#platonic or not? I don't care. you decide.

[suksatoru]

another love; itoshi sae

itoshi sae came to spain with dreams bigger than the skies themselves. after watching his future be crushed to dust, he fails rin and decides he's not cut out for the big brother role. but then, itoshi sae meets you, and he realizes he has a second chance to try and be a better man. plus, if there was one person in the world sae could openly admit to loving—it was you.

a/n; sae and reader's relationship is platonic, reader refers to him as nii chan, rin is out of the future sae envisions for himself, indirectly replaced by your love instead.

in spain, there was only one person who made itoshi sae feel at home. you were a rebellious kid, reminding him too much of the one he had left back at home in japan. sae had just lost a brutal match to some guys who challenged him in hopes to win some money off of the foreigner, and he lays on the dirty field after being defeated for the first time ever in a football match.

the setting sun is hot as it beats down on him unforgivingly, and even as sae closes his eyes—he can feel a shadow hovering over him. with a barely restrained groan, he opens his eyes. they widen a fraction when he sees you, a young girl, peering over him curiously. your gaze flitted nervously between him and your older brothers, the ones chatting a few meters away as they bragged about their victory against sae to their friends. they were completely oblivious to your advances on their opponent as you bite your lower lip nervously

"are you okay?'

sae was still getting used to spanish, but he understood yours perfectly. his scowl deepens, and he sits up. he tries not to wince as he feels a sharp pain shoot up his leg, the same spot where he was kicked by one of your brothers for no other reason besides scoring a goal against them. you notice it instantly, crouching down and placing a gentle hand on his calf in hopes to soothe the pain as he jerks away from your touch.

"get lost, kid." he mutters bitterly, running a tired hand through his sweaty hair—the dark pink locks stick to his forehead, and he pants heavily from the excess strain on his body. you inch closer, ignoring his protests as your eyes squint.

"don't let them see you're hurt," you whisper quietly, crouched down beside him as he blinks back at you blankly. though the expression on his face gives away nothing, you can see the gears shifting in his mind as he realizes the situation he's in. sae was barely fourteen, and your brothers looked like they were almost eighteen—one match with them allowed him to learn the nature of their playing styles and personas. you on the other hand looked just shy of eleven.

"i-if they see you're hurt, they're gonna hurt you more. they're not nice."

sae's eyes narrow stubbornly, and he watches your brothers laugh loudly from afar as they skim through his wallet, pulling out hundreds of euros and pocketing the cash quickly.

"bastards," he growls, moving to stand because your stupid brothers were taking all of his money. he put a hundred euros on the line, sure of himself and his abilities to win. he thought he could take on all three players alone, but sae realizes he would've lost against just one of them in the end. his own weakness is apparent in the way he struggles to stand, and your eyes widen in panic as you push him back down

"no, no! it's okay, just, uhm—go home. i'll get you your money back, promise! but you can't fight them, they play dirty," you affirm, placing your smaller hands firm on his back and helping him get up. he stands quickly, an angry huff leaving his lips as he lightly smacks your hand away from him

"don't touch me, you brat. they can't just steal from me like that, i won't let them. i don't care if they beat me. that money is mine."

later, sae staggers all the way back to his dorm—body spent and bloodied as he returns empty handed. he hated getting lectured by the program's stupid teachers, but he couldn't deny that getting an injury that kept him from playing football for at least a week wasn't something to be proud of, either.

it's late one night when sae's laying in bed, his dorm mate out practicing football, that he hears a soft knock on his window. he ignores it at first, passing it off as an animal scurrying by. with his tongue poked out in concentration, he focuses on balancing his soccer ball on the tip of his foot before he hears it again.

he tugs out his switchblade, something he acquired from a street vendor after he landed in spain before he approached his window with purposeful strides. in a single, fluid movement—he rips the curtains away and peers out into the dark landscape outside

he's surprised to see you outside, small hand curled into a fist as you pause mid knock. you suddenly make a pointer figure, gesturing eagerly to the window lock as sae sighs, complying and pulling it open for you. he leans out the window, a bored expression on his face.

"did you follow me back here?" he accuses, brows pinched together in silent frustration as you take a moment to silently admire the boy in front of you. your brothers, the meanest brothers in the world, couldn't break this boy's spirit. he seemed just as determined and strong as he did when you'd first met him. even after getting beat in both the match and by your brother's brutal punches—he stood tall and strong, in all his glory.

itoshi sae was incredible.

"your wallet," you stammer, shoving the money forward through the window as sae frowns in confusion—looking down at the familiar cash, he blinks slowly, before raising his eyes to look at you.

"you didn't have to. i could've just told my supervisors i lost my wallet. they'd replace everything." he states, and sae watches your fingers curl uncomfortably into the fabric of your dress. it swayed in the summer wind, colorful flowers—rosettes—printed all over the fabric. your eyes are round, and sae thinks you kind of look like rin when you pout.

"i hope you're feeling better, 'm sorry they hurt you. i-if it makes you feel better, i made 'em think they lost your money on the drive back home!" you confess, smiling a bit as you peer up at him. sae scoffs, moving away from the window to throw the wallet back onto his bed before he leans back out the window. he stares at you quietly for a moment, before sighing.

"what's your name?"

he repeats your name a few times after you tell him, before he finally managed something similar to a smile. well, at least sae hoped it looked like a friendly gesture from your perspective. but he wasn't used to smiling, and it appeared more like a grimace in your eyes—your heart sunk at the sight.

"you're absolutely insane, y/n. i've never met anyone who defies their brothers of all people the way you just did. you're gonna get in big trouble one day, i can already tell."

your lips tremble, and you nod quickly in agreement. brothers are scary, you mumble quietly, and sae stays silent as he watches you. he knows the tell tale signs, thanks to rin. the way you stammer, the way your breaths come out in short huffs as you quiver—you're far too close to bursting into tears for his liking. he exhales through his nose quietly, before a rough palm is cradling your cheek—turning your head towards his as his hardened gaze softens just a fraction as he looks at you.

"not all brothers are so bad."

he started seeking you out more often after that day. you see him again after a few weeks, when you're dribbling a run down pink soccer ball happily as your brothers play on the field adjacent to yours. a lot of people liked gathering and playing football together, and your brothers let you tag along sometimes so you could go off and practice on your own.

you don't have anyone to teach you how to play—football is a boy sport, your brothers told you when you asked to play one day many years ago. they said you could kick it around if you wanted to, but you're not allowed in their games. so, you watched from afar. tried to copy their moves as you played aimlessly without a proper teacher.

the ball dribbles out of your control, before someone moves into view and stops it under their foot. itoshi sae stands proudly, not even a hint of the smile he shared with you that night weeks ago is present as he kicks the ball back towards you, expression stoic and bored as he hums quietly

"i didn't know you played football,"

his injuries have healed, and he looks a lot better than he did the last time you saw him. your brothers probably didn't even remember sae—just how many guys have they beat up in football matches after sae? too many, but sae's pink hair did stick out. luckily, your brothers were too immersed in their own game far away from the two of you, so you allow yourself to indulge in the foreigner you were growing quite a liking for.

sae teaches you how to dribble and pass, just a few helpful hints that worked wonders. he came back next week too, and the week after that. he could only come after his classes were finished with for the day, but slowly, surely—sae became someone important to you.

