pumpkin guts, grinning from ear to ear.

Leah chuckled as she helped Buddy scoop out more of the insides. “Quite the little pumpkin enthusiast you are, aren’t ya bubba?”

Beth smiled, shaking her head. “She’s fearless, that’s for sure. Unlike these two wimps,” she teased, nodding toward you and Monkey, who were huddled away from the pumpkin mess with matching looks of horror.

You watched Buddy giggle as she played with the guts, looking both fascinated and appalled. “It stinks!”

Buddy just laughed, tossing some of the pumpkin seeds onto the newspaper in front of her. “It not bad! You try, Roo?”

You shook your head firmly. “No thank you!”

Beth grinned, handing you a spoon. “Here, use this instead, alright? No slimy fingers then.”

Monkey watched her with a raised eyebrow. “You’re really going all in there, aren’t you, Buddy?”

Buddy beamed, holding up a little clump of guts. “Look! Pumpkin monster!”

She wiggled the gooey mess in front of you, pretending it was alive, and you squealed, laughing, “Ewww, Buddy, no! 

Leah rolled her eyes playfully and set down Buddy’s pumpkin scooper. “Alright, alright, I think Roo’s had enough of the pumpkin monster. Let’s get back to making those silly and spooky faces, huh?”

You nodded with a big grin, now brandishing your spoon proudly as your tool of choice. Carefully, you started scraping out the inside of your pumpkin, occasionally glancing at Buddy, who was still digging in with her hands like a pro.

“Monks, look! Pumpkin guts,” Buddy smiled, holding up her messy hand that was covered in the pumpkin guts. “For ‘ou!”

Monkey shrieked, pulling away from Buddy, “No way, get that stuff away from me!”

You and Buddy giggled at Monkey’s reaction, both of you clearly entertained by her dramatics. Beth chuckled, shaking her head, “Alright, let’s keep the pumpkin guts to ourselves, yeah?”

Buddy pouted a little, wiping her hands on the newspaper, but quickly turned her attention back to her pumpkin. “Fine. ‘Ou missing out monks!”

Leah handed Buddy a napkin with a grin. “Okay, pumpkin monster, let’s make this masterpiece even scarier, yeah?”

Buddy nodded eagerly, going back to her drawing. “He’s gon’ have big teeth” she announced, adding exaggerated fangs to her pumpkin’s smile.

Meanwhile, you had finally scooped out enough to start carving. Beth sat beside you, guiding your hand carefully. “Alright, here’s the tool, but remember, just take it slow, yeah?”

You nodded, biting your lip in concentration as you began to carve the first eye. “It’s gonna look soooo funny,” you whispered. 

Monkey leaned over, watching your progress. “I don’t know, Roo. He looks pretty scary to me!”

You giggled, adding a wobbly eyebrow above one eye, “He no scary! He’s friendly!”

Beth stifled a laugh beside you. “Definitely unique looking!” she said proudly.

As you carved your pumpkin’s second eye, you glanced over at Buddy’s pumpkin, which now had exaggerated fangs and wild eyebrows that looked both terrifying and a little goofy.

Buddy looked over at your pumpkin and gasped dramatically. “Roo! ‘Our pumpkin is silly!”

You grinned, “Silly but friendly, like me!”

Leah smirked, watching you both. “These pumpkins are a sight to behold. I think they’re the best girls I've ever seen, girls!”

Monkey leaned over and snickered, “Oh yeah, they’re definitely original that’s for sure,” she, being on the recieving end of a glare from Leah while she held her hands up, “Geesh, alright, I was jokin’. I’m sorry!”

Leah contninued to eye Monkey before she turned to lean towards Buddy, “So, what’re we callin’ this pumpkin then, bubba?”

Buddy looked deep in thought for a few seconds before cracking a smile, “I know! His’ name gon’ be Freddie! Cos’ he’s scary!”

You looked at your pumpkin thoughtfully. “Mine’s Steve. He’s funny, like me!”

Beth slowly nodded her head, “Unique names…but they suit them!”

“Oh yeah, like from the movie… Shit,” Monkey’s eyes widened in realisation before quickly clamping her mouth shut within seconds, her eyes darted towards Leah in her realisation of her slip up, “Uhm, yeah, forget I said out about whatever I just said then!”

“That’s a cute name… Wait, what?” Leah crossed her arms, giving Monkey a disapproving look. “Are you kidding me?”

“I swear, Le, it’s not as bad as it sounds, honestly,” Monkey murmured, scracthing the back of her neck awkwardly, wondering to herself how she planned to get out of this one.

“Explain. Now,” Leah continued to look a mixture of intrigued and annoyed at the current situation, “You hadn’t better be about to say what I think you’re about to say, Menace.”

“Well, uh… So, well me and Kyra wanted to watch a film and uh… Buddy may or may not have happened to walk in at the wrong time,” Monkey mumbled, hoping Leah hadn’t caught onto it right at that moment, “See? It’s really not that bad!”

Beth grinned, “Oh really? And what movie might that be, Menace?”

“It was just a Halloween one, you know, only a smidge bit scary but there was well, there was a lot of toys in it, and uh she loved it!” Monkey continued to fidget nervously, “Didn’t you, Buddy?”

