#no one cares amelie

[tulipsnflowers]

I sort of kinda blame @nayvwriter for getting me into Amelie even slightly, so I uh, did the only thing I can do as the resident ghost type and tyrant person:

IN MY DEFENSE - She's the only one /w purple eyes, and she fits the colors scheme(some veriation of white + gold + main element color + another color(usually just darker el. color, but depends) + ribbon(or another color, looking at you n2 nara. why did you mess it up-). So uh, yeah. Design.

[soopysoap]

alr fuck it idc christophe was taught piano as a kid and continued teaching himself in his teen years and playing is a huge mental escape for him

[rustbeltjessie]

I was tagged by @endreal for 7 comfort films + 7 tags. Thank you!

Off the top of my head, and in no particular order…and I know I’m forgetting some…

Empire Records

The Breakfast Club

The Princess Bride

Bringing Up Baby

To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar

The Blues Brothers

This is Spinal Tap

I’ll tag @hthrloooo, @rhymingteelookatme, @neoretrobibliomartini-x, @sandovers, @shakespeareandpunk, @ectoplasmicwyrms, and @ihminen7777 - but don’t feel obligated. And if I didn’t tag you and you wanna play, consider yourself shadow-tagged.

[ninadove]

"He would rather be dead, with her, than alive and caring for his own son."

So, this is very important. Emilie or Amelie?

(Answer: Amelie. But seriously, I'm getting ahead of myself, let's talk about it.)

This is kind of a long post. If you don't want to read all of my ramblings, feel free to skip to the final point. That's the important one.

A mysterious woman who is clearly one of the two Graham de Vanily twins was in attendance of the party at the end of the episode. But is she Emilie (Adrien's dead mom, revived by Gabriel's wish) or Amelie (Adrien's already alive aunt)?

Here's the thing. The answer to this question is actually extremely important. Emilie being alive would be a HUGE deal and would have extreme consequences on the narrative and themes of the show.

Seriously. We need to know whether or not Emilie is alive. So, let's discuss— what do we know?

1. Amelie should be at this party.

Seriously. Amelie would be at Adrien's party.

You know who is in attendance at Adrien's party? Not just his friends, but also adults in his life. Nathalie. Su-Han. Jagged Stone. Penny Rolling.

You know what Penny Rolling's relationship is to Adrien? She's the manager/new girlfriend of his friend Luka's recently-undeadbeated-dad. And she was invited to Adrien's party.

Seriously. This is a party of any significant character. Everyone and their mother was invited and— hey wait, where's Félix's mother? Félix is here, and certainly our favorite mommy's boy would invite his mother along. Surely Adrien's aunt would be invited to Adrien's party.

You know, Amelie's aunt, who had a not insignificant arc in the story? A family member to the Agrestes, who we've seen struggle, who would well deserve a shot of her smiling at a party at the finale?

Amelie, who had some unresolved tension with Nathalie, centered around their respective relationships with Gabriel? Tension that would likely be rectified after Gabriel's demise?

Not only would Amelie be at this party, but I absolutely believe she would be sitting next to Nathalie. (I mean, they do know each other. Who else at that party does Amelie even know?)

If that's not Amelie, then where is she?

Oh, and side note, what was the shot just before the shot of the mysterious woman? Oh, that's right. Amelie's son.

2. She only appears for a brief flash, given no more significance than any other character in attendance.

There's a reason why everyone is using the same shot of the mysterious woman when discussing her. That is the only shot of her. There are more shots of Penny Rolling than of her.

Here's the thing. Either Emilie is alive in this final scene, or she isn't. So, how would you expect this scene to play for these circumstances?

Here is a complete list of everything I would expect if Emilie were not alive:

A brief shot of Amelie.

Here is an incomplete list of some of the things I would expect from a "Emilie, the mother of the deuteragonist and ghost that has been haunting the narrative for 5 Seasons, is alive now" reveal, at the bare minimum:

A shot that lingers on Emilie.

Emilie, seated with Nathalie AND HER TWIN SISTER.

A shot of Emilie opening her eyes during Gabriel's wish.

The newscast, which they watch during the party, having a mention of "... and Parisians are still celebrating the rescue of Emilie Agreste, who was previously missing but recently found!"

Adrien literally acknowledging that his dead mother is suddenly alive at all? AT ALL? Looking at her, mentioning her, literally ANYTHING from him? I mean, seriously, what did he think happened—

3. Adrien's perception of his mother's reappearance would need to be addressed. It was not.

Adrien does not know the wish was cast.

Adrien does not know anything.

Here's the thing. While, yes, Emilie has been described as "missing"/"disappeared" in the show, it is absolutely clear to the audience that Adrien has been under the impression that Emilie is dead.

We know this from the painting in the foyer that depicts Gabriel and Adrien in mourning. We know this from the way that Adrien (correctly) draws the conclusion that "Nathalie has the same illness as my mother, therefore she is dying". We know this from the way that Adrien speaks about his mother in past tense, how he encourages his father to move on and date Nathalie, how he has never once in the show seemed to be under the impression that Emilie could come back.

So, if Emilie suddenly came back........... someone would need to explain it to Adrien. He would need to be fed another lie about it. We would need to be made privy as to what he believes happened.

Examples of how this could have been easily achieved:

Again, the newscast. Nadja acknowledging that the missing Emilie Agreste had been found. Maybe mentioning that "she was found being held captive by Monarch" or something. I dunno, whatever lie that works.

Adrien, during his conversation with Marinette, mentioning what happened to Emilie from his perspective, the same way he vocalized to her what his perception of Gabriel's death was. I mean, seriously, Adrien was already doing this expositional dialogue... why wouldn't he mention his mom during it?

4. Leaked production material does not change the final product.

Yes, scripts were leaked of this season. There are deleted scenes in the storyboards. There are script changes and allusions to certain things and mentions here and there in these materials that suggest that the mysterious woman could have, at some point in production, been Emilie.

... at some point in production.

So, here's the thing. This is the most solid Emilie argument we have. In fact, I'd argue it's the only argument that holds any real ground at all. .......... and it's in content that we aren't supposed to have.

( Actually, it's the only real Emilie argument I've seen... period. The only other one I've seen is the fact her statue is gone, but I'd argue that the removal of her statue has symbolic weight no matter what. It was a symbol of Gabriel's obsession over her, the way that she haunts the narrative, the way she looms over the Agreste household. Alive or not, this is not the case anymore. So it makes sense to remove it. )

If your interpretation of the source material is solely, and I mean SOLELY based off of out-of-context snippets of things that were in the writer's room Vaguely At Some Point, things that now directly contradict the final product, things that the audience was absolutely under no circumstances meant to see...

You're not interpreting the episode. You're interpreting out-of-context snippets of a rough draft of it.

So, here's the thing. I've seen some of these leaks, I've seen a lot of people talk about these leaks, I've seen the rumors and I've heard the gossip. I'm not going to parrot it, because honestly, I'm still annoyed that the leaks exist at all. It feels a bit insulting to the art form, tbh, that incomplete scripts are being passed around and touted as significant and more accurate than the actual completed script.

But I'll say one thing:

If the rough drafts of scripts, deleted scenes, etc pointed to Emilie being alive.......

Why did they remove them?

(The answer is simple: because they changed their minds. And you don't have to stress about or mull over why they did it, because you were never supposed to know that it was changed, because you were never supposed to know about out-of-context rough drafts of the script in the first place. It doesn't matter. It's not the product. Writers are allowed to toss around ideas and scripts and then change them. It's unimportant and you're not supposed to be privy to it. It's not for you. It's not what they made. It's certainly not more accurate to the direction they're headed than what they settled on. )

Point is:

IF THE LEAKS DIDN'T EXIST, YOU WOULDN'T BE CONFUSED.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE THE LEAKS.

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE CONFUSED.

5. So, Astruc on twitter.

Okay, I love perusing Astruc's twitter for snippets of information as much as the next obsessive miraculous fan. I have perused his twitter a lot. Astruc always addresses comments and concerns under like 20 layers of coyness.

People ask him, "is it Emilie or Amelie"? And basically, every time, he responds with some variation on "pay attention and you'll know".

He's been shooting down people presenting the clues they find to him, on both sides of the argument. Some examples (which include the Amelie wearing black and Emilie wearing white thing):

So, what does this mean, beyond the already known fact that Astruc likes to mess with us?

Obviously, I'm not Astruc. I don't know his mind. I also don't have much of vested interest in dissecting everything he says, nor do I take his word at face value a lot of the time (again, he likes to mess with us).

However, I think two things are fairly clear here:

It IS possible to know whether or not Emilie was revived by watching the episode.

It's not the small details he wants us to look at. Admittedly, color schemes and set dressings are small details. It's not the big picture. It's not important. It's not the heart of what he, or any writer in his position, would want us to interpret.

( Side note, but if nearly every single Emilie argument is based off of things NOT ACTUALLY IN THE EPISODE, then doesn't Astruc saying the answer is in the episode shoot that down right off the bat? But hey! I digress. )

So, what is the big picture? What are the things that writers are truly proud of? What is the thing that a writer would want us to pay attention to? What are the details of the show that can help point us to what transpired in the episode? What—

6. The WRITING of the ENTIRE SERIES, INCLUDING within THIS VERY episode, the dialogue, the themes, the character beats, the symbolism— Literally. All of it. Points to Emilie. STAYING. DEAD.

This is actually the heart of my point.

Emilie absolutely was not revived here.

Here's the thing. The themes of grief and loss and mourning are extremely present within the Agreste arc. Throughout the entire series, the following has been hammered in by the writing:

Gabriel is obsessive for wanting to bring Emilie back. His desires are not healthy or sound. He is delusional. He is hurting Adrien and Nathalie by living in this fantasy.

Gabriel should have moved on.

Nathalie wants to move on.

Adrien has already moved on.

EMILIE HERSELF wanted them all to move on.

Emilie is a nearly angelic figure. Adrien is literally the deuteragonist of the series. Nathalie is a morally grey character with a clear redemption arc. Gabriel is the antagonist.

The "better" the character is, the more certain they are that Emilie should not be revived.

The CORRECT choice, if Gabriel and Nathalie chose the "right" path from the start, would have been for Gabriel and Nathalie to focus on parenting Adrien themselves, instead of obsessing over bringing a dead woman who has already come to terms with her death back to life. That's what Emilie wanted. That's what Adrien wants. That's what Nathalie has wanted but was too afraid to say. That's what Gabriel refuses to accept.

Look, if I go in depth into the scenes where this is addressed, I'd be here all day. Instead, have a screenshot compilation, I guess.

Again. That's been a core message of the series this entire time. And while I don't have screenshots of it being spoken so plainly in seasons 1 and 2, Gabriel has always been depicted as sinister, and his obsession has always been framed in the wrong.

Now, if you're one of those people who refuse to analyze the text at all or interpret what the messages of the show are on the grounds of "the writing sucks so who cares, it's probably just inconsistent writing and they forgot about the themes in the final episode" or whatever, then like. Ok. But here's the thing— this theme is even more hammered home in the finale.

Guys. I'm serious. What the hell do you think the scene before the wish was saying?

Gabriel, at his lowest moment, brought down. Gabriel, detransformed and on his knees before Bug Noir. Gabriel, at the final hour of his life, near tears, still obsessing over his wife, still thinking of his wife his wife his wife above all else, as Bug Noir lays out the literal themes of the show to him in all their beautiful glory.