"you would say nii chan, that's what rin calls me."

sae only talks of his younger brother back in japan, nobody else from his home country is mentioned. you nod quietly, sipping on the mango smoothie he bought you as you repeat the foreign word back to him

"nii chan," you repeat, and sae nods firmly.

"you said you wanted to make me feel more at home, so call me nii chan."

and sae really was incredible. he taught you more than your brothers ever would. he bought you sweet treats every friday afternoon when he was allowed free time from his classes, and he invited you to his games—organized ones where hurting each other wasn't tolerated, and you were introduced to a new world of football. not the violent sport your brothers had shown you, sae showed you a game that involved thinking and skill—instinct and talent, he opened your eyes to a prettier picture than the muddied one your brothers had painted. a game where players high fived each other after matches instead of throwing punches.

"midfielder?"

sae nods silently, chewing slowly on his sandwich. you watch his adam apple bob up and down as he swallows, and he turns to you with a sigh.

"i can't be the best striker. not after what i've seen here—i'm nothing."

you strecth your legs out in front of you wordlessly, and sae takes your leg before his hand moves to slowly massage your lower leg—uncoiling the knots he found beneath your skin and easing the tension. for some reason, sae found the activity stress relieving for him. bringing you ease made him feel better, oddly enough.

"you're incredible, sae nii,"

he wants to tell you to stop lying, but he knows how persistent you are when it comes to him. your loyalty for him, your devotion—it truly was admirable. and sae hated making himself seem weak in front of you, he wanted to be someone you could look up to. but he is weak—spain taught him that. he's nothing. a waste.

"i've seen the players here in spain. everyday, my brothers watch matches from all around the world on our small tv, where i see even more people play. but there's something none of those players have—you're raw, like a diamond in the rough, waiting to be carved. you're special, i know that nii chan. please believe me."

neither of you speak after that. you sit beside him, feet idly swaying back and forth over the rocks you two sat on after you tug them out of his lap. the sun sets in the distant horizon—casting a golden blanket over sae's face. his eyes glitter like emeralds.

"when i go pro, when i leave this place—you're coming with me."

sae stayed true to his word. the program he was in allowed his talent to shine—he would travel the world now, maybe go back to japan—he tells you one night. sae tells you that you can do whatever you want, be whoever you please—he says with him, you can become something great.

it doesn't have to be football. sae took you out of your small town in spain so you could explore the world with him, it was always nii chan this, and nii chan that. there was something sae felt for you that was indescribable. you were rare. you cared for him when he was nothing, and only one other person had done that for him. but itoshi rin was long forgotten now, a lost cause.

right now, sae was warming up for yet another match. something about the u—twentys versus a place called blue lock, he'd told you. you help him stretch before hand, dutiful hands running up and down his back as the two of you prepare for the day's events. you're rolling around on the clean green football field now with a childish type of excitement that has his lips twitching upwards.

"nii chan, i had no idea japan's fields were so big! so clean, wow!"

"i know," sae muses as he lays down beside you with a sigh. he watches you from his peripheral vision, unsure if he should bring up his brother's name.

"wanna go one on one?"

the field was empty, not a soul lingered near you two. sae stays quiet for a moment, admiring the stars peaking through the clouds in the darkening sky above. sae almost always won when the two of you played one on one, nii chan was just that awesome. but sometimes, he slowed down to your pace and allowed your talent to shine—your smile after scoring a goal was far more important to him than his ego.

"you know i can't say no to you, y/n."

and there's something euphoric about the way you laugh, something that makes sae's heart soar as he remembers the real reason he began playing football. he thinks about rin, how he may not have been a good brother to him—but he could be a good brother for you.

your footsteps are fast, spinning around sae and making him dizzy. you wore one of his spare jerseys, and his eyes barely catch the embroidered name sae on your back whizzing past him as you score a goal. he wonders if rin would enjoy playing with you, too. rin and him were in a tough spot, but sae hoped he would eventually get over himself and see not everything was sunshine and rainbows.

but, if sunshine and rainbows were anywhere in itoshi sae's life—they were through you, a reprieve in the cruel world around him.

so, sae will indulge in you. he'll forget about his real brotherly responsibilities, he'll forget about the rules of football and help you win against him—because even though this sport is something near and dear to his heart, nothing is more precious than you and the soft sound of his honorific, nii chan, slipping past your lips—he had a second chance to be a good brother, and he vows not to break your heart the way he broke rin's.

[yandere-paramour]

something something Ata finding a platonic darling after getting her hands on her spouse and basically forcefully adopting said platonic darling

bonus points if the platonic darling is some timid wetcat trying to escape an abusive family

This is cute scenario, very similar to Darling!Daughter.

Atalanta already has a Darling spouse she's very happy with, but she somehow comes across you one day. You're sobbing like a baby, the worst cries of your life. Your family is abusive, but they won't let you into the domestic violence shelter because you're still underage. You don't have any food, money, or work experience, and it's cold enough that you might actually freeze to death tonight.

But your luck is greater than you realize.

"What's wrong, little one?"

Your first thought is Mafia. A gorgeous woman, surrounded by thick, beefy bodyguards, is speaking to you. Her face is endowed with parental concern, looking at you like you're a poor little wet kitten in the rain.

You look around, afraid to speak, but it's clear she's not leaving, not without an explanation. So you spill your story, hating the way her face screws up with anguish. She shakes her head and stands to her full height, making up her mind.

"Come with me," She holds out one perfectly manicured hand, "I can get you someplace warm for the night, and we can work from there."

Your choices are go with her or stay here, so you go. Her car is warm, and you feel bad sitting on the seat in your dirty clothes. She is clearly a very wealthy woman, tapping out a text on the latest iPhone, while you try to stay quiet and hope she won't have a change of heart and shove you out onto the highway.

She brings you to some apartment building in the next town over, and when one of the bodyguards bids her a goodnight, you finally realize who this woman is. This is Atalanta Montclair, heiress to the Montclair dynasty, the richest person within 500 miles, a woman of looks, brains, and wealth. Your face is clearly terrified, and you want to escape, but you and her are in an elevator, her clearly noticing but ignoring your fears.