“Uh huh, it was fun!” Buddy nodded in agreement, “Five nights at Freddies!”

Leah’s eyes widened at the title of the movie, “Are you kidding me, Monkey?! What the hell is wrong with you– You let a 3 year old watch a horror film with you. I honestly can’t even fathom the words right now… How could you let this happen!?” she ranted right there and then on the spot, and Monkey knew she was done for.

“I know, I messed up and I’m sorry, but she honestly did love it though!” Monkey tried to clarify and make it better than it seemed.

“That doesn���t make it okay!” Leah was seething with the younger girl, shaking her head, “We will be talking about this later, lets’ just finish these pumpkins for now.” She declared.

After a bit more carving and laughter, the pumpkins were finally finished. You and Buddy proudly held them up for everyone to see.

“Alright, who’s ready to take these outside and light them up?” Beth asked, clapping her hands.

You and Buddy’s faces lit up in excitement. “Me! Me!”

As Beth and Leah carefully lifted the pumpkins to carry them outside, “Mummy, I wanna carry Steve!” you said, reaching out with both arms.

“Me too! I wan’ carry Freddie!” Buddy added, crossing her arms and looking up at Leah with a pout.

Leah chuckled, bending down to meet Buddy’s eyes. “Fred’s a bit heavy, but you can help me, okay?”

Buddy’s shoulders slumped slightly, clearly wishing she could manage it on her own. “I big enough to carry him myself,”she muttered, looking a little disappointed.

Beth glanced at you, amused. “Same with you, little miss. Steve might not be as heavy as Freddie, but he’s still a bit much for you, yeah?”

You crossed your arms stubbornly. “I’m strong! I can carry him,” you protested, looking at Beth with your best “I’m serious” face.

Beth softened, giving you a warm smile. “I know you’re strong, Roo, but pumpkins like these need two strong people to carry them.” 

You let out a tiny huff but nodded. “Why don’t you girls carry the lights, yeah? That’s the most important thing!” Leah suggested. 

“Yeah!” You nodded, taking a packet of LED candles from Beth. 

Outside, Beth and Leah set the pumpkins down, and you and Buddy immediately crouched in front of them, faces glowing with excitement as Beth switched on the LED candles inside.

“Look at him!” you said proudly, reaching out to pat Steve’s carved face.

Leah nodded, watching you both bask in pride. “I’d say Steve and Freddie are the best pumpkins ever!”

[shana-silver-fox]

La Mort et le Bucheron

So doing my DD rewatch and knowing this time around Carol is coming makes so much difference.

There are no accidents in dialogue.

This wasn’t Laurent just being the knowledgeable little chatterbox he is.

Telling this specific fable was heavy foreshadowing.

Cut for spoilers I guess 👻

A story of fortitude. Not romance. Fortitude.

I expect that Daryl and ghost Isabelle’s scene will resemble the famous painting.

Isabelle will play the same part that Merle once did for Daryl. Even though he wasn't dead, Daryl hallucinated him at a time he was in a dangerous situation and needed a kick in the pants. Of course Daryl has matured A LOT since then, so it would only make sense his "ghosts" will mature too. Of course no one back then thought Merle "ghost" was anything romantic either.

I'm perfectly OK with a Isabelle being Daryl's fortitude.

Carol is his love. Carol is his heart. Carol is his soulmate.

If anything Daryl will have more fortitude FOR Carol because of Isabelle ;)

[starry-on-ao3]

How are you doing? : )

Aw it's lovely to hear from you!!! 🥰 I'm..... Well....

Currently just flabbergasted at those Farmody deleted scenes!!! They are everything and I can't wait to make some more gifs with them!! But I am freaking out slightly at the idea of my Farmody series coming to an end, ahhh I don't want it to stop!! I'm so excited for new fic ideas though!!

Work is good :) (very good, actually! I started a new project and it's already very very fun and interesting and I may even be able to get a first author paper from it! 🥰)

And I bought my wedding dress last week!! I named her Nina 🥰

We went to see Twelfth Night a few weeks ago in Stratford-upon-Avon, which has reignited my childhood dreams of becoming an actress, and I'm thinking of joining the staff drama group at my work 🥰

I had an embarrassing moment at work last week, I accidentally started singing Les Miserables lyrics quietly to myself while listening to it and completely not realising that I was totally alone in an empty and quiet office with the most senior manager... I just hope he didn't notice 😂

That's me!! Thank you for the ask awh, I'm a huge chatterbox so always happy to answer!! 🥰🥰🥰

[tangledbea]

I know the showrunner you're talking about, but who's the producer? Its not Ben Baliserti, it's someone else, right?

It's Ben. CS was the executive producer/showrunner, but Ben was the producer. Ben isn't as le problematique as CS, but he's often tone deaf in the face of what he considers comedy. He's responsible for Friedeborg, who was intended to be an homage to Marty Feldman, an actor/comedian.

But what he didn't take into account was that the target audience of Tangled: the Series wouldn't know Marty, who was at the height of his popularity in the 70s. And by making Friedeborg mute (or, at least, mute while on-screen, with the gag being that off-screen she's a chatterbox), it made her come across as special needs, and the fact that her appearance was meant to be funny while she also came across as special needs, it came across as we were supposed to be laughing at her mental misfortune. Ben did not realize this.