And then literally forces him to watch the very videos that he had tried to force Nathalie to delete. Forces him to face the very words he refused to acknowledge. Forces him, at his lowest, to come face-to-face with the truth he denied.

.... And it hits him. What she's saying hits him. Because how can he deny Emilie's own words? The very woman he's doing it all for? How can he bring her back to life when she would want nothing less? How can he force the love of his life to live knowing that someone had died for her to, when she didn't want that? How could he have lost himself so much in the madness?

And then Bug Noir comes in with THIS

.... And Gabriel says....

.... Note that, he does not continue to deny it. He does not plead his case that Emilie should be alive. He is no longer arguing that. Here, he has seemingly begun to accept the premise that Emilie should not be brought back to life. Instead, he has a new premise:

He does not want to be alive if Emilie is not.

Gabriel is not selfless. Gabriel is not a good man. Gabriel says, earlier in the episode, flat out, that he is more than willing to kill whoever it takes, whatever rando he wants, to get what he wants.

Here's the thing.

Gabriel wants to be with Emilie.

Gabriel is willing to kill anyone, whoever it takes, to make this happen.

Gabriel realizes Emilie does not want to be alive.

Gabriel decides that he will honor Emilie's final wish......... only partially.

Because Emilie wanted both Gabriel and Nathalie to take care of Adrien. But Gabriel does not want that. It's not that Gabriel is above killing someone to save his own life, it's that he realizes that he, too, does not want to be saved. Because he does not want to live in a world without Emilie.

He would rather be dead, with her, than alive and caring for his own son.

Gabriel Agreste's wish is a suicide. I mean, we already knew this— but I mean, literally. It's not a selfless sacrifice. It's not one final act of goodness. It's a suicide. He decides he wants to die, and he decides that he will save Nathalie in the act— because it's what Emilie wanted, and Gabriel is obsessive. The only person who would reason with him is Emilie herself.

And what does Gabriel's wish look like? How is it depicted to us?

Gabriel and Emilie, cast in a white light. Emilie lifts from her coffin, notably still limp, as Gabriel rises up with her.

He rises up with her, notably supporting her limp head with his hand. She is still unconscious. And he is joining her.

One last selfish act. The final nail into his "trying to be a dad" coffin. He doesn't want to be a dad anymore. He only wants to be with Emilie. And he will gladly pass that responsibility, the responsibility of parentage, onto Nathalie— The only character in the show who has been showing an explicit, vested interest in LIVING to take care of and be a parent to Adrien.

Nathalie is alive. Nathalie is well. A life for a life. One life for one life. That's all that's depicted. That's all that's shown.

Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that more could've been a part of that wish? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that the wish could've been more complicated? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that some random other person died? Is it TECHNICALLY POSSIBLE that all of that dialogue and that entire scene and the entire buildup of Emilie's recordings were just soooooo lol random and that Emilie just decided that she's totally cool with being revived and alive now and that the entire themes of the series were a lie?

I also think it's technically possible that Marinette has secretly been a hamster wearing a human suit this whole time, and Lila is actually secretly a sentimonster made by Gorilla. And maybe this show isn't a romance, actually, and that Adrien and Marinette aren't meant to be endgame. In fact, maybe the entire series was a big prank. Maybe I'm adopted and my parents lied to me about it.

But how it looks, from what I see, from what I've watched, what just happened is....

Gabriel accepted that Emilie is dead.

This made Gabriel want to die, too. Because he doesn't care about Adrien as much as he cares about Emilie.

So, he did. And he shirked parentage onto Nathalie.

Is this "winning", by the way? By any stretch? Is this "Gabriel getting what he always wanted"? Is this "Gabriel being proved right"? Is this a lack of consequences? Are we really going to call a broken man, who has been slowly turning to ash and rotting away for an entire season, who suffered and was beaten down and, at the very end, had the only people ever in his corner (Nathalie and Adrien) cursing his name and wanting him dead.... him being right all along? Is him committing suicide the series justifying his actions? Is him committing suicide (again, not a selfless sacrifice) him "doing good" and "being redeemed" by the narrative? Is a faux image of him, a false narrative, a complete fictional person that he never truly was being celebrated by ignorant Parisians, him "being redeemed"? I suppose that's another essay altogether. But I'm tired of writing.

also, there was still only one goddamn twin at that party

[miharuki]

𝖄𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖁𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖃 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 (𝕱𝖊𝖒)

You were inside an otome game, an old classic that you found while searching for games of the same genre.

Imagine your surprise when you realized you were inside the otome game "My Pure Elegant Love," a medieval-style otome game with nobles, kings, and knights. You had just woken up, finding yourself as the daughter of a duke, any duke. Perhaps for a brief moment, you thought you could have reincarnated as Amelie, the protagonist of this game, but you were far from it.

You quickly befriended Amélie; her sweetness and gentleness were at least forced, but you knew that was the vibe of the game. Perhaps being the daughter of a duke, you could meet other characters, like Claude, the noble and best friend of Amélie in the plot and one of the favorite characters of the small group that played this forgotten game, damn it.

There was also Nathan, one of the strongest and most talented knights in the plot. We can't forget about Kalisto, the protagonist's younger brother who had a crush on her, Luka, one of the princes and also a romantic partner in the plot, as well as the wizard Azrael, and the first Duke Eros, all romantic interests of the protagonist.

Being the daughter of a simple duke, you knew you wouldn't have a chance with those of high status like Luka, the first prince. You weren't the protagonist, but you couldn't help but envy her. Perhaps because she was receiving love from handsome boys? Or perhaps because even in this life, in this game, you weren't loved by your family. You thought that being the daughter of a duke would give you some privileges, but oh, how wrong you were. Neglected by your parents, hated by the romantic interests of the protagonist, and simply having a bad reputation.

You thought you were becoming friends with Claude and that you might even win his love, but that was thrown out the window when they all decided to embarrass you at the prince's luxurious party. You didn't know that wearing a dress that Luka himself gave you would make you the target of everyone's ridicule.

"How could you do this, [name]?" How could you? You didn't do anything wrong! There, in front of the stairs with the prince behind her, was the protagonist, wearing the same dress as yours, but prettier. Perhaps because her perfect protagonist's body and beauty were helping her.

All the protagonist's romantic interests, including the ones you liked on the other side of the screen, were looking at you with anger, perhaps even smiling as if it were planned by them, by all of them, including his highness, who at first seemed not to like you, treating you even like a servant. You envy how they were all around that bitch, comforting her, as if you were the villain, which you never were.

Everyone talked, laughed, and even mocked. "I can't believe Miss Amélie has a friend like that!" You heard a lady saying, looking down. Not even your parents cared about you, at this point, you're probably being disowned by the family.

With tears on your face, after trying to explain the misunderstanding to everyone, after being slapped by his highness and the protagonist, you felt like crap. Pulling on the dress, you turned and ran out of the hall, opening the doors brutally. You couldn't stay in that room anymore, not when everyone was now looking at you with hatred.

Unaware, you came across a balcony, hearing footsteps coming. You were scared; the prince might have sent guards after you after you "lied" to everyone while explaining.

With all your strength, you push through the balcony fence, and as you're about to jump, someone forcefully opens the doors, startling you and causing you to slip, now falling to the ground. Your tears are now stronger, groaning in pain as you try to get up.

It was with pain, dirt, and tears that you ended up behind a bush. You couldn't take it anymore; you were shaking from the cold, crying, your makeup smudged, your hair dirty and messy, your "copied" dress dirty and torn. You've never felt so worthless before.

You cried as if you were carrying all the burdens, thinking about how the romantic pairs and the protagonist were not the best; in fact, they were the worst.

Feeling a headache, you sit down, trying to breathe well and calm down as you think, "And now?"

"What's a maiden doing crying in the middle of the woods?" Looking back, you noticed someone coming, a boy. Turning your head forward, you try to wipe away the tears. You don't like anyone seeing you cry; crying is for weak people.

Then you felt something being thrown over you, a thick, large coat. Lifting your head, you now look at the boy in front of you. His melodic and calm voice speaks as he gently crouches in front of you.

"Can you tell me, fair lady?"

You sobbed, trying not to cry, mocking the nickname the boy gave you.

"Fair lady? The way I am right now, I'm barely even a girl, let alone fair or a lady," you say as you use your own dress to clean up the mess of makeup and tears.

"I don't think that," the boy continues to clean as he speaks. "To be honest, I think you're even more beautiful. You just can't see it."

The boy's hands lift your stained and dirty face. You look and notice the looks he's giving, but they're not directed at the protagonist like everyone else's; they're for you.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" His calm and concerned eyes are looking at you, waiting for your response.

You just look aside before sighing. It's better than nothing.

"His Highness, the prince, had given me a dress as a gift... to wear at the ball today, but my friend - no, Miss Amélie was wearing the same one. Some of her friends started mocking me for trying to 'copy' the girl, but when I tried to explain, His Highness said he would never give me a gift in his life, especially knowing that his 'friend' Amélie would be wearing it today," you almost can't finish without starting to cry again, sobbing as you try to explain.

"They all planned to humiliate me in front of everyone, and His Highness still insists that I'm lying!" You say, already crying again, not noticing the arms going around you. You only notice when you feel being embraced by the boy as you cling to him, crying and sobbing.

"My dear, they don't deserve your kindness or your presence. What they did was extremely awful to a lady like you," the boy says as he strokes your hair and back, comforting you, as you've always wished to be.

You were clinging to the boy, feeling betrayed, feeling used. You didn't even notice the boy raising his hand to someone behind you, to someone dressed in black, a gentleman, but not the prince's gentleman, oh no, not that traitor.

You didn't even realize how the castle was beginning to stir.

"Let's go, I'll take you somewhere else. You might end up getting sick staying here," he says as he watches you cling to him. He could feel your warmth, you were starting to get sick from crying so much. Nomura's heart was breaking at the thought of you falling ill.

"Are you okay with this, miss?" The boy asks before you nod in agreement. Nomura gets ready and picks you up bridal-style, using his own coat that was on top of you as a blanket to protect you as he carried you to his own carriage.

Watching as you had already fainted from crying, he held you gently as the carriage headed towards his castle, leaving behind an important part of the game that was happening, unaware that the game's villain was now holding you firmly.

Do I do a part 2?

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

This is probably small in the grand scheme of things, but how did Emilie being noble play any impact in the story at all?

I mean, I'd get it if it was just a small detail to help deepen Emilie's character, but why nobility of all things? I don't know, from what I'm seeing so far, the whole "Emilie renounced her noble title" shtick just feels worthless if it's not going to impact the story or add depth to Emilie's character (like maybe upbringing or personal values?).

I don't know. Like everything else, the noble part just feels shallow and means nothing to the story, especially for a character like Emilie, who is the plot device for the whole show. Any detail about her, like her personality and life story, is supposed to influence the story and characters one way or another, namely Hawkmoth since she's his driving force.

So what was the point?