She brings you to a room on an unmarked floor. The room is pristine, white bedclothes, clothing in your size already in the closet, large TV with all channels. You've never seen such luxury. Montclair does not touch you, only advises you to stay the night and she will be back to speak to you in the morning. She sends some food up for you, and leaves you to rest in peace, only warning you to be good and stay in the room until she comes to get you.

You decide to take your good fortune as it comes. You take a much-needed shower, eat the warm soup and crusty bread, and sleep on the softest mattress you've ever felt. You feel like a whole new person and it's only been one night. Atalanta Montclair must be an angel sent by God themself, so you might as well obey her.

Atalanta is back down with you late the next morning. She looks pleased at your clean, well-fed state, and praises you for taking care of yourself, making you blush. You thank her profusely for the food and warm bed, telling her than you'll get out of her hair soon, but she won't have it. Before you know, she's convinced you to stay another night.

And then a week passes. Then two weeks. Then two months.

The building is massive. You've been to the Montclair's apartment and had dinner with Atalanta's wife many times, even spending some time with the lady during the day. You've accompanied her on shopping trips, trying to refuse all the soft pastel clothes she insisted on buying you, but she won't have it. You've had tea with her on the garden terrace, even fallen asleep watching a movie in the screening room, and woken up to a soft blanket draped over your shoulders.

You've become almost like a child again, a companion trailing after your saviors as the spoil you with gifts and luxury. Atalanta is even talking about moving your room closer to the main apartment. Every time you try to leave, there is always another slice of cake, another movie to watch, another cup of hot chocolate for you to drink. You're doted on like a beloved child, even having your own staff assigned to look after you and protect you. You're never in the elevator alone, and you have no idea where your important documents are now; Atalanta said she was keeping them safe in her office but you're not allowed in there without her.

Honestly, the whole situation was a dream. Outside this glorious building is endless capitalistic work, abusive parents, freezing cold wind that makes your weak joints ache. There's nothing for you out there, nothing you want to be bothered with.

You should just stay. Atalanta and her wife clearly want you here, they're talking about taking a trip to Greece soon and you heard them mention 3 tickets. No one's ever wanted you before, and no one's ever treated you this well either. You're doted on here, loved and adored and hugged, getting to really experience the love of parents who don't abuse you in 15 different ways. You even get pocket money.

You're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but for now, you're... here. And you really don't want to go back.

[yanderes-galore]

hear me out, Arthur with darling who's a bounty? Like one of the posters you can get in the various sheriff's offices

Oh! I like this idea since it's a bit hypocritical of him.

Yandere! Arthur Morgan with Bounty! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Threats, Overprotective behavior, Murder, Paranoia, Coercion, Dubious companionship/relationship.

It's ironic that Arthur, an outlaw, hunts down bounties.

Truthfully he's just doing it for the money.

It's not like he's a Pinkerton or anything.

The sheriff hires him as a gun to take down other outlaws tormenting folk.

Doesn't matter what they did, as long as Arthur takes care of them then he'll get his money.

Normally this job doesn't affect him.

He's used to shooting or lassoing folk.

Usually it gets him a nice sum of money to present Dutch.

Although... What if Arthur couldn't do one bounty.

Usually with bounty hunting, the only appeal to him is the money.

What if he finds something much better than... money?

I imagine Arthur would have to find some sort of... reason between to spare you.

Like maybe you aren't even that high value a target.

Or maybe you did what you did because you had no other choice...

If you want a more platonic view, maybe you're too young for him to want to shoot or give to the sheriff.

If you want a more romantic view, you manage to swoon him enough to get away.

Either way, if Arthur is somehow intrigued by you, it doesn't take much to make him rethink taking the job.

He himself is wanted dead or alive... So he understands the struggle.

Maybe after Arthur decides against it he can't get you out of his head?

He sees your wanted posters everywhere and a small part of him is almost... concerned.

After all, if he doesn't do something... Someone else will.

Arthur's first few encounters with you are often hostile or begrudgingly neutral.

You may have even paid him off a few times from your robberies just to keep your freedom.

Eventually Arthur uses these times as alternative ways to get money.

You keep your freedom, he gets paid, he even looks forward to you two meetings.

Yet there's a nagging fear in him.

You could still get hurt due to other bounty hunters.

Just because he hasn't harmed you... They still could.

This anxious thought might be what makes him obsessive.

He's concerned about you.

You're out there all alone and you can't bribe everyone.

Arthur wasn't expecting to get so worked up about some other petty criminal.

Yet here he is, staying up in camp with a million different thoughts running through his head.

It would not surprise me if Arthur continued to track you like he did when you were a target of his.

He follows you from a distance on his horse, watching you make camp quietly.

He isn't sure how he wants to approach you and tell you he's friendly.

Will you actually trust him or still try to bribe him?

While he typically watches you from a distance, he sometimes even sits at your camp to chat.

He wants you to trust him, he isn't after your bounty anymore.

Think of him as an ally... a friend.

Sometimes Arthur even finds a few bounty hunters after you.

He ends up taking care of them before they get to you... two well placed shots in the head usually takes them out.

Is it wrong of him to do this? It doesn't matter to him.

He can't get you out of his head... He doesn't want anything wrong to happen.

You can bet that eventually Arthur will try to invite you to Dutch's gang.

He knows you'll be well taken care of there.

You'll always be under his watch, at least.

You reject Arthur a few times, but the man is quite persistent.

He may be nice now... but what if he isn't?

What if Arthur was very adamant you joined.

It starts as a suggestion.

Wouldn't it be safer to travel in a group?

Then it becomes more of a subtle threat...

Y'know... Your bounty is pretty high now....

You won't be able to pay Arthur off forever, right?

So... why don't you come with him?

He can take care of you, you'll have company and food... and somewhere to go.

Bounty hunters are too much of a danger when you're alone.

If you don't come with him, well...

He'll stop accepting your money.

Then there's nothing stopping him from turning you in, right?

It's simple, isn't it?

You either come with him to join the gang...

Or he turns you in to the sheriff.

Is that a threat? Perhaps...

But you'll thank him later.

Arthur insists he's doing this because he cares.

Like he wasn't hunting you down months ago.

He'd drag his obsession to the gang if he has to.

You don't have much of a say in the matter once Arthur starts his threats.

It seems like you join him or you die... and you happen to like what little freedom you have.

So Arthur succeeds in dragging you to Dutch, saying you can be a good help to the group.

He takes care of you like he says.

It's... actually a bit strange for you.

This is the very same man who hunted you down for money...

Now he's treating you like you're part of some kind of family?