So, I wouldn't want him to be even half in charge of creating human tribal people.

[jeanie-g]

#49 jd/tz for the spotify game

this has gotta be one of the nichest songs on my playlist, but it led to this delight! (also excuse my french - i took it for five years but im still a bit rusty lol)

[#49] In For A Trim (Musical Monday)

Oh, I need something done with my hair, don't know what to do / I hope they have three-in-one conditioner, body wash, and shampoo

Despite what the media (and his friends) have said, Trevor didn't set out to get a mullet.

He went in for his bi-monthly hair appointment with plans to just get a little off the top. But his usual hairdresser was sick that day, so the new guy—a chatterbox named Étienne—kept talking about how perfect his hair would be for a mullet.

"C'est—'ow you say—à la mode? Et pour votre joli visage, monsieur! Vous avez un très joli visage. Les femmes diront, 'Oo! Il est si beau. Est-ce qu'il célibataire?'"

Trevor took exactly one French class in middle school, so he just nodded along as Étienne yammered on excitedly. It wasn't until he stuck a magazine in Trevor's face—showcasing male hairstyles—that he understood. Étienne pointed to a mullet with his manicured hand.

"Voici, monsieur. C'est beau, non?"

Trevor tilted his head. He'd never had a mullet before. He usually stuck to what Jack once called, "Your fuck boy cut." One of his buddies in juniors rocked a mullet and got teased for it to no end, but they were coming back in style.

He thought, with a swirl in his tummy, that Jamie might like it.

He gave Étienne a quick up and down. Besides his manicured hands, he was wearing a cheetah print crop top and leather pants. Yeah, Trevor could trust him.

"Um, well, would you think my boyfriend would like it?"

"Ton copain?" A slow smile appeared on Étienne's face. He switched to English. "I'll take care of you."

[xx]

Trevor walks through the doors of the Honda Center, nervously playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. He almost wishes he had a beanie to tug down over his ears, though it wouldn't even hide all of it. What if Jamie doesn't like it? What if he thinks it's dumb?

It looks good, he thinks. Trevor looks good. When Étienne turned him around in the chair with a "Ta da!" he was shocked with how well it turned out—fluffy on top and cut close right above his ears, with a modest mane cascading down the back of his neck and curling up at the end.

Étienne chuckled. "Parfait pour ton copain, non?"

"Non," Trevor repeated, dazed. "I mean, yes. Oui."

His hands are sweating as he enters the locker room, nerves only compounding when the room quiets. A wolf whistle breaks the silence.

"Woah, Z! Nice cut, man!" Mason says with an elated laugh, standing up to get a closer look.

Trevor chuckles warily. "What can I say? They're back in style, man."

A couple other guys compliment him on the new look, but Trevor only cares about one opinion. His eyes shoot over to Jamie's stall, where he's silently getting dressed. His heart sinks into his stomach.

Okay, so Jamie doesn't like it. Or worse, he doesn't care. Trevor tries to push it from his mind and he puts on his base layers and socks, but then he sees a familiar pair of feet traipse up to him. He looks up and sees Jamie, thick eyebrows raised.

"I need to talk to you. Alone." His tone is flat, and it makes Trevor nervous. Is the cut really that bad that Jamie's gonna break up with him?

Trevor just nods, dutifully standing and following Jamie out of the locker room and into the hallway. He expects to get stop there, but then Jamie opens the door to a utility closet and shoves him inside.

"What are you—" Trevor starts, but he doesn't have time to finish the sentence before the door clicks shut and Jamie's lips are on his.

Trevor's pliant and obedient when it comes to Jamie, so he just kisses him back without having to think about it, parts his lips so Jamie can shove his tongue inside.

Jamie doesn't though. He pulls back, lips already red. "Your hair."

And, right. Trevor touches it self-consciously. "Do you not like it?"

Jamie chuckles, low and sexy. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

The nerves in Trevor's stomach are replaced with molten heat, pushing a bubbling laugh out of him. Again, Jamie gives Trevor no time to talk; he just kisses him again, finally licking into Trevor's mouth and bringing their chests flush with each other.

Jamie winds his hands through Trevor's hair and tugs lightly, eliciting a small moan. That makes Jamie tug harder, and Trevor is suddenly very nervous his knees are gonna buckle.

"So sexy," Jamie whispers between kisses. "You always know how to get me going, baby."

Trevor hums against Jamie's lips. "I thought you didn't like it. You didn't say anything. You didn't even look at me."

Jamie chortles. "I was looking, Trevor, and if I'd opened my mouth back there, everyone would've known exactly what we get up to behind closed doors."

Trevor blushes furiously. "And what do they think we're doing right now?"

Jamie kisses his jaw. "Getting water."

"You are thirsty."

Jamie rolls his eyes but kisses him again anyways.

So, the mullet's a win, then. Trevor has to send Étienne some flowers or something. The man is a genius.

[sickofthis666]

The fucking cognitive dissonance you have to go through growing up when you're a girl whose father is openly sexist/misogynist in your presence...

