#his previous fashion era

[kimsunwooarchive]

[lorarri]

★ . . . = 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄 , 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

pairing , charles leclerc x fem! chelsea! footballer! reader

summary , Y/N L/N's and charles leclerc's relationship saw all f1 drivers become part time footballers and Y/N marries on too

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yourinstagram . 12hr ago

seen by pierregasly masonmount and 25,930,244 others

INTERVIEW CLIP :: 24 HOURS WITH Y/N L/N ANSWERING YOUR BURNING QUESTIONS | VOUGE

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc masonmount 78,873,783 others

yourinstagram in this house, we pray to fashion

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charles_leclerc my beautiful girl liked by yourinstagram ⤷ user yall love making us feel single ⤷ user my parents 😌

user Y/N in her model era ⤷ user and charles in his wag era ⤷ user the most iconic couple ever

user baby wake up Y/N's being iconic

user lord have mercy 😭 we must stay focused ⤷ user the reason I figure out I'm into girls 😭 ⤷ user same ⤷ user same ⤷ user same ⤷ user same ⤷ charles_leclerc same ⤷ user huh? ⤷ user pop off king 😭

user ❤️❤️❤️

user sometimes I forget that she plays football ⤷ user fr she could quite football and become a model easily ⤷ user kendall who? bella who? gigi who? I only know Y/N

user be mine wife🔥

user omg Y/N in la ⤷ user crying in texas

user obsessed

user 💃🏼👑📸

user our queen once again serving ⤷ user it's giving main character energy ✨✨ ⤷ user it's also giving rich bitch vibes and I live ⤷ user as she mf should

user team Y/N for EVER 🤞🏼💕

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yourinstagram

liked by neymarjr k.mbappe 102,783,478 others ➻ tagged charles_leclerc

yourinstagram forever your's mon amore

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charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris maxverstappen1 99,783,478 others ➻ tagged yourinstagram

charles_leclerc forever is not long enough

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charles_leclerc . 1hr ago

seen by joaofelix79 masonmount and 25,930,244 others

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 02. Down Under

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Conflict arises as a hotshot rookie decided that the current world champion is the next opponent to beat.

Word Count: 5.3k

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Y/n l/n is a superstar inside and outside of Formula One.

It's the way she smiles and crinkled eyes. It's the way she handle interviews with pr trained answers and cheeky quips here and there. It's the way that she always dress to impress, catching everyone attention, be it on the grid or even in fashion week.

It's the way she made winning looks so easy. How she made making into the podium is just a regular Sunday for her. How she would gave the spectators a race that can be remembered by them for the rest of their life.

By the time she finished up her first season, people had called her a superstar in the making. Awed by the sheer talent and grit that she seemed to have for the sport. Finishing third in the standings of 2012 Formula One season, people have to admit that they’re entering a new era in Formula One.

When she finished her second season in Formula One, she’s a certified superstar, evident from the driver championship that she had won that year. When she finished her third season in 2014, she became a legend as she won the driver championship for two straight times. 

It’s almost as if everyone forgets all the slurs and bad things that they had called the female just a few years prior. As if, all of the negative press and criticism being directed towards her are nothing but an old news.

Maybe it’s because she finally proven herself that she can conquer the world of motorsport with her talent. Or maybe it’s just because people found more exciting things to talked and shit about. Who knows? Y/n certainly don’t.

Though, that doesn’t mean that the female forgets all the shitty things that happened to her when she first entered Formula One.

“She’s going to fuck half the grid,” said one commentator, ignoring the fact that the female is seventeen years old, and most drivers are in their mid to late twenties. “She’s going to ruin the sport.”

“A fucking barbie,” said another one. “That’s what she is.”

There are more. More things being said that’s downright horrifying and disgusting. She knows that no one cares about her age, that one of the ugly consequences of her entering a male dominated sport as a girl is the sexualization that she will eventually receive. But still, hearing all these things is gross beyond words.

Her sex life seems to be a favorite topic of them. Talks about she’s dating or fucking who, how she is seen talking with one driver and the next day a news station will say that she’s fucking him and ruining his family. Talks about her being a slut who parties too hard and a raging alcoholic for drinking alcohols during her downtime.

As if, her life is nothing, but a trainwreck of a circus show for them to watch and laughed upon.

It was during that horrible first season when y/n realized, that to be a champion you need to be an overall asshole.

A sick and twisted personality of hers that she always kept under her bright smiles and friendly front. It’s more to always have that competitiveness – on the track or off the track. To always have that fire and determination to always be the best. To actually believe and have the confidence to say that yes, I am the best driver in the grid. Yes, I make no mistake.

Be the best or be nothing. Show the world your worth or you will be worthless. The black and white view that you have to be so fucking successful or be nothing at all.

(It took y/n awhile to recognize that.)

The first time she realized it was when she won her first race in China. It was a close race, with her almost hitting a Mercedes and her own teammate. Back then – way too drowned in the euphoria of winning her first race – she doesn’t realize what that means to the people around her. Mainly, to other drivers on the grid.

There are a lot of drivers that came from a different time period. A period where Formula One has a rigid structure and strict unseen rules. For them, who had lives in that time period, y/n arrival and all the changes that she had brought, looks like a threat for them. A challenger who appeared to challenge their authority.

“If you drive that Porsche, anyone can win.”

“I don’t get it, she drives dangerously. She should’ve received a penalty for that.”

“I just don’t understand what the hell FIA is thinking! I know they’re all about diversity and inclusivity lately but-“

Y/n turned off the tv in front of her, face blank.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ rang true inside of her head. Because hearing all of those things from her own childhood heroes is a bit tragic beyond doubt.

After all, these men are the people she had looked up to. They’re the reason why she wants to race in Formula One. They’re the reason why she have such a deep love for motorsport and why she’s trying her hardest to show all of them her capabilities.

Knowing the horrible and degrading things they called her should saddened her.

Though, instead, she doesn’t feel anything.

For a moment, she felt empty, as she sat there inside of her empty hotel room. She could hear chatters from the hallway outside, no doubt from the Porsche team who’s staying in the same floor as her. Besides that, everything felt a bit empty. And silent.

She just sat there, staring at the dark screen of the television in front of her. The euphoria of her earlier win had left without any trace.

Maybe it's because that she had gotten used to it. That these kind of talks is nothing new for her and slowly - but surely - had become a part of their daily life.

But no one deserves to live like this. No one deserves to be judged just because of their gender. No one deserves to have their skills and talent to be dismissed just because they don't have an extra weight between their legs.

Y/n, doesn't deserve this.

And in one second, that empty feeling was replaced by anger.

What right do they have to say things like that?

What right do they have to judge her life and talent like that?

Some never even won a race in their life! Or even get into the podium! Some even drive for shitty teams that have a brick of a car. A mid-tier driver that doesn’t have enough talent for the bigger teams. Now, just because they lost to a girl almost half their age, they think they have the right to talk shit to her?

So fucking funny. It almost made her laugh.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Barbie, slut, whore, the downfall for Formula One.

Honestly, it was frustrating that there are some older drivers that won’t accept their loss. It was more frustrating to hear all of their declarations that if they were also put inside y/n’s Porsche, they can drive better than her.

All that talks that questioned her ability just because of her age and gender. All of the talks that keep underestimating her over and over again.

Maybe that’s why she turned up like this, to have this kind of twisted and sick personality.

“Y/n,” started Herman as he introduced the young man besides him. She almost get a sense of déjà vu at the image. After all, this happened almost every year. Herman calling her to a meeting room just before the pre-season testing. Herman, introducing her to her newest teammate of the year.

Tall, blond, blue eyes. Probably some kid they picked off of F2 or other racing category randomly. She wonder how long this kid will last. How long, will it take for him to blow his gasket off.

“This is Henry Santos, your newest teammate,” said the older man as he gestured towards the male. He looked around y/n age and got starry eyed as he stared at y/n.

Typical, y/n almost scoffed out. It’s the same routine every year.

Almost immediately, she plastered a smile. It was so wide and so immediate. To the point it’s almost fake. “Hi,” she grinned. “Nice to meet you, I’m y/n l/n.”

Henry also nodded, excitement radiating off of him. “I know,” he said. “I’m a big fan.”

“That’s sweet,” she answered before turning her head towards Herman. “So, team briefing?”

Herman as well as other employee for Porsche immediately ushered them inside one of their meeting room in their motorhome. Talks about plans, the cars, and the upcoming season began as y/n listened to it attentively.

The same thing could be said to Henry as the kid could be seen writing a lot of things on his notebook, from his gaze, she could see how serious he is.

It’s the same look that she sees every year.

Kids being picked by Porsche for the position of their second seat. Kids, who was hoping to be able to stay in Porsche – one of Formula One top team, contenders for the championship – for more than one year.

Kids, who salivated at the thought of taking y/n’s seat.

She always blame her horrible experiences in the grid for this twisted personality of her. This kind of competitiveness, the urgency to always see as if they’re her rivals. The ability to unable see anyone as anything but competitors for her seat as uncertainty eats up her heart and whispered words that made her doubt everyone.

Sometimes, she felt a bit guilty, considering a lot of these kids, when they first entered Porsche, are good kids. Someone that just want to left their marks in Formula One.

But everyone wants to leave their marks in Formula One.

Everyone, wants to be the world champion.

Y/n included.

With three world titles under her name, it only made her hungrier for the title of the world champion. Some called her greedy, some called her over ambitious, but y/n thinks that’s just normal. When you taste the taste of winning once, there’s no going back. She's sure that Lewis and Sebastian shared the same feeling.

After that high of being the world champion, there is no way they want to lose it. The taste of winning is addicting after all. It's a dangerous drug to every driver. Once you taste it, you will always want more.

The same thing could be said for her teammates for the past few years.

If you’re in a Porsche, you will be part of the top team. You will fight for wins and podiums. It’s hard, to let it go, for your teammate. No matter how amazing they are.

She guess she has to be grateful that she’s the number one driver in the team.

The Formula One season started soon after that, kicking it off in Australia. Just like every year, Herman will force her to get along with her teammate, shoving them inside of the same private plane and made them do various media activities together.

Contrary to popular belief, she really doesn’t mind. Henry seems like a good kid. A bit nervous, a bit starry eyed. Nothing that she can’t handle. All of their media responsibilities ended for the day before it was time for them to do their driver briefing.

“You seem to get along with your new teammate,” called out a new voice, effectively catching her attention during her journey towards the briefing room. Henry had said that he needs to take some things back in their motorhome first, making y/n doing the journey alone.

“Maxie,” greeted y/n with a grin.

The so called ‘Maxie’ frowned.  “Don’t call me that,” he said. She could see an entourage of Red Bull employees all around him, no doubt protecting Christian’s very own prodigy from whatever danger he could have inside a guarded area.

Daniel couldn't be seen near him. It made her remember all the hushed talks about the Aussie contract renewal with Red Bull.

The woman laughed. “Aw, is little Maxie mad?” she said as she slung an arm around his shoulder – which is a feat itself considering he’s taller than her. “Don’t be that way to your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

“We so are!”

Years ago, back in 2015, when a kid called Max Verstappen joined Formula One, y/n felt that it was her duty to guide the lost little lamb. Or maybe it’s just her excuse to bully the new rookie.

You really can’t blame her for that. After all, she had been the youngest kid on the grid for years. She debuted when she was barely 17, she doesn’t even have a normal driving license. So that’s why when she first saw Helmut Marko newest golden boy, she thought that it was her time to be the reliable guy on the grid and helped Max to adjust to the Formula One lifestyle.