You struggle to get used to the new life you were forced into...

You don't entirely hate it, but you are a bit intimidated by Arthur.

After all, now you have to be part of the gang.

At least this puts Arthur at ease, right?

Now he doesn't have to worry about you being killed as long as he keeps you in camp.

Sure, you may hate him now, but this is a good deal, right?

Arthur knows you'll come to enjoy the gang's company at some point...

You already enjoy his company too...

Isn't this better than the noose?

[espighty]

I'm making some scuffed relationship charts with some of the cultist ocs in my canon, starting with my version of yellow cat. I've shown him once before in an old meme redraw post. His name is Elijah. He is the unluckiest creature in the whole wide world.

More info on him under the cut.

Here's the redraw I mentioned. It's how I decided his name.

And then for his overall background in my canon:

Leshy and Eli (I'm gonna call him Eli for short ok) do not get great first impressions of each other. It's a short time after Leshy gets out of purgatory. He's been out for long enough that he's adamant on trying to navigate the cult on his own, but short enough that he's still super jittery about everything. And for the most part, the normal cultists know to keep their distance. But Elijah accidentally stumbles his way a bit too close. Gets a chunk bitten out of him because Leshy panicked.

I have a little comic in my minds eye of a little back and forth as Eli is bleeding out.

Eli screaming and Leshy just being like "... uh. sorry. You startled me." "YOU TOOK A CHUNK OUT OF MY ARM" "Yes. And I'm apologizing. Stop being dramatic." "Ohhhh my god I'm gonna throw up. or faint" "You know, most people would consider it an honor." "Both. I think both." And then Eli just straight up dies of blood loss and Leshy tentatively sidesteps away hoping no one will be able to pin it on him.

So when the Lamb resurrects Elijah and there are no consequences, Leshy is baffled. Finds the time to go up to Eli and ask about it. Why didn't he tell the Lamb. Is this blackmail? What does he want?

And Eli is like "oh well you said it was an accident and apologized so I didn't feel the need :3. I die like once a week anyways it's fine." and Leshy goes huh. What.

Turns out Eli is (A.) not the sharpest tool in the shed, and (B.) the most cartoonishly unlucky person you've ever met. He actually does die once a week, often more. Stuff falling over onto him, objects falling from the sky, rube-goldberg-esque events that end with him skewered against a building. It's so normal for him that he's desensitized to it. Also repeatedly dying may have killed some brain cells, but that's neither here nor there. Either way, Leshy is immediately intrigued, opting to accept "friendship" just for the opportunity to experience the bad luck events first hand.

And boy is that a fun time for Leshy. God of Chaos in his natural element. Except, one day, Elijah starts narrowly missing death instead. The stack of marble falls onto the place he was standing only moments before. The roof of the barn collapses in just the right way that he was kept from harm. The onions (toxic for cats) that were mistakenly added to his soup don't harm him in the slightest. Eli doesn't seem too bothered, but everyone around him is always on edge, because this good luck can't last forever, and it will surely come back far, far worse. Leshy hangs around Eli all the same, enjoying the anxiety of the other cultists, and the company of his friend.

:)

[ccyclonedoodleblog]

Not FNAF related, but fuck it. I couldn't help myself and had to try drawing these two.

I'm not even a fan of Poppy Playtime, but my brain has been fixed on these guys. I'll probably make a new side blog for this - just for fun.

[ccycloneblogging]

Nothing like a little dance, right?

[yannig]

I really like Xiaobao and Su Yin's relationship, they're really sweet

And I'm fascinated by the difference between Xiaobao's relationship with Su Yin and his parents relationship with Su Yin.

Xiaobao and Su Yin are on first name basis (as much as that parallel can be made between English and Mandarin), and they seem genuinely fond of each other. Like yeah, I can believe they grew up together and developed some very real affection.

Xiaobao's parents though? They call him Highness even when he's not there. Despite all the talk about forgetting about debts and being family, they can never really shake the formality with him, even when it absolutely isn't necessary.

Like, this exchange in the car:

Xiaobao is trying to lighten the atmosphere and reassure his parents by making a (very light and clearly joking) jab at Su Yin, and his parents immediately scold him about needing Su Yin's help and not being willful with him.

Which is fucking stupid?

For one, Su Yin isn't there to hear it, so he can't care.

For another, Xiaobao is absolutely close enough to him for this kind of teasing. I'm pretty sure Su Yin would welcome it was he here.

And finally, Xiaobao has been nothing but willful with Su Yin their whole life and Su Yin is still disobeying the fucking Emperor for his sake. I think Xiaobao will be fine.

[griseldabanks]

for the ask game, would you do #23 for link and zelda?

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

Prompt: "I feel like we've met before…."

“You only want to go there because you think she'll be there.”

“I do not!” Link retorted, hanging his helmet on Epona's handlebars while holding his phone to his ear with the other hand. “I'm going to study for midterms, like I said. Not my fault you didn't want to come along.”

“And watch Malon making googly eyes at you the whole time? No thanks.”

Link paused halfway through slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “What? Malon?”

He could practically hear the rolled eyes across the phone line. “Oh brother. She's had her eye on you since orientation!”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“Because I have eyes in my head!”

Suddenly, Link spotted a familiar pink backpack weaving through the tables outside the coffee shop, heading towards the door. “Sorry, Navi, gotta go.”

“Hey! Listen to me—“

He hung up and darted over to the front door, managing to reach it just in time. He grabbed the door and pulled it open.

The girl who'd been reaching for it started at his sudden appearance, then let her extended hand fall back to her side. “Oh...thanks!”

She smiled up at him before stepping inside, and for one glorious moment, their eyes met. Link grinned stupidly, but she'd already passed him.

Heart pounding in his chest, Link followed her into Lon Lon Cafe. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his green hoodie, trying to act casual as he stepped into line right behind her. He glanced up at the girl behind the cash register, and the pleasant giddiness in his chest deflated somewhat as he remembered what Navi had said. Sure enough, Malon spotted him and immediately shot him a grin, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. And she kept glancing at him as she listened to the next customer's order.

Link looked back at the girl in front of him instead. Zelda. So was so pretty, her blonde hair pulled back in a half-ponytail, golden earrings dangling from her ears and catching the light.... And there was an elegance to all of her movements, even simply in the way she pulled her wallet out of her purse. Like a princess...if princesses ever graced college-town coffee shops.

Suddenly, she looked over her shoulder and turned to face him. “Hey, do I know you?”

The bottom dropped out of Link's stomach. “What?”

Zelda cocked her head to one side. “I feel like we've met before....”

Link swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Uh...History 101. Professor Rauru.”