For context, this ask is about Félix's play which says that Emilie gave up her title to be with Gabriel. I'm gonna give a slightly larger section of the transcript of the play for full context, but the relevant but is at the end of the last paragraph:

Félix: The king and queen's twins grew up, each day as different in heart as they were similar in body. The firstborn, curious and brazen, despised life at court and escaped at every opportunity. The younger daughter, well-behaved and respectful, did everything she could to please her parents, and stayed quietly in the castle. Félix: (as Mr. Graham de Vanily) Oh, my queen. Did we entrust our legacy to the right princess? Kagami: (as Mrs. Graham de Vanily) She will fall in line, eventually. Félix: Confident that she would settle down as she matured, the king and queen allowed the curious princess to leave to study beyond the sea in another kingdom. There, she immediately found true love in a humble tailor. Félix: The tailor was making clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of the soul of anyone who wore them. Although it made her parents furious, the curious princess gave up her rank, her wealth and her kingdom to live a bohemian life with the tailor.

Story wise, I have no idea why any of this was added since it adds nothing to canon. It's not like this finally explains why Gabriel and Emilie are poor while Amelie is wealthy. Along similar lines, it's not like Amelie's title has ever mattered. Prior to this play, I don't think that we even knew that she had a title or that she was the younger sister. The play is all about explaining things that we never had reasons to question in the first place.

My best guess as to why the writers wrote this pointless backstory is that they wanted to make Emilie seem even more pure and perfect so they went with the tired old trope of a rich girl giving up material things for the sake of love and art because good pure women don't care about material things! Only nasty, shallow women care about money. (Way to play into sexist tropes, guys.)

There may also be cultural elements at play here given that France doesn't have the greatest history with nobility, so giving up a noble title may be seen as good and pure to a French writer, but I don't know enough about French culture to say that with any certainty. If anyone who reads this blog is French and would like to chime in, then feel free!

While we're on the topic of the play, I wanted to point out that the above quoted passage is why I say that the Graham de Vanily parents can be as kind or as abusive as you'd like to make them. It's incredibly vague and you can read into it whatever you want to read into it. Were they good loving parents who were just upset about their daughter living in poverty or were they miserable controlling classist who Emilie fled England to get away from? It's up to you because you can get both reads from this. The play commits to almost nothing of value. Politicians could take lessons from this impressive level of noncommittal writing.

A better version of the play would have focused on things that actually matter to canon like the details of finding the miraculous and/or Emilie learning she's sick, but you could only have those details if they were coming from Nathalie or Gabriel. Félix is a terrible choice for a character to tell us the show's backstory because he knows so little of it, thus the play focusing on his largely pointless backstory.

[pixelglam]

Nursery Essentials by Amelie

A part 2 to my first ever cc recs post! A few items to add to your little ones' nurseries!

rattles | ottoman 1 & 2 | wall art

functional mobile 1 & 2 | sheep rocker | formula & baby bottles

elephant plushie | doll house | diaper bag

toy stroller | nightlights | baby care

credit @sixamcc @charlypancakes @pinkbox-anye @pierisim

[lukesvangelista]

𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄ˡʰ⁴³

in which luke longs for the one person who understands him.

warnings; sad luke, crying luke, weddings, prom

part one here

part two here

Luke stood at the edge of the reception hall, watching the newlyweds glide across the dance floor. The bride, radiant in her white gown, laughed as Matt, Luke's cousin and her husband, spun her around, their joy infectious. The room was filled with the soft glow of fairy lights and the gentle hum of conversation, but Luke's mind was far away, lost in the memories of the relationship the two of you once shared. Jack and Quinn were talking beside him, reminiscing on the childhood memories the three of them shared with Matt, but Luke could've cared less. Instead, he zoned in on the couple with longing eyes, his face expressionless - that should've been him twirling you around on that dance floor.

It had been nine months since he and you had parted ways, but it felt like a lifetime. The two of you had met in high school, two awkward teenagers drawn together by a shared love of sports, music, and movies, and a mutual disdain for the superficiality of your guys' chemistry teacher. His first dance with you had been in your living room, the two of you clumsily stepping on each other’s toes to a scratchy vinyl record your father had given to you. The two of you shared so much laughter that day, the sound mingling with the music. Luke didn't think he was capable of laughing that much, but somehow, you had brought it out of him. In that moment, Luke had thought that your relationship would last forever.

As Matt and Amelie continued their dance, Luke remembered the night he had taken you to prom. You guys had spent weeks preparing. You agonized over your dress to the point where Ellen had offered to fix it up however you wanted to. She spent a week sewing this, and hemming that, but that dress couldn't have been more beautiful. It complimented you perfectly, the red satin fabric allowing your eyes to radiate. You laughed as Luke fumbled with the corsage during pictures. At the time, he didn't appreciate it, but now, he would give anything to hear your laugh again. When the two of you had finally arrived, the gym had been transformed into a magical wonderland, complete with twinkling lights and a live band. You guys had danced until your feet were sore, holding each other close as if the world outside didn’t exist.

Luke felt a lump in his throat form as he continued to watch the first dance. There was an empty seat beside him, designated for another one of his cousin's who couldn't make it, but Luke couldn't help but feel like it was for you. It was just another reminder that you weren't with him, but you should've been. All he wanted was to look away, but it's like he was frozen. It felt like a god damn punishment. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, he realized what song they were dancing to - 'Like Real People Do'.

No, no, no. This was your guys' song.

Tears sprang into Luke's hazel eyes immediately, and he jumped up from his seat to excuse himself. Quinn and Jack looked at their little brother like he was crazy, but Luke muttered some half-ass excuse about having to use the bathroom before walking out of the reception hall and outside the building.

As soon as he was outside, Luke tightly gripped the red brick of the building. He felt that if he didn't, he would've collapsed right then and there. He tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself down, but it felt as though nothing was working. So, he whipped out his phone and opened his contacts.

As he hovered over your contact, Luke tried to convince himself that it was because he wasn't in a clear state of mind. Maybe he could even blame it on the drinks that Jack had snuck over to him earlier in the evening. But deep down, Luke knew that wasn't true. He missed you, and maybe, just maybe, his longing for you would decrease if he heard your voice again. The night was quiet, which only seemed to amplify his thoughts. He missed you - every laugh, every conversation, every moment the two of you had shared. He missed you more than he could bear.

But the longer his fingers hovered over your contact, the more hesitant he became. The two of you had broken up nine months ago. The last time he had seen you was the night (or morning, he didn't even know) you showed up to his apartment, where he was sleeping with another girl and practically yelled at you for coming to see him. And it was the night that you needed him most. You were missing your dad and needed comfort. That was it. He had royally fucked up.

Was this a good idea? Would you even want to hear from him?

Doubts crowded Luke's mind, but the ache in his heart overpowered him. He took a deep breath and pressed call.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. Four times, five times, six times.

Luke was about to hang up when the dial tone went away. Static ensued and then he heard exactly what he wanted to hear.

"Hello?" Your voice was soft, cautious.

Luke let out a whimper, a tear falling from his eye, "Y/N/N, hi. It's Luke."

There was a pause, then, "Luke. Hi. It's been awhile."

"Yeah, it has. I-" he struggled to find the right words, "I know it's sudden, but I just needed to hear your voice. I miss you, Y/N."

The line was silent for a moment, and Luke feared that you might've hung up. But then you spoke, your voice trembling slightly, "Why'd you call, Luke?"

He let a sob ring from his lips, his tone heavy, "Matt got married today, and him and Amelie just looked so happy. And I looked at them and it was like I couldn't even see them, I just saw us," another sob rang out, "I just... whenever I looked at you, Y/N, I saw my future. I would've married you if I had the chance." he admitted.

The line went silent again, this time for even longer than the last. Boy, did that scare Luke. Had he said too much too soon? He wouldn't be surprised if he did - his brothers had always told him that that was his fatal flaw. Thirty seconds had passed before he spoke up again, pure desperation evident in his voice, "Y/N/N?"

He heard you sniffle over the line. A few more seconds of silence followed before you spoke, your voice trembling a little more than before, "I... I miss you too, Luke. I think about you a lot."

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly followed by regret, "I messed up, Y/N. Remember that night when you called me an asshole? It's all I've thought about since that night. You needed me and I kicked you out and..." Luke had to pause as he felt his chest tighten. His breaths were ragged and it felt as though he couldn't catch his breath.

"Luke? Luke, are you okay?" you asked him, concern evident in your tone.

Luke was able to compose himself just enough to keep talking as he heard your voice, "I was an asshole. I can't believe it's taken me seven months to admit it, but I was the asshole, and I am so fucking sorry, Y/N."

You took a shallow breath on the other end of the phone, your own eyes welling with tears.

Luke continued, "Listen, I don't know if we can ever go back to what we had, but I just needed you to know how much I miss you."

You sighed softly, tears of your own now slipping from your eyes, "That was hard for me, Luke. It hurt. But hearing you say that means a lot. And I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I didn't fuck up, too. We both made mistakes, and here we are." you faked a laugh.

Without thinking, Luke whispered through the phone, "Can we meet?" There was a lace of hope in his words as he spoke. Maybe it was a little bit of a facade, just to trick him into thinking he had more of a chance than he actually did, "Just to talk. Maybe start over, even if it's just as friends."

There was a long pause, and if it was as if Luke could almost hear you weighing the decision through the phone. It felt like hours had passed before you spoke again, your voice gentle, "Luke... it's not that simple. I miss you - more than you know - but I think that we both need to heal and move forward, even if it's hard."

"Y/N?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"It's pathetic really, how much I still hope it's you and me in the end."

"Take care of yourself, Luke," you said, "Goodnight."

Luke wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling the weight of your words. As you hung up, though, he felt a mixture of relief and sorrow. He knew you were right - you both needed to move on, to heal. But at least for tonight, he had the comfort of hearing your voice, a small connection to the woman he had loved and lost.

[lecsainz]

can you do charles and the reader being parents and their daughter/son wanting a little brother/sister??

big dream

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: charles and Y/N being parents of twin girls, the girls wanting a little brother, family lunch and everything being chaotic.

authors note: I JUST LOVED THIS REQUEST! charles with kids is too delicate for me 😭

word count: 1K

It was a bright and sunny day in Monaco, and the Leclerc household was bustling with activity. Rylee and Amelie were playing together in the living room while Y/N was working on her laptop and Charles was on a call with his team. Suddenly, Rylee jumped up with excitement.

"Amelie, Amelie, guess what I dreamt last night!" Rylee exclaimed, tugging at her sister's sleeve.

"What did you dream?" Amelie asked, looking up at her sister curiously.

"I dreamt that we had a baby brother." Rylee said, her eyes shining with excitement.

"A baby brother?" Amelie repeated, her eyes widening. "That would be so cool!”

"Yeah, and he was so cute and little, just like us when we were babies." Rylee continued. "And he was always laughing and playing with us."

"Wow, I wish we really had a little brother like that." Amelie said, a big smile on her face.

"I know, right? Maybe we can ask mommy and daddy to have another baby." Rylee said, her eyes shining with hope.

Just then, Y/N walked into the room to get the girls ready for the family lunch. "Alright girls, let's get dressed and head over to *grand-mère's house." she said. *grandma

"Mommy, can we ask you something?" Rylee said, looking up at her with a hopeful expression.

"Sure, what is it?" Y/N asked.

"We had a dream that we had a little brother, and we really want one." Rylee said, her eyes pleading.

Y/N smiled at her daughters. "Well, having a baby is a big decision, and it's not something we can just do because we want to." she explained. "But who knows, maybe one day you'll have a little brother or sister."

