#trying a different thing with the background

[julietsf1]

The Idiot I Call Mine - Lando Norris x BestFriend! Reader

summary: best friends are supposed to share laughs, inside jokes, fries and the occasional late-night drive. what they’re not supposed to do is flirt like it’s a competitive sport or make you question every unspoken rule of friendship. at least, unless your name is Lando Norris apparently. (7.1k words)

content: fluff! friends to lovers; flirty dynamic; mutual pining

an: whaaat? a fic about another driver? yes loves. this is me coming forward as a secret Lando fan. I hope you'll enjoy as much as I did writing this :)

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Lando Norris has this annoying habit of always being right. It’s not even about anything important—it’s just little things. Like the time he guessed exactly how long it would take before I caved and ordered dessert, or when he said I’d end up watching a rom-com tonight even though I claimed I wanted “something deep and meaningful.”

“See?” he said smugly, leaning back on the couch as the opening credits of The Holiday  played. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Hardly,” I shot back, tossing a piece of popcorn at him. “You just know I have a weak spot for Jude Law. That doesn’t make you psychic.”

“No, but it does make me an excellent best friend.” He winked, plucking the popcorn off his lap and popping it into his mouth like the show-off he was.

I rolled my eyes, pretending I wasn’t fighting a grin. Lando and I had been inseparable for years, the kind of best friends who finished each other’s sentences and shared a borderline unhealthy obsession with late-night McDonald’s runs. But lately, something had been… different.

Not bad, exactly. Just different. Maybe? I wasn’t even sure to be honest. 

“You’re staring again,” Lando said, breaking into my thoughts. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest in a way that felt entirely too casual and yet completely deliberate. His green eyes sparkled with mischief, and his smirk was the kind that could make even the most confident person question their sanity.

“I wasn’t staring,” I lied, grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it in my mouth for good measure.

“You were absolutely staring,” he teased, leaning closer. “What’s on your mind, hmm? Thinking about how devastatingly handsome I am? It’s okay—you can admit it.”

“You’re such a joke,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably. “Devastatingly handsome? Please. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Exactly,” he said, flashing a grin. “And yet, here you are, spending your Friday night with me. Interesting choice.”

“I’m here for the popcorn,” I deadpanned, though even I didn’t believe myself. “And because you begged me.”

“I didn’t beg,” he protested. “I suggested strongly. There’s a difference.”

This was us—lighthearted insults, jokes at each other’s expense, and an ease in our conversations that felt like home. If there was something different lately, I told myself it was just my imagination running wild. 

“Speaking of choices,” I said, leaning back against the couch. “What’s the deal with you and your phone wallpaper?”

“What about it?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Oh, come on, Lando,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You really expect me to believe you just happened to pick a picture of me for your wallpaper?”

“It’s a great photo,” he said with a shrug. “You look happy. And let’s not pretend your wallpaper isn’t me.”

I froze, caught. He was right—my wallpaper was him, but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s different,” I said quickly. “You look stupid in yours. It’s funny.”

“Ah, so I’m your personal clown now?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock offense. “Good to know my humiliation brings you joy.”

“Always,” I said sweetly, tossing another piece of popcorn his way.

The movie played on in the background, but neither of us was really paying attention. We were too busy pushing each other’s buttons, like always.

“Hey,” Lando said after a while, his tone a little softer. “You’re coming to dinner at Mum’s next weekend, right?”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “She’s already planning the menu. Something with pasta, probably. You know how she gets when you’re coming over.”

I smiled despite myself. His family had always treated me like one of their own, and his mum had a knack for making me feel special in ways that were both comforting and overwhelming.

“Well, in that case,” I said, pretending to think it over. “I guess I can clear my schedule.”

“Good,” he said, nudging me with his elbow. “I’d be bored without you there.”

It was moments like this—simple and familiar—that stuck with me longer than they should. The way he said things so casually, as if they didn’t carry any weight, even when they somehow did. 

“You’ve got something on your face,” I said suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“Where?” he asked, leaning closer.

“Right there,” I said, tapping the corner of my mouth.

He smirked, deliberately licking the spot where I’d pointed. “Better?”

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” I said, shoving him away. But I was laughing, and so was he.

“You love it,” he said, and for once, I didn’t argue. Because maybe I did.

As the night went on, the teasing continued, each remark more loaded than the last. By the time the credits rolled, I wasn’t sure if it was the movie or Lando’s lingering glances that had me feeling so off-kilter.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence as he stood to clean up the popcorn bowl. “Something on your mind?”

“Just thinking,” I said vaguely, not meeting his gaze.

“About?” he pressed, leaning against the counter with a smirk that said he already knew the answer.

“Nothing important,” I said, grabbing my phone and pretending to scroll.

“Liar,” he said, his voice playful but probing. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know that?”

I glanced up at him, my heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it had been doing lately. He was standing there like he had all the time in the world, his green eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Goodnight, Lando,” I said finally, brushing past him on my way to the couch.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he called after me, his voice laced with amusement.

…

“You know, for someone who claims to be an athlete, you spend an alarming amount of time eating,” I said, glancing at Lando over the top of my menu.

“Carbs are fuel,” he replied, flashing me a grin. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand that we could’ve gone somewhere normal instead of whatever this place is,” I said, gesturing to the overly fancy restaurant. The kind of place where the wine glasses sparkled brighter than the chandeliers, and the menu was full of words I couldn’t pronounce.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he teased, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how hard it was to get a table here? I had to name-drop myself.”

“Wow,” I said dryly. “The struggle.”

“Exactly. And now you’re here, about to enjoy the finest pasta in town, thanks to me. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

“Gratitude? You dragged me here under false pretenses. You said this was a ‘low-key spot.’”

“It is low-key,” he argued, gesturing around. “For Monte Carlo standards.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto my face. This was just how things were with Lando—effortless, easy, and borderline ridiculous.

“Alright, what are you getting?” Lando asked, lowering his menu.