Zelda's face brightened with recognition, and somehow she looked even more beautiful that way. “That's it! So are you ready for—“

“Next!”

With a little start, Zelda quickly turned around and stepped up to the front of the line. While she was ordering her drink, Link couldn't help noticing that Malon wasn't smiling anymore, but answering Zelda tersely and stabbing at the register with more force than necessary.

When it was his turn to order, Link was a little nervous at how Malon would receive him, but to his relief, the second her eyes landed on him, a huge smile lit up her face again. He might have been imagining things, but he thought he detected a hint of sharpness in her gaze that wasn't there normally. “What can I get you?”

Link opened his mouth to reply, but she talked over him.

“Pumpkin spice latte, right? As usual?”

He'd actually been thinking of trying out something different this time, but she was already ringing him up, and he did like anything pumpkin spice-flavored, so he remained silent and just handed over a couple blue rupee notes.

Zelda was still waiting for her drink at the other end of the counter, and Link's heart skipped a beat when she glanced up from her phone as he strode over to her to wait as well. “So, what's your major?” she asked, her blue eyes bright and interested.

“Uh...undeclared, so far,” Link admitted, feeling his cheeks go warm. “I came in with an archery scholarship, but I don't know if that's what I want to go with....”

“Well, that's okay,” Zelda said. “You're a freshman, right? You've got plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Wait, are you not a freshman?”

Zelda giggled. “Oh—no, I'm a sophomore. I just didn't get around to history last year. I wanted to take harp lessons, and my schedule didn't work out.”

“So you're a music major?” Link brightened at that. Maybe he should've signed up for singing lessons or something after all.

“For now,” Zelda said with a thoughtful frown. “I love the harp, but I've been thinking about switching to political science instead. Do some real good in the world, you know?”

The more they talked, the more relaxed Link felt, just like he was talking to Navi or Saria—except that every time their eyes met, he felt a glorious swoop in his stomach. “Maybe your harp can usher in world peace,” he said with a grin.

As Zelda laughed, the barista slid their drinks across the counter towards them. “So do you play any instruments?”

“Oh, just the ocarina—“

They both reached for their drinks at the same time. Both froze, staring at the backs of their hands. Link's left, Zelda's right. Like a strangely geometric birthmark, against their pale skin was the clear outline of a triangle divided into four smaller triangles. On Link's hand, the smaller triangle on the bottom right was filled in; on Zelda's, it was the bottom left.

Link stared at their hands, the marks upon them perfect mirrors of each other. For his whole life, his soul mark had been there, as familiar a sight as the moles and freckles on his arms. He knew it was supposed to be a reflection of his soul, and the legends went that somewhere out there, his soulmate bore the mirror image of it. But who that person was, or if he'd ever meet them...that just wasn't something he bothered thinking about too much.

Just like anyone, there had certainly been times when he'd wondered who his soulmate was. Growing up, he'd compared soul marks with his friends—Saria had been extremely disappointed when she realized that the swirly mark on her shoulder was nothing like his soul mark. In idle moments, he would daydream about whether his soulmate would turn out to be someone he married, like his parents, or a really good friend, or maybe even one of his children someday.

But then life got busy, and there was no time to think about something so frivolous when school and archery club ate up so much of his time. If he ever met his soulmate, he would deal with it then.

Then was now.

Slowly, Link's eyes traveled up Zelda's arm to her eyes, which were open wide with shock. “Does this mean...?”

“You're...m-my....”

“Oh my!” Zelda's face instantly grew as red as a tomato, and she whirled away from him, covering her cheeks with her hands. Link's eyes were glued to the back of her right hand. The soul mark was unmistakable.

Without warning, Zelda began speed-walking back through the cafe, almost knocking into several people on her way out.

“Wait—Zelda!” Link grabbed both of their drinks and rushed after her, finally catching up to her where she had collapsed into a chair at one of the tables under an umbrella out front.

Hesitantly, Link set Zelda's drink down in front of her, then slipped his backpack off his shoulder and sank into the chair across the table. He looked over at her staring fixedly at the cast-iron tabletop as if she could melt it with a glance.

Just to have something to do, Link sipped his pumpkin spice latte, but it scalded his tongue, so he set it aside.

She was so pretty, even with the blush extending all the way down her neck. Actually, the blush made her look even prettier, the pink tinge of her skin setting off the pink shirt she wore.

She's my soulmate, he thought numbly. All I wanted was to talk to her, maybe ask her out eventually...and she's my soulmate. The most important person in my life.

“Um...sorry,” Zelda said with a shaky laugh, looking up at last and tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I didn't mean to run out, I just...that took me completely by surprise!”

“Yeah, uh...m-me too.”

They both realized at the same time that they were staring at each other's hands, and broke into nervous laughter.

“So, we're...soulmates.” Zelda let out a long breath. “No, saying it out loud didn't help. It still doesn't sound real.”

A sudden thought occurred to Link that made his heart sink. “Hey, um...just because of this,” he pointed at the back of his hand, “that doesn't mean we have to...I mean, it's just a legend. You don't have to feel, like, obligated to...to hang out with me or....”

To his relief, she smiled sweetly at him. “You're right. But...I'd still like to get to know you. If...you don't mind.”

“No, of course!” Link said, a little too quickly and too loudly. He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning again. “Can I buy you coffee or something sometime? I-I mean, I know we already got coffee, but....” Crap, he was making such a fool of himself....

But Zelda just giggled, hiding her smile behind the hand that bore the mirror image of his soul mark. “Yes, you can take me on a date sometime. But, um...what's your name, anyway?”

“Oh!” They'd been talking all this time, and he still hadn't introduced himself. “It's Link. Nice to meet you.”

Zelda cocked her head to one side. “Link...strange...it feels somehow familiar....”

Link realized he'd felt the same way, the first time he'd learned Zelda's name. He'd passed it off as merely thinking it was a pretty name, but...maybe it was a sign that their souls were bonded to each other.

Either way, as they sat at the coffee shop and continued to get to know each other, everything felt right with the world in a way it never had before.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

"reblog for something lgbt to happen to you" at this point i'd be grateful if something straight happened to me

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

My hot take is that some of you who live vicariously through fictional familial relationships yearn for "a healthy loving family" the same way a lonely person yearns for the perfect boyfriend/girlfriend/partner who will sweep them off their feet and dote on them and love them always and only focus on them and take care of them and protect them and provide for them and give them a fairytale wedding

And it shows

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

Not gonna lie

I dont think I'll ever forgive my parents for how poorly they mishandled our dog's health. I constantly felt as though it was my fault even though I quite literally couldn't do any more than i did. I still feel as though it was my fault. He deserved so much fucking better. I love him, and he had to endure such horrible skin problems because my parents refused to take him to a better vet because they were convinced the one they went to was fine. Even though I protested them for YEARS. I tried so fucking hard to get them to see what was going on but they just let it get worse and worse. They would never listen. And I couldn't take him somewhere on my own because I was a kid with no money. My sibling was too busy to notice. And my mom couldn't accept that it was her fault, and that she could've done better. I think she knows now but is still denying it to herself. My dad, quite frankly, didn't care.