Rylee and Amelie looked at each other with excitement in their eyes, imagining what it would be like to have a new addition to the family.

Charles and Y/N were getting ready to head to Pascale's house for a family lunch, and were trying to strap the girls into their car seats.

"Mommy, why do we have to wear these seatbelts?" Amelie asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Because it keeps you safe in case we have an accident." Y/N replied, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Like in a race car?" Rylee asked, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"Kind of like that, yes." Charles said, chuckling at his daughter's enthusiasm.

As they drove through the streets of Monaco, the girls kept up a constant chatter, pointing out all the sights and asking questions about everything they saw.

Rylee whispered to her sister Amelie, "I hope we get a baby brother soon."

Amelie's eyes lit up. "Me too! I want a baby brother to play with."

Charles and Y/N were driving the car, listening to their conversation in the rearview mirror.

"Girls, we can't just order a baby brother like we order food." Y/N chuckled.

"But mommy, can't you ask the stork to bring us one?" Rylee asked innocently.

"Maybe we should ask Toto Wolff to bring us a baby brother. He knows everything about racing, maybe he knows how to get us a baby boy too!" Amelie exclaimed and the girls giggled at the idea of Toto Wolff bringing them a baby brother.

Charles and Y/N looked at each other, trying to hold back their laughter as they heard Amelie's suggestion. "I don't think Toto Wolff can help us with that." Charles said, still trying to contain her amusement.

Rylee chimed in, "But if he's a racing expert, he might know how to make a fast baby!" Charles and Y/N couldn't help but burst out laughing at that.

As they arrived at Pascale's house, the girls couldn't wait to tell their family about their plan to get a baby brother.

Rylee and Amelie ran to greet everyone with hugs and kisses before running off to the backyard to play.

"Girls, be careful not to get your dresses dirty." Y/N called out after them.

Lorenzo chuckled. "They're like little tornadoes, aren't they?"

"They sure are." Charles agreed, smiling.

As the adults settled in for some drinks and appetizers, the girls were busy playing with Pascale's dogs and running around the garden.

Suddenly, Rylee stopped in her tracks and turned to her sister. "Amelie, let's go find mommy and daddy a baby!"

Amelie's eyes lit up. "Yes! Let's go!"

The girls ran back to the patio, where Y/N and Charles were chatting with Arthur and Carla.

"Mummy, daddy, we're going to find you a baby!" Rylee exclaimed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? And where are you going to find this baby?"

Amelie looked around thoughtfully. "Maybe we can dig for one in the garden?"

Everyone burst out laughing at the girls' innocent suggestion.

"I don't think we'll find a baby buried in the garden, sweetheart." Charles said, ruffling Amelie's hair.

Rylee suddenly looked up at Charles and Y/N "So where do babies come from?" She asked innocently.

Y/N choked on her water and looked at Charles, who was trying his best not to laugh. "Uh, well..." Y/N started, unsure of how to explain.

"They come from a special place in mommy's tummy." Charles jumped in, hoping to diffuse the situation.

Amelie's eyes widened in amazement. "How do they get there?"

Charles looked at Y/N for help, but she was no use, still coughing on her water. "Uh, well... daddy puts them there." he said, trying to keep a straight face.

Rylee and Amelie exchanged looks, not quite sure what to make of that answer. "Can we have a baby brother?" Amelie asked again, a sudden determination in her voice.

Charles and Y/N looked at each other, not surprised by the question at all, as the girls had been asking for a little brother all day. "Uh, well, that's not something we can just decide." Y/N said, trying to find the right words.

"But Rylee had a dream that we had a baby brother and he was really cute!" Amelie insisted, pushing her case.

Everyone at the table tried to hold back their laughter, but it was no use. Arthur, the youngest of the Leclerc brothers, couldn't help himself and burst out laughing.

"I think you girls are a bit too young to be worrying about babies and brothers." Pascale, Charles' mother, interjected, trying to keep the conversation on track.

"But we want a baby brother!" Rylee exclaimed, determined to make her point.

Charles and Y/N exchanged a look, silently agreeing that this was going to be a long lunch.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ From Podiums to Playpens | LN4 & OP81

Pairing: Lando Norris & Oscar Piastri [Purely Platonic]

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Summary: Lando and Oscar’s lives take a wild turn when an unexpected baby crash-lands at their doorstep. With zero parenting skills and all the wrong instincts, they bumble through diaper disasters and frantic calls, discovering that the only thing harder than winning a Grand Prix is keeping a tiny human alive! [Accidental Baby Acquisition]

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A/N: Inspired by the fanart @mecachrome did of Oscar and Lando holding the baby, though this is exactly the opposite of what happened in the artwork 😝. Also I can't confirm if this will have a part 2 or not so sorry to everyone in advance for that and the cringey song at the end 🫠.

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check out my other works: Masterlist

Oscar Piastri had a problem. A big, life-altering, scream-inducing problem.

He was many things: a rising Formula 1 star, a recent Monaco resident, and a man who liked things calm and orderly. What he was not, however, was someone equipped to handle finding a baby on his doorstep.

Yet, here he was.

At 8:00 AM, standing in the doorway of his new Monaco apartment, staring at a very real, very giggly baby girl bundled in pink. She was nestled in a stroller beside what looked like a mountain of baby supplies, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d just detonated Oscar’s entire sense of normalcy.

He stared blankly at the tiny human swaddled in pink, her wide, curious eyes blinking up at him as she gurgled happily in her stroller. His brain was stuck in neutral, wheels spinning but going absolutely nowhere. There was a baby on his doorstep, and not in a cute, ‘aww, how nice’ way. This was in the ‘what fresh hell is this?!’ kind of way.

Oscar re-read the note attached to the stroller for the tenth time.

Dear Tim, I’m leaving the country. You can take care of Amelie now. She’s your daughter too. Good luck. —Evelyn

Oscar blinked, reread the note, then blinked some more. “Tim? Who the hell is Tim?!”

This was not Oscar’s baby. Oscar had no babies. Babies did not spontaneously appear in Formula 1 drivers’ lives, certainly not on doorsteps. But there she was, this tiny little bundle of chaos just... chilling. Like she was meant to be there, like this was her grand entrance into his thoroughly unprepared life.

Panic hit Oscar like a sledgehammer. He paced in frantic circles, one hand on his phone and the other on his head, like physically holding onto his hair would stop his brain from leaking out of his ears.

He needed backup. No, he needed a miracle.

Oscar frantically dialed the only person dumb enough to know what to do in a situation like this: Lando Norris.

The phone barely rang twice before Lando picked up, sounding as annoyingly chipper as ever. “Hey, Osc! What’s up?”

“There’s a baby on my doorstep.”

There was silence on the other end.

“...What?”

“A baby. There is a living, breathing baby. On. My. Doorstep.”

Lando laughed, but not the good kind of laugh, the kind that suggested he thought Oscar was messing with him. “Mate, what? You sure it’s not a prank? Did someone send you one of those doll things? Is it like, a fan thing?”

“I’m not joking, Lando! There’s a real baby with a note that says I’m supposed to take care of her. Only, I’m not Tim. I don’t even know who Tim is! She’s right here, staring at me. What do I do?!”

Lando, clearly suppressing laughter, said, “Okay, okay, calm down. I’m on my way. Hold the fort, mate.”

“Hurry!” He said, squatting down, staring at the baby like she was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode into tears, vomit, or... whatever babies did. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered. “I’m not built for this.”

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Twenty minutes (that felt like twenty years) later, Lando burst through the door with all the grace of a caffeinated squirrel, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Where’s this mystery baby? Let me see the little rascal!” Lando scanned the apartment and spotted the baby, his face lighting up like it was Christmas morning. “Oh my God, look at her! She’s so tiny!”

Lando immediately dropped to his knees and scooped up Amelie without hesitation, hoisting her into the air like she was Simba from The Lion King. “Aw, hi, Milly!”

“Milly?” Oscar repeated, a horrified expression plastered on his face. “You already named her?”

“Amelie’s too formal for a baby, don’t you think?” Lando said, casually ignoring Oscar’s panicked state. He bounced Milly in his arms, pulling silly faces at her. “See? She loves me.”

Oscar stared at him in disbelief. “Lando, focus! We need a plan! We’re not renaming the baby; we’re getting her out of here!”

Milly just let out a joyful giggle, tiny fists batting at Lando’s face. Oscar’s eyes widened in horror as Lando juggled the baby like a sack of flour, his nerves stretched thinner by the second. “Lando, stop! You’re gonna drop her! Babies are fragile!”

“Nah, she’s tough. Look at her! Strong grip. Good potential for karting,” Lando said, wiggling his fingers in front of Milly’s face. “Who’s a future world champion, huh? You are!”

Oscar grabbed the back of the couch like it was his last lifeline to sanity. “This is insane. We’re not keeping her. We need to call someone. Her real dad. Where the hell is Tim?!”

“Oh, relax,” Lando waved a hand dismissively, “it’s just babysitting for a few hours. How hard can it be? The mom even dropped off all the supplies we might need!”

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Turns out, it was really fucking hard

By midday, the chaos had reached DEFCON 1. Lando had somehow managed to knock over a stack of baby formula cans in the kitchen while Oscar was trying to decipher the instructions on how to make a bottle.

“This says... 50ml of water for every scoop of formula,” Oscar muttered, staring at the weird spoon-thing. “But how big is the scoop? What the hell is a scoop measurement?”

Lando, who was now wearing Milly in a baby carrier that he had insisted on trying out, leaned over the counter and squinted at the instructions. “It’s like... a baby science experiment. Just add more water, it’ll balance out.”

“That’s not how science works, Lando!”

“Sure it is!” Lando grinned, opening the microwave to heat the bottle, but then proceeded to accidentally set it for five minutes instead of thirty seconds. How someone even manages to do that Oscar will never know.

Inevitably the bottle exploded.

Milk sprayed everywhere, coating the inside of the microwave in an unholy mess. Oscar screamed. “What did you do?!”

“I thought that’s how long babies need it!” Lando yelped, staring in horror at the milk-splosion.

Milly, blissfully unaware of the carnage, was happily chewing on one of Lando’s shirt buttons.

Oscar stared at the ceiling, praying for strength. “We are going to kill this baby. We’re going to accidentally kill her.”

Lando, ever the optimist, patted Oscar on the back. “Nah, babies are resilient. They’ve got, like, soft heads, right? So they can handle stuff.”

“That’s the opposite of what soft heads mean, Lando!”

Lando grabbed a spoon and casually scooped up some of the spilled milk, giving it a taste. “Hmm. Tastes weird.”

“STOP EATING THE BABY’S MILK, LANDO!”

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After the bottle fiasco, they decided to tackle diaper duty. Or rather, Oscar decided, while Lando found new and creative ways to not help. At one point, Lando was making airplane noises with Milly’s pacifier while Oscar sat cross-legged on the floor, furiously Googling “how to change a diaper without gagging.”

“This can’t be that hard,” Lando said confidently, grabbing a diaper and attempting to strap it onto Milly’s squirming body. He failed. Multiple times.

“You’re putting it on backwards,” Oscar muttered, half in disbelief.

“Am I? Wait, which side is the front?”

Oscar was too stressed to even respond, choosing instead to help flip the diaper the right way around. But Milly had other ideas. She kicked her tiny legs, laughing as both boys fumbled with the diaper tabs.