“Fettuccine Alfredo,” I said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” he said, smirking. “Predictable.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I shot back. “What are you getting, then? Something groundbreaking? Life-changing? Revolutionary?”

“Tagliatelle al tartufo,” he said with a mockingly posh accent.

“Wow,” I said, feigning awe. “Truffle pasta. You’re really pushing the boundaries, Norris.”

“Don’t be jealous just because I have sophisticated taste,” he replied, the smirk never leaving his face.

“‘Sophisticated’ is one way to put it,” I muttered, pretending to study the menu again. “Another is ‘pretentious.’”

“You’ll be begging for a bite,” he said confidently, setting the menu down.

“Please,” I said, scoffing. “You’ll be stealing mine before the plates even hit the table.”

He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You know me so well.”

The food arrived soon after, and, as predicted, we switched plates halfway through without even discussing it. It was second nature by now, like so many other things about us.

“You know,” Lando said, twirling a forkful of fettuccine, “if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out, I could be a food critic.”

“Sure,” I said, deadpan. “Because people are dying to know what Lando Norris thinks about pasta.”

“They would be,” he said, undeterred. “My palate is unparalleled.”

“Your palate consists of pizza, chicken nuggets, and whatever I’m eating,” I shot back.

“And yet, here we are,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Me, enjoying this culinary masterpiece, and you, enjoying my company. Life is good.”

It was shaping up to be another night of easy conversation and mindless teasing until a voice interrupted us.

“Lando?”

I looked up to see two women standing at the edge of our table. They were both tall, blonde, and effortlessly elegant, the kind of women who looked like they belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life.

“Oh, hey!” Lando said, his face lighting up in recognition.

I glanced at him, watching as his entire demeanor shifted ever so slightly. He straightened up, his grin widening just enough to make my stomach twist.

“We haven’t seen you in forever,” one of the women said, her smile bright and practiced.

“I know,” Lando said, leaning back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “It’s been a while.”

“You look great,” one of them said, her smile bright as she leaned in a little too close.

“So do you,” Lando replied, his tone polite but just warm enough to make me suddenly very interested in my water glass. The conversation floated around me, full of laughter and inside jokes I didn’t understand.

“And who’s this?” one of them finally asked, her gaze flicking to me with polite curiosity.

“This is Y/N,” Lando said, gesturing toward me with a casualness that felt too deliberate. “My best friend.”

Best friend. There it was again.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Likewise,” she replied, her tone perfectly pleasant.

They didn’t linger much longer—just enough to leave their mark before excusing themselves with a wave and a promise to “catch up soon.”

“Old friends of yours?” I asked once they were gone, my voice light but with a slight edge.

“Something like that,” Lando said, taking a sip of his water.

“Something like that?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, his smirk returning. “They’re sisters. I, uh… may have had a thing with both of them. At different times, obviously.”

My fork froze midair. “Both of them?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, laughing. “It’s not that weird.”

“It’s incredibly weird,” I said, shaking my head.

“I mean, it didn’t overlap or anything,” he added, as if that somehow made it better. “But yeah… sisters.”

I stared at him, equal parts amused and horrified. “That’s… impressive? I guess?”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning like he’d just been handed an award. “Think I should call them again?”

“Sure,” I forced a laugh, stabbing at my pasta. “And then ask if they have any other sisters you might’ve missed.”

He chuckled, clearly oblivious to the sarcasm in my tone. “Good idea. Always room for a hat trick.”

My stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I focused on my plate, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way my mood had shifted.

…

The paddock was its usual chaotic self—teams rushing to prepare for practice sessions, fans peering over barriers for a glimpse of their favorite drivers, and media personnel darting between interviews. I decided to escape the madness for a bit, heading toward the staff catering building for a much-needed coffee.

The line was mercifully short, but as I joined it, I noticed someone already waiting near the front. Tall, dark-haired, and wearing a Ferrari polo with his name—Marco—stitched neatly on the chest. He turned slightly, catching my eye and offering a polite smile.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his tone warm and conversational.

“Something like that,” I replied with a small smile. “You?”

“Always,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But coffee makes it manageable, no?”

I nodded. “A universal truth.”

Marco stepped aside to let me order, a gesture so casual it almost went unnoticed. As I gave my order to the barista, I felt him glance at me again—not invasive, just curious.

“So, not Ferrari,” he said after I stepped back to wait for my coffee.

“Is it that obvious?” I joked.

“A little,” he admitted, his grin widening. “You’re far too relaxed to be one of us.”

“Should I be offended or flattered?” I asked, tilting my head playfully.

“Flattered,” he said easily. “Relaxed is a good thing.”

We fell into an easy rhythm as we waited. Marco was effortlessly charming, asking questions without prying and tossing in a few self-deprecating remarks about Ferrari’s chaos.

“You’re here with a team?” he asked eventually.

“A friend,” I said vaguely.

“Lucky friend,” he said, his tone light but genuine.

I laughed softly. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, a familiar voice cut through the hum of conversation.

“There you are.”

I turned to see Lando approaching, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “I thought you were doing media.”

“Finished early,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flicked briefly to Marco, who stood quietly by my side. “And I figured I’d find you here.”

“Good instincts,” I said lightly, though something about his sudden appearance felt… deliberate.

Marco offered his hand to Lando, ever polite. “Marco. Ferrari engineering.”

“Lando,” he replied, shaking his hand. “McLaren driving.”

Marco chuckled. “I know who you are. Good to meet you.”

“You too,” Lando said, his tone friendly but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

The barista called my name, and I turned to grab my coffee, giving them a moment to exchange polite words. By the time I returned, Marco was stepping away with his own drink.

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” he said, offering me a small wave before disappearing into the crowd.

Lando watched him go before turning back to me. “Who was that?”

“Marco,” I said simply.

“And what was Marco talking to you about?” he asked, his tone too casual to be entirely innocent.

I raised an eyebrow. “Coffee, mostly. Why?”

“No reason,” he said quickly, taking a sip of my drink.

I studied him for a moment, noting the way his shoulders tensed ever so slightly. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he said defensively.