[babycharmander]

(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

[acid-ixx]

ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.

"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"

please stop.

"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"

no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.

and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.

"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"

you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.

"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"

he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.

"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"

lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.

yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.

you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.

five minutes pass.

your phone rings.

it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.

it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.

there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.

so you wait, you wait until it stops.

and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.

you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?

fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.

it will remain empty.

so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.

that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.

it's all over, you tell yourself.

'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.

not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.

— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?

what the fuck.

seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.

why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.

shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.

your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.

why is it so hard to believe her now?

just, why are you so weak?

when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.

"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.

"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.

"i love you too..."

you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?

... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.

yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.

and you?

you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.

but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!

... just look at yourself now.

your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.

breathing.

oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.

your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.

five things you can see.

your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.

you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.

fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.

four things you can feel.

the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.

that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.

three things you can hear.

does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?

focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.

shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.

two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.

it reminds you of yourself.

before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.

thump, beat, thump.

every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?

... yet nothing works.

why doesn't anything work out in your favor?

please don't do this to me.

your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.

just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.

it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.

moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.

but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.

you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any

even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...

would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.

you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.

and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.

alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.

and all you can ever do is, well...

you cry.

the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.

you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.

you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.

you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.

not when you're so, so lonely in this world.

and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.

your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.

at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.

alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.

it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.

you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.

and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.

it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.

the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.

yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...

if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.

if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...

gotham.

he's in gotham right now.

shit.

shit, shit, shit.

dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.

he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.

you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.

oh, fuck.

you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.

you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.

with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.

you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.

so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.

your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.

follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.

distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...

it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.

you know nothing about him...

and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.

what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?

it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?

your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.

— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.

so what do you need exactly?

distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—

you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.

cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.

drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.

... then what?

you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.

'despite everything, it's still you, no?'

if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.

there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.

but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.

anything.

and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.

once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.

it'll hurt you so deeply.

but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—

you need a drink right now.

the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.

with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.

it will always be innately lonely, and cold.

yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.

no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.

and most importantly—

no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.

a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.

it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.

but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.

for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.

the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.

bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.

he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.

he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.

—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.

he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.

bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.

which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.

in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.

living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.

the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.

he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.

but he really tried.

he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.

he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.

... but he had never tried to be there for you.

his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.

(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.

it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.

it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.

(name) wayne.

not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.

he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.

he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.

bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.

if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?

until your untimely demise perhaps?

he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.

not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.

you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.

then who had to walk you up the stage?

"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.

"yes, master?"

"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"

he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—

"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.

alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to

fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?

oh... he really hopes there wasn't.

his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.

the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.

how many birthdays had he missed?

when even is your birthday?

you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...

he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.

bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.

he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—

but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.

which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.

back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.

... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.

would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?

he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.

but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.

it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?

he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.

the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.

he needs to see you.

as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.

cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.

it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.

just like you.

alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.

it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.

it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.

he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.

... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?

counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.

yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.

that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.

a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.

he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.

as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.

even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.

bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.

... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.

his heart clenches at the implication.

"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.

bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.

small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.

everything is clean, too clean and orderly.

his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.

no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.

is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?

how do you live like this?

just how much has he neglected you?

"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.

he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.

he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.

"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.

and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.

he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?

does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.

you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.

"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.

they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.

"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.

the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.

at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.

you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.

as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.

he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?

bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."

even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.

would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.

he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.

unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.

journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.

he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.

he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.

art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.

this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.

though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.

he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.

and truly, you are his child.

bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.

fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.

"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.

but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.

"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.

dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.

"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.

bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.

"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."

looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.

oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.

he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.

oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.

"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.

he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.

it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.

his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?

scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.

he was the favorite.

yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.

is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?

even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?

does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?

it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.

whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.

which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.

it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.

the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.

his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.

his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.

the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.

it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.

if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.

but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.

you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.

he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.

he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.

needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.

damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.

he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his

he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)

yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.

with hurt.

with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.

damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.

after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.

he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.

and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.

he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.

you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.

you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.

... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?

for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.

for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.

for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.

time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.

it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.

alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.

it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.

after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.

—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.

he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."

his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.

"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?

the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.

alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.

yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.

"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."

the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.

it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.

"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"

"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."

it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.

... what?

it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.

"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"

a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.

"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."

"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"

"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."

"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"

"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.

"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.

dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.

bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"

"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"

"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."

"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"

defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."

"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.

not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.

"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."

bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.

although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.

find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.

his child, (name) wayne.

you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.

maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.

after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.

and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.

bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.

he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.

but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.

there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?

but could he help it if he does?

could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon

[mono-dot-jpeg]

big sister - hyun ju

summary; a big sister will always protect, but when will she be able to relax?

genre/extra tags; one shot, found family, fluff, hurt/comfort?, canon typical violence, i dont like the second season writing, but i can not deny myself this diva, that's mother !!, teen! reader, hyun ju is the only reason i decided to watch this season, slight canon divergence bc i have the mind of a goldfish, canon typical sad heavy conversations, big sister is written to be seen as the korean honorific "unnie", older sister moments written in the point of view of a younger sibling, unintentional love letter for my appreciation to my sister, reader is implied to be some form of lgbt but not out (im projecting)

[platonic] [gender-neutral reader]

[warning; mentions of transphobic ideas]

a/n; before people ask, no, im not doing requests for this show. i just don't feel fully comfortable writing for squid game. i just really wanted to write this because, believe it or not, i write for my enjoyment. even i do switch off here every few months or every other month.

dinner had rolled around after an intense "game" of life or death. how you managed to survive this long is beyond you. but you might have a strong idea of why you're living so long, and it was the strong woman who was sitting beside you with some of the other women who were surviving so far.

the old lady had pointed out that hyun ju was not like other people. and it really was odd to her. but hyun ju was used to that. more than used to it. she lived through it since she decided to come out.

you listen to the conversation, not really putting your two cents in as it seemed like there was no right time to butt in. but as the conversation continued, the mood was just a little lighter. and that was more than enough morale. the old lady seemed to slowly understand hyun ju and her struggle.

you've zoned out so much, you almost fail to notice hyun ju sneaking an egg onto your shabby given lunch box meal. you look up at her as she gives you a warm look before pretending that she didn't just do that.