When he was mad at my mother (something that happened almost on a daily basis since he flied off the handle over nothing, or over something one day and over the opposite the next day) or at a female employee he had to interact with, his rants suddenly became aimed at All Women. "Les bonnes femmes", like he calls them (Note here that despite "bonnes femmes" being the addition of good and woman, it is pejorative. Not only that, but a good man is... well, a good man. It's a positive term.), were suddenly the root of all evil in his life. They're hysterical, superficial, gold diggers, chatterboxes. Hey dad, I'm a teenager, soon an adult, soon a woman, une bonne femme comme les autres, is that how you'll see me? Or will I get special treatement?

The cognitive dissonance that comes with hearing almost daily your father insults your mother for features that you two share. She's ugly - but doesnt that make me ugly too, dad? We look so much alike after all, there's not a single stranger that doesnt clock us as mother and daughter. She's a fat cow - but doesn't that mean you think I'm fat too, dad? He says no, he says I'm different, but my mother and I are roughly the same height and weight, so how could he find one fat but not the other?

Note how there's no male equivalent for "bonnes femmes" - and why would there be one? My father never complained about All Men as a whole.

Not All Men but All Women.

[paranoidginger]

Hello! I have my small question: what are your favourite cosmetics to the mercs you play the most and what ones you will use in your lore/story, like you did with Spy

So, My favorite Mercs to play are Engineer, Medic, and Demoman, but I dabble with the other classes as well.

My Engineer Loadout is E2, and for him I use the Hipster style Brown Bomber and the Graveyard shift Sleuth Suit, and those are probably some of my favorite cosmetics to use for Engie, other than the pocket Pyro.

I don't plan on writing anything for Medic or Demo, but my favorite cosmetics for medic are probably Das Maddendoktor, The Chronoscarf, and Wooly Pulli (and Archimedes, of course) but I only have Das Naggenvatcher at the moment. As for Demo, I really like the Pirate Bandana and the Hawaiian Hangover, I don't have any Demo-specific cosmetics at the moment, but I do have him equipped with the Tough Stuff Muffs.

My current spy loadout is Bait, who consists of the Cosa Nostra Cap, the Scarecrow, and Le Professionnel.

The only other Merc I'm thinking about writing a story for (At the moment) is my Scout Loadout, which consists of Airdog, Side-valve Fuel Injector, and Blizzard Britches. I've been calling him Chatterbox in my head.

[yenforfairytales]

Love Potion No. 9 (1992) was on TV before I went to bed, so of course I have the ACCURSED thought of, 'Hmm. What if Terry bought a love potion?'

(Basically in this au, anyone who drinks the potion falls in love with the first person they see.)

So, early 90's Terry buys a love potion from a gypsy, as one does, in an attempt to finally win over Daniel, but Kreese accidentally drinks it instead and becomes infatuated with Daniel. I'm talking full-on homicidal Pepé Le Pew lmao.

Daniel is like 'wtf is happening' the entire time, meanwhile Terry is internally screaming because this is a nightmare.

It quickly turns into one of those TIG action movies where he's gotta protect a tiny brunette from the dangers.

Or in this case, from the Kreese who can suddenly recite poetry while snapping bones of anyone in his way.

Becomes Rambo vs. Rambo as they fight over Daniel-- who might've been more grateful to have a Green Beret on his side if it wasn't the guy's fault that a second Green Beret was after his ass to begin with.

Daniel: 'One psychopath at a time! Everyone's gonna get a turn!' D8<

Terry: 'I'm sorryyy.' T_T

Alternatively:

We can follow the movie's potion premise and make it so that whomever drinks the potion has people falling in love with them just from the sound of their voice. (They become little lovestruck robots and have to do whatever the potion drinker says.)

Imagine Terry buys the potion, planning to drink it and speak in front of Daniel so that the boy will fall in love with him and bend to his will, but somehow the potion ends up in Daniel's drink instead. And Daniel has to keep his mouth shut lest he have hundreds of people(or anyone around the sound of his voice) chase him up and down The Valley.

Chatterbox Daniel having to stay quiet? Unable to speak? Lmao

He'd be so pissed. But he and Terry can speak with just a look, so it isn't really a problem for them to communicate. Daniel's main concern is trying not to speak in front of Terry, but little does Daniel know that the potion wouldn't work on Terry anyway, because Terry's already legitimately in love with him.

Blah, blah, stuff happens and at the end, Terry does manage to get his hands on another potion and proceeds with his original plan, but wait a sec-- Why isn't Daniel fawning over me and doing whatever I ask? Why is he still standing there yelling at me, completely unaffected?

Daniel: 'Because I was already in love with you, you idiot!'

*proceeds to beat with fists*

🕊💕

[ohtumbly]

Mr. Men art dump 20/8/24

Featuring Little Miss Birthday and Mr. Birthday

Because today's my birthday! I'll wish you the best

I found this from the The Big Mr. Men Book; just search for 'Le Grand Livre Des Monsieur Madame' on Google

The translation of the upside-down text is:

Answers: Little Miss Shy will not dare; Little Miss Curious will wonder why; Little Miss Fickle will hesitate; Little Miss Scatterbrain will forget; Little Miss Dotty, yes! Tickle Tickle; Little Miss Giggles, yes! Tickle tickle; Little Miss Naughty, yes! Tickle tickle; Little Miss Trouble, yes! Tickle tickle

So I drew exactly that in response

Wake up Miss Late

Mr. Small slides down a sink on a bar of soap

No, it's not Little Miss Brave, neither was it Mr. Calm

And now let's begin the celebration.