“You’re definitely acting weird.”

Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely baffled.

“He was flirting,” Lando said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked. “He was being nice.”

“Nice,” Lando repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. “Sure. That’s one way to put it.”

“Lando, he’s just a guy who works for Ferrari,” I said, shaking my head.

“Exactly,” he said, as if that proved his point.

There was a beat of silence as I processed his words.

“You sound jealous,” I said finally, testing the waters.

“Jealous?” he scoffed, though the flicker of something in his eyes gave him away. “Hardly. I just think you can do way better than some guy who chats you up in the coffee line.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he asked, smirking now.

“Yes,” I said firmly, though the warmth in my chest betrayed me.

We walked back toward the McLaren garage, his mood lightening with every step. By the time we arrived, he was back to his usual self—chatting with the mechanics and laughing at some joke I’d already missed.

But his words stayed with me, replaying in my mind as I sat down with my coffee. My coffee which Lando had somehow already drank half of. 

…

The McLaren lounge was a rare oasis of calm in the chaos of a race weekend. Engineers hustled past the windows, radios crackled with updates, and somewhere in the distance, an engine roared to life. But in here, it was all plush couches, soft lighting, and a distinct lack of urgency.

I was curled up on one end of the couch, flipping through a magazine, while Oscar and Lando lounged on the other side. Lando, as usual, couldn’t sit still. He was draped sideways over the armrest, absently spinning a water bottle in his hands.

“Alright,” Lando announced, breaking the comfortable silence. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?”

I looked up from my magazine, narrowing my eyes. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“It’s an important question,” he insisted, his grin wide and mischievous.

I pretended to ponder for a moment. “One horse-sized duck. Definitely.”

Lando gaped at me like I’d just declared something outrageous. “Terrible answer. Absolutely terrible.”

“It’s the smart answer,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “You outmaneuver one big target instead of exhausting yourself trying to wrangle a hundred tiny ones.”

“Do you even know how terrifying a horse-sized duck would be?” Lando asked, his voice rising in mock disbelief.

“And do you know how terrifying a hundred duck-sized horses would be?” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

Lando leaned forward, his grin widening. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me you’d rather face one giant, angry duck with a wingspan bigger than this couch?”

“Absolutely,” I said confidently. “Ducks aren’t that scary.”

“They can bite, you know,” he shot back, gesturing dramatically. “One snap, and you’re done for.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “I think I’d survive. Besides, I have a secret weapon.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“You,” I said, deadpan. “I’ll just toss you in its path and run.”

Lando gasped, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. “Wow. That’s cold, Y/N. I thought we were a team.”

“We are,” I said, grinning. “But only if you pick the right answer next time.”

For a moment, he was quiet, his grin faltering just slightly as he met my gaze. It wasn’t much, just a flicker of something softer beneath the banter. But it was enough to make my stomach do that annoying little flip I’d been trying to ignore.

“Lando,” Oscar interjected, his tone casual but pointed. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” Lando said quickly, his ears turning the faintest shade of pink as he looked away.

“You are,” Oscar said, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re imagining things,” Lando muttered, crossing his arms.

Oscar snorted but didn’t press the issue, instead grabbing his phone and scrolling through it idly. But the look he shot Lando wasn’t lost on me—or Lando, for that matter.

As the banter settled into silence, I decided to grab a drink from the catering area, leaving the two of them alone.

The moment the door swung shut behind me, Oscar struck. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“About what?” Lando asked, feigning innocence as he fidgeted with the water bottle.

Oscar didn’t even look up from his phone. “About Y/N.”

“What about her?”

Oscar set his phone down, leveling Lando with a knowing look. “You’re acting like a lovesick puppy every time she’s around.”

Lando scoffed, though the tips of his ears betrayed him again. “That’s ridiculous. We’re just friends.”

“Sure,” Oscar said, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “That’s why you light up like a Christmas tree whenever she walks in the room.”

“I do not,” Lando said defensively, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You do,” Oscar replied, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mate, you’re glaring holes into the back of her head every time she talks to someone else. And don’t even get me started on how you were watching her during the duck-and-horse debate like she’d just solved world peace.”

“That’s—” Lando started, then stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Oscar said, his smirk firmly in place. “It’s exactly like that, but go off.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for the right words. “It’s… we’ve known each other forever. It’s Y/N.”

Oscar nodded, as if that made sense, but his smirk didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it would be time to change that soon? You two are exhausting.”

Lando shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it.

“I’m just saying,” Oscar said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re completely gone for her. Admit it already.”

Lando groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, grinning now. “But I’m right.”

Lando didn’t respond, his gaze drifting to the door where I’d just left. And for the first time, he let himself wonder if maybe—just maybe—Oscar was onto something.

…

The moment we walked into George’s celebration, the energy hit like a wave. The room was packed with familiar faces—drivers, engineers, and friends—dressed to the nines in that effortless way people in motorsport always seemed to manage. String lights twinkled across the ceiling, soft jazz played over the speakers, and a steady hum of conversation filled the air.

“You’re going to owe me for this,” I teased, glancing at Lando. “Dragging me here after wasting twenty minutes deciding between two identical shirts.”

“They weren’t identical,” Lando replied with a roll of his eyes, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we weaved through the crowd. “One had a darker stitch.”

“Completely life-changing,” I said dryly, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

“See? You get it,” he shot back with a grin, steering us toward a booth near the bar.

The way his hand lingered, warm and steady, was something I tried not to think too much about. It was just Lando being Lando—playful, touchy, and completely oblivious to the little flips my stomach insisted on doing whenever he leaned too close.

We found our way to a booth not far from the bar, where Alexandra and Charles were already seated. Charles was gesturing animatedly about something, while Alexandra sat with her usual poised grace, sipping champagne. When she saw us, her face lit up.

“Enfin, vous êtes là !” Alexandra exclaimed, waving us over. (Finally, you’re here!)

“Lando a changé de chemise trois fois,” I replied, throwing him a look. (Lando changed his shirt three times.)