Which had not been going pretty well, considering Max is not the cutest kid on the planet – he broods, like a lot. Also Christian is basically in love with the kid. He’ll probably sell his own family for Max. 

She was not even surprised the slightest when it was announced that he and Kyvat will do a driver swap back in 2016. Controversial but interesting. She likes it.

“Ah, is that the Netflix crew?” said y/n as she waved towards the camera near them as they walked towards the briefing room. “Sorry babes, no camera during the briefings.”

“They know that,” muttered Max. “They just like following us around.”

“Ooo, spicy, stalker much, eh?”

A Red Bull employee actually chocked out a laugh at that and y/n count that as a win. The walk towards the briefing room is uneventful and was filled with small talks between her and Max. Some of the employees would chimed in, giving their own opinion or remarks but it’s pretty boring mostly.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the room.

Surprisingly, the first thing that she saw is a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Ah,” she said, stopping a bit in order to not bump into the male in front of her. “Charles,” greeted the woman good-naturedly. “You’re pretty early.”

Charles who came from the opposite direction, flushed a bit at that. He still got his pretty face which is nice. “I- uh, I don’t want to be late,” he replied. 

“A good mindset,” she said, giving him a thumbs up. “Anyway, have you met-“

“Charles,” greeted Max, with a nod of his head.

Charles too, gave him a nod. “Max.”

Both of them stared at each other silently at that, as if they're in the middle of sizing up each other before a battle. And maybe they are.

Y/n blinked. There seems an odd tension between the pair. “You guys know each other?” she asked, as the three of them enter the room. The female immediately sat at front.

Max, who decided to sit next to her, shrugged. “We met a lot during karting,” he answered, as if that explained the thick tension between the two of them.

“Yes,” replied Charles as he sat at her other side. “We often race against each other.”

“Ah,” she said. “Rivals huh? Neat.”

The door opened again at that, signalling the arrival of another set of drivers.

“Playing nice with the babies, y/n?” laughed Sebastian Vettel, clad in the familiar but still obnoxious red of Ferrari. She could see Kimi walking in alongside him, though just as usual, the man merely greeted her with a nod of his head before he take a seat behind them.

“For real,” she answered. “Gotta protect these kids hopes and dreams.”

“This is my fourth season,” argued Max back.

“Babies,” said y/n again.

Sebastian answered that with a laugh before he greeted Charles with small greeting and a pat on his back. It’s obvious that they had met beforehand. 

Slowly after that, more and more drivers appeared as low chatters began amongst themselves. Y/n was mainly occupied with both Charles and Max, though sometimes other drivers would greet her or chimed their opinion or two.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” started the man from FIA as he stood at the front of the room. “Let’s start the briefing. Is there any concern?”

And that officially starts the 2018 Formula One season.

The first time Charles ever saw y/n, was back in 2012.

It was the year where many things happened. He was entering almost the end of his karting days, looking for sponsors and teams who would want to support him for the higher categories. It was the year where he almost questioned his decision to be a racing driver. 

It was the year, where he realized that a future in Formula One is something that not everyone can reach.

To Charles back then, 2012 was one of the hardest year for his racing career. At the end of 2011, his father had confide to him that they’re running low on funds. That supporting his very expensive hobby will be harder and harder to do. It had stumped him, a realization about the harsh reality of the world.

Charles will be always grateful for Jules and all of his help after that. After all, without the man, he’s not sure if he will able to continue racing.

It was also the year where he found himself idolizing a new driver in Formula One. 

He first noticed her in a magazine. Charles doesn’t even know why did he picked that magazine all those years back. Maybe it was because she’s the only female in the stack of motorsport magazines. Maybe it was because she’s standing in front of a Formula One car, her face plastered on the cover with a headline that he will never forget.

"Youngest Race Winner in Formula One, y/n l/n," could be seen staring back at him. Behind that, in a font that is a bit smaller, the magazine too had added, 'The First Female Driver to ever won a Formula One Race.'

There’s something fierce and intimidating on her face as she stared back at her. It was as if she’s telling the world that she’s a winner. That she had arrived in the Formula One scene with one goal in mind.

To win.

Charles flipped open the magazine and began reading the article being dedicated to the female. About her passion, about her journey so far, and about her team. It is safe to say, that he was hooked ever since then.

As someone that wants to become a Formula One driver, it's only normal to follow the latest news regarding the sport. About the teams, or maybe the junior programs and opportunities that they had that can help his karting career. The arrival of Porsche back in 2012 was a really big moment for any fans of motorsport, so is y/n's arrival at the paddock.

For months, or even for the whole season, what people could talked about in the karting track is about the female. Oftentimes, she's an object of awe and reverent. As someone that started to break many boundaries that's being placed on the sport. Other times, she's an object of mockery and disapproval. Mostly due to her unconventional way to get her seat.

Honestly, back then, he also felt a bit apprehensive at that. After all, wouldn’t it be nice if he also came from a wealthy family that can just buy a whole Formula One team to support his dream? He wouldn’t have to work as hard as he is now, he wouldn’t have to desperately try to find sponsors or teams who would give him a bit of their time.

Maybe, if he came from a wealthy family, Arthur won’t have to give up karting.

That subject is still a sore spot for him. He knows that karting is an expensive sport, he knows that there is no way that his family can support two people karting at the same time. He knows, that he should be grateful that he’s the one being chosen for the investment.

But still, even after years, the guilt just won’t left him.

It’s the way he could see Arthur’s eyes dimmed a bit when he came for his races. It’s the way he would sometimes brought Charles’s old kart and use it in a track late at nights – thinking that no one will notice. His little brother is still as supportive as ever, cheering for him and wholly opened for discussions about his races, but Charles is not stupid. He can see how hurt Arthur was. 

And well, that served as more than enough motivation for him to race as hard as he can.

That reservation that he has for y/n l/n instantly disappeared as he watch the course of Formula One 2012 season. To him back then, it was really amazing for someone so young – only two years older than him – to be able to enter the pinnacle of racing and absolutely dominates the scene.

He watched the videos of her maiden win at the Chinese Grand Prix. He had obsessed over the overtakes that she did in Bahrain Grand Prix. That’s why, when the Monaco Grand Prix came around, he found himself watching it from the balcony of his friend apartment. 

The Grand Prix weekend had always brought a lot of fanfare. From the literal reconstruction of roads to the festive mood that people in Monaco seems to have, the Grand Prix weekend is something that Charles had always looked forward to.

“You seems more excited than usual,” said his friend, leaning forwards to his balcony railings. From their position here, he can almost heard the loud cheering from the grandstand or even the hustle and bustle that the Grand Prix seems to always brought to Monaco.

I’m going to race there one day, he thought, just like the years before. I’m going to be a Ferrari driver and I’m going to win the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Well,” started the Monegasque. “I have a new favourite driver.”

His friend raised his eyebrow. “Alonso?” he asked. “No, is it Felipe Massa?”

Charles shook his head. “Nah,” he denied. “L/n.”

At that, his friend stared at him. “Huh,” he finally let out. “It’s kind of weird not seeing you cheer for Ferrari.”

“I always cheer for Ferrari,” corrected Charles. “It’s just that I have another favourite driver on the grid.” 

“Mhm,” hummed his friend. “Not surprised though.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Cause you’re active in karting and all,” said the male. 

Charles blinked. “What do you even mean by that?”

“Like she’s a female and she’s one of the top driver,” explained his friend. “I just think that it would be obvious for guys like you – those who actively pursue racing as their career – to have some kind of crush to her.”

Crush?

And- and that stumped him.

It almost made him remember all of the things being said towards y/n. All the weird comments about her being a female or her attractive appearance. How she is more marketable and can play with the male fantasy and that it gave her an advantage compared to her other male counterparts.

How sexualized she is by everyone in the media.

He doesn’t like that.

Why is people talking about her gender when she made that insane overtake last race? Why is people talking about her in such a sexualized way when she’s literally the youngest race winner that Formula One had ever had?

All of them saw her as if she’s an object. As if, she’s in Formula One just to fuck around the grid and leave. They didn’t see her as the driver who won the China Grand Prix. They didn’t see her as the driver who got P2 in her debut race. They didn’t see her as a driver that has any worth for their attention and respect.

It was a bit of a horrifying realization. 

He knows that the world of motorsport has its own values and ideals. How people think that it’s a sport only for men and a job as a racing driver is something exclusive to someone who has balls between their legs. 

“No,” he replied, hand tightening around the railing. “I don’t like her just because of that.”

Because the woman is more amazing than that. He knows that she’s attractive. Anyone who has a pair of working eyes can see that. But that’s not the only reason why he put her in a pedestal so high. 

He likes her because she’s only two years older than him and she’s already a race winner. He likes her because she won’t back down from all the shitty things that the media had said about her ever since her debut. He likes her because she fights for the championship against drivers with an infinite experience and skills. Charles likes her because she’s an amazing driver. Charles likes her, because she has the skills to back up her seat in Formula One.

Not because-

A black Porsche car zoomed past him.

Not because-

He watched her finishing the race at fourth in Monaco.

Charles likes her, because she’s someone that is changing the sport.

She’s someone more amazing than how the media is portraying her. A fighter, someone that’s fighting for her voice to be heard. 

His idol.

From that on, he followed her career attentively. His family called it obsession but he likes to call it admiration. From her maiden driver championship in 2013, to her third one in 2017, he had followed it all.

He watched her win three championships. He watched her break countless records. He watched her turned all of those criticisms into words of adorations and worships.

A legend. A superstar. The best driver on the grid.

It had served as an amazing motivation for him to pursue his career in Formula One. Especially during darker times in life where he had questioned his place in the sport so many times. After loss and loss, the female had always became some sort of motivation for him to continue his racing career.

So after winning F2 and being offered a seat in Sauber, he was excited.

That offer had been a testament of his skill, that someone finally acknowledge him. That offer had made the lie that he had told his dad before his passing a truth, that the guilt won’t eat him up once more. That offer had made the dream that he had held for so long a reality.

That offer had made him even closer to y/n.

When Fred had offered him to meet the female during the pre-season testing he had took up the offer in an instant.

The phrase ‘never meet your heroes’ is something that he would like to disagree because meeting y/n is like a dream come true. She’s Charming and witty. A hard worker and attentive to whatever nonsense he said during their meeting. Y/n is just so nice, just like how he imagine her to be.

Charles almost tripped himself when she asked for his number after that because holy shit- 

Somehow, after that meeting, he convinced himself that they stood at an equal ground. That after years and years of blood, sweat, and tears, Charles finally found himself on an equal ground with his idol.

He had never been so wrong.

He looked up, and he could see the female stood in front of the podium in front of him. Her smile bright, as she sprayed champagne towards Sebastian and Lewis who respectively stood at the second and third place.

It’s 2018 and it’s the Australian Grand Prix.

It’s 2018, and Charles saw the person that he had idolized for a long time won a race that Charles also participates in.

It was almost surreal to see her like this. To see the woman he had chatted with at the Porsche hospitality a few weeks ago to the woman who just won the first race of the season. The three of them – y/n, Sebastian, and Lewis – looks almost unreal to him.

The top drivers in the grid. The three world champions.

The best of the best.

His own 15th position on the grid stings a bit. Which is a bit unreasonable because he drives a Sauber. There is no way a Sauber could defeat cars from the top teams. Him, being a 15th position in a Sauber should be a pretty good achievement already.

But alas, it just doesn’t feel enough.

When they had chatted during the pre-session testing, it had gave him a fake illusion about them being an equal. After all, Charles is a Formula One driver now. He drives in the pinnacle of motorsport. He had shown the world that he’s capable to be a Formula One driver. Just like what he had dreamt of for years.