After several failed attempts and at least two accidental kicks to Oscar’s face, they stood back and admired their work. The diaper was barely holding together, half askew and duct-taped in place because Lando thought duct tape “solved all problems.”

Oscar looked like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. “We duct-taped a baby.”

“She seems cool with it!” Lando pointed at Milly, who was now rolling around happily in her makeshift duct tape diaper. “Duct tape solves everything!”

Oscar grabbed his phone. “This is not sustainable. I need to call someone. We can’t keep doing this. I need to find Tim.”

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Several hours later, after a very frustrating call with his real estate agent, Oscar finally got a number for Tim—the previous tenant, who, as it turns out, had moved to America. 

Oscar punched in the number, already bracing himself for the nightmare conversation ahead. Lando sat cross-legged on the floor, Milly in his lap, reading her a book that was upside down?

Tim picked up after a few rings, his voice groggy and irritated. “Hello?”

Oscar wasted no time. “Timothy?! It’s Oscar. I live in your old apartment in Monaco. Listen, there’s a baby here. Your baby. Evelyn dropped her off with a note and now she’s... well, she’s here, with us. What do we do?!”

There was a brief silence, followed by a sound like a man whose soul had just left his body. “Oh, fuck,” Tim groaned. “Evelyn left her? Again?”

“Again?!” Oscar sputtered. “This is a thing that she does? she just goes around... leaving the baby lying around like a sack of potatoes?”

Tim let out a frustrated sigh. “Listen, man, I’m in New York, okay? I got stuck with this job, corporate America’s been eating me alive. I’m lucky if I can get ten minutes of daylight. I haven’t even unpacked yet and now you’re telling me Evelyn just dropped Amelie off without a heads-up?”

Oscar’s jaw was clenched so tight he thought his teeth might crack. “She didn’t just drop her off—she basically abandoned her and ran! What am I supposed to do with her? I’m a Formula 1 driver, not... not a babysitter!”

Lando, overhearing this, piped up helpfully, “We duct-taped her diaper! Worked like a charm.”

Tim screeched on the other end. “You what?”

“Look, it was either that or she’d be laying around butt naked,” Oscar said, rubbing his temples as he paced. “Focus! I need you to come back and get her, like, now. Please.”

“Man, I wish I could!” Tim sounded frantic now, as if the weight of the universe had just been dumped on him. “But I’m up to my neck in work! I’ve got back-to-back meetings, deadlines, projects—I can’t just hop on a plane!”

“Are you kidding me right now? You can’t just leave your baby with two random blokes! What kind of corporate job is this? Are they holding you hostage?”

Tim let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh yeah, might as well be! Thanks, late-stage capitalism. I’m chained to a desk, and Evelyn’s probably off somewhere sipping cocktails while you two... duct-tape diapers together?!” He sounded like he was spiraling. “Why is my life like this?”

Oscar was losing his grip on sanity. “What are we supposed to do, Tim? We’re trying here, but we can’t even heat up a bottle without blowing up the microwave! She’s going to be in worse shape than we are if this keeps up!”

Tim let out an exasperated groan. “You think I’m not freaking out here? I don’t want to leave her with you two! But I can’t do anything about it! I’ll have to talk to my boss, and that’ll take days—corporate policies, you know how it is.”

Oscar slumped against the wall. “Tim, I swear to God, if you don’t get on a plane soon, Lando will start raising her to be the next world champion, she’ll probably know more about tire degradation than I do by the time you’re back!”

Tim started to ramble, sounding more unhinged by the second. “Oh, I’m gonna kill Evelyn. I swear, if I ever make it out of this job alive, I’m flying back just to wring her neck. She’s gonna pay for this, and I’m gonna—”

Oscar interrupted him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tim, focus! Just tell us what to do. You’re the dad, for God’s sake!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Tim practically shrieked, his voice going full meltdown mode. “Change her, feed her, keep her alive! That’s all I’ve got. Just... just don’t screw it up!”

“Don’t screw it up?!” Oscar was losing his mind. “That’s your parenting advice?”

Tim sighed heavily. “Look, I’ll try to get there as soon as I can. Maybe two weeks, tops. In the meantime, you’re it. You’re her only hope.”

Oscar stared at the phone, incredulous. “Two weeks?!”

“Yeah, yeah, two weeks. You’ve got this, man,” Tim said hurriedly, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone. “You’re a driver. You’re adaptable. Just, uh, adapt to... fatherhood.”

Oscar hung up, staring blankly at Lando, who was now trying to teach Milly how to fist bump.

“So... what did he say?” Lando asked, not looking up from Milly’s tiny fist.

Oscar felt like his life was spiraling out of control. “He’s not coming back for two weeks.”

Lando, completely unbothered, grinned. “So… we’re keeping her?”

Oscar buried his face in his hands. “We are not keeping her. This is temporary. I am not a dad, and I’m not about to become one!”

Lando shrugged, giving Milly a finger to grab. “Relax, Osc. It’s just babysitting. We’ve got this.”

Oscar collapsed onto the couch, defeated. “We’re screwed.”

Lando grinned, still blissfully optimistic. “Nah, we got this. How hard can it be?”

Famous last words.

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By the time evening rolled around, Oscar was teetering on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown. His hair stuck out in every direction, dark circles framed his eyes, and he was sporting the look of a man who had seen too much in one day. Meanwhile, across the room, Lando was in his own little world, completely oblivious to the chaos he had helped create.

“Please fall asleep,” Oscar muttered, his head in his hands as he slumped into the couch. He shot a pleading glance at Milly, who was, of course, still wide awake, her big eyes blinking up at him like she was in on the joke. “Please, I am begging you.”

Milly giggled in response, showing no signs of slowing down. If anything, she seemed to be gaining more energy as the night went on. And Lando, ever the optimist, had decided the solution to everything was a lullaby.

A lullaby that had nothing to do with actual lullabies and everything to do with... Formula 1.

“Alright, alright,” Lando said, grinning like this was the best night of his life. He cradled Milly in his arms, swaying back and forth like some deranged nanny. “You wanna hear a song, Milly? ‘Course you do.”

Oscar groaned into his hands. “Lando, for the love of God, just—”

Too late. Lando had already kicked into full performance mode, belting out a song so chaotic and nonsensical it would’ve made any sane adult bash their head into the wall

“♪ Ohhh, race cars and pit stops, Tires go screech, engines go vroom! Zoom around the track, don’t look back, Lap time’s dropping, we’re gonna attack! ♪”

He bounced Milly with every line, and to Oscar’s absolute horror, she loved it. She giggled like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard, her little fists grabbing onto Lando’s shirt as if demanding more.

Oscar rubbed his temples harder, as if somehow massaging his skull would stop the growing headache. “Why are you like this?”

But Lando was in the zone, not stopping for anything. He twirled in a circle with Milly, who was now laughing uncontrollably and continued the absolute madness.

“♪ Pit lane’s calling, gotta switch the tires! Box, box, baby, we’re dodging all the fires! Fuel up quick, no time to chill, We’re racing to bedtime, going in for the kill! ♪”

Oscar looked on, his mind unraveling. This wasn’t a lullaby. This was... some kind of fever dream. Lando, still dancing around the living room like he was in a one-man musical, clearly had no idea how to get babies to sleep.

“Lando,” Oscar said through gritted teeth, “she’s supposed to be winding down, not revving up!”

Lando shot him a cheeky grin. “It’s working, mate. Look at her. She’s loving it!”

Milly squealed in delight, grabbing onto Lando’s face and pulling at his cheeks, while Lando just kept on singing like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“♪ Final lap, we’re almost there, Through the checkered flag, feel the air! Who needs sleep when you’re almost a winner?

We’re gonna celebrate with a chicken dinner! ♪”

Oscar could only groan in despair as Lando finished with an overly dramatic spin, still holding Milly like she was some kind of victory trophy. She clapped her tiny hands together, thoroughly entertained, while Oscar’s sanity crumbled just a little more.

Lando grinned as he plopped down on the couch next to Oscar, baby Milly perched on his knee like a royal princess. “See? We’ve got this.”

Oscar’s eye twitched. “Lando. Why do you keep saying that?”

Lando shrugged, completely at ease. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Oscar stared at him, wide-eyed, as if trying to mentally telepathize all of the worst possible things that could happen, starting with the fact that they were two twenty-something Formula 1 drivers responsible for a baby for the next two weeks.

Milly, still very much not asleep, gurgled happily and slapped Lando’s cheek, clearly delighted by the chaos she had caused.

Oscar leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling in defeat. “I’m not going to get a single second of sleep these two weeks, am I?”

Lando beamed at him, completely unfazed. “Nope. Welcome to fatherhood, mate.”

Oscar groaned and pulled a cushion over his face, muffling his scream as Milly giggled uncontrollably at his suffering.

This was going to be the longest two weeks of his life.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[tulipsnflowers]

Hey everyone go read seasons of change by @zscyber if you like long fics. Seriously.

I realize this is not for the last chapter but if I drew anything for that it would be me punching the lights out of Xanders so let's not

I already ranted about it in a different post but by God is the fic great! I can't wait for TDAD. Mostly because of James but there's going to be so much angst in general.

[dragon-kazansky]

The song in our hearts

Lestat De Lioncourt x Female Reader

A musician with a heart that sings and an admirer who wishes to see his songbird thrive. Two beings in different worlds get caught up in each other when someone threatens to steal his songbird's spotlight. Loving Lestat isn't simple, and your life will never be the same again. What is eternity without chaos?

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Prepare to meet my plot device lol

Chapter Three - Third wheel

You're sitting at your piano in the empty theater mindlessly playing notes. The melody is new, something no one had ever heard before. You had taken the opportunity of no one being here to come to your familiar friend and play the tune in your heart.

You were so lost in the melody that you hadn't heard the door open and close. Nor did you hear the footsteps coming down the aisle of chairs.

The call of your name as your music ending shortly, unfinished. You sigh and look up to see the manager of the theater waiting for your attention.

“Yes?”

“I hadn't heard that one before,” he says, smiling at you.

You sigh again. “Of course not. It's new. That's not why you came in here is it?” You ask.

He laughs. “No. It isn't. I want to introduce you to someone.”

You can feel yourself wanting to groan. He knew how much you hated actually talking to people, but you wanted to keep him happy. He was, after all, your only chance to perform.

You stand from the piano and hop down from the stage. Jack, the manager, rolls his eyes at you. He often tells you off for doing that during rehearsals.

You now take notice of the man behind Jack. He's about your age, sandy brown hair, green eyes. You look from him to Jack.

“This is Noah. He's a singer.” Jack states.

You nod and look between them both wondering why he wanted you to meet this man. Plenty of people come and go from this theater, you don't usually meet them all personally.

“Noah has a request and I think it's a fabulous idea,” Jack goes on. “How would you feel about playing for him while he sings? You could be a duo!”

You stare at Jack. Noah is smiling softly from behind him. He takes a step forward and you turn your attention to him.

“I adore your talent. I have seen you perform several times and every time I hear you play I feel like all my worries melt away. I want you to play while I sing. I think we could go quite far together, perhaps even be good enough to see the world.”

Those were some strong words.

“I play solo,” you say.

“Hey now, give him a chance,” Jack says. “Look, you're our best performer here. Most of our audience come to see you play your piano. I think it's time to switch things up and try something new.”