Charles chuckled, leaning back with a smirk. “Toujours dramatique, hein ?” (Always dramatic, huh?)

“English,” Lando whined as we slid into the booth. “You’re ganging up on me in French. It’s not fair.”

“Pauvre bébé,” I teased, patting his arm lightly. (Poor baby.)

“Whatever that means,” he muttered, though the grin tugging at his lips made it clear he wasn’t upset.

The conversation flowed easily between the four of us. Lando, of course, dominated the chatter, weaving an elaborate story about George’s awkward rookie days. His expressions were so animated, his gestures so over-the-top, that even Charles—usually the calm and composed one—was cracking up by the end.

“That’s not true,” I said, nudging Lando with my elbow. “You’re exaggerating again.”

“I’m not!” he protested, his green eyes wide with mock innocence. “It’s all true. Every word.”

“Sure it is,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Back me up here!” he said, turning to Charles.

Charles raised a brow, taking a deliberate sip of his drink. “I wasn’t there, but… I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Alexandra laughed softly, glancing at me. “Toujours l’acteur dramatique, ce Lando.” (Always the drama actor, that Lando.)

“Hey,” Lando said, pointing at her. “I know that wasn’t a compliment.”

I smirked, leaning closer. “It absolutely wasn’t.”

He gasped dramatically, his hand over his chest. “Betrayed by my own friends. I’ll never recover.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, brushing him off, though the warmth in his gaze lingered just a beat too long.

Lando eventually excused himself to grab drinks, leaving me to chat with Alexandra and Charles. As soon as he was out of earshot, Alexandra leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Il est tellement évident qu��il a un faible pour toi,” she said softly, her voice full of amusement. (It’s so obvious he has a thing for you.)

“Quoi?” I asked, my cheeks heating instantly. (What?)

“Ouvre les yeux,” she said, smirking. (Open your eyes.)

Charles chuckled, sipping his drink as he watched the exchange. “C’est écrit partout sur son visage.” (It’s written all over his face.)

“Stop,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue, her expression saying everything her words didn’t.

At the bar, Lando was cornered by Carlos, who leaned casually against the counter, his expression smug. 

“You know,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “you’re not very subtle.”

“What are you talking about?” Lando asked, though his focus kept drifting toward the booth where I was sitting.

Carlos raised his drink, gesturing toward me. “You’ve been staring at her all night, hermano. Why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

Lando stiffened, his grin faltering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just tell her,” Carlos said, swirling his drink lazily.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando replied, his voice quieter now.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because if I mess this up, I lose her,” Lando admitted, glancing toward our booth.

Carlos tilted his head, studying him. “You’re scared. That’s what this is.”

“Of course I’m scared,” Lando muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s my best friend. If it doesn’t work—”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Carlos interrupted, his voice softer now. “But you’d better do something soon.”

Carlos’s smirk softened slightly, but before Lando could reply, Liam Lawson appeared at the bar.

“Who’s the girl with Charles and Alexandra?” Liam asked, nodding toward the booth. “She single?”

Carlos grinned mischievously. “Yeah, she is—go for it.”

Lando’s head snapped toward Carlos, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Carlos.”

“What?” Carlos said, feigning innocence. “Just giving the kid a shot.”

…

Liam approached with the kind of confidence that only a Red Bull driver could pull off.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You’re Y/N, right?”

I blinked, momentarily surprised but recovering quickly. “That’s me. And you are?”

“Liam Lawson,” he said, extending a hand.

I shook it, his grip firm but not overbearing. “Nice to meet you.”

“How do you know George?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as if he had all the time in the world.

“Through Lando,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but measured. His easy demeanor was almost disarming, but there was something about the way he looked at me that made me hyper-aware of my surroundings.

“Ah, Lando,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Lucky guy. You two seem pretty close.”

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” I said simply, taking a sip of my drink and trying not to overthink his comment.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “his loss if he hasn’t made a move yet.”

That caught me off guard. My gaze flicked to his, searching for any hint of a joke, but he was entirely serious—or at least good at pretending to be.

“Excuse me?” I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.

Liam grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Just saying. If I were him, I wouldn’t be sitting over there, letting someone else steal your attention.”

The comment was bold, and I didn’t quite know how to respond. My thoughts were a mess of confusion, flattery, and something else I didn’t want to name. Before I could formulate a response, the familiar sound of Lando’s voice cut through the air.

“Liam,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the table. His tone was calm, but his green eyes held a sharpness that made me sit up a little straighter.

Liam glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Christian’s looking for you,” Lando said, his tone casual but firm. “Something about debrief notes.”

Liam frowned, clearly reluctant. “Now?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, nodding. “He seemed pretty keen.”

Liam hesitated, his gaze flicking between me and Lando like he was weighing his options. Finally, he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. “Alright. Nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“You too,” I replied, watching him leave with a mixture of relief and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lando lingered for a moment, his hands shoved into his pockets as he avoided my gaze.

“That,” Charles said, his tone thick with amusement, “was the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

Lando shot him a glare, his ears turning faintly red. “Mind your own business, Charles.”

Charles just smirked, raising his glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say.”

I didn’t say anything, but a flicker of suspicion settled in the back of my mind.

Had Lando just…? No. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s get a drink,” Alexandra said, pulling me to my feet.

…

As Alexandra and I made our way back toward the booth, she nudged me gently, her eyes glinting with curiosity.

“Lando looked like he was about to breathe fire earlier,” she said casually, sipping her drink.

I laughed softly, trying to deflect. “He’s always protective. It’s nothing.”

“Protective?” Alexandra repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That was not protective, chérie. That was jealousy.”

I opened my mouth to respond but stopped short as we neared the booth, Lando and Charles’s voices filtering through the hum of the room.

“It will just be awkward, mate,” Lando said, his tone low and almost resigned.

“Just talk about it,” Charles replied simply.

“It’s not that simple,” Lando muttered. “She will never be more than just a friend.”