you mix the rice with not much thought, spilling some bits of rice and egg over its metal container before you slowly eat. unbeknownst to you, hyun ju glances back at you as if to make sure you're actually eating and not staring off with a tired look that no teen or child should have. you've seen everything, you're part of this sick game, she may not know your story, but she knows you don't deserve any of the bad you've been through.

you're the youngest in the entire room, a room filled with people with insurmountable debt and issues. hyun ju can only imagine your worry, your anxiety, the burden.

when the first game got serious, you were trying your damned hardest to keep your fear contained under the watchful eye of that robot scanning every movement. she was right in front of you, keeping you safe along with the rest of the people who lined up with her. you look like you wanted to cry the moment you got to the finish line. if she wasn't full of adrenaline at the time, she probably would've heard how hard your heart was beating.

somehow, she had taken two people under her care. you and young-mi. how could she not care about a young woman like young-mi and a teen like yourself? two anxious people forced to live a life full of debt and pain when you both deserved nothing but comfort and love.

people start lining up in their beds for nighttime. gi-hun was very insistent on being careful at night. it was dangerous. some people were not behind just killing others at night to sweeten the pot of money that loomed over everyone's head like a golden sun.

as most of the adults started to climb in their beds, you stand awkwardly. you weren't a stranger to sleeping a room full of people, but you were definitely a little paranoid after what gi-hun was talking about.

you find yourself naturally gravitating to hyun ju. her presence was just so calming, and she was so caring for others. it was hard not to get attached. young-mi had taken to calling her big sister. and you found yourself doing the same when you call out to her softly.

"big sister?" you gently tap at her arm as she turns to look at you. she silently urges you to continue speaking with a gentle look. you can see the tired in her eyes, but she looks at you, unwilling to say no. "this is embarrassing..." you mutter.

"it's okay. i'm here." she reassures you.

"can i stay with you tonight? i'm-" you choke a little bit on your words, not only out of embarrassment but fear. "i'm really scared. i don't wanna be alone." you confess.

she softens, "i would love to let you, but it's too risky. if people come for us, it would be very hard to fight back. i'm so sorry, kid." she opens her arm out for a hug, and you take the comfort you can get in this shitty place. "i will do my best to keep you safe, alright? when we get out of here, i'm going to find you again, and we can help each other, yeah? i'll protect you."

you nodded with her words, not finding the heart to say anything. she takes this as a sign to start guiding you into your bunk bed on top. at least the top bunks would be somewhat safer for you. you hesitantly climb into bed. "if a fight breaks out, hide. run. just be safe. i will find you, and you'll be safe." she continues to reassure you the best she can.

"okay. goodnight big sister." you whispered. "please be safe."

"i will." she said with a calm confidence that only she could pull off that didn't make you feel worried for her.

you hope that you get out of here, so you don't have to see the worried exhaustion in her eyes anymore.

she was a big sister by heart and soul. you just hoped her big heart wouldn't lead her to her doom. she protects and gives, but when will she relax?

[pomefioredove]

only one bed room

summary: it's the sdc and everyone's staying over at ramshackle but, oh no! you're one room and one bed short. being the generous (or gullible) soul that you are, you agree to share characters: all sdc competitors, separate additional info: fair warning I have no replayed book 5 in a while, reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, most scenarios end in cuddles. can be interpreted as romantic or platonic (nix vil and rook's part)

Deuce Spade

"I don't mind sleeping on the floor!"

it's a big fat no from Vil. waking up sore and tired is unacceptable, and will affect his performance during practice. he will use the bed, end of story.

you offer to take the floor or one of the many stiff and uncomfortable couches in Ramshackle, but he refuses

what kind of aspiring honor student would he be if he kicked you out of your own room?

so, yes, you end up sharing the bed

he's a perfect gentleman about it

he insists on sleeping on the complete opposite end of the bed

to give you your space, of course

not because he's nervous

obviously it doesn't pan out- he's kind of a messy sleeper, and on the first night you wake up with him sprawled on top of you

you decide not to wake him up

you'd been thinking about saving for a weighted blanket, anyway

Ace Trappola

"you better not hog the blankets,"

takes it like a champ, though he might be screaming internally

he already sleeps in a dorm with three other guys- this can't be any different, right?

it totally is

sharing a bed with someone? someone he likes, who he isn't just forced to live with for convenience?

he's not sure how to tease you about this one without coming off as nervous himself

so he just shuts his trap about it (for once) and accepts his fate

in the end, it's no big deal for a player like him

he ends up hogging the blankets, though. hypocrite.

Kalim al-Asim

"YAYYY SLEEPOVER!"

he means exactly what he says

not a care in the world

all he's thinking about is how fun this is going to be! just him and his favorite Ramshackle prefect (Grim heard the news and will be staying in deuce's room to avoid any cracker mishaps)

Kalim, admittedly, is not a creature of great thought. he tends to be dictated by his feelings, and he can be a little selfish sometimes

so when Jamil pulled him aside and asked him to just buy another bed for ramshackle, he ignored him entirely

why would he do that? the situation is resolved, and everyone's happy!

well... not everyone, but Kalim's happy!

he stocks up on Vil-approved snacks, insists you two braid each other's hair and stay up late into the night talking with no one to remind you to go to sleep

(he tried to invite Jamil and got the door slammed in his face)

this arrangement lasts approximately one night

when Vil sees the dark circles under your eyes, it's over

you are confined to the couch, and Kalim is forced to sleep alone

Jamil Viper

"okay,"

really. he's totally fine with it.

besides the fact that he doesn't want to cause any more trouble, he's shared beds with his siblings before. no big deal

he just wasn't expecting to wake up with you snuggled against him

but this is fine

totally fine

he's barely conscious and it's early morning, still dark, the time he's used to getting up at

Vil has things covered, right? he can stay here for a little while longer. it would be awkward trying to get up without waking you

it feels nice having something all to himself for once

he smirks, imagining how jealous everyone else would be:

the beautiful, kind, intelligent ramshackle prefect in his arms? oh, the looks on their faces would almost make this whole thing worth it!

but in the end, he decides to say nothing

he wants to keep you all to himself, after all

for just a little while longer

Epel Felmier

"ain't no way I'm sharing!"

that's what he says in his head, anyway. but it's late and he's worn out from practice (and being shouted at) so he just sighs and accepts his fate

of course Vil would make him do it. it's probably because he's the smallest, isn't it?

you can tell he's unhappy with the arrangement (not that he's making much of a secret of it- he's grumbling under his breath all evening)

he starts coming around to the idea when he wakes up holding something warm

his heart jumpstarts and he nearly panics before remembering where he is

and then he realizes the thing he's holding is... you. somehow the two of you had ended up spooning during the night

but, more importantly... he's the big spoon!

he's almost tempted to wake you to announce that he, in all his manly glory, had naturally assumed the most masculine cuddling position!