“I don't want to try something new. I want to do what makes me happy,” you tell him.

He says your name with a smile, but you don't hang about to listen. You flee the theater and seek refuge in your dressing room.

You're alone in your dressing room for a good few minutes before you hear a knock on your door. You expect it to be Amelie perhaps seeing if you're in here, but usually she just comes in. You don't say anything for a while, preferring to stay alone if it isn't her. However, the door opens and someone comes in. You turn and find yourself face to face with Noah.

You frown.

“I'm sorry, but I couldn't leave knowing I'd offended you. Please just hear me out.”

You sigh softly and turn around in your stool. Noah takes a seat on the table behind him. “I know music is your passion. I've seen you perform many times. To be able to sing while you play… that would be a dream.”

“I play solo.”

“I know… you said that. I just… I think we could be good together. Imagine what magic we could create together. How many people would come to see us?” He smiles wide, excited by the thought.

It is clear popularity is important to him.

“I don't care. Music is all I care about.” And making Lestat happy with your music, of course. After that evening with him, he has been on your mind a lot.

“You can still play your music, just allow me to sing over it. Let me voice meld with your melody.” He speaks sweetly. Almost too sweetly.

“No.”

Noah sighs and then nods. “I understand. I'm sorry I disturbed you.”

Noah takes his leave. You sigh and slump down at your dressing table.

That following Friday you're waiting to get onto the stage to play your beloved piano, especially knowing Lestat would be watching. Perhaps he would permit you to go to his house again to play a duet with him. You certainly hoped so.

While waiting for your name to be called Noah comes up beside you. He adjusts his cufflinks mindlessly in the corner of your eye. You do not spare him a glance, keeping your eyes focused on your favorite instrument ahead of you.

“Good luck tonight,” he says.

You didn't need luck. You just needed your music.

“I'm sure you'll amaze the crowd tonight.”

You once again don't respond to him. Noah chuckles. You hear your name being called and you take a deep breath before walking out onto the stage.

Upon reaching the piano you turn to the crowd, but you're not really looking at them. You're only looking for one face. You spot him up in the boxes. You smile softly when your eyes land on him. He must notice your smile because he smiles too. Knowing Lestat was there was a comfort to you.

Lestat appreciated your music. He understood it. He understood you.

You take a seat at the bench and take another deep breath. Your fingers hover the keys. You imagine for just a moment that Lestat is beside you on the bench. You think about that night in his house when you made music together and how happy you felt in that moment.

Lestat knows.

You begin to play, a smile on your face. You're so ready to give a performance to be proud of, to make this a night to remember, not only for yourself, but for your admirer too. You wanted Lestat to enjoy your gift.

However, this would be a night to remember for all the wrong reasons. As you get into it, you're interrupted by a deep voice singing behind you. Not once missing a note you glance behind you to see Noah enter the stage. He walks to the center and sings with all his might. You stare at him with pure confusion. You did not agree to this.

Catching Jack’s eye off to the left side of the stage you can see him shaking his head at you. He doesn't look the least bit sorry. You turn your eyes back to the piano and try and focus on the music. However, that attention grabbing voice is making it difficult for you to enjoy your music.

Noah was owning the stage. People weren't listening to your music any more. They all had their eyes on Noah. Now, a crowd watching you wasn't your desire, but it was the thought that they were paying mkre attention to him than your magic that irritated you.

When you finished the piece you expected him to leave, but he didn't. He accepted the applause and then looked at you, urging you to keep on playing.

You stared at him with a frown.

“Play,” he says quietly.

You grit your teeth and begin playing the next piece. He smiled back at the crowd and then began to sing. For the next half house he sang though every piece of magic you played. He had taken your moment for his own and you hated it.

Up in his box, Lestat glared at the man. He gripped his arm rest so hard it began to splinter. Who was this fool who dared take away from your beautiful melody?

Lestat could read your thoughts. This was not something you wanted. You were upset that this man had taken it upon himself to perform with you without your consent.

That would not do.

The half hour of your performance felt so much longer to Lestat. He was eager to leave his box and go down to your dressing room, however, you were still playing and he didn't want to miss a moment to lay his eyes upon you, no matter how grating that voice was. Could this even be considered singing?

As soon as the show was over Lestat left his box quickly.

You hurried down to your dressing room as soon as you were free from the stage. You began to pace around the space of the room quickly. Amelie was first to enter. She was quickly to start chatting.

“I had no idea he was going to do that. I know you said no to his request, so I knew you had no intention of that happening. I am so sorry I didn't stop him, but it was too late. When I realised what he was doing I couldn't stop him, not without making a scene.”

You don't reply, just continue pacing.

The next one to enter is Noah, followed by Jack. You glare at Jack. “What was that?”

“That was me showing you how good we could be together,” Noah says.

“I wasn't asking you!” You glare at him and turn back to Jack. “I play solo.”

“I know, but surely it wasn't so bad to give it a chance.”

“You humiliated me!”

“You two work so well together,” Jack argues.

“No. No we don't.”

Jack calla your name softly, but it's Noah who speaks up. “Look, sweetheart, do you have any idea how adored we were? We had then on the edge of their seat.”

“They were on the edge of their seat because they were straining to hear the piano!” You bite back.

Noah laughs.

Amelie steps forward and rubs your arms with comfort. You lean into her embrace and let her soothe you.

“We could go global,” Noah comments.

“No. No, I refuse to let you spoil my moment. It's my music.”

“Look, that was the most popular you had been since you started performing here,” Jack tells you. “You need to let Noah worl with you. Surely you don't want to be stuck here all your life.”

“I like it here…”

Silence fills the room as they all look at you. Amelie is still trying to comfort you. Noah and Jack are staring you down. They want you to cave in.

There's a knock at your door and then a familiar voice. “If I may interrupt.”

You feel relief when you see Lestat slink into the room. He instantly makes his way over to you, pushing past Noah to reach you. You smile as he comes over. Lestat stands in front of you and uses his finger to tilt your chin up. He smiles.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

You nod your head slightly.

Lestat smiles and drops his hand. He joins you at your side. Amelie is shocked to see him here but doesn't say anything. You feel Lestat place his hand on your lower back.

“Who are you?” Jack asks.

“Ah, I apologise.” Lestat grins. “Lestat De Lioncourt. The sponsor for this pure talent in the room.”

“I've never met you,” Noah says, looking him up and down with a deep frown.

“I said for the talent,” Lestat retorts. He then turns to you with a smile. “Shall we go, mon chéri?”

You simply nod your head which makes him smile. Just as you're both about to make your exit, Noah steps forward. “I'm sorry, but who are you? Where are you going?”

“I don't think that's your business. Come, dear, let us go.” Lestat guides you out of the room.

As you leave the theater he puts his coat over your shoulders and walks with you down the street. There's silence between you for a little while, but then Lestat breaks it.

“Who was that man?”

“I don't really know. Jack, the manager, introduced him to me earlier in the week. He's called Noah. Claims he's a fan of my music and wants to sing to it. I tried to tell Jack I play solo… but Noah took it upon himself to join the performance tonight.”

Lestat looks displeased.

“Are you alright?” You ask softly.

He turns to you and smiles. “Yes. Do not fret. I shall not let that man take away your sparkle.”

“You told Jack you were my sponsor. I don't have a sponsor.”

He grins again. “You do now.”

You look at him in wonder. “Why?”

He chuckles. “Is it not obvious?” You shake your head. He chuckles again. “I want you to bloom.”

A warmth floods your chest as the thought that this man you have only known a short while cared so much about your passion. The smile on his face almost made you believe he knew just how happy hearing those words had made you.

“Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me,” he tells you. “This is my gift to you.”

Lestat walked you home and did not leave until he was certain you were safe inside. Even then, he took his time heading back. He was not about to let some pathetic human man ruin your beauty.

@awanderingghost @theprettiesthead @cosmixstar @theblueslytherin @katherine2098 @sawendel @floofdeloop @sitkafay @bigbaddie45 @bluscryn

@secretisme4

[hypnotiiize]

𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: this is real old and angsty like not for fake. it’s short though. also i grew up catholic so u gotta bear w the lil references and shit. trigger warning religious talk kinda

She couldn’t remember much of the year if she was being honest. 

She could remember her best friends’ wedding.

She could remember Valentine’s day.

She could remember March and April breezing past her, a mixture of Easter and celebrating her friend’s birthday.

She could remember the drowsiness that overcame her in May. She could remember how it followed her well into June.

She could remember her friend’s baby being born, and she could remember smiling down at his tiny squished face.

And she was happy for them, she was. But, when she found herself in her newly quiet home at the end of the day, the reality remained that she was alone. Utterly alone. No one to turn to. No one to rely on. Alone. She felt that this was her fault. 

When her friend called and cried to her about new motherhood delivering a swift kick to her backside, she accepted the opportunity to stay with her friends for a few days, maybe even weeks— however long it would take for her friend to get back on her feet with a new addition to the household.

The record was three weeks. July was almost over. Amelie, ever-grateful, had even told her that she could go back home if she wanted. The woman, not wanting to overstay her welcome, accepted that as well.

She had been accepting a lot of things, it seemed. She would leave the following week, after the event that was planned meticulously for the baby.

It was when she was getting ready to go to sleep early— the baby had a habit of scream-crying at the break of dawn and she liked being up with him— that she received a knock at the guest bedroom door. Curious, she tip-toed across the room and found herself opening the door to reveal her tired friend whose smile grew as she rocked her fast-asleep son. [y/n] invited them in and grabbed the baby at once, sitting on the bed with his little body cradled in her arms. 

“Okay, I wanted to tell you so that you weren’t, like, bombarded with this,” Amelie began after a small chat about how the baby had just done something cute.

She involuntarily put pressure on her eyebrows, furrowing them together.

Amelie folded her hands in her lap. “You know his baptism is next week and you know you’re his Godmother, of course... I tried to talk Trent out of it, but he’s going to make you know who his Godfather.”

She could feel herself gasp at the mention of you know who. She definitely knew who. 

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I get it. And I get it if you’re not ready to see him. I can have someone else step in as his Godmother for the ceremony if you can’t do it. You don’t have to go to the party. What are you feeling?” Amelie asked.

She bit the skin of her bottom lip. She looked down at the almost two-month-old who looked so much like her friends that it was crazy. He was blinking up at her with his bottom lip poked out, looking scandalized. She laughed and rubbed the pad of her finger over his dark waves.

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed… But I can do it. I don’t care about him. This is for my Godbaby. Right? This is for my Godson,” she cooed to the baby who half-smiled. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Sure. Yes. Yeah.” She was trying to convince herself more than anything and she knew it. “No one cares about that man, anyway. It’s just Rayan’s day..” The baby smiled as if he knew what they were talking about, and the women fussed over him a bit more. When the familiar weight pressed itself against her shoulders, She sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Go raid Trent’s cabinet, girl. You know he’s not shy about Don Julio,” her friend joked about her husband.

There was a painful twang in her chest at once. Her husband. Her friend was joking about her husband. A man who she shared a child, a home, and a life with.

She could taste iron. She would later realize that she had bit the inside of her cheek open. For now, she chopped the stinging sensation up to the of moths fumbling about in her stomach. 