Today, is a harsh wake up call.

Y/n had looked so friendly and attainable that it gave him a false sense of hope that they stood on the same ground. Maybe it’s the euphoria of being promoted to F1 or maybe it’s the euphoria of managing to meet the woman that he had idolized for so many years.

Seeing this, her being at the top of the rankings while him, at the bottom, is a harsh reality check for him.

Because they’re not equal.

She’s still the faraway star that he can’t reach and he’s still the silent admirer that doesn’t have the courage to reach for her.

He’s still Charles Leclerc and she’s y/n l/n. Formula One superstar and legend. 

If he want her to look at him, to make sure that she remember his name, then he has to be better. He has to prove that he will worth her time.

Drive to Survive Season 1 Episode 3

It’s all about Porsche.

“It seems like a curse,” laughed Christian. “No one can hold off the second seat of Porsche for more than two years.”

A montage of past drivers could be seen. In some clips, a younger y/n could be seen standing or talking with the past drivers. It’s clear that these people are the previous holder of Porsche’s second seat.

“I think that it’s a known secret,” started Will as he stared at the camera. “While y/n portrays herself as a fun loving and charming woman, it’s clear that she is really strict and competitive towards her teammate.”

Y/n and Henry could be seen at that, the both of them entering a Porsche car. From how it looks, it seems that the both of them are going to the track together from their hotel. Henry could be seen wearing the standard Porsche polo shirt while y/n in wearing an oversized Porsche racing jacket and a sports bra underneath it.

“Are you driving?” asked the female, raising her eyebrows from behind her sunglasses.

“Sure,” said the male as they both entered the car, “I can drive.”

“Well if you can’t drive all of us are fucked,” answered the female as she sat on her seat. Y/n sitting at the front while two of their staff sat the back.

“Are you excited?” asked the staff as they made their way. “It’s your debut race.”

“I am,” laughed Henry. “There’s a lot of expectations that came with being a Porsche driver.”

During this conversation, y/n doesn’t seems interested in the conversation as she scrolled on her phone silently. The show made it more dramatic as they show a scene where there’s some kind of awkward silence inside the car.

After that, both y/n and Henry could be seen entering the grid. The female are laughing and taking pictures as well as giving autographs to her fans. From this image, we could see how much of a superstar the female is. Though, as they continue their way, the female could be seen greeting other employees and other drivers in a friendly way while Henry could be seen looking confused at the back.

A rookie and a superstar. A very different image.

“It’s not a bad trait to have,” clarified Will. “Because in order to be a world champion, you have to be competitive. In this sport, your first rival should always be your teammate. After all-“

Two Porsche could be seen racing against each other.

“-You have the exact same car-“

A team radio could be heard between Henry and the race engineer who’s ordering for the male to do a pitstop.

“-the same team strategy-“

A scene of two Porsche crashed into each other could be seen.

“And the same competitiveness to show that you’re the best driver on the team.”

The scene changed back into the interview room as Henry Santos appeared. His name could be seen besides him and his position as Porsche driver are written underneath it.

“My name is Henry Santos and I race for Porsche Royale Formula One team,” answered the male smoothly. A question was being asked offscreen as Henry could be seen listening and blinking before he let out a laugh. “Yes, there are a lot of pressure, considering this is my rookie year.”

On the screen, the standings from 2017 could be seen where Porsche won the constructor championship and y/n winning the driver championship. Henry voice too, could be seen as a voiceover, “Porsche is a winning team,” he said. “I want to be someone that can honour that ambition.”

“Do you think you can become the number one driver in Porsche?” asked the producer.

Henry’s smile froze as there’s a stretch of silence after that question.

It’s clear that Netflix wants some kind of drama from that question. The fight of Porsche’s number one driver position. A rookie versus the world champion.

“Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes I believe I can.”

It was almost like a declaration of war. After all, y/n is the reigning world champion. She’s the one that’s using the number one on her car this year. A consistent driver that always shows a remarkable performance each year.

For a rookie like Henry to say that, it’s a bold claim to have.

“A conflict,” said Christian as he appeared once again. “Will bound to happen in a team like that.”

Taglist!

@mellowarcadefun @glai1023-blog @jjkclub @newlifeforus @jpg3 @sp1cycurry @eternalharry @be-your-coffee-pot @itsjustkhaos @chanshintien @fairiesdowntheroad @not-laracroft @ilovegreengrapes @nzygftoji @reblog-princess @aaaooz @chasing-liberosis @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @reneny @hiraethrhapsody @stevesworld9 @miniboast @notleclerc @willowpains @lndonrris @laura-naruto-fan1998 @yaren23 @gills-lounge @asfaraslifegets @dl-yum @dessxoxsworld @goldenchemistry @vellicora @neoteez7 @lana-d3l-rey @mynameisangeloflife @fennecspage @yuriankasavchuk @hascrt-ay @kihc-zya @leilanixx @cha-hot @mafiulaputaama @hockeyboysarehot @stopeatread @lovewithmary @inloveallthetime

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Jacket | Seth Jarvis

wc. 1.6k

Jarvy sees you in the wags playoff jacket for the first time

(not my best writing tbh. im sorry!)

Growing up, you never had an affinity for fashion. 

Your mom was the one who always dressed you and middle school was always that awkward fashion era of everyone’s lives. In high school the different outfits everyone wore had started to pique your interest, wanting to finally find your own style and make yourself feel more confident overall. 

By college you had hit your stride and everyone in your life was incredibly confused when you decided to major in fashion business. Your dad was over the moon that you added the business side of it, being a finance director himself, and while your mom was still confused, she enjoyed the new fashion advice from her daughter. 

You grew up in North Carolina, heading to FIT in New York for your undergrad before returning home. You spent that summer trying your best to figure out what to do with this new degree, when your life intertwined with Seth Jarvis. Through a mess of awkward run ins, late nights, and a final first date that sealed the deal, you were quick to realize that Seth was it for you. Three years later and you and Seth were closer than ever. He was on his way to another playoff run while you had been living your dream job for a couple of years now. 

As April loomed near and the season was coming to an end, the wag groupchat had started to pick up. The girls were discussing playoff chances and who should be planning the wag jackets this year and you were voted the number one choice. You tried to get out of it, worried that what you made wouldn’t be good enough but the girls shut you down quickly, knowing whatever you make would be iconic. 

You found yourself dreaming up ideas in the middle of meetings, doodling in the corners of your notebooks, looking up colors and fabrics, and finally caving to create a full fledged design when Seth had come bounding home with the news of a playoff clinch. 

The drawing you come up with is a high school varsity style jacket in black, the front saying Carolina in uppercase bold red letters, with the words cause above one pocket and chaos on the other side. One sleeve has the previous cup win dates while the other sleeve has the boy’s number and the original canes logo underneath it. Lastly, the bottom hem of the jacket is decorated with the storm warning flags similar to the boys jerseys and classic name and number on the back in the same color and font as the Carolina. 

Ever since finalizing the design, you instantly headed to the store and grabbed a blank black varsity jacket and started your work. You had fallen so deep into the job, focusing on each tiny detail for your prototype that you didn’t even hear Seth coming home. You had just finished on the front when you heard the door of your office creak open and you turn to see Seth with a tired smile on his lips. 

“Hey there pretty girl,” he says, sauntering his way into the room and your heart skips at the sight of him. You’re distracted for a moment just at the sight of him, but when you notice his eyes flicker over to your current project you flinch and get up. 

“No!” you screech, taking quick steps towards your boyfriend and covering his eyes with your hand. Seth freezes against you, concerned in his movements but when he hears a breathy laugh escape from your lips he knows everything is okay. 

“Uh why can’t I look?” 

“It’s bad luck!” you squeal, nudging your boyfriend out of your office and Seth rolls his eyes, his lashes fluttering lightly against your hand. 

“I’m sorry did I propose and forget or something?” he asks when you finally drop your hand from his eyes and shut your office door behind you. 

“No but if you are going to propose I’d wait till off season,” you respond cheekily and Seth grins. 

“I was making the wag jackets,” you tell him, slinging your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. 

“Mmm were you?” 

Seth leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, trailing one up to your cheek and then finally on your lips, his hips pushing you back against the door so you’re caged in his embrace. 

“Mhm,” you murmur against his lips and you feel his grin, the scruff of his beard scratching against your skin. “And you need to go so I can finish them.” 

“Or we could do this,” he says and before you know it, Seth has grabbed you around the waist, throwing you over his shoulder and marching his way towards your shared bedroom, your protests of work and prototypes deaf to his ears. 

The week leading up to the first playoff game was complete chaos. You hadn’t seen Seth at all, occasionally when he was slipping out of bed and you were just slipping in, bumping into each other when he was out the door and you were coming in and so on. 

You were finalizing all of the wag jackets, making sure the matching shoes had arrived and were in good condition as well. You had decided to add a pair of nikes with the players last name on the side to match the jackets and you couldn’t wait to see how each girl would style their outfit. One by one as each girl received their jacket you would be on the other end of a million texts and several facetime calls of the girls freaking out about the job you did. You couldn’t help it, you started to feel good about your work too after being praised so much. 

Unfortunately due to both your schedules, you couldn’t see Seth before the playoff game but promised to make it in time for warmups. You and a few of the girls head out together, taking pictures both at your place and when you get to the arena. You head straight for the front, your nerves getting the best of you and you’re bouncing up and down on your heels waiting for Seth to come out on the ice. 

Somehow even with the nerves you miss his initial entrance onto the ice. Normally Seth is all serious mode when he starts warmups, only deciding to relax and goof off towards the end of them but when he sees you first, he’s a complete goner. 

You’re facing away from the glass but Seth could spot you from miles away in a crowded area, it truly didn’t matter. Your hair was pulled up and out of the way so everyone could see his last name and jersey number plastered on the back of the black varsity jacket. Your smile is wide and he knows you’ve been nervously fidgeting by the way you twist and bounce as you stand. 

His heart is pounding twice as hard now, not even registering the world around him as he sees you in your heavenly state with his name on your back. His. His jacket. The one that claims you’re his. God, how did he get so lucky? 

He doesn’t know when he stopped paying attention to the movements he was making on his skates until he’s smacking embarrassingly into the glass just before you, startling both you and everyone around. You look up, Seth with an unreadable expression on the other side of the glass and you can’t help the shy smile that creeps onto your lips. 

Seth tries to regain some kind of confidence again, shooting a wink in your direction and mischievous grin before taking off on the ice again. 

You swear your face hurts from smiling and your throat is no doubt sore from the screaming you had done all of game 1. You and the girls make your way down to the tunnel and talk about the events of the game while you wait for the boys. One by one each girl disappears in the arms of her man, you smiling and bidding goodbyes while you impatiently wait for Seth. 

“Is that the future Mrs. Jarvis?” you hear from behind you and you turn to see Jarvy smiling like he just won the damn lottery. 

You rush forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing kisses anywhere you can reach. You exclaim your praise between each kiss and Seth grins shyly against you. 

“You did amazing,” you say leaning back to finally look into your boyfriend's big brown eyes and they shine with pride at your words. 

“Thank you baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling back and staring at you, his eyes roaming your figure, his fingers tracing the outline of his number on your shoulder and his name on your back. 

“What’s up lover boy?” you ask, nervous under his gaze. 

“You look damn good with my last name,” he murmurs and your face flushes further. 

What Seth doesn’t tell you is that from the first day, he’s known you were the one from him. He doesn’t say that since you had your first date he knew you’d be married one day. He doesn’t say how he wants to spoil his proposal right now and just ask you to marry him because he can’t go another second without having you share his name. 