(yes he sounds ridiculous. just let him have this one)

he lets you sleep, though. just a little more won't hurt anyone, right?

he's okay with the arrangement after that

Rook Hunt

"I will do it!"

Vil isn't even able to finish his sentence before the vice housewarden is practically jumping up and down

pretty much everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief; a volunteer! thank the sevens. otherwise, this could get awkward...

of course, he quite intentionally ends up with you in his arms

but not for any nefarious purpose, he insists!

he's a light sleeper, and can be stirred by any sudden noise or movement

you appeared to be having some kind of nightmare

it reminds him of a small animal caught in a trap, struggling for its life. he can't bear to see it- it's cruel to let a poor creature go on suffering before you can make the kill

of course, instead of killing you (thank the sevens), he decides to comfort you

he presses your head against his chest so you can hear his heartbeat, and he runs his fingers through your hair until you calm down.

then he keeps you there, just to be sure you don't have another bad dream

if you gave him permission, he would gladly be all over you in seconds. kissing up and down your shoulders, caressing every perfect inch of your body, whispering words of admiration

but he's perfectly content just cradling you for now

hopefully, you will continue to have these nightmares and give him excuses to do this again

Vil Schoenheit

"don't argue with me,"

initially, you just gave him the bed

maybe you were afraid of him; maybe you like him; maybe you just wanted to avoid a conflict altogether

either way, you spent the first night on the terribly uncomfortable floor, and trudged through Ramshackle like a zombie the next morning

Vil was feeling guilty watching you

what? he's not a monster

and he's a leader, which means he has a responsibility. and you had so graciously invited them all into your home...

fine! he'll share. he insists, even

when you try to argue, he shuts you down, repeating all that stuff about responsibility and hospitality, blah blah

and he doesn't want the team manager dead on their feet

arguing with him is pointless, so you just agree

he wakes up with you against him, sleeping peacefully

now, if it were you clinging to him- he might have had a good chuckle. can't keep your hands to yourself, prefect? I'm just that irresistible?

but the way he's holding you, the way his arms are so tightly wrapped around your waist, the way he's so clearly pressing you against him...

he hates to admit it, but you're an elegant sleeper. it's almost cute

the tension is relieved from your face, your breathing graceful and steady, and your perfect lips open just a sliver...

he is a perfect gentleman, and would never dream of doing anything without your explicit permission, but for one shameful second he thinks about how easy it would be to kiss you

... and then he quickly puts those thoughts aside and tries to get back to sleep

he doesn't want any dark circles, after all

[taasgirl]

blame - driver!reader x grid

summary: driver!reader goes to war protecting her teammate and best friend, max verstappen.

a/n: this is NOT a romance smau!!

liked by user76, user98, and 6, 872, 014 others f1 Following a breach of conditions set by the FIA, Max Verstappen will serve a mandatory community service period.

tagged: maxverstappen1

ynusername just say ya'll can't handle him and move on!!!

user27 be careful y/n, they'll send you too user46 HAHA SHE'S SO REAL

user51 this is so stupid

user90 who decided this???

user75 Okay I understand him getting community service for the Ocon incident, but for swearing?

user21 they're treating max like he's a child

liked by oscarpiastri, redbullracing, and 2, 379, 918 others ynusername unbothered, moisturised, and definitely plotting to overthrow the fia!

tagged: maxverstappen1

user59 My dreams 5 minutes before my alarm:

user61 y/n and max are never beating the platonic soulmates allegations

user87 Get yourself a teammate that fights the FIA on your behalf @/estebanocon

maxverstappen1 I was going to say something nice then I saw the last photo.

ynusername pls still compliment me x

oscarpiastri I agree with the caption

landonorris ur too ashy to be moisturised

view ynusername's story...

caption only the FIA could ruin a beautiful flight @/alex_albon

liked by carlossainz55, alex_albon, and 1, 256, 280 others ynusername me and bro suiting up to destroy the FIA

tagged: carlossainz55, landonorris

lewishamilton This is why you're my favourite on the grid

ynusername this is why you're the 🐐

oscarpiastri Hey I hope you were joking when you said you'd be turning into a grid terror haha (please be joking)

ynusername don't worry ur safe xx

landonorris WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS Y/N???

landonorris If me and my gang pull up ahh post

ynusername yup you're now my number one target for unironically using 'ahh'

maxverstappen1 I hope I am bro

ynusername there's no one i'd rather serve community service with

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, lewishamilton, and 3, 287, 3389 others ynusername don't worry I won't actually replicate crashgate. however, please know that I have free reign over my radio xx

landonorris Thank god u had me scared for a minute

user49 y/n is taking this too far 😭

ynusername oh i can go further if needed

lewishamilton HAHA this is gold y/n

ynusername when I have the praise of sir lewis hamilton then I know that I'm doing something right

user20 OMG Y/N GOING INSANE ON RADIO IS A NEEEED

user91 y/n is the only reason i'm tuning in this weekend

view ynusername's story...

caption: I have some business to attend to this sunday afternoon

liked by user62, user87, and 209, 557 others f1updates Not shy on the radio so far! Y/N on the formation lap, and she'd already quizzing her engineer.

user83 she's so unserious i love her

user90 This is my sign to strictly watch her onboard today

user41 y/n really is going to put on a show huh

liked by user 34, user75, and 1, 722, 981 others f1updates A few of the unhinged thing's Y/N was saying during today's race. Safe to say that she may be sporting a ban for the next race.

user38 her engineer replying with 'affirm' is so fucking funny to me

user92 And ya'll still wonder why she's my fave driver

user47 THE WAY THIS ISN'T EVEN EVERYTHING SHE SAID

user28 what else did she say??

user47 @/user28 she went on a whole tangent about how stroll is a prick that shouldn't be in f1 😭😭

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, and 3, 615, 248 others ynusername FIA knew I'd be too powerful for another race (hey at least bestie doesn't have to do community service).

maxverstappen1 You're insane I love you

ynusername dinner is still on you right?

landonorris NOOOOOO RIP Y/N

ynusername bitch i'm still alive

oscarpiastri Welcome back Kevin Magnussen liked by ynusername

redbullracing She might be crazy, but she's our kind of crazy!

ynusername pls keep me employed ya'll

view landonorris's story...

caption Yes, she still has the helmet on

view maxverstappen1's story...

caption Okay time for us to get to work

eeee i hope you guys liked this, please let me know if you did!