Little Miss Birthday prepares gifts for the occasion, for any Mr. Men or Little Miss, or even you.

So, Little Miss Chatterbox got herself a cuckoo clock that talks back.

Little Miss Fickle got some wallpaper for her dining room of different colours and patterns.

Little Miss Busy got a new pair of glasses, and a cloth that comes in handy.

Little Miss Late got a bus stop, of course.

Little Miss Tiny got a dollhouse her size. Possible replacement for her mouse hole?

Little Miss Twins got two boxes with two pairs of bunny slippers for each of the twins. Read it carefully and tell me how many bunny slippers are there in the replies.

And Little Miss Giggles got a squeaky doll of herself. She got another from Mr. Funny, and a third one from Mr. Tickle. Oh dear.

She also finds the best solutions to solving people's problems, like giving Mr. Fussy a tiny iron for his shoelaces, or giving Mr. Forgetful a belt with a notepad and pen. The only cost is it had to be on your birthday.

Mr. Birthday sets up the most ideal birthday parties you could ever imagine.

If it's Mr. Noisy's birthday, it would be very noisy with noisemakers and party blowers for everyone.

But Mr. Quiet's party would be quieter.

Mr. Rush's party would last only 5 minutes.

Mr. Fussy would have a neat and tidy party with seats assigned to exactly the right guests and the right amount of drinks.

He even cares for Mr. Grumpy, letting him enjoy his birthday on his own or with family members.

How would your birthday party be prepared and done?

[garethllane]

FILM LOG || March 2024

★★★★★ - Blonde Ambition, Lem Amero and John Amero (1981) ★★★★☆ - Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom, Pier Paolo Pasolini (1975) ★★★★☆ - Theorem, Pier Paolo Pasolini (1968) ★★★★☆ - Wild at Heart, David Lynch (1990) ★★★★☆ - Chatterbox!, Tom DeSimone (1977) ★★★★☆ - Barbara Broadcast, Radley Metzger (1977) ★★★★☆ - Peeping Tom, Michael Powell (1960) ★★★★☆ - Streets of Fire, Walter Hill (1984) ★★★★☆ - Women in New York, Rainer Werner Fassbinder (1977) ★★★★☆ - Shock Corridor, Samuel Fueller (1963) ★★★★☆ - Pumping Iron, George Butler and Robert Fiore (1977) ★★★★☆ - Rapture, Ivan Zulueta (1979) ★★★★☆ - Superstar: Karen Carpenter Story, Todd Haynes (1987) ★★★★☆ - Pumping Iron II: The Women, George Butler (1985) ★★★☆☆ - Muscle, Hisayasu Sato (1989) ★★★☆☆ - The Death of Maria Malibran, Werner Schroeter (1972) ★★★☆☆ - Reform School Girls, Tom DeSimone (1986) ★★★☆☆ - Hell Night, Tom DeSimone (1981) ★★★☆☆ - Angel III: The Final Chapter, Tom DeSimone (1988) ★★★☆☆ - Mary Jane's Not a Virgin Anymore, Sarah Jacobson (1996) ★★★☆☆ - Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Howard Hawks (1953) ★★★☆☆ - Death on the Beach, Enrique Gomez Vadillo (1991) ★★★☆☆ - Erotikus, Tom DeSimone (1973) ★★★☆☆ - I'm Going to Get You Elliot Boy, Ed Forsyth (1971) ★★★☆☆ - Mondo Trasho, John Waters (1969) ★★★☆☆ - Nighthawks, Ron Peck (1978) ★★★☆☆ - Bloody Muscle Body Builder, Shinichi Fukazawa (1995) ★★★☆☆ - Fortune and Men's Eyes, Harvey Hart (1971) ★★★☆☆ - She Devils on Wheels, Hershell Gordon Lewis (1968) ★★☆☆☆ - Jail Bait, Ed Wood (1954) ★★☆☆☆ - Athena, Richard Thorpe (1954) ★★☆☆☆ - Flaming Creatures, Jack Smith (1963) ★★☆☆☆ - The Hunger, Tony Scott (1983) ★★☆☆☆ - Jesus Christ Superstar, Norman Jewison (1973) ★★☆☆☆ - Beefcake, Thom Fitzgerald (1998) ★★☆☆☆ - Partners, James Burrows (1982)

Shorts:

★★★★☆ - La Ricotta, Pier Paolo Passolini (1963) ★★★★☆ - I Was a Teenage Serial Killer, Sarah Jacobson (1993) ★★★☆☆ - Le Plus Del Homme Du Monde, Jean Mineur (1948) ★★★☆☆ - Sins of the Fleshapoids, Mike Kuchar (1965) ★★☆☆☆ - Ed Fury on the Beach, Bob Mizer (1960)

[bookishnerdlove]

MEMPER - Capitulo 61

Capítulo 61

Quién es un psicópata (Parte 1)