He doesn’t tell you that one piece of clothing has made him imagine the next 50 years of his life in the matter of seconds. 

But you don’t need to know that. Not yet at least. So Seth settles for another searing kiss to your lips before slinging an arm around your shoulder and leading you home so he can take that jacket off of you and love you properly.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Quite Fond

ALASTOR X READER Summary: You are fond of being friends with Alastor and he with you. Except both of you are maybe a touch too fond. Warnings: NONE. Part of prequel to Only for You(along with Hazbin Having Blues) and for my lovely @anon-of-the-void. REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!! please, I need something to stimulate my brain that isn't thoughts of ponytail Alastor

Alastor, the charming radio demon from the depths of Hell, and you, a spirited individual with a penchant for mischief, had a history as tumultuous as the chaos swirling around the underworld. Once bitter enemies, you now found yourselves in an unexpected alliance of sorts, sharing moments of camaraderie that defied the fiery nature of such a demonic existence. The dynamic had shifted over time, evolving into a peculiar friendship that surprised even the denizens of the underworld.

One gloomy evening, Alastor invited you to his lavish radio tower, a place where often the air was filled with the nostalgic tunes of yesteryears(if not also the screams of miserable wretches who dared to disrespect the Radio Demon). As you both chatted and listened, if the radio demon was feeling reminisce, a bit of dancing also occurred. 

The peculiar structure that was the radio tower pierced the dark sky of the infernal landscape and was quite up there, you internally cursed your red monocled friend on the “climb” to the summit. 

Entering through the metal door, the room echoed with the timeless melodies from the record player, creating an atmosphere that transcended the chaos outside. Transporting you back to an era long past, the room was adorned with antique furniture, and the soft glow of vintage lamps along with Alastor’s typically radio equipment. 

Taking your normal place on a plush velvet chair that Alastor had magiced for you one day, you soon found you had engrossed in the soothing notes of a jazz record with the Radio Demon himself. As the music played, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by an unspoken understanding that transcended previous animosity. This had become the routine. You and Alastor would sit and listen to the tunes of the past that suited both your fancy. Overtime, conservation was eventually struck and you became a pair of unlikely friends. Even going so far as to accompany one another on outings, store runs, or simply things around the Hotel; the other members of Hazbin Hotel soon noticed that both of you were almost attached at the hip. Yet when asked, either of you would fervently deny it. 

Clearing his throat, when a particular number that suited his fancy came on, Alastor offered you his hand. 

“Care to share a dance, darling?”

“Only if you keep your hands to yourself, radio head.”

“My mother did raise me to be quite the gentleman, my dear.” 

Taking his hand carefully, you rose from your chair and joined him in a dance. Swinging and swaying rapidly to the music, it felt like it took over your soul. As the rhythm picked up, so did your steps till the both of you could have been considered for ‘Dancing with the Stars’.(You did not mention this to Alastor, who would not have known whatever show it was that played on the “infernal technological device”)

As the soulful tunes of a bygone jazz age filled the air, Alastor and you found yourselves swaying to the rhythm, all forgotten in the magic of the moment.Alastor, dressed in his signature dapper style, looked at you with an impish grin. 

"Ah, Y/N, who would have thought we'd be sharing such delightful company? Enemies turned compatriots, dancing to the tunes of the past."

Smirking, you continued, twirling around the room, "Well, Alastor, Hell does freeze over sometimes. Or at least, we manage to turn the heat down a bit."

The playful banter continued, each taking jabs at the other's demonic tendencies, whether that be specific dining tastes or fashion items; the atmosphere was filled with laughter, a rarity in the underworld. But, it was always like this with you and Alastor. The music, the banter, you getting so dizzy on joy and dancing you might have considered yourself dead twice. You could swear seeing Alastor’s real smile during these moments but you would always shake the thought away. Why would Alastor, the feared Radio Demon, indulge in things such as yourself for anything other than amusement? It couldn’t be so. 

Little did you know, as all these many nights unfolded, Alastor's charismatic façade began to crumble even to himself. He came to quite like your fiery spirit, one that rivaled him. The way your hair would fall perfectly around your face, how your eyes told so much and would sparkle with joy or mischievious depending on your mood. You hung onto his every whim and had found no fault in his eyes, well maybe except that you like to flaunt yourself around certain men. That he hated…for reasons that still boggled him. Like somehow he would prefer all your attention to himself. These thoughts often hurt his head and confused his black heart, so he too, pushed it to the side. 

"Y/N, you truly have a way of making this Hellish existence a tad more bearable," Alastor admitted, his usual confidence faltering for a moment.

You chuckled, taking his comment for a lead up to another usual quip. "Who would've thought the radio demon had a soft spot? You're not fooling anyone, Alastor."

"You know, Y/N," Alastor began, his tone softer, "despite our initial differences, I find myself rather... fond of you."

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization crossing your face. Tripping over your feet, you ran back into the record player which crashed onto the floor. Silence now flooded the radio tower, both of you looking at each other in surprise. 

“You…you are fond of me?”

“I did not stutter my dear. I find your company…more tolerable than most.” 

“Alastor…I–I am not sure I am getting this.” 

With a sigh but still any ever present smirk, that did look a little strained, Alastor continued. 

“I am not one for feelings. However, you make Hell a bit better than most and I feel…some form of feeling for you dear.”

 It was then that you, almost as if compelled by the whims of the silence and his words, hesitantly reached out your hand toward Alastor. The demon, surprised yet strangely pleased, extended his hand in return. Fingers intertwined, creating a connection that transcended the bounds of friendship. The warmth of the moment lingered in the air, and the room seemed to hold its breath as Alastor and yourself awkwardly found themselves holding hands.

“I..am fond of you too Alastor.”

A moment of silence enveloped them before laughter erupted once more, a newfound understanding blossoming between two souls that once clashed in the fiery depths of Hell. With a small snap of his fingers, the record player rejuvenated and continued to spin, and as the vintage tunes serenaded the unlikely pair, Alastor and Y/N found solace in the unlikeliest of…relationships. 

Unbeknownst to the pair, the crash of the record player after the loud chaotic sounds of their dancing had been heard below by your fellow Hotel patrons. Charlie looked concerned, Husker continued to clean the bar seemingly unbothered, Angel Dust sat smirking on a barstool, Vaggie was comforting Charlie’s worries, Nifty was worried about the poor dirty state of the radio tower, and finally Sir Pentious was ready to storm the tower to defend you both.

“So ah…ten bucks they both totally fucked.”

A chorus of “ANGEL!!” rose up but then…

“Yeah, I’ll take that bet.” “Sure.” “Oh, does that mean Alastor will be participating in group activities now?!” “Charlie, I am not sure you know what is going on.” “BUGS!! THEY ALL MUST DIE.” “I for one do not appreciate the ssssselling of Ms. Y/N's good name but my gosh, the tension isssss there.” 

All were sorely disappointed, with Husk winning a good sixty dollars.

[megumimania]

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES - ryomen sukuna

summary: your boyfriend hates modern technology.

warnings: sukuna x fem reader, sukuna is an old hag (affectionately), sukuna not fucking with consumerism is he in his marxist era?🤔, sukuna is a softie when he wants to be, sukuna is ooc because i hate writing mean men :), yuji being a hottie is my fav hc of all time, i can’t believe im giving amazon free promo 😞.

notes: i missed you guys!

sukuna cant wrap his head around technology.

he doesn’t understand why companies sell ‘new’ phones every single year, when they perform the same exact functions as the previous one.

he doesn’t like how your coffee machine has too many buttons when all he wants in the morning is just a cup of black coffee to get him through the day. sukuna just prefers doing things the old fashioned way which makes him subject to teasing by you and his little brother yuuji.

he doesn’t care though, constantly talking about how he’s ‘escaped the matrix’ by not owning an up to date phone and only getting his news from the daily paper and tv. however his view on technology changed once you brought alexa home.

initially he thought that it was a speaker and was confused to why you bought another one. “it’s not just a speaker ryo,” you corrected him swiftly. “she’s a digital assistant that can tell you the time, the weather, recipes and she can even tell jokes.”

sukuna looked at you with the same wariness he’d give to a snake oil salesman. “can’t your phone do the same exact thing for less?” you knew he was lowkey right but your stubbornness refused to let him get the upper hand.

“that’s not the point babe.” you playfully rolled your eyes at him, carrying the box to the kitchen counter and setting it down with a loud thump. “now if you’ll excuse me i’ll be busy setting my alexa up.” you huffed as you opened the instructions trying to make sense of them.

sukuna looked over at your focused expression. your brow furrowed with concentration as you read the instructions. it was simple really and within a couple of minutes the alexa was ready to go and by the joyous look of pride on your face sukuna knew that he was going to be in for one hell of a ride.

and unfortunately he was right.

life with an alexa was hell. sukuna barely got through the day without hearing the monotone female voice rattle off the hottest food spots or tell you a stupid joke that was suddenly the most funniest thing alive. he used to make you laugh like that!

he felt like the speaker was taunting him. hell he couldn’t even have some down time with you without that stupid speaker getting in the way. it was literally like he was third wheeling all the time and he hated it. you were his girlfriend first!

sukuna didn’t like being second best. especially to a glorified speaker.

you and sukuna were cuddling on the couch together after finishing a movie—terminator 2 to be exact. “so what do you think of the alexa?” you asked whilst the credits rolled, mindlessly stroking his cheek with your acrylic nails whilst he rubbed your legs.

sukuna tensed at the question as he tried to think of a way to answer without sounding like a complete asshole. “well…im not really a fan.” you could already tell from the dry tone and his poor attempt of acting unfazed that he was lying through his teeth.

“if that’s the case then why did i find it in the bathtub?” you pulled up the waterlogged alexa in a ziploc bag. sukuna would usually have a sarcastic reply in his arsenal but he was now looking at you as if he was a deer caught in headlights.

“fine, i used the damned thing.” he raised his hands up as he accepted defeat much to your surprise. “it fell into the bathtub when i was trying to stream that megan the stallion song yuuji told me to listen to. he said something about the song needing to go number 1 on the charts.”

you sat back in disbelief. you didn’t know whether to be annoyed, angry or smitten with him. “i’m glad yuji is helping you become more cultured but why did my alexa have to die for such a good cause!” you wailed dramatically collapsing on the floor, clutching the alexa to your chest.

sukuna lifted you off the floor with such ease it almost made you jealous. “stop whining i already ordered another one. it should be coming in a few days.” he said with his usual gruff tone that was laced with softness, peppering kisses down your neck.

you giggled as his stubble tickled your skin. “that was quick, you missed it that much already?” you teased him whilst you hooked your arms around him running your nails down the nape of his neck.

sukuna rolled his eyes at your playful expression. “i’m still anti technology, don’t be fooled.” one thing sukuna was to his core was a hater but like most haters he rarely stood on business.

“whatever you say babe.” you hummed biting back a smile. you and sukuna knew give or take two months that he’d change his opinion about it.

[wordy-little-witch]

Omegaverse content but adding in the seraphim and Omega Buggy content

• Buggy probably wouldn't really like. Broadcast to the world that he's an Omega. I genuinely believe the Roger pirates and other previous era crews were semi old fashioned insofar as Omegas Are To Be Protected, a sort of Don't Ask Don't Tell type of deal. It was never a shameful thing but a safety thing, and if you were secure with your crew, it was fine. But it's a Need To Know Basis and based on personal discretion. Buggy, as the youngest on board, was the baby on top of being the only Omega so the protective urges were compounded.

• some in Buggy's crew knows, I think. He's very adamant that you do what makes you happy but you do NOT judge another for things beyond their control. Any primary and any secondary is welcome with open arms and intercrew relationships are fine so long as everyone keeps it from impacting the crew by and large in anegative way. He doesn't give a single flying fuck. But that said, he also doesn't have a large scale Secret Reveal. His closest people know bc he just vibes on a need to know basis.

• Mohji and Cabaji are Betas, and Alvida is an Alpha. While Buggy's Heats are essentially like menstrual cycles, he also gets slightly needier - it manifests as his temper being shorter, his tears coming quicker, and he's constantly On Edge. He demands SNUGGLES and AFFECTION /j ((honestly he almost never asks for it, but they offer it regardless. While pheromones are slightly lighter in Betas, Cab and Moh are His Pack and Alvida joins the Pack too, so between the three of them, he just kinda goes boneless. It's prime real estate for a lion to snuggle into, too. Win-win))

• When the cross guild starts rolling, Buggy absolutely does not offer information on his Secondary. Mihawk and Croc are both private people as well so they never ask or offer their own. Tensions are high for a while before everyone starts warming up and settling down

• everyone has hit Friendly Status ((pining stage 1)), when the seraphim show up. Rumors start absolutely FLYING because the Big Three are basically co-parenting these kids. Someone makes a remark that "captain Buggy must have blessed Sir Crocodile and Hawkeyes with children to deepen their ties", and it spreads like wild fire. Nobody ever mentions the logistics of it, because what is logic when you worship your clown god.

• S-Hawk (Birdie but open to options ig) and S-Croc (name pending but I like Angel for some reason) overhear it and go "oh papa and father and so of course Buggy must be mama".((Bonus points for cute kid logic of "you read us stories and moms in the stories do this, and you do that so obviously you're our mom"))

• Crocodile and Mihawk, while Angry (read: flustered) at first, eventually warm up to the idea and even begin seeing Buggy in a better light (pining, stage 2). It's a dramatic hot mess. Bets are being placed on the wedding date.

• Buggy actually eventually feels comfortable enough with them that he doesn't feel like he has to hide 24/7/365. So he winds up casually coming out to them, in a manner of speaking, for a stealth thing. They're trying to acquire backers, they're planning on the best method for infiltration, and Mihawk mentions off hand how majority for this sheltered branch of nobility only acknowledge Alpha and Omega couples. Croc just sighs, because his own scent could rarely be mistaken for an Omega, let alone Mihawk, and they don't want to leave it up to just any other person who happens to smell nice enough to pass and-

Buggy just arches a brow. "So I'll just go with one of you. I can Chop my nose, use a prosthetic. It's uncomfortable, but I've done it before."

"Clown what part of "an A-O couple is required" did you not comprehend-?"

"No, I got it all. You and Hawky are both Alphas. You need an Omega who can play the part. I'm right here, dude."

"An omega."

"Yep."

"You?"

"Uh-huh."

"....."

"............"

"Croccy? ...... Hawky....? OhMySeaseAreYouBreathing-?!"

• anyway they do go undercover and Croc and Hawk play rock paper scissors to be Buggy's "husband". Mihawk then threatens to remove Croc's other hand in retribution when he lost. He won't do it, but let it he known it was definitely said.

• the kids btw ADORE Buggy. And Buggy loves them!!! Both the seraphim and other kids. And the kids at the locatipm of the undercover mission. Croc almost chokes on his cigar when he catches a glimpse of Buggy giggling with a noble lady and holding a baby in one arm while cooing over another with the other Omegas.

That's all I have rn ily baaiiii

[babyrdie]

Ariadne and Dionysus please???

My Ariadne had a drastic change in appearance in order to have a more Minoan vibe (this is also the reason for having her breasts exposed. It's not sexual). She's from the Mycenaean era, but since she's Cretan, I wanted to reference that with Minoan fashion.

My Dionysus also had a change, which was his physical appearance. I was displeased because the idea of a Dionysus who is young, muscular, beardless, and quite masculine (the old design) just doesn't feel like Dionysus. He was usually portrayed as either an older and masculine man with a beard or a younger man with no beard and somewhat effeminate, but not a masculine, young man with no beard as far as I know (as you can see, I choose the no beard version). So these were the design changes, if you saw the previous drawings (no longer available on my profile because they're private). And Dionysus is in Cretan women's dress here in reference to myths related to him that include crossdressing.

[operafantomet]

Hi! I’m currently doing an MA in historical costuming and for my final project I will be making Christine’s “Slavegirl Hannibal” costume as well as the “Elissa” costume, I want to try and base it off of Lucy St Louis costume and I was wondering if you had any in depth, detailed photos of her version of the costumes? Thank you in advance!!

Oh, how awesome!

As per maria Bjørnson's costume design, the bodice is meant to be fairly hourglass-shaped, with gold ornaments over the bust, and as a "belt" around the hips. The skirt consists of "ropes" - this has been solved different in different productions. In the front skirt there's also rows of beading, and the same can be seen over the arms.

The Hannibal bodices usually consist of ten vertical panels in alternating red and green velvet, closing in the back with hooks and bars, or hooks and eyes. They are lined with cotton; sometimes white, sometimes black. The UK ones often have black lining. They can have boning channels in the middle of the lining panels, or sewn on as separate boning channels attached over the inner seams. They may or may not have an inner waistband, and they all close in the back. Here's the inside of a UK bodice from 2016:

As you can see, this depicted bodice has additional padding over the chest and hips. This can be done either for general comfort, or if an existing costume is re-fitted for a new actress / dancer.

Lucy St Louis' bodice had a nice hourglass shape, with two rows of pleated trim in front, one row of the same at the side and back seams, alternating with a narrower looped gold trim.

The larger gold panels in front and back is built up of various gold appliqiées and red and green gems. Albeit not Lucy's, they typically look like this when not attached:

Here's a closeup from Lucy St Louis' collar, which shows the various components better, and the placement of the gems:

As for the grand Elissa gala skirt, it feature a sort of bodice continuation, ending into a pointed front. The grand skirt is just put on top of the main bodice, which allows a super quick costume change, going from ballerina to leading lady:

You have to sit close to notice the discrete horizontal line where the bodice and skirt meets, especially when it's so neatly done as in Lucy's costume. They made the false bodice continuation a lot shorter than previous skirts, which mimick's Carlotta's bodice well.

The skirt itself is made of a shimmering green taffeta (?), possibly shot with black. The hem is multiple rows of fold trims, pleated, and decorated with X-shaped gold trims with gens and tassels. Then an additional red/golden trim on top, and another wavy red/golden trim a bit further up. On top of this is four tabs, red with golden decorations, and a red apron with green/gold trims, fringes and "brooches". There is furthermore a green/red waterfall backdrape, with one of the red tabs on top. Here's the skirt in making, with just the main base and the red apron:

With all decorations it looked like this:

This backdrape is the one they made for Paige Blankson rather than Lucy St Louis. It is not identical, but similar in materials, and identical in shape. So it can serve as an illustration:

Same with the tabs for Paige's costume - not identical, but similar materials and shape:

The skirt is lifted by various layers of tulle, netting and sometimes also hoops. The skirt should ideally have a hint of bustle, to reflect on what was the fashion of the era even if it's a costume. But some versions go more panier, with wide hips and flatter in the front and back. Like the bodice, the skirt closes in the back with a closing hidden on one side under the backdrape.

I think that is the main breakdown of the costume. I hope it gives you a decent base to work on, at least. I can also make you a photoset, showing the photos overneath plus some more. Best of luck with the project, and have FUN!

[sanest-bsd-delegate]

General Headcanons with Bram

Headcanon: General headcanons of stuff I think Bram will do. Pairing: Bram x reader Genre: Fluff, lowkey crack A/N: Dont mind me ss the msg and sending it to myself Part 2 of General Headcanons with DOA Boys. [ Part 1 ]

BRAM

The most gentleman person you will ever met. For real!!!

Him as a 5000 prob year old person, I personally hope you have an immortal ability cause lets be honestly 👁️👄👁️

He loves music. LOVES IT When YOU are the person playing him music from instrument of your choice.

Even if you are a learner, he is willing to listen to you and your skills.

If magically*cough cough* he isn't a guy with sword torso below, I think he probably has the height advantage here. He is the tallest.

Would totally be having 'Sorry am cookin' Apron while he cook meals.

I think he can cook and clean and do EVERYTHING ATP

He maybe a royal, but least he is a Mannered gentleman with good taste in everything (like you, a win taste)

You probably, no definitely ask him whenever you have to make a decision-He is the most well behaved person you ever met I swear.

"Bram this or this?" "Go with that one, it matches your hair"

BRAM AS A FASHION EXPERT? HELL YEAH

Lowkey thinks he loves to clean and have cultivated flowerbeds soul cultivated by him.

He totally wouldn't go off telling random beggars on the street to join his farm.

He let's you braid his hair while he go through his daily list of chores-10/10 malewife, girlboss, slaying.

I think he is Kunikida but less strict and better [idk]

He has a skincare routine and encourages or rather forces you to join him.

You have a stalker? He is now your servant at your home, vamparised.

he tries to minimise his usage of vampirism, but stalkers and creepers gonna get it.

IF BSD IS A HAPPY EVER AFTER, I think Aya would 10/10 the adopted kid of your household.

Like you would have Aya over your house and Bram would go on become the dad she deserved.

And then you get hit by the fact Aya resembles his daughter in the previous era.

You totally have their photos on one side of your wall (it's almost full)

Requested by: @student-in-devildom [as I said, I tagged you] Taglist: @averagehisoilluenjoyer, @high-on-dazai Join or remove your user here.

[seoul-bros]

Jikook Week 11 Complete ✔️(20/02 - 27/02/2024)

Their eleventh week in the military is now complete. It's time to celebrate this milestone with a look back at this week in 2023.

On 21/02/2023 Part 2 of Run BTS Mini Field Day came out. Part 1 was released the previous week and both Tae and Jungkook were on excellent form. Part 2 began with a ping pong challenge which was frankly ridiculously difficult although Jungkook made it look really easy

Things didn't go quite so well for Jimin however. J-Hope was determined to put Jimin off and he succeeded in spades.

It was definitely not Jimin's day to shine.

The final game was Slippery Soccer. The teams were Jin, Tae and JK on the Red Team and Suga, RM, J-Hope and Jimin on the Blue Team. The Red Team were all over the game from the start and it was difficult to see how the underdogs would ever fight back.

Especially when J-Hope and Jimin's body parts were working for the opposition at various points in the game.

But who is going to complain when it led to this celebration hug.

After a few rounds though the blues levelled up and things descended into chaos.

There is even a compilation video of all jikook's chaotic interactions.

At the end of the day, everyone was happy for the match to end in a draw.

Jimin was soaked through having spent a disproportionate amount of time on the floor.

Medal placements were J-Hope - Bronze, Jungkook - Silver and the man of the hour V - Gold.

This show was the last Run BTS filmed before members started enlisting and Jin took the opportunity to accept an honorary gold and say his goodbyes to ARMY but not without some interference from Jimin and Jungkook.

I'm not sure what Run BTS would look like after the military but I hope we might get a few special episodes even if it isn't such a central part of their work together.

Now you may accuse me of burying the lead but there was another very important piece of news released this week in 2023.

On the 21/02, Big Hit announced that FACE Jimin's debut release would be out on 24th March. The promotional schedule came out on 22/02 and the tracklist and behind video came out on the 23/02.