Her friend took her Godson and she was left alone once more. She laid her head on the linen pillow and stared blankly at the room before her. Wistfully, she imagined Amelie and Trent embracing each other at the end of the very long day. She imagined them nuzzling against the other as they gazed down at their sleeping baby boy. Then, she imagined everything that could have been.

She fell into a slumber with remnants of saline tears on her cheeks, and she woke up days later wearing a crisp white blouse and her best earrings. Rayan’s baptism. 

He barely left his mother’s arms that day. He was tiny and it was a big day for him and he was wearing a long, pristine white dress that used to be his grandfather’s when he was that small. So Rayan slept, and she tried not to kick open the church doors and run as far as her legs could take her. 

She knew he was in the room. She could feel it. If she opened her mouth to speak, she could taste it. If she inhaled too deeply, she could smell it. His presence was the sustenance that her soul had been missing for far too long and she was being punished for it. Her hands were shaking. She slipped off to the bathroom three times before she realized that her issues could affect the day. Being unreliable or looking flaky was the last thing she’d wanted to do after making it so far through the day. When she sat back down in the pews, she crossed her hands extra tight in her lap and kept her neck arched high. She would shake it off. This was for Rayan. 

After some time she stood with her friends and made her way to the front of the church. She could feel him behind her. Then beside her. She willed herself not to look at him and focused solely on swearing to remain a key figure in the baby’s life.

For you, I’ll do my best. 

He made his pledges after her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. He was so close to her. She could feel the echo of his baritone in her feet. She could taste iron, far more pronounced this time.

The baby was placed in her arms, and the metallic flavor dissipated at once. She secured her arm around his head and tugged his gown down. He whined, only to stop a second later when his mother kissed his hand. 

The priest asked the Godparents to move closer. She stepped forward and nodded when appropriate. The priest said something that she didn’t really catch. She had been too busy making sure Rayan was comfortable. Brown hands came forward and untied the loose strings around the baby’s neck. He pulled the baby’s hat off. She could hear the ocean in her head. 

She leaned forward and lowered her elbow an inch. The priest placed his hands in the tub of water before him and her. He poured water on the baby’s dark tufts of hair. One hand, then two, then another for good measure. Rayan let out a short cry from the temperature of the water.

“It’s okay, honey, you did great,” she whispered to her Godson when it was all over. She held him tighter, closer to her face.

“Maybe he’s cold,” the familiar voice said. “Here, let me put his hat back on.” Brown hands came into view and she watched him make the loose loop-the-loop. Rayan calmed down. 

Rayan’s parents came and uttered softly to their son. His mother fought tears. His father let them glide down his cheeks freely, rubbing the top of the baby’s bonnet with a thumb. 

“Hey,” the Godfather’s low voice was saying. He was not whispering. Anyone could have heard him. Though, when she thinks back on the moment, she can remember the soft, whispering tickle of his breath hitting her ear. She wanted him to be whispering. 

 She greeted him back weakly and she did not try to hide it. With everyone focused on Rayan, the awkward encounter would just be their own and she could not muster the strength to make it anything but. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up, weakly too, and he said, “You look really nice.”

All at once, she could hear the ocean. She could hear volcanoes erupting. She could feel the familiar sharp chill of ice, and she could smell the smoke of paper burning. 

She could not remember what her response was, or if she even responded at all. She could only remember the pain of living without the only man she had loved for months after being together for so long.

Through the fog, a voice prompted, “Let’s get a pic with the Godparents.”

She craned her head and found herself staring at a man that she had gone to school with. Kareem was known for being tall, charismatic, and a photographer. Therefore, she was not surprised that her friend had invited him to the gathering. Though she wished that someone would have filled him in on the current situation before he suggested such things. 

Rayan’s parents moved away. She took a half step closer to Rayan’s Godfather. Rayan’s Godfather took a half step closer to her.

For the first time in months, they were pressed against each other. 

Her chest felt hollow. Icy. It burned to inhale. It took too much effort to exhale. She lifted the baby so that he was perfectly between them. A brown hand fixed the baby’s dress. Fingertips grazed fingertips. She could taste iron pooling just behind her teeth, and then she smiled. 

Her first tear fell when the camera shuttered for the last time. The people were emotional, too. They spoke to the baby in whispers. The Godfather left her side to go gawk at his Godson. 

It was only her in the center of that stage. She was alone. There was no one in her corner anymore. 

She had no husband. No new baby to baptize. No boyfriend to envision her future with. 

She felt as if she was going to drown. She sucked in a burning breath. 

She tasted the iron.

[wingedhallows]

prank gone wrong; marauders (sirius black)

pairing: marauders (sirius black) x reader | 2.1k words plot: the marauders prank one of your best friends, you're not too happy about it and take matters into your own hands, just to have one of them a bit smitten by you. authors note: hi, i brewed this up last night. I don't really know what this is but i hope u like it :) <3

navigation

“I forgot my textbook, fuck.” Amelia complained, hand on her forehead. You sighed and pushed your sunglasses up, squinting your eyes at her. You took a drag from your cigarette and spoke with a sigh.

“I’ll get it for you, I need another pack anyways.” She waved her hand, as if to swat your offer away. “You don’t have to.” She tried but you shook your head and lifted yourself to your feet. You took your ropes off, it was too hot anyways. “Just shut up.” You offered with a grin.

Without waiting for an answer you took off. It would be a rather long walk, the Slytherin dorm was the furthest away. You needed some time away from your the girls and a new pack of fags. 

Amelia, Philippa and Cecily were nice, not to misunderstand but they were shallow. Still you strangely loved them, how carefree they seemed. 

Their newest topic to gossip about was if Marlene Mckinnon had gotten a nose job over the summer break. She didn’t, not that you cared. She looked fine, just like she did the past five years.

You didn’t know her though, you didn’t know any Gryffindors to be honest, so you didn’t have any ground to speculate. 

The only Griffyindor you knew was Lily Evans. A muggle-born witch, not that that changed anything about her abilities.

She was kind, shy and had hung around with the infamous Marauders. Four boys who liked to play pranks on many. You didn’t care much, they never targeted you.

On your way back, your pack of cigarettes in your pocket and Amelia’s textbook in hand, you watched the sky, birds gliding above your head. You pushed a cigarette between your lips and lit it.

The smoke filled your lungs with a comforting feeling. You heaved a sigh and blew some more smoke through your lips. You wondered what they would talk about next? A poor Hufflepuff’s boobs or a Ravenclaws fake behavior to suck up to Slughorn?

You wouldn’t complain though, no matter how shallow they were, they were still your friends. They took care of you, cared for you and did their best to be good friends, since the first year they were all you had.

You caught sight of the courtyard and the blanket you had spread out to study on. The girls sat, laughing and talking. With another drag from your cigarette you flicked the stud away and made your way to the three.

“Here you are.” Philippa smiled at you. She patted the spot next to her and Amelia reached for the book in your hands.

“Thanks.” She smiled at you and you gave a smile back. “No problem.” 

“This is so good.” Cecily smiled and drank a bit more from a cup you never saw before.

“What’s that?” You asked as you leaned back, taking the sun in. “Iced coffee." She answered, her words slurred the tiniest bit. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You okay, Cici?” Amelie asked as he placed her hand on the girl's shoulder who just nodded with a content grin on her lips.

She seemed… drunk?

“What’s up with her?” Philippa whispered as she looked at you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Where’d you get that, Cici?” You tried but she kept drinking.

“She went to the toilet a few minutes ago and came back with the drink in hand. I figured she got it from the kitchens or something.” Amelia said, face worried.

Without much thinking you took the drink from Cecily and looked her straight in the eyes. “Who gave this to you?” She frowned but needed a moment to form the words in her mouth.

“Pot..Potter.”

She stammered and hot rage burned through your body. You never cared much about their pranks but to target a kind, loving girl who minded her business better than anybody else was infuriating.

You threw the cup to the ground and lifted yourself off the ground. “Get her some water, I’ll take care of this.” 

Amelia nodded and rummaged through her bag for a bottle. Philippa caressed Cecily’s hair and gave you a tight nod. You walked as fast as you could manage, hands cold and features angry.

Students stepped out of your way, eyes wide as they watched you march through the corridors. You caught sight of some Griffyindors, Lily to be accurate. They were sitting on a bench, giggling with each other.

“Where are they?” You spoke, interrupting their conversation. Mckinnon turned around, eyes squinted at you, Lily watched you with wide eyes.

“Who?” She tried but you crossed your arms with a roll of your eyes.

“Those idiots you hang around with, Potter and the others.” Alice winced and threw her gaze to the stone ground.

“What did they do?” Lily asked again as she raised to her feet.

“They fucked with one of my friends and I’m not too happy about that.” Marlene’s face softened, her mouth opening to speak. “Who-”Cecily.” Lily threw a hand over her mouth with a gasp.

“But, she’s so sweet.” You nodded, jaw tightening.

“Yeah, well. Sweet Cecily is now sitting in the yard, drugged out of her mind because Potter decided it would be funny.” Alice frowned and got to her feet as well.

“That’s too far.” She said and you nodded. “So, tell me where they’re hiding.” Lily sighed and nodded.

“They’re in our common room, password’s Dilligrout.” You nodded and gave her a sad smile.

“Thank you, Lily.” She turned to you again and gave you one as well. “They went too far this time, to drug Cecily. You better teach them a lesson.” You nodded and turned to walk away.

“Let me know how she is, when you see her.” You looked at her, not sure what to answer. With a nod you said. “I will.”

Outside the Griffyindor dorm you threw the password at the picture and it opened, whispering things like snake in the common room, how odd.

The room was dimly lit, quiet but faint voices could be heard. With slow steps you emerged into the warm place. Some first years almost shrieked at the sight of you but you only gave them a nod towards the stairs. Without much thinking, they fled the scene.

The morons were splayed out on the chairs and couch, laughing to each other. They haven’t noticed you yet. So you thought to change that and with fast steps you made your way to the empty chair before the fire. The voices stilled, silence embracing you.

“Y/N.” Sirius, the pureblood run away whispered. You didn’t answer but instead plucked a cigarette from your pack and lit it quickly. Dramatic, but who cares.

“I always knew that you lot had a knack for stupid pranks, I mean who doesn’t know.” You paused to take a drag. Potter sat himself up, Peter hadn’t moved since he watched you appear, face contorted in fear.

“But to drug someone in broad daylight, that's another level of idiotic.” James seemed to catch on and fumbled with his hands.

“What is it to you, who we prank?” You barked a laugh as you leaned forward. Remus couldn’t look you in the eyes, Sirius stared at you, not moving a limb.

“You don’t even care who you prank, now?” James sighed and crossed his legs, his arms crossed. 

“Let me enlighten you, Potter. Cecily Santoro, who you pranked is a very kind soul, one of my best friends, limbing behind in herbology, deathly afraid of frogs and loves coffee with all of her heart. But you don’t care about any of that because she’s a snake, a vicious horrible Slytherin. So when you pushed that cup in her hand this afternoon, she couldn’t say no. 

She loves coffee too much to think twice about taking anything from a Marauder. She probably thanked you with a smile on her face and you had a good laugh, right?

Well, she’s drugged out of her mind, she’ll fail her herbology exam and cry a good week about it. But you wouldn’t care about that, because she’s just another Slytherin, a too good enough reason to pass up on pranking her.”

He didn’t answer, Remus sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. You blew some smoke and shook your head.