"Jin Lan Heng no es el asesino”. Su mayor diferencia con ser un asesino psicópata es: cuando traté de enojarlo verbalmente, estaba un poco aturdido y se explicó pacientemente. No mostró demasiadas emociones ni comportamientos impulsivos. Podríamos decir que tiene un muy buen estado mental y tiene una gran capacidad para ajustarse. Si nuestro asesino es alguien que tiene un gran resentimiento y odio hacia las mujeres, cuando es humillado por una mujer, definitivamente no podría mantener la calma. Además, a Jin Lan Heng no le gustan los deportes extremos y es reacio a gastar dinero en mujeres. ¿Alguna vez has visto a un asesino psicópata pensar tanto en los detalles al cazar a su presa? ¿Has visto a alguien que razonaría continuamente contigo y no gastaría dinero hasta que le dieran algunos regalos?" El Land Rover está acelerando en la noche. Bai Jin Xi habla de muchas cosas que hacen reír a todos en el auto. Xiao Zhuan dice después de pensar por un momento: "¿Pero podría todo esto ser su disfraz?" Jin Xi responde: "Eso no es posible. En primer lugar, no sabían que los estaríamos investigando encubiertos, por lo que las posibilidades de que se disfrazaran son muy bajas. En segundo lugar, aunque algunas cosas se pueden disfrazar como cuando le pregunté si le gustaba o no el puenting, podría haber respondido que no debido a ser cauteloso, la clave es: si es un psicópata, cuando sus emociones son provocadas repentinamente, su reacción, expresión y lenguaje corporal es algo que no podrá controlar u ocultar. Pero no vimos ninguna de estas reacciones de Jin Lan Heng en este momento". Xiao Zhuan, Cold Face y los demás asienten. Chatterbox dice sonriendo: "Xiao Bai, solía pensar que solo estabas familiarizada con la psicología criminal, ¡pero nunca pensé que fueras tan experta en estudiar psicópatas!" Todo el mundo se ríe. Jin Xi también se ríe, pero sus ojos miran por la ventana a los muchos letreros de neón que pasan mientras cae en pensamientos profundos. Han Chen la mira con el rabillo del ojo y no dice nada. Ambas manos están en el volante mientras continúa conduciendo. "¿Quién es el segundo sospechoso eliminado?" Xiao Zhuan pregunta: "¡Supongo que es Situ Yi! Parece un caballero y deja una buena impresión. Jiang Zi Yi, por otro lado, se puede decir que es un psicópata retorcido con solo mirarlo. Está loco, pero actúa como una persona adecuada frente a los demás. Es como un lunático. ¡Tiene que ser él!" Chatterbox apoya: "Sí, ya que la señorita Xiao Zhuan también siente que Situ Yi es un caballero, ¡definitivamente no puede ser él!" "Pfffft ..." Jin Xi deja escapar una risita. Han Chen y Cold Face también sonríen. Zhou Xiao Zhuan está furioso. Le da un puñetazo a Chatterbox y luego mira a Jin Xi, que está en el asiento del pasajero, "¡Xiao Bai! ¡Todo es tu culpa!" Jin Xi aplaude y se disculpa, "¡Lo siento, lo siento! Pero no podía decir que mi nombre era Han Chen. Este nombre es demasiado masculino. Y todavía no puedo recordar el nombre de Chatterbox o Cold Face". Cold Face y Chatterbox se quedan sin palabras, "..." Xiao Zhuan comenta: "... Oh, esa es la razón". "Pero estás equivocado. El segundo sospechoso que es eliminado es en realidad Jiang Zi Yi", dice Jin Xi, "Dejando de lado su comportamiento loco, su único rasgo principal es que durante el baile y la recitación de poesía, mostró muchas expresiones detalladas. Aunque no sabemos por qué tenía tales emociones, esas emociones eran muy fuertes y reales que afectaban a los demás. El poema también tenía una lógica muy clara de principio a fin. Y he dicho antes que las emociones de un verdadero psicópata son muy superficiales. Es porque en realidad no puede sentir las emociones de las personas normales. Es por eso que es despiadado y no tiene simpatía. Podría ocultarlo bien por lo general, haciéndolo parecer que tiene simpatía por los demás. Por ejemplo, podría hacer algo de caridad, expresar tristeza y dolor, pero si quieres que exprese el tipo de emociones fuertes y únicas que tuvo Jiang Zi Yi, no podrá hacerlo. Se pondrá rígido y será difícil para él. Y según los demás en la casa club, Jiang Zi Yi siempre ha sido así. Sería más para un asesino psicópata fingir tener emociones fuertes difícil que pastorear gatos, además del hecho de que no hay necesidad de que lo haga. Además, ¿has visto a un asesino psicópata disfrutar expresándose como un loco lunático frente a una multitud? Debido a que se dan cuenta de sus diferencias con los demás a su lado, generalmente son introvertidos y son buenos para esconderse. Por lo tanto, si tenemos que decir quién está realmente loco, Jiang Zi Yi está loco en la superficie. El asesino psicópata es el que está verdaderamente retorcido". "¿Qué pasa con Situ Yi entonces?" Cold Face pregunta. "Según