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. My chest tightened, and the air around me seemed to still. Alexandra’s hand touched my arm gently, but I barely noticed.

“I— I need some air,” I managed, turning away before she could respond.

The ache in my chest grew with every step I took, his words echoing in my head.

She will never be more than just a friend.

And just like that, everything I thought I’d imagined felt painfully real.

…

I turned my phone face down on the table at Gigi’s, willing myself not to glance at the screen again. The missed calls from Lando were piling up, his name lighting up my notifications every half hour like clockwork. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. But every time I thought about his voice, his laugh, his damn words, the ache in my chest tightened.

She will never be more than just a friend.

I shook my head, forcing the thought away as the waiter arrived with my order. The smell of rich, cheesy pasta wafted up, comforting in the way only food could be. I twirled a forkful absentmindedly, hoping the carbs would somehow fill the space that had been hollowed out the night before.

The familiar growl of an engine outside pulled my attention from my plate. I glanced toward the window and froze.

The unmistakable silhouette of Lando’s Miura parked just outside, sleek and shining even under the soft glow of streetlights. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was, stepping out effortless as usual—but his expression wasn’t the easygoing grin I was used to. He looked… worried.

Before I could decide what to do, he spotted me through the window, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He pushed through the door, his eyes locking onto mine immediately.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his tone as he approached my table.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Lando? What are you doing here?”

He pulled out the chair across from me, sitting down without asking. “Looking for you.”

My heart twisted. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been ignoring me all day,” he said, his voice quieter now.

I looked away, focusing on my fork. “I had my phone off that’s all.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said finally, his voice softer but steady.

I glanced up, frowning. “What?”

“You always turn to cheesy Italian food when you’re upset,” he said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s your thing.”

The casual observation caught me off guard, a mix of warmth and frustration bubbling in my chest.

“So what?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You’re some kind of expert on me now?”

He sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Y/N, I know you better than anyone. And I know something’s wrong.”

I didn’t answer, twisting my fork in the pasta and pretending to be engrossed in my meal. But the usual comfort it brought was absent, replaced by the uncomfortable weight of his gaze.

“You’re not yourself,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, my tone clipped.

“Don’t lie to me,” he replied, his tone more serious than I was used to.

I set my fork down, the clink of metal against porcelain louder than it should have been. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking.”

His eyes softened, his frustration giving way to concern. “Y/N…”

“Lando, I’m fine,” I interrupted, though the words felt hollow.

He didn’t push further, but I could see the gears turning in his head. He sat back, glancing down at my half-finished plate of pasta before gesturing to the waiter.

“Can we get the check, please?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

I frowned. “What are you doing?”

“Paying,” he said simply, standing as the waiter approached.

“For me?”

“Yes,” he said, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. “Come on.”

“Come on where?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“You’ll see,” he said, extending a hand.

I hesitated for a moment before letting him pull me to my feet.

The warm night air hit us as we stepped out of Gigi’s, the soft sound of waves in the distance mingling with the faint hum of the city. Lando didn’t say anything, his grip on my hand firm but gentle as he led me toward Larvotto Beach, just a short walk away.

“Lando, seriously,” I said as we reached the sand. “What’s going on?”

He stopped, turning to face me, his green eyes brighter under the moonlight.

“We need to talk.” he said simply.

And just like that, my heart started racing, even though I had no idea what he was going to say.

The beach stretched out before us, quiet except for the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. The city lights glittered faintly in the distance, their reflection dancing on the dark water. Lando walked beside me, his shoulders tense, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

For once, I didn’t fill the silence. I didn’t trust myself to. My thoughts were a whirlwind—last night’s overheard words still fresh in my mind, colliding with the unexpected intensity of this moment.

We walked like that for a while, the sand soft beneath our feet, until Lando came to a sudden stop. He turned to face me, his green eyes catching the moonlight in a way that made my stomach twist.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

I crossed my arms, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. “Try the beginning.”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “The beginning’s too far back. I’d be here all night.”

“Good thing I don’t have anywhere else to be,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

For a moment, he just looked at me, his expression softening. “Y/N, I have a lot of friends. Like, a lot of friends.”

I blinked, confused. “Okay?”

“But none of them get to me the way you do,” he said, his voice dropping.

I stared at him, my breath catching. “What are you saying?”

He glanced out at the water, like he was searching for courage in the rolling waves. “I mean… you’re not just anyone to me. You never have been. You’re the first person I think of when something happens—good or bad. And the idea of upsetting you? It’s unbearable.”

My throat tightened as his words sank in.

“Like today,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “You ignored my calls, and I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I’d done something wrong. Whether I hurt you somehow. Because if I did…” He stopped, exhaling sharply, and shook his head. “I can’t stand the thought of you being upset because of me.”

I didn’t respond, too caught up in the flood of emotions his words were pulling from me.

“When you’re upset, it breaks my heart,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “And when you laugh… it’s like my entire day gets brighter. When you’re sad, it feels like my world’s falling apart.”

“Lando,” I started, but he held up a hand, shaking his head.

“I’m not done,” he said, his words tumbling out now, faster and more frantic. “I’ve been feeling like this for so long, and I thought I could just push it aside or pretend it didn’t matter, but it does. It matters so much. And if I messed up—if I’ve ruined this somehow—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“You didn’t—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted, his eyes locking onto mine. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I’ve been too scared to admit it. And I know this might change everything, but I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

I froze, his confession slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know if this makes sense. I just… I can’t lose you, Y/N.”

Without thinking, I stepped closer, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

For a second, he was completely still, caught off guard. But then he kissed me back, his hands slipping to my waist as he pulled me closer. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it deepened quickly, making the world around me disappear.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us catching our breath.

“So… I’m guessing you feel the same?” he asked, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re so slow sometimes,” I murmured, shaking my head with a laugh.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s a yes,” I said, smiling.

The relief on his face was almost comical. He pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly like he never wanted to let go.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long,” he murmured into my hair.