“I hope you lot are proud of yourselves. You’re not an inch better than Malfoy or Nott.” Sirius stood and pushed his hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry.” James whispered.

You chuckled and threw the done fag into the fire which hissed upon the impact. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.” Sirius took a step towards you, face in a sorry twist.

“We fucked up big time then?.” He said. His eyes dared you, to argue with him. To fuel what he felt in his core.

James hissed at Sirius. “What the fuck are you doing?” He now stood in front of you.

“What do you want then?” His hands crossed he looked at you, eyes devouring your frame. Remus stood and put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. He swatted it away and proceeded to look at you.

“Apologize.” He nodded.

“You are all to apologize to Cecily or I’ll bring this matter to the headmaster.” James sighed and narrowed his eyes at you.

“So you’ll play your cards?” You had to chuckle. You pushed Sirius down onto the couch, faces mere inches apart. Sirius licked his lips, eyes swaying from your eyes to your lips.

“If I were to play my cards, you’d be expelled and not allowed to step even a toe back on school grounds, you daft idiot.” You gave him a small smile before you continued.

“Don’t think i don’t know the ridiculous rumors you guys spread about me but just to assure you, I might fulfill them soon if you anger me any more.” You patted his cheek and turned to leave. 

You turned around once more to face Sirius who watched you, his eyes bored into your face, he licked his lips as he watched you leave. Your eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head. 

Cecily was back to normal, Amelia and Philippa had taken her to the infirmary last night. Madam Pomfrey had complained on end but let her sober up nonetheless.

“I’m fine, really.” Cici threw Philippa a small smile and tried to snatch her bag from the taller girl. “Nuh uh.” She slapped her hand away and continued walking.

Just as you turned the corner four figures sprung to their feet. The Griffyindor boys walked up to you and obviously struggled to deliver the promised apology. You had to suppress a laugh at the sight of the four.

“What do you want?” Philippa snapped at them.

“We, umh, wanted to apologize for yesterday.” James begann.

“What we did was out of line.” Remus carried on.

“We regret it.” Peter almost whispered.

“After your dear Y/N gave us a good talking to, we apologize for what we did.” Sirius finished off. Cecily turned to you with a confused expression on her face.

You just shrugged and gave her a small smile. The girls didn’t answer but started walking.

You stayed behind and pushed a cigarette between your lips. Sirius was quick to raise his lighter to your lips.

“That was Oscar worthy.” You chuckled. James frowned and kicked with his feet before himself.

“Are we good now?” Remus tried but you huffed in amusement.

“Sure sure.” You puffed some smoke and took the cigarette to push it between Sirius’ lips. He stared down at you with darkened eyes.

“For the nerves.” You smiled.

He took a drag and blew the smoke above your head.

“You’re quite feisty.” You chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“First time for you?” He chuckled and took another drag. You took a step to leave them behind but Sirius was quick to hold onto your arm.

“Hogsmeade next friday?” He spoke, cigarette still hanging between his lips, some strands from his bun fell over his face and you would have to lie that you didn’t think he was attractive.

“Are you asking me out right now?” You asked with a grin on your face.

A grin formed on his face as he inspected your face.

“Will you?” You wringed your arm from his grip. You took a step towards him and took the cigarette from his mouth, took a drag and blew the smoke towards him.

“In your dreams, Black.”

He barked a laugh and watched you leave with the cigarette you had shared. Fuck, was he smitten.

[buggachat]

Not to keep pleading the Amelie case or whatever, but seriously, him saving Emilie and Nathalie but NOT HIMSELF does. Not. Make. Sense.

Is he above murder or not? Is he above sacrificing someone else for the lives of his family or not? Why would killing ONE person be okay, but killing THREE people is not? Gabriel is cool with murder but only once???? Is that it????? You think Gabriel watched a recording of Emilie saying “I don’t want anyone to die for me”, and his conclusion was “it’s okay if someone dies for Emilie, but not for myself” ??????

(Again, if she’s alive, SOMEONE died. Because Nathalie is alive too, and it’s a life for a life. TWO people have to be dead for the Emilie case to be true, someone other than Gabriel, someone who has been murdered)

To be clear, I don’t think he’s above murder at all. He says himself in the episode. He straight up says he cares about nobody’s lives except his family’s. But he also says he doesn’t want to be alive if Emilie is not. And Emilie says she doesn’t want to be revived. Hence, sacrificing himself to save only Nathalie makes complete sense, because it honors Emilie’s wish while sparing himself the pain of living without her.

But if Emilie was alive, and he decided to ignore her pleas of not committing murder for her, he’d want to live. He’d want to be with her. So like…. why wouldn’t he kill someone to save himself? If he’s already committing murder and dishonoring her wishes anyway?

And again if your only answer to this question is “idk lol maybe the writers are stupid” or “yeah, well, the leaked out of context rough draft material that we were never supposed to see and is not explicitly canon—“ then your argument is inconsequential

[sharkiethrts]

hi! speaking of ur modern sunday…i’d like to request sunday x reader, where reader is absent because they’re sick and sunday just spends the entire day trying not to mope before he visits them. just smth rlly silly where he’s on student council etc having to try to subtly text his s/o.

robin is kind of over him but who cares‼️

prompt: highschool!au reader is sick and responsibility ridden Sunday must ensure that the assembly goes on without a hitch, despite his worries for her.

warning: none.

relationships: modern!sunday x gender neutral!reader (highschool!au)

author’s note: so sorry for the late response! I was eagerly awaiting for the day when I can finally work on this! :) (Two more exams to go, exams should end by Friday. Wish me luck!)

This is also not reread and is posted late at night, so do forgive me for any type of grammatical or spelling mistakes or if the pacing of the story is too rushed!

- Highschool au! Sunday is so obviously the president of the student council

- He is popular among everyone and when it was announced that he was running for president, everyone accepted defeat and simply resorted for vice presidents and secretaries roles instead (the surplus of people that signed up for vice presidents that year were daunting, hoping for a chance to work closely alongside him)

- Prior to his appointment as president (which he was rightfully confident in winning), he had always made sure to spend time with you after school (even going as far as to not sign up to any clubs for the michaelmas term after you jokingly chastised him for ‘prioritising Mrs Burns, TA of the reading club’ instead of you)

- However, post appointment Sunday found it difficult to make compromises like so, much to his chagrin- with the added rewards, the necessary expectations would naturally accompany and hence his dilemma:

- Oh, how the thought of you ailed with a cold squeezes his heart so, his hand itching towards his phone every second

- He’s sure that his composure will fall soon and that it’d only be a matter of time

“Please ensure that the seventh up until the twentieth seats are marked, it’s reserved for the parents visiting today,” Sunday reminds the flushed boy, clearly not used to the responsibility he is expected to conform to and although Sunday attempts to maintain a composed facade throughout, it’d be a lie to say that he isn’t positively frustrated by how incredibly slow he is. Seriously, the drink aisle should clearly be placed inside the auditorium, not outside. It’s summer for goodness sake, by the time the guests arrive, the drinks will be diluted with ice and the honey would have been completely dissipated.

Speaking of honey, perhaps he should consider saving some for you. The Manuka honey booked specially for this occasion is known for doing wonders for your throat. Perhaps he should ask kitchen staff to pack a bottle or two for him? They quite adore him so, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to ask for a favour or two of this size. Interrupting his train of thought, it seems that the incompetent boy couldn’t stand having a supervising eye off him for even a second. Sunday watched in controlled horror as he dropped a tray or two, effectively denting the sides of the perfect sliver.

“Miss Amelie,” Sunday calls, his hand reaching for the back of the boy’s waist, helping him up, “Help him with relocating the treats, we can’t have dented sliver wares front and centre in the room.”

The said girl quickly arrives, her head down and stressed, “I’ll tell him what to do, don’t worry-“

“-I should hope that this predicament ends soon, I do have quite a few appointments to attend to,” Sunday cuts her off coldly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. It’s not uncommon for Sunday to become cold at times, if not outright off putting. With uneducated rumours of his OCD and what not. However, it seems that this doesn’t seem to be one of his tangents, rather, he seems… occupied.

Sunday mulls over the thought of your upset face, further dampening his mood. How incredibly horrible of him, despite his previous talks of marriage with you during your late night calls- he only feels more incompetent and ineligible for the title of husband. He’s not only inattentive but outright unsupportive. What type of boyfriend who asks for your hand in marriage would leave you all alone in your bed fighting a cold alone? His frown deepens and he catches a few of the volunteers flinch due to it, clearly worried that they may have triggered him somehow.

He flashes them a friendly smile, to which he sees them relax slightly to before tending to their duties quickly.

While making haste with the decorations and reading over the script he had prepared for the following speech (god forbid he reads off a script, it’s one his many pet peeves and he is not willing to entertain the thought of slacking off in his chase for perfection), he thinks of your voice when you had greeted him this morning via phone call. Despite your obviously tired disposition, you had taken the initiative to call him to motivate him for the following day, you seem to know him well enough to realise his unending infatuation with your voice (how embarrassing for him but he’s far too touched to care for it for now).

Despite your well wishes and intentions, the phone call left him with more guilt and worries than assurance.

‘I’m fine’, you had insisted, saying that you had managed to snack on cut apples for breakfast.

By the moment Sunday snaps out of his thoughts, he notices a crinkle at the side of the paper where his thumb laid.

He’s not composed at all.

“ Sunday?”

By the time the clock struck ten and the assembly had concluded, Sunday took it upon himself to rent a bike at a nearby bus stop rather than waiting for his driver, hoping to make a quick detour to your house instead (his adoptive father would never have allowed him to do so). He had recognised your address from your first date, where he dropped you off by your neighbour’s house to prevent you from getting teased by your parents (you had insisted and he obliged). Your mother was there to greet him by the door, clearly whiplashed by the sight of a disconcerted, red faced handsome boy standing at her front door. She quickly flashes him a look of familiarity, to which he feels happy at (you must have shown your mother pictures of him, his ears redden at the thought).

He could only hope that you showed her the good ones and that despite your mischievous peculiarity, you’d care enough to help him make a good impression.

“You look much handsome in real life,” Your mother comments when he enters.

Never-mind. You definitely took it upon yourself to show her the worst ones. He could only pray that they don’t include his baby features, where his bangs were chopped short, “I apologise for coming so late, I came as soon as the assembly had finished-“

“- I understand,” Your mother chuckles, “I’m more impressed that a teenage boy would make so much effort to care for a partner with a flu when it’s so close to midnight,” She hands him a glass of warm water, urging him to walk up the stairs to your room, “They’d heal in no time after all.”

He shakes his head decisively, “That’d be an unfitting behaviour for a husband.”

The once vibrant mood turned quiet in no time and realising what he had said, his cheeks flushed a vibrant red and his ears burned incessantly.

Your mother watches him with shell shocked expression, thankfully the glass had been on Sunday’s hand at this point, judging by how her hand had loosened immediately he had blurted the words out, the glass would have been on the floor otherwise. Which would have been unsightly for a first impression.

“SUNDAY!”

He hears your familiar yell, clearly happening upon his arrival and his words.

He had planned to scold you for your misdemeanours (showing your mother terrible pictures of him) but it seems that he had committed a far graver crime than you did: an impromptu proposal at hours so close to midnight.

“… I sincerely apologise. Please pretend you didn’t hear anything.”

Sunday wishes for the concrete floors to eat him alive.