nuestros hallazgos actuales, Situ Yi coincide completamente con todos los rasgos del sospechoso de este caso: guapo, caballero, soltero, rico, un gran cambio en la familia cuando era pequeño y ha tenido un conflicto con la policía en el pasado. También es muy bueno en la caza de sus presas mientras mantiene un perfil bajo. Sacó a una chica de la casa club casi sin que nadie se diera cuenta. Y tiene sentidos muy agudos, de inmediato sintió que Han Chen y yo estábamos fuera de lugar", dice Jin Xi, "Ya sea que sea o no el asesino que hemos estado buscando, todavía tenemos que investigar más. Pero objetivamente hablando, en toda la ciudad Lan, él es el único que queda que encaja en el perfil. Al igual que la frase que Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dijo una vez..." Gira la cabeza para mirar a Han Chen. Las comisuras de su boca revelan una sonrisa. "Cuando hayas eliminado lo imposible, lo que quede, por improbable que sea, debe ser la verdad (Sherlock Holmes)", dicen los cinco en el auto juntos. ⭑✻✻✻⭒✼✼✼⭒✻✻✻⭑ Esta noche, los tres sospechosos son llevados a la estación nuevamente. Jin Lan Heng fue abordado por la policía cuando salió solo de la casa club. Había vagado toda la noche y no pudo atrapar a ninguna chica. Al ver a la policía aparecer de repente, se sorprendió bastante, pero los siguió impotente y sintiéndose un poco molesto al mismo tiempo. Jiang Zi Yi estaba intimando con una mujer en el auto cuando la policía llamó a la ventana. En cuanto a Situ Yi... Cuando la policía llamó a la puerta de su mansión, él y una mujer estaban bebiendo vino tinto y bailando vals. 1am de la mañana. Dentro de la sala de interrogatorios. El primero en ser interrogado es Jin Lan Heng, como antes. Al verlo a través de la ventana de vidrio, Jin Xi se siente divertida pero se disculpa al mismo tiempo. Ella le dice a Han Chen: "Iré contigo". Han Chen la mira, "Está bien". Entran juntos a la sala de interrogatorios. Jin Lan Heng mira a Bai Jin Xi con los ojos muy abiertos y la expresión cambiando. Jin Xi se ríe y dice: "Lo siento, joven maestro Jin. Estaba en una investigación en la casa club hace un momento". La cara de Jin Lan Heng se pone un poco roja. Después de aguantar un rato, finalmente dice: "Está bien. Nosotros, los ciudadanos, tenemos que apoyar el trabajo de la policía". "Comencemos", interrumpe Han Chen, "¿Nombre?" La sesión de preguntas con Jin Lan Heng es bastante corta y directa. Han Chen le hace explícito que se trata de un caso de asesinato. Debido a la expresión fría y la manera imponente de Han Chen, pueden hacer que Jin Lan Heng escupe todo sin mucho esfuerzo. Él explica por qué estaba respondiendo con cautela la última vez: "Esta oficial también sabe que la casa club es donde a menudo voy a hacer amigos. Pero las personas en este círculo tienen que prometer mantener un perfil bajo para evitar problemas. La noche por la que preguntaste, el 11 de septiembre, estaba con una novia que conocí en la casa club, así que traté de no mencionarla si podía evitarlo". Han Chen y Jin Xi se miran. Han Chen pregunta: "¿Cómo se llamaba la niña?" Jin Lan Heng se aclara la garganta antes de decirles los nombres de dos mujeres. Fuera de la sala de interrogatorios, Chatterbox y los demás se quedan sin palabras viendo esto. Chatterbox dice en voz baja: "Este tipo. ¡Seguro que es desvergonzado!" La sesión con Jin Lan Heng termina rápidamente. Han Chen dice: "Por favor, complete el papeleo afuera. Un coche de policía te llevará a casa". Jin Lan Heng agita su mano rápidamente, "No es necesario, no es necesario. Yo mismo llamaré a un taxi". Se levanta y mira a Jin Xi. "Sobre eso... Oficial, ¿puedo hacer una pregunta más?" Jin Xi le sonríe y es especialmente gentil mientras dice: "Por favor, siga adelante y pregunte, joven maestro Jin". "Jeje, ¿tienes novio?" Jin Xi está un poco aturdida. Ella sonríe y justo antes de responder, se da cuenta de que Han Chen tira su bolígrafo con el rabillo del ojo. Y luego levanta la cabeza y mira a Jin Lan Heng, "¿Qué piensas?" Jin Xi se queda sin palabras, "..." Jin Lan Heng está estupefacto, "¿Ah?" Mira a Han Chen y luego la mira. Una pizca de vergüenza finalmente roza sus ojos. Abre la puerta rápidamente y sigue a otro oficial. La habitación luminosa vuelve a su estado tranquilo. Jin Xi coloca su mano sobre su frente. Ella bloquea la vista de Chatterbox y los demás mientras se da la vuelta y mira a Han Chen mientras dice suavemente: "¿Por qué dijiste eso?" Han Chen tiene la cabeza gacha mientras hojea sus notas. Él no levanta la vista escuchando su pregunta. Continúa sentado con las piernas cruzadas. "¿Qué dije?" Es cierto que no dijo nada, pero... Jin Xi regaña, "¡Bastardo!" ¡Ella ya no quiere hablar con él! Y dentro de la sala de monitores, después