We got a first glimpse of how closely Jimin had been involved in all aspects of his solo debut and an indication that this was going to be a new and exciting departure for him. We understood this, even if we didn't quite grasp quite how momentous this release would be for Jimin and for South Korean music in general.

I'm running out of images but let's not forget that Elle Magazine Hong Kong published some amazing shots from Jimin's Dior photoshoot on the 22/02/2023. Jimin's fashion god/goddess era was well underway.

Post Date: 27/02/2024

[supermanshield]

Superbat and the Kryptonite Ring: A Reading List

The quick guide, if you just want to jump right in:

Superman (1987) #2

Optional: Action comics annual #1, Adventures of Superman #466, Action Comics #653. These lead up to Dark Knight over Metropolis.

Dark Knight over Metropolis: Superman (1987) #44, Adventures of Superman #467, Action Comics #654

Superman: The Man of Steel #21

Superman (1987) #126 (+ Action Comics #737)

Superman: Lex 2000 (one-shot)

Superman (1987) #168

Detective Comics #756

Batman #612

Optional: Superman/Batman #6, #12, #44-#49, Justice League (2011) #19-20, Batman/Superman (2019) Annual #1

When I think of Superbat, I think of trust. And when I think of superbat and trust I think of this:

panels from Action Comics #654

(and other things, but that's beside the point for this post). Superman trusts Batman with his life, and the decision to stop him if he ever needs to. But Batman also trusts Superman to make the right choice, giving the ring to him first. Even though at this point in post-crisis continuity they're not really friends - they know each other and their secret IDs, they've hung out a couple of times, but that's about it - Bruce doesn't make this choice himself and keeps anything from Clark, but gives the choice to Clark. This is not (yet) the paranoid Batman that keeps things like this from Clark.

So, where does this symbol of their friendship and trust come from, you ask? What happened to and with the ring throughout the years of post-crisis canon? Let's get into it under the cut.

The origin

Superman (1987) #2 (beware the Byrne-era Superman)

(Optional: Action comics annual #1, Adventures of Superman #466, Action Comics #653)

Dark Knight over Metropolis: Superman (1987) #44, Adventures of Superman #467, Action Comics #654

The kryptonite ring first makes its appearance in post-crisis continuity when Lex Luthor fashions a ring from a sliver of kryptonite that came from Metallo. However, its radiation causes him to get cancer and subsequently lose his hand. He keeps the ring in a safe after that. It eventually gets stolen by Amanda McCoy, who has found out that Clark is Superman, and goes to confront him with it. She panics and flees, leaving Clark behind, and she gets mugged and killed. The ring makes its way to the streets of Gotham, where it ends up in Batman's hands.

Dark Knight over Metropolis tells the story of Batman investigating the ring and its previous owner and her death. In the end and after saving each other multiple times, Bruce tells Clark about the ring he found and gives it to him. Eventually Clark shows up at the cave to give it to Bruce, the only man he can trust with his life.

Lost... and retrieved

Superman (1987) #126 (+ optional Action Comics #737)

Superman: Lex 2000

Superman (1987) #168 and Detective Comics #756

In Superman #126, Lex claims he needs the ring when he's on trial. Clark goes to batcave to pick it up himself and hands it over for tests, after which he gets it back, because he believes in fair trial. However, when Clark gets the ring back it's been replaced by a fake (something he doesn't notice because in his Superman blue era he was not susceptible to kryptonite). Luthor has the real one again, right before he becomes president.

panels from Superman (1987) #126

In the Superman: Lex 2000 one-shot, one of the stories shows Batman breaking into Lexcorp to threaten Lex to give back the ring, but this backfires.

panels from Superman: Lex 2000

In Superman #168, Lois then finally decides to take matters into her own hands and asks Batman for help stealing the ring back from Luthor, because Clark won't tresspass into the White House to steal it.

panels from Superman #168

This very chaotic but fun story is continued in Detective Comics #756. In the end, the ring is back with Clark, Lois, and Bruce. Though we never actually see who of them gets to keep it, I'm going to assume it's Bruce, because he has it in Batman: Hush, which takes place some years after this story.

Could Bruce use it? And Batman's paranoia

Superman: The Man of Steel #21

Batman #612

Superman/Batman: the Search for Kryptonite (#44-49) (specifically #49)

Justice League (2011) #19-20

Clark trusts Bruce enough to give him the means to stop him if he ever needs to, but could Bruce actually go through with it if he had to? Now, there are other contingencies that he has for a rogue Superman, as shown in Tower of Babel, but green K is the most direct one.

In 1993's Superman: The Man of Steel #21, set after Superman's death, there is a page that shows Bruce brooding in front of the case where he keeps the ring and contemplates if he could have used it. He sounds doubtful and above all reluctant when he says he would have had to, though ultimately it wouldn't have mattered anymore since Clark was dead at the time.

panels from Superman: The Man of Steel #21

This is much different from the Batman we see in Hush, where he keeps the ring on himself instead of in a case, and uses it without any doubt. In Batman #612, part of the Hush storyline, when Clark is under Poison Ivy's control, he uses it freely on Clark, enough to subdue him and snap him out of Ivy's control, but no more than that.

Of course, Batman doesn't kill, but from the moment Clark gives him the ring, the implication is given that there might be a scenario where it's a last resort and he actually has to stop Clark. I believe there is a comic that explores this in the Armageddon 2001 crossover, but I haven't read it. Or any other Elseworld stories where Superman goes evil, so I'm not aware if Bruce has ever used it like that. I like to think that even if he needs to, Bruce finds another way, because that's what Superman and Batman do.

Finally, in Superman/Batman: The Search for Kryptonite, Clark asks Bruce to help him rid the world of Kryptonite, after the large asteroid that carried Kara had come to earth. They go about this together very meticulously, and in the end, Clark decides to give Bruce the final piece of kryptonite. But when Bruce goes to deposit it in his cave, we see that he has all varieties and a stockpile of green K.

panels from Superman/Batman #49

This first of all is weird because doesn't Clark know that Bruce already has a kryptonite ring? Unless continuity was wiped somewhere inbetween again. But it also shows how paranoid Batman has become, how far we've strain from the Bruce that really trusted Clark and gave him the ring first in 1990 to do with it what he wanted. Instead, Bruce now keeps a lot of kryptonite unbeknownst to Clark. I personally like the 1990 version of Bruce much better.

During the New 52 era, Bruce also had a Kryptonite ring that was given to him by Clark, as shown in Justice League (2011) #19 and #20.

Extra appearances

Superman/Batman (2003) #12, Superman uses it or a different piece himself on Supergirl.

Batman/Superman (2019) Annual 1, a very fun Superman vs. Batman story :D

In animation: Justice League Doom, loosely based on Tower of Babel.

Fun fact: in JLA: Tower of Babel, Bruce's contingency for Clark has nothing to do with green K, unlike in the movie. I'm assuming that this is because at the time, in the comics, Bruce didn't have the ring, it was in Lex's posession (during his presidency). Besides that, Bruce's contingency for Clark in Tower of Babel is something that would affect him no matter where he is.

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 10

It was the era of the Polaroid and the beginning of videotape. He was the director and I his star acting out fantasies. We dressed up and undressed, played and wrestled, told stories, acted out our fantasies, and invented scenes. Whether it was dressing up in my school uniform and playing at being a sweet, innocent schoolgirl, or a secretary coming home from work and relaxing in the privacy of her own bedroom, or a teacher seducing her student, we were always inventing new stories, and eventually, I learned what stimulated Matt the most.

Almost every night I made quick trips to the local drugstore to buy considerable amounts of Polaroid film. Some of the cashiers knew me, and I wondered if they suspected what we were doing.

I put on dark glasses to “disguise” myself, but ended up looking even more conspicuous as I’d sweetly request twelve packs of Polaroid film while making excuses like, “Gee, the others must have been defective. I just can’t seem to get them to come out right,” or “You’re not going to believe this, but someone stole my film.”

Making it in and out of Graceland was no easy feat, either. I’d pass Mr. Stall at the gate at odd hours of the night, smiling and waving hello, returning shortly with the same smile and the same wave. I was sure he harbored some suspicious thoughts about what I was doing.

Matt laughed when I told him. “It’s all in your mind. He’s no more thinking anything than a dog sleeping.”

“Well, what if he starts spreading rumors, like I go out at night?”

“It might create some excitement around here. This town’s dead. Boston needs a little gossip!”

Matt and I both loved creating these sexual fantasies and it seemed to bring us closer together. I had no previous sexual experience to compare with his inventive sexuality and I was ready to indulge him any way I could. Being in the fast lane, he was exposed to every pleasure available in life. Ordinary thrills sometimes were not enough, especially when he was under the influence of powerful drugs.

At first I was totally open to Matt and many of his ideas. I lived for those moments we were alone. I was careful to say little that might jeopardize my bond with him. I fulfilled his needs, and his beliefs became mine. Under no circumstances were his ideas or playfulness perverted or in any way harmful.

A few days after he came home, he led me to his long black limousine and we sped off to one of Boston’s most exclusive boutiques on Union Street for some after-hours shopping, just as we’d done in Las Vegas. While the boys milled around the shop and the store’s sales staff tried to look nonchalant, Matt got a big kick out of having me model dozens of stunning dresses and suits and coats that were so stylish I was doubtful I could wear them. I was still an insecure teenager.

“Matt,” I said, wearing a sexy gold lamé gown that clung to my every curve, “these clothes are too sophisticated for me.”

“Sophisticated?” he said, regarding me admiringly. “What’s sophisticated? You could go around wearing a feather and that would be sophisticated.”

“Well, bring me a feather then.”

We spent four hours at that shop and during that time, I had a personalized lesson in the Matt Sturniolo Fashion Course.

As I tried on dress after dress, Matt delivered a running commentary on color. He liked me in red, blue, turquoise, emerald green, and black and white—the same colors he himself wore. He liked solids only, declaring that large prints took away from my looks. “Too distracting,” he said. He hated browns and dark green, colors inextricably associated in his mind with the Army.

Exhausted and a little confused about my new look, I walked out of the shop dressed in a sleek black linen suit with four-inch highheeled shoes to match. With Matt sitting proudly beside me, the guys loaded the trunk of the limo with armfuls of packages, and I felt very special.

Back at Graceland he had me model all my new clothes again for Grandma, who patiently sat through a long two hours of changes. I was Matt’s doll, his own living doll, to fashion as he pleased.

It was the early sixties, when clothes and makeup veered to extremes. Women’s eyeliner was heavier, their hair more teased, and their skirts shorter than ever before. All the rules I’d learned about dressing and applying makeup (less is more, the simpler the better) were being broken, and men seemed to love it. Matt certainly did. If I went a little light with the mascara or black eyeliner, he’d send me back upstairs to apply it more heavily.

Matt liked long hair. When I’d cut mine without asking his permission, he was shocked.

“How could you cut your goddamn hair? You know I like long hair. Men love long hair.”

He wanted it long and jet black, dyed to match his because, as he said, “You have pretty eyes, baby. Black hair will make your eyes stand out more.” He made a lot of sense to me and soon my hair was dyed jet black, like his.

The more we were together the more I came to resemble him in every way. His tastes, his insecurities, his hang-ups—all became mine.

For instance, high collars were his trademark, not because he especially liked them, but because he felt his neck looked too long. He never felt comfortable unless he was in a customized high-collared shirt, though in a pinch he’d turn the collar up on a regular shirt as he had when he was in school.

When he told me that the collar I was wearing on a particular blouse was too small for my “long, skinny neck,” I too began wearing high-collared shirts. Why not? My sole ambition was to please him, to be rewarded with his approval and affection. When he criticized me, I fell to pieces.

The Pygmalion nature of our relationship was a mixed blessing. The most fundamental thing at this stage in our life together was that Matt was my mentor, someone who studied my every gesture, listened critically to my every utterance, and was generous, to a fault, with advice.

When I did something that wasn’t to his liking, I was corrected. It is extremely difficult to relax under such scrutiny. Little escaped him. Little except the most salient fact of allthat I was a volcano about to erupt.

There were evenings when he’d send me back upstairs to change clothes because my choice was “dull,” “unflattering,” or “not dressy enough” for him. Even the way I walked came under review; he told me to move more slowly, and for a short while, he had me walking around the house with a book on my head.

I appreciated his interest, but I hated having to hear him remind me of my shortcomings so many times, and each time having to promise him that he’d never have to tell me again.

Would I ever be able to live up to his vision of how his ideal woman should behave and appear? She had to be sensitive, loving, and extremely understanding, meeting unusual demands any average woman might reject. This included being left behind when he made spur-of-the-moment, questionable “business” trips.

She had to be pretty and she had to possess an offbeat sense of humor to survive all the joking at Graceland. Often I’d walk into Sunday afternoon football gatherings and hear inside jokes about the cute all-American cheerleaders. Eventually I found myself thinking like one of the guys. “Nice tits and ass,” I’d say to myself. “A little heavy in the thighs, but the face makes up for it.”

Matt had a strong aversion to wearing jeans. As a poor boy, he had no choice but to wear them and he never wanted to lay eyes on another pair. That applied to everyone in the group.

His firm ideas on my wardrobe didn’t make it easy for me to go out and buy clothes for myself. One day I came home proud of a dress I’d just bought and couldn’t wait to put on. I knew he didn’t like prints, but this was a blackand-white flowered silk that I thought very special.

The first words out of his mouth when he saw me were: “That dress doesn’t suit you. Does nothing for you. Takes away from your face, your eyes. All you see’s the dress.”

As he tore me apart I started to cry. “Are you quite finished?” I inquired. I didn’t give him a chance to answer, bolting for my bathroom and slamming the door.

A few minutes later I heard his voice from the other side of the door: “You gotta keep away from those large prints. You’re a small girl, Sattnin.”

I opened the bathroom door and snapped, “Okay, I’ll return the fuckin’ dress.”

Matt fell to the floor laughing; eventually I joined in, unable to stop myself. Once again I’d compromised my own taste.

He ignored no aspect of my appearance, including my teeth. He took me to his dentist, told him to clean my teeth and give me a thorough examination. He was to look for probable cavities only and should I need any fillings, they were to be made of white porcelain. To him a mouth loaded with gold or silver was an eyesore.

He was equally fanatical about posture. If I slumped, he’d straighten my back. When I’d look up at him and wrinkle my forehead, he’d smooth it out—or tap it—telling me not to get in that habit. I didn’t like him rapping me, so I learned that one fast.

When we came home from the movies one night, I was getting ready for bed and he was in his office playing the piano. I came in to listen, propping my foot on the bench where he was sitting. He looked down at a small chip in my nail polish and I immediately withdrew my foot from the bench and started making up excuses about why it wasn’t fixed. “I’m going to have my pedicure tomorrow,” I promised.

“Good,” he said, “cause that doesn’t look like my Little Girl’s. You should always keep them looking nice.”

I was leading a double life—a schoolgirl by day, a femme fatale by night. Our evening appearance downstairs usually resembled a grand entrance. Even when our only intention was to have dinner, we always dressed for the occasion. Matt might wear a three-piece suit with a brocade vest and a Stetson hat. Under his coat he always carried a gun. He’d given me a small pearl-handled derringer and I carried it in my bra or tucked it into a holster around my waist. We were a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.

Matt loved films, and we went to the Memphian almost every night. He was still renting the whole house after regular hours since he couldn’t attend a movie without being mobbed. One of the guys always lined up several films in case Matt didn’t like one of them or decided to see as many as three or four in a row. We usually arrived around midnight, our limousine pulling around to the back of the Memphian. From there we’d proceed into the side door like a royal couple leading their court.

Already seated in the theater were the usual crowd of thirty to fifty local friends and fans. Matt always sat in the same seat—with Nate Doe to his right, me to his left.

Before calling “Roll ’em!” he looked around the theater to make sure everyone was seated. He was an acutely aware person and could immediately spot any unwanted or unfamiliar faces. If any new faces were sitting too close to him, Matt suggested they move elsewhere. He was more lenient with the girls. He might not demand they move but he certainly wanted to know who they were, and should they object to being asked for this information or smart off in any way, he would not hesitate to have one of the boys escort them out, telling them never to come back.

There were times Matt rented the entire Boston Fairgrounds after closing and we all  spent hours on our favorite rides. We tried such daredevil feats on the roller-coaster as seeing who could stand the longest with both arms outstretched as it whipped and twisted around the track again and again.

Matt loved the bumper cars and would team up with the entourage against some locals. They’d spend the night seemingly trying to kill each other, laughing and bruising themselves like tough little boys while we girls watched and cheered them on. After several hours my own enthusiasm waned.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - hope u enjoyed this chapter!!🎀

[theglidingbat]

Ghostbat headcanons because I'm in no-minhkhoa content hell

Bruce loves giving minhkhoa forehead kisses and nose kisses, during tender moments or when he's feeling sentimental, minhkhoa always grumbles about it but it's one of the little things he enjoys

Adding onto the previous one, minhkhoa rarely kisses bruce tenderly his kiss more fierce and filled with passion and hidden emotions he refuses to reveal.

Minhkhoa will make fun of Bruce's clothes and fashion choices but yet can be seen with wearing his turtleneck, bruce will narrow his eyes as Minhkhoa pretends to be ignorant, he never returns the clothes by the way.

But if bruce ever decided to take minhkhoa's clothes he has to hear multiple snarky remarks, only to be tackled when he tries to take of Minhkhoa's green hoodie , ghostmaker would rather die then admit he likes his boyfriend in his clothes.

So they definitely got married at some point right?

I feel like bruce knows how to cook but pretends to be shitty at it around minhkhoa just so he gets to see minhkhoa cook, minhkhoa knows this and indulges him anyway

Listen, I think the "minhkhoa can't feel love" thing is bullshit because he does care a lot, even if he's terrible at it, he's not even trying per se but bruce is one of the very few people he actually cares for, Bruce thinks that's how minhkhoa just is, he doesn't realise he has special treatment expect the name thing.

But a fun alternative is that he knows that he gets special treatment from minhkhoa and loves it, and gets extremely possessive and bratty about it too.

I know it's retconned or whatever but Rhea being minhkhoa's first love and after everything minhkhoa still likes to distance himself, bruce who's probably witnessed atleast half of their relationship will always feel like and know that he won't ever have the same place in minhkhoa's stone cold heart like Rhea did and it kind of hurts him

Minhkhoa doesn't even deny it, why bother lying to a man as smart as Bruce? Bruce should be able to handle the truth, he still cares for Bruce but he's sure (scared) of the fact that bruce would die or disappear, or worse forget him because of his own stupidity (empathy)

Okay enough angsty from me I swore I would be an account without much angsty shit but here we are.

Minhkhoa loves grilled cheese. It's a headcanon me and my irl friend thought of as an old inside joke but yeah that's the only American food this mother fucker tolerates, with tomato soup and everything. Specifically if Bruce makes it with the crust cut.

The grilled cheese is more of a crack headcanon but eh.

Someone make a fic of Minhkhoa teaching Bruce's white ass how to make rotis (I've been leaning into minhkhoa being half Tamil or of Tamil origins loads lately and it's my favourite fanon hc of him)

Bruce can't get it in a perfect Circle and it pisses him off, minhkhoa laughs at his face.

One very silly thing I love to think is that during a chase scene in their past minhkhoa would pick bruce up and make a run for it and sticks through their adulthood, an explosion is about to go off and before bruce can do anything minhkhoa has him in a carry as he runs away with him.

Them Falling back into old habits, bruce latching onto minhkhoa and pulling his hair during a immature argument, minhkhoa screaming and trying to shake him off as Talia tiredly sips her tea, they're all 40 and the batkids finally see where exactly Damian gets it from.

My personal headcanon is that during btk era bruce had freckles, minhkhoa won't admit it but he misses them,as Bruce grew his freckles faded.

And that's it for my latest Ghostbat headcanons, do note that these are extremely self indulgent and may be occ but eh who gives a fuck

[delta-pavonis]

Dream Journal Rescue for the wip game, please

WHOO! Thank you for asking about this one, Nonny.

For the 2022 Dreamling Secret Santa I took a risk and wrote something that can be very divisive in fanfic and in fiction in general: first person narrative. I wrote the first half of i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) as a dream journal that Hob used to record his dreams after they came back when Dream got out of the fishbowl in 2021. It draws both from the early comics and from the TV show in terms of events/timeline. This fic got significantly less attention than the others I had written at the time, but it was also the one I was most proud of that year (and that's with Eros in Pragma and Hypnopompia turtur in there!). I am still extremely proud of it because it is, for me, I think very poetic writing. However, the first version of i had a dream wasn't post-fishbowl, but actually started before the fishbowl. Hob still kept a dream journal, and it still started in first person, but the idea originally was that Hob would figure out that something had happened to his Stranger because of his dreams stopping. Which meant that they needed to have enough of a relationship/rapport by the 1910s that Hob would trust that Dream would not miss a dream "date" of theirs without very good reason. Hence, "dream journal rescue" as the name. I only have pieces of the fic, but I keep them because I still viscerally love what I did with i had a dream SO FUCKING MUCH that I want to return to that style at some point. If you have read i had a dream you will see the bits I took from this and transferred to that.

This is totally G-rated and starts before 1889, as Hob is anticipating that next meeting, and then keeps going into 1914. Here's what I have in that WIP file:

1:

21 October 1885

I think I need to write these down. Olive suggested I start writing these down. She is usually right about such things.  

Maybe it will bring some clarity to this… mess. 

I’m in the White Horse Inn. (It is always the White Horse.) 

The year is not obvious from the decor, which is a riotous mix of 1389 and 1489 and 1789. Delicate teacups and straw-covered floor and fireplaces with chimneys. Of course chimneys. But I know, in the way of dreams, that it is the day of our annual appointment, the next one, in 1889. 

I shake my coat and hat free of the London morning rain. I am many hours before the time of our appointment. This my usual - I always arrive early. To ready the table and, more importantly, myself for our meeting. 

But in this dream I enter the White Horse to find the Stranger already there. He looks exactly as he did in 1789. Which must say something about my imagination since he has always been in impeccable fashion specific to the era of our meeting. 

Or perhaps it is because he looks at me with the same burning intensity that made our last appointment so spectacular. His eyes devour me, just as they did when we parted last, and I am absolutely helpless to resist.

I am sitting then, across from him, cups of tea and venison pasties between us. His beautiful pale fingers trace around the gilded edge of the teacup. I am speaking, words tumbling forth, I can hear the droning vibrations in my ears and throat, but it is not where my attention lies. 

My attention is riding the wave in his coalblack hair. My attention is wafting the bob of his throat above his high collar. My attention is tracing the sweet pout of his pink lips. My attention is flying through storm-sky eyes. 

He reaches across and

Fuck. I can’t write this.

2:

[There are several attempts at starting entries after the previous one. None manage more than a sentence.]

[No attempts at entries are made after 1889.]

3:

1 November 1898

I woke up still drunk and still in very rural Wales (note: never ever always maybe return for Nos Calan Gaeaf in the future) and found this old journal in the bottom of my trunk, so I suppose I shall once again make a valiant attempt to take dear Olive’s advice to sort out the dreams of my Stranger that ever plague me.

(I have heard tell of work by a man named Freud who claims dreams can be used to better understand someone’s psychology and potentially even relieve psychosis. He'd have a field day with me. May I never come within 400 miles of him.)

My drunk mind lacks creativity for scenery and so when I sleep this night I find myself in the same village square I was in only hours prior… however, I am back in time about 400 years? Long before the industrialization of the region, before the extermination of these old traditions by the expansion of “civilization.”

I have just won the silly harvest mare from the clutches of the other young men bringing the last of the harvest in, a horse-shaped horror made from the final stalks of grain reaped. I am now expected to try to sneak this rustling beast into the home where the bulk of the feast is being prepared by the womenfolk without one of them dousing me with washwater. If I succeed in getting into the kitchen unscathed I will win their finest beer and an honored seat at the feast-table. I am always up for new games.

(This is all Iwan’s fault for convincing me to accompany him home for the holiday yesterday and for me getting drunk while they all told me stories of the Old Days. Let it never be said that I abandon a friend in their time of need.)

I easily weave through the crowds of women and children, in their dresses and aprons and smocks, clothing I haven’t seen in centuries but are still as real as yesterday, and cross the kitchen threshold only to find the room empty. An empty kitchen except for the crackle of the hearthfire and my Stranger sat on a barrel in front of it. 

The large fire paints him in oranges and golds and he looks warm and inviting in a way that I have never experienced outside of my mind. It is the moment I know for certain that this is a dream. 

When he looks up to me he appears confused, brows drawn, lips parted. 

I am the first to speak, although words do not come easily to me. “What…?” After our parting in 1889 I can scarce understand why I am seeing him before me now. Although nightmares of the night plagued me in the months afterwards, I had been blessedly free of any night-time visits from my Stranger for almost a decade now. It has been an unexpected boon after so many years of dreaming of him more carnally. I know these facts within the dream. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t stand, cranes his neck back to look up at me, and I realize he has a low collar this night, lower than it had been even in 1489. I can see flame-gold arcing around the shadowed hollow of his throat.

“It is a Ysbrydnos.” He explains in perfect Welsh, as if I am some child. I do not question why I can so easily understand him despite my mediocre grasp of the language. It is a dream, after all. “Many call on me such nights.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, ‘tis a Spirit Night and you a spirit.” 

He tilts his head to the side, bird-like and distinctly not human. “Not as such. But I will attend the dreams of many who call me here this night.” The Stranger’s voice is just as rich and decadent as it is in person. This detail my memory - traitorous bastard it is - does not neglect. 

“Of course. Even the version of you I make for my dreams gives non-answers and evasions.” I can feel my whole body hunch in defeat. I wrap my arms around myself, look to the floor. “Just why…” Even my dream cannot steady my voice. “Why does my mind show you to me now? Why this torment?”

“Ah.” Now his voice is choked and staccato. “You did not call me here yourself this night.” Perhaps he is surprised, or ashamed, I cannot tell. 

Still, I want to scream. “After last time…” I grit my teeth and continue to stare at the floor. 

I see the toes of his black shoes enter my field of view. His chest is perhaps a handspan from mine. “Do you truly wish to never dream of me?” This inquiry is a mocking echo of his usual question, but there is no mockery in his tone. “Given…" He shakes his head, unable to say the words. Say the words he should say: Given what I did to you… Instead he restarts the sentence, "It would be well within your right to request it.”

I sigh. He almost sounds remorseful. What a fantasy this is. How contrived. “No.” And if I ever doubted before that this was a dream the tiny bits of relief I see wash over my Stranger confirms it. His eyes soften minutely. His shoulders relax a hair's breadth. “This might be the only chance I have to ever see you again. And I would take the machinations of my mind, I would take delusions of your regard, over nothing.”

He hums, looking back to the fire as he takes a step away from me. I feel cold and bereft. “This dream is over.”

And then I woke up.

3: 

1 Nov 1898  I have not dreamed of him in six months. one year.         three years.         seven          ten          fifteen 

4:

25 May 1914

After almost 17 years I found myself dreaming of the White Horse last night and when I focused upon it in my mind’s eye I almost burst into tears.

Wait, Olive always said that this was more effective if I narrated as if I was reliving the dream. That I would get more details back that way.

I begin the dream standing outside the White Horse Inn and knowing that I am dreaming. It is the first time I have begun a dream this aware and therefore it is noteworthy. 

When I enter I feel his presence before I see it. Through the doors in the back, to the private room that had been set aside for us in 1789. He is once again in front of a fireplace, standing this time, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looks down into the flames. 

(Note: Ponder this pattern more later, that I associate him in dreams with fire.)

The door to the room automatically closes behind me and he turns. Despite the venue, he is dressed, as always, in the pinnacle of fashion. All black - of course - but a suit with long jacket and waistcoat and tie nonetheless. The ever-present ruby sits heavy and dark just below his throat.

“I did not intend the delay, Hob.” And doesn’t that throw me for a loop. I did not know prior to that moment that one could get dizzy in their own dreams. “I sometimes forget that time flows… differently… for you humans. But I did think on our last conversation.”

Thirty questions stampede through my mind at once. Everything from ‘Did he just directly admit that he is not human?’ to ‘Which last time?’ I throw all of these aside and instead opt for a cautiously lilted “And?”

A magnanimous wave of his hand and we are sitting, the same tea and sweets that were present in 1789 grace the table between us. I hold my breath. “Perhaps we can pick up, as much as we can, where we were in 1789 before the Lady Constantine interrupted us.” I am so taken aback by the turn this dream has taken that I cannot for the life of me think of what to say next. Luckily, my mind does not require me to as he continues. “I believe you asked my name.”

I almost fall over myself to give him leave to avoid it. “Only if you wish it.” Just don't leave again.

He smiles, something brighter than usual, and it feels like looking into the Sun. “I have a list of titles, which we can get to later, but the simplest name is Dream.”

I clamp down on the anguish that’s in my throat, but it still comes out as a high-pitched wheeze from between my teeth. “Dream?! DREAM?!?” I let myself slump boneless into the chair, impropriety be damned, and splay my legs out in front of me, hands over my face. “Oh fuck my mind and these GAMES. Why can it not send me sweet dreams of you? Of COURSE you are named Dream… you are a dream! Has my subconscious no creativity? Christ in heaven…”

“Hob!” He shouts. He has never shouted at me before. I look to him through my fingers, meet twilight-blue eyes. “My name is Dream of the Endless and I am the King of Dreams and Nightmares.”

Shock, bright white and violent, runs through me and I quite literally fall out of my chair.

And then I wake up.

5:

26 May 1914

I do not think I have ever been more wrong about something in my long long life.

Fuck. 

My Stranger is Dream. He lords over dreams and nightmares. They are his Domain, his Kingdom. 

F U C K

I knew that he was something Other. But this. This. 

We met again last night, in my dreams. I don’t need to work at this anymore (thanks for trying, Olive) because he asked me last night if I wanted to remember this, remember meeting him. Apparently he has some manner of control over such things.

I told him yes. Of course I said yes. But I think I want to continue to keep track of what has happened, what will happen, in my dreams, here in this journal. If only so that I have something to refer to later when I have absolutely zero confidence that this is real. Some proof that I haven’t gone completely barmy. 

Last night we talked. Just talked. It was in a liminal space, barely distinct as containing a floor and walls and chairs. All monotone, in blacks and greys and faint whites. It still reminded me of the back room from 1789.

He - Dream - told me so much. More than he had ever said to me in one go ever before. He told me some of his other names: Lord Morpheus (or just Morpheus), Prince of Stories, Oneiros, Shaper of Forms. He has a kingdom, home to dreams and nightmares alike. They are not only his citizens, but he creates them. Creates!

I have so so many questions.

But I must parcel them out carefully. Each answer is a treasure I will hoard. 

I returned his generosity with words of my own.

[mancer-in-the-abbey]

Well I DID say I had more ideas about ghoul combat sooo ERA 3 GHOUL (+Sunshine) COMBAT STATS LETS GO

Link to the previous post!

Alpha: He was Terzo’s personal bodyguard back in the day and for good reason. Alpha is the most physically imposing of all the ghouls, not quite as big as Omega but much more threatening. He and Omega also have a shared advantage in that they are OLD AS SHIT compared to your usual ghoul and have had over 3 centuries to cumulate knowledge and experience. As such, Alpha is highly trained in most forms of combat, from close quarters to ranged affairs, and his control over fire is nigh unparalleled. Dude is the epitome of You Fuck Around, You Find Out, he has killed before and will kill again should the need arise.

Omega: As previously stated, Omega is old as fuck for a Ghoul and has had literal centuries to refine his craft. It would genuinely be hard to point to a Quintessence user as skilled as him given just how long he’s had to grow and expand his power. There is also, of course, his physical brute strength which is also extremely formidable. He really is just a brick wall of a ghoul, you could probably run straight into him full-tilt and he wouldn’t budge an inch. Either way, by hand or by magic, you are straight up fucked if you try to fight this man because unlike Aether, who avoids killing as best he can, Omega has no such qualms. You will likely be dead before you can land a hit.

Mist: Oh she is vicious. Homegirl came to the surface with a chip on her shoulder the size of the Mariana Trench, borderline feral. She’s mellowed out a bit since then but still very much has a “try it I dare you” mentality. Unlike Rain, Mist doesn’t rely overly on her elemental powers, instead opting to use her superior grace and agility to stay one step ahead of her opponent. She has claws she takes immaculate care of and by Beliah she will USE THEM! One thing Mist and Rain DO have in common, however, is their willingness to bite. Must be a water ghoul thing…

Ivy: Earth bending? Earth bending. Quite skilled at it, too! Ivy is a smaller ghoul in comparison to some of the other past drummers, so he’s used to being underestimated by those around him. Surprisingly, this has worked to their favor more than once! There have been times where someone’s tried to mess with him, be it random civilian or other fellow ghoul, only for them to be absolutely clobbered by pieces of the walls and floors. He’s also skilled enough to put those chunks back when he’s done! How handy!

Ifrit: First off. Why would you want to fight Ifrit? What did he do to you? Second off, he’s gonna kick your ass SO badly. He’s similar to how I described Phantom in that he’s either all in on his elemental powers or all in on beating you to a pulp the old-fashioned way. When using his fire power, he tends to keep at a distance and blast his enemies away which works pretty well considering no one likes 3rd degree burns to the entire body and face. For an all-out brawl, however, Ifrit is actually trained in MMA and boxing! What can I say? He likes keeping himself fit and practicing how to knock heads is a great way to do it.

Sunshine: An unholy mix between Cirrus Dewdrop in terms of fighting style, with Cirrus’s agility and ability to keep people off balance and Dew’s sheer speed, ferocity, and underhandedness. Her ability to combine air and fire into nasty combo-attacks plus lightning fast reflexes makes her a NIGHTMARE to fight one-on-one. Her one weakness, however, is that she struggles in situations that require on-the-fly improvising. If you manage to spook her, there is a chance she will freeze mid-fight. She’s getting better, though!

Bonus!

Water!Dew: The Dew we know today is already pretty scary but you should have seen him back in the day. Although he was less hotheaded and less prone to picking fights, dude’s control over water was surgically precise. Have you ever heard of those industrial water saws used to cut limestone and other rocks? Imagine that but on your flesh and bones. Unpleasant.