“And I’ve wanted to hear it,” I admitted, my voice muffled against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowing slightly. “But… yesterday. Did I say something? Did I—”

I hesitated, my stomach twisting. “I overheard you talking to Charles.”

His face paled. “Oh.”

“You said I’d never be more than a friend,” I said, my voice wavering.

Lando winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, Y/N, that’s not how I meant it at all. I said that because I thought I didn’t stand a chance. Like… you’re so important to me, and I didn’t want to mess up what we already had by wanting something I thought I could never have.”

He looked at me with a mix of regret and hope. “I’m an idiot. It wasn’t because I didn’t want more—it’s because I didn’t think I could have it.”

“You are an idiot,” I said, my lips twitching into a small smile. “But you’re my idiot.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Yours, huh? Bold claim.”

I tilted my head, my grin widening. “Think you can find someone else to deal with you the way I do?”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Deal with me? You mean worship my charm and tolerate my perfection?”

“Oh, please,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. “The only thing I’m worshipping is the patience I’ve built up putting up with you.”

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me slightly closer, his smirk turning more mischievous. “You love me. Admit it.”

“Not a chance,” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

His gaze dropped to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my eyes again, his voice softening but still teasing. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

Before I could respond, he closed the gap, kissing me again with a fierceness that took me by surprise. This wasn’t the hesitant, nervous kiss from before. It was confident, teasing, like everything we’d been holding back had finally snapped into place.

I kissed him back, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His hands tightened on my waist, grounding me as he smiled against my lips, murmuring, “Still denying it?”

I broke the kiss just long enough to catch my breath, raising an eyebrow. “You think one kiss is going to make me fold?”

“Two,” he said smugly, leaning in for another without waiting for an answer.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop him, meeting him halfway this time. His lips curved into a grin mid-kiss, and I could feel his stupid, insufferable smugness radiating off him.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked when we pulled apart, my voice laced with mock annoyance.

“Unbelievably,” he replied, his grin widening as he rested his forehead against mine. “And don’t pretend you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” I admitted, smirking. “But if you keep talking, I might start regretting it.”

He laughed, pulling me closer. “Alright, no more talking. For now.”

“Good,” I said, leaning in again, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore fading into the background as everything else fell away.

The weight of everything unsaid was gone, replaced by the warmth of realizing we’d both been fighting our way toward the same truth: we’d always belonged to each other.

When we broke apart, Lando’s grin turned mischievous, and I immediately knew he was up to something. Before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly and started toward the water.

“Lando! Don’t you dare!” I shrieked, squirming in his arms as laughter bubbled out of me.

“Payback for all those times you called me an idiot,” he teased, stopping just as the waves lapped at his shoes.

He finally set me down, his smirk smug and unapologetic. “Admit it. You love me anyway.”

Figures. I’m in love with someone who steals my fries and once confidently argued that dolphins were just “sea dogs.” I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

[seulszn]

Caitlyn is cannonically an Lesbian so don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she's not straight. She's not bisexual she's a lesbian

Vi is cannonically a Lesbian don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she likes woman, she's married to a woman in the LOL universe (Caitlyn). She isn't straight and she's not bisexual.

Ellie Williams is canonically a lesbian not bisexual, nor straight. All of her love interests in the show have been girls never men.

Like the amount of people trying to erase these characters queerness is insane if you can’t accept that character for their sexuality then that makes you homophobic . And who cares about people writing fem x readers about straight characters like hello did we forget straight is the default sexuality? Also just because a character has a partner of different gender doesn’t automatically make them straight.

The fetishization, sexualization of lesbian’s is absolutely sick. Woman can NEVER have a space without a man being upset about something. you guys have a SHIT ton of media out their that are directed to you. Like even lesbian porn, GL’s and Yuri’s are directed to men never the audience it is attended for which is woman.

And the transphobia that is happening in the community is also fucking sick trans women are women idk why this is another discussion that needs to be had in 2025. Writing Male X readers about Lesbian characters is a form or fetishizing which is overall very sick and homophobic and overall harmful. And getting mad and upset about something that is a very serious issue makes it seem as if you don’t see lesbians as humans but as a toy to your sexual mind.

Lesbian fetishization is the act of treating lesbians as sexual objects for the enjoyment of a privileged group, rather than accepting their sexuality. It can have real-world consequences, such as homophobic attacks and corrective grape.

And for all the men mad because Lesbians or woman in general are Men haters look at yourself and see why. You can’t respect anyone and then get so butt hurt when your called out for it. When people were speaking up about you guys writing Male readers about lesbian characters you tried to justify it when their isn’t any justification for your sick and twisted mindset.

If you maybe idk use your brain and realize why woman don’t like y’all you wouldn’t ask yourself “why doesn’t woman like me” like come on now look at the media, look at what is going on in this world right now for woman just existing. Woman in some countries can’t even speak in public without the fear of getting killed. You guys have so much privilege that it’s starting to make y’all think you are so damn superior. Its so tiring seeing discourse in the tags about something that shouldn’t even be discussed

If your a lesbian you like woman

If your bisexual you like both genders

If your straight your straight but at the same damn time it’s a default sexuality. Also majority of the characters y’all arguing about never once said or mentioned they was straight so y’all argument is pointless.

And another thing they aren’t real characters it doesn’t matter but the only things that do are their background, race, and sexuality

A space that is for woman respect it if a character is a lesbian respect it stop arguing about pointless ass shit and Men once again stop fetishizing lesbians and get a life.

Also another thing (I think the account got deleted) stop writing smut for Isha your fucking sick and twisted that’s a WHOLE ass child their ain’t no such thing as aging up a character. If you have to age up a child to fucking sexualize it you’re a whole ass pedo and need to turn yourself in. It is bizarre how many I’ve seen come up on my timeline like chat are people ok in the head? Like this is a repeat of the MHA fandom writing smut for Eri a whole ass child like it makes no sense that you looked and Isha and was like “I wanna write smut about her” like your weird and need to be called out about it.

Both the Arcane and TLOU fandom needs a cleanse and I mean fast cause this shit don’t make sense AT all like yall done lost y’all’s ever loving mind. (I sound like a black momma 😭)

Also one more thing my page is not a safe space for men I put it in my rules that I don’t want men interacting with my stuff because I am a lesbian and don’t feel comfortable with men interacting with my content and y’all don’t even listen to that so as I said before if a space is for woman don’t try to put yourself in that space if you aren’t the targeted demographic. Hopefully everything I said made sense.

[jungwnies]

wreckage - charles leclerc (4/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : as charles fights for his life, his wife faces the hardest decision: let go or fight for him. a small miracle gives hope for recovery.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, angst, fluff ୨ৎ : tws : injury, surgery, medical trauma, emotional distress, guilt, near-death experience, physical pain, anxiety ୨ৎ : wc : 2402

part one | part two | part three | part four

Love is funny, isn’t it? You think you have it all figured out, and then one day, you realize that the love you thought would always be there can sometimes fade into the background. But it doesn’t just fade. No, it burns out, slow and steady, like an ember that’s been left too long. That’s the worst kind of loss—the one you didn’t see coming, the one that happens while you’re still holding on, telling yourself everything will be okay.

You remember when you and Charles first fell in love. The world felt like it was yours, and nothing could get in the way of the connection you had. The world around you blurred into the background, and it was just the two of you. You’d laugh together, make silly promises to each other, the kind of promises that felt forever, like they couldn’t possibly be broken. And in your mind, you believed it. You believed you’d grow old together, that no argument could ever pull you apart. But life has a funny way of surprising you.

The love you shared in the beginning was so full of light. It was easy. It was simple. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between the late-night talks and the quiet moments, you lost that. The arguments crept in. At first, they were small, just misunderstandings, but they grew, louder and sharper, until they couldn’t be ignored anymore. The more Charles drowned himself in the racing world, the more you felt yourself slipping away. But neither of you stopped to listen to what the other needed.

You can’t help but wonder now: If you hadn’t argued so much, if you hadn’t allowed that distance to grow between you, would he be lying in this hospital bed today? Would he still be fighting for his life? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. The thought makes your chest ache with a weight you can’t shake off. You want to believe that everything could have been different, but you don’t know for sure.

---

The steady beep of the monitors is the only thing that keeps you tethered to the present. Charles’s vitals have stabilized since the crash, and you try not to let yourself hope too much, but each small sign of improvement sends a rush of relief through you. You hold onto that hope, even though you know it might be foolish. Every small movement, every little shift in his breathing—each one feels like a promise. A promise that he’s still here.

Pascale’s footsteps break your train of thought. She steps into the room, her face tired, but there’s a quiet strength in her eyes.

“You’re doing everything you can,” she says, her voice gentle, like she’s trying to reassure you that you’re not alone in this. “You’re not to blame for this. The sport… it’s dangerous. We all know that. But Charles loves you. And this—it’s not your fault.”

You swallow hard, your heart heavy with the weight of her words. But they don’t sink in, not completely. You can’t stop the guilt that keeps clawing at your chest. You can’t help but wonder, what if you could have done more? What if you had said something different, done something different? Would he still be here, conscious and fighting? Or would this still be his reality?

“I just don’t know what to do anymore,” you admit quietly, your voice shaky, betraying the calm you try to maintain. “I don’t know how to make it right.”

She takes a step closer, her hand finding yours. “You don’t have to,” she says, her tone firm but soft. “Just be there for him. That’s what he needs right now. And when he wakes up… when he’s ready, you’ll figure it out together.”

You nod, not sure if you believe her. But you hold onto her words like a lifeline. Maybe, just maybe, she’s right. But it doesn’t make the ache in your chest any less painful.

---

Hours stretch into what feels like an eternity. The doctors come and go, each update a little less hopeful than the last. Charles is still critical. There’s no telling when he’ll wake up, if he wakes up. And the waiting—waiting without knowing what’s happening to him, if he’s improving or slipping away—feels unbearable.

And then, without warning, his heart rate drops.

The machines beep with a harsh, frantic sound, and the room erupts into chaos. Your body freezes, the air thick with panic. Nurses rush to his side, hands moving quickly, calling out to each other in a language you can’t fully comprehend. You stand there, paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Your mind spins with fear and confusion, and all you can think about is the man lying in front of you, fighting to stay alive.

Charles’s heart rate flatlines.

A scream gets caught in your throat, but it doesn’t escape. You don’t have the strength to let it out. The world feels like it’s spinning, like you’re stuck in a nightmare you can’t wake from. You watch as they work on him—CPR, chest compressions, defibrillation—but none of it seems to matter. It doesn’t feel real. He’s supposed to be okay. He’s supposed to wake up.

But then, just as suddenly as it started, the doctors manage to stabilize him again. His heart rate picks up slowly, steadily, until it’s just enough for you to breathe again.

The doctors exchange glances, unsure how to explain the sudden shift. They weren’t expecting this. They were preparing to pull the plug. Now, it seems he’s fighting back.

But the fear doesn’t dissipate completely. It lingers in the air like smoke, thick and suffocating. There’s no telling if this is the end of the battle or just another moment of temporary reprieve. All you can do is wait.

---

Time passes, but it feels like you’re standing still. Charles’s breathing evens out. The monitors beep at a normal rhythm now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel a glimmer of hope.

And then, as though your prayers have been answered, you hear it. A soft groan. His hand twitches in yours.

“Charles?” You whisper, your voice barely above a breath.

His eyelids flutter, and slowly, his eyes open. The confusion is evident in them. His brow furrows, trying to process everything.

“Y/n?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but you can hear the recognition in it. The relief that floods through you makes it hard to breathe. You’re shaking, but you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Oh my God. Charles… you’re awake.”

His eyes flutter again, blinking as he adjusts to the light. He tries to speak, but it’s a struggle. “What… happened?”

“You were in a crash,” you explain, your heart racing. “But you’re awake. You’re okay. You’re breathing on your own.”

His hand tightens around yours, a weak but determined grip. He doesn’t have to say anything else. You know he’s here. He’s alive. That’s all that matters.

You lean in closer, your voice soft but firm. “You don’t need to say anything right now. Just rest. You’ve been through enough.”

His eyes close again, exhaustion taking over. But this time, it’s different. He’s not slipping away. He’s fighting. And that’s enough for you.

---

It’s been a few days since Charles woke up. His recovery is slow, but every step forward is a victory. The doctors are cautiously optimistic, and his vitals are improving steadily. He’s no longer on a ventilator, and they’ve managed to reduce the pain medications, though he still winces at the sharp pangs in his body when he moves. His face is pale, his body thin, but his eyes—they’re alive. They’re still the same Charles you love.

His hand rests weakly in yours as he shifts in the hospital bed, a small groan escaping his lips. You watch him carefully, knowing he’s still in pain but feeling so much relief that he’s here, breathing, talking, and slowly getting better. It’s surreal how much has changed in just a few days.

You gently press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering longer than you expect.

“Still hurts?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Everything hurts,” he replies, his voice hoarse from the tubes and the strain, but it’s unmistakably Charles—weak but teasing. “But I’ll live.”

You chuckle, even though your heart still feels heavy with all that’s happened. “You better. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His hand tightens around yours, and for a moment, there’s silence between you two, the hum of machines and the quiet shuffle of footsteps in the hall the only sounds filling the room.

The door opens softly, and Pascale enters, her eyes lighting up when she sees Charles awake.

“You’re really here,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it.”

“I told you,” he mutters, a weak but determined smile crossing his face. “I don’t give up that easily.”

She chuckles, her relief palpable. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The doctor enters next, checking his vitals and making small talk about his progress. But after a few minutes, you sense that everyone is trying to give you two some space. You appreciate it more than you can say. You need a moment alone with him, just the two of you.

“Can we talk?” Charles asks suddenly, his voice quieter, the weight of everything pressing down on him. His gaze locks with yours, and you nod.

Once the room clears, you move closer to him, pulling a chair up beside his bed and sitting down, your hand never leaving his.

“I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice soft but full of emotion. “More than I ever thought possible. I was… so afraid. I didn’t know if I’d get another chance.”

Your heart catches at his words, and you squeeze his hand tighter. “You’re here. That’s all that matters now.”

“I know I messed up, Y/n,” he says, his voice trembling slightly as he continues. “The arguments, the distance between us… I didn’t know how to fix it, but I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve done better for us.”

You shake your head, leaning closer to him. “We both messed up. I pushed you away. I let my own fears and doubts take over, and we let the distance grow between us. But we don’t need to dwell on that now. What matters is we have a chance to rebuild. We can start again.”

Charles’ eyes soften as he looks at you. He lifts his free hand and brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers are weak, but his touch is gentle, so tender it makes your heart swell.

“I don’t want to waste another moment,” he whispers. “I want to make it right. For us. I want to give you everything I have. I want us to be… forever.”

You feel a rush of warmth in your chest at his words, and you can’t hold back the tears that sting your eyes. “Charles… I love you. I always have. No matter what happened before, it’s in the past now. We’ll get through this together. We’ll be better.”

He nods, his smile growing as much as his weakened body allows. “Forever,” he repeats, his voice firm. “You and me.”

You lean forward, pressing your lips to his gently, the kiss soft and full of promise. You feel the heat of his lips against yours, the lingering taste of the past and the hope for the future mixing together. It’s everything you need. Everything you’ve always wanted.

After the kiss, you rest your forehead against his, the moment feeling peaceful, intimate, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

"I promise I’m never going to leave you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whisper back. “And I won’t leave you either. We’re in this together. Forever.”

His breath catches, and you can see how tired he is. His eyes start to close, his body relaxing into the bed. You’re thankful for this moment—this quiet moment of peace between the chaos. It’s all you need for now. His grip tightens one last time around your hand before he drifts off, his breathing steady, but shallow.

As you watch him sleep, your heart swells. There’s so much to be thankful for now. He’s here. He’s alive. And even though he’s still in pain, the fact that he’s awake and breathing on his own, that he can talk and even smile, fills you with a sense of relief you can’t describe.

Time may not have stopped, but you feel like it’s been kind to you in the small ways. And in this moment, with Charles beside you, you’re ready to take on the future. The fights, the love, the challenges—they’re all worth it. Because at the end of the day, it’s you and him. Together.

---

As the days continue, Charles slowly gets stronger. The pain from the crash is still there, but it’s manageable. He’s talking more, eating small meals, and regaining some mobility. He even laughs now and then, the sound a balm to your weary soul.

It’s slow, but progress is progress, and with each passing day, your connection with him grows stronger. The weight of the past seems lighter, and you find yourselves rebuilding, piece by piece, finding new ways to love each other.

You’re not sure what the future holds, but for the first time in a long time, you know you’ll face it together. Whatever happens, you’ve found something worth fighting for.

---

A few weeks later, Charles is finally cleared for a short walk around the hospital floor. It’s a small victory, but it feels huge to both of you. He’s still weak, but he’s standing, with you by his side, helping him steady himself.

“You’ve come so far,” you say, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiles at you, the kind of smile that makes you feel like you could conquer anything. “I’m not done yet. I still have a lot of living to do. And I want to do it with you.”

You nod, feeling your heart swell as you walk beside him, hand in hand. This journey isn’t over. It’s only just begun.

But for now, you’re both here. You’re together. And that’s enough.

Forever.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , @ayap4paya , @prttylight , @meadhbhcavanagh , @iluvnewtie , @hiireadstuff , @armystay89 , @anunstablefangirl , @waytoooobsessedwithlife , @larya810 , @laufeysvalentine (tags closed, story complete)

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[cannedbabs]

Rbti rewrite post :] (was gonna be more but I’ve had an eventful day.. will say later ofc)

Closeup of KCB, some more evolution of lore, and my day below cut!

((If I had the choice to redo this bug piece