de un momento de silencio, los tres intercambian miradas entre sí. Al final, Chatterbox decide hablar primero: "Muy bien, ustedes probablemente ya puedan escucharlo. Ya que ustedes se enteraron hoy, no tengo otra opción. Como miembro del Equipo Black Shield, tengo una petición seria: ¡no deben contarle a nadie sobre esto!" ⭑✻✻✻⭒✼✼✼⭒✻✻✻⭑ En comparación con Jin Lan Heng, Jiang Zi Yi es más tranquilo. También parece estar muy irritado y molesto, después de todo, se le pidió que saliera del auto. Pero una vez que Han Chen y Jin Xi explican la razón por la que le piden que venga, revela una risa sarcástica, "¿Una coartada? Incluso si te digo lo que estaba haciendo esa noche, no tengo forma de probarlo. Es porque la persona que puede probarlo no está dispuesta a exponerse. Tampoco quiero que ustedes la molesten. Por lo tanto, no importa decírtelo o no". Jin Xi lo mira en silencio por un momento. "Estoy esperando aquí a que salga el sol; Estoy esperando aquí a que se ponga el sol; La soledad me espera delante de mí..." Jiang Zi Yi levanta la cabeza y la mira mientras la escucha recitar el poema palabra por palabra. "Está escrito muy bien", dice Jin Xi en voz baja. Ella no tiene más palabras elogiosas. Después de escucharla recitar el poema, Jiang Zi Yi guarda silencio durante un largo rato antes de hablar: "El 11 de septiembre es el cumpleaños de mi novia. Debería tener 28 años este año. Nuestro hijo debería tener 3 años. Estuve en casa toda la noche, junto con ella". ⭑✻✻✻⭒✼✼✼⭒✻✻✻⭑ A pesar de que Jiang Zi Yi no tiene a nadie que sea su coartada, después de investigar un poco, se confirma que su novia murió de un accidente automovilístico hace tres años. Y ese día es de hecho su cumpleaños. Por lo tanto, el Equipo Black Shield elige creer sus palabras. Pero Bai Jin Xi le da a Jiang Zi Yi una nueva evaluación: "Aunque está loco en este momento, por la forma en que habla, es posible que ya esté mostrando signos de esquizofrenia y paranoia". Xiao Zhuan pregunta: "¿Qué significa esto?" "Significa que no está lejos de ser un psicópata". Todos se quedan en silencio. En la ciudad próspera, hay muchas almas vacías. Todos pensamos que viviremos de esta manera de por vida. Pero algunas personas vivirán vidas ocupadas, mientras que otras vivirán descarada y depravadamente. Pero al final, todos se pierden de la misma manera. ⭑✻✻✻⭒✼✼✼⭒✻✻✻⭑ Fuera de la sala de interrogatorios. Los cinco miembros del Equipo Black Shield observan a Situ Yi sentado solo en la habitación desde fuera de la ventana. Su traje intrincadamente confeccionado, sus mangas ligeramente arremangadas y su rostro tranquilo y guapo. A pesar de que ha sido traído aquí por la policía en medio de la noche y ha estado esperando durante mucho tiempo, no parece molesto o ansioso en lo más mínimo. En comparación con la última vez, Jin Xi comienza a examinarlo aún más de cerca. Su rostro está muy limpio. Su piel es blanca clara y apretada. Es fácil decir que ha estado cuidando su cara para tener una piel tan buena. No hay manchas en su cuello y su traje ha sido planchado recto. Sus uñas están cortadas cuidadosamente. Lleva zapatos de cuero Prada y calcetines muy bien texturizados. Toda su persona parece exquisita y meticulosa. Y sobre la mesa frente a él está de pie una taza de té rojo que Xiao Zhuan le sirvió. El té se ha enfriado, pero no ha tomado un solo sorbo. En este momento, han reunido la coartada de los dos sospechosos anteriores. El mayor sospechoso en el caso no es otro que él. "Líder, ¿qué debemos hacer ahora?" Chatterbox pregunta. Han Chen está mirando a Situ Yi mientras responde: "Déjalo solo por un tiempo más".   Retroceder Traducciones Menú Avanzar Read the full article

[blackknightgargiefoodtopia]

Chatterbox Kopitiam

My ex-vegan friend and her hubby were about to leave to return to Canada after their wedding reception, so we had a get-together lunch at Chatterbox Kopitiam

Located within Gadong area, just near the Hua Ho superstore and near where Buffalo Steakhouse is

Le setting of the kopitiam, which I rate overall 5/10

Le menu, which they have two, no idea why

Curry chicken with rice (I tried the curry, and it wasn't really as spicy as I would've hoped)

Curry with toast

Their signature dish: Ayam Lapan-Lapan, which is a fancy name for ayam penyet

The signature dish was pretty good, nice and fresh, and the chicken is tender and juicy, but I'd give kudos to the chilli sauce because it made me sweat and cry buckets. Chopped chilli is totally spicy as hell, either that or I prolly haven't really eaten spicy in a while

Overall rating:

[davidjacobs-sellingpapers]

How could I forget! Les is doing just fine. He’s grown up to be a chatterbox, but when you’re hanging around the guys, what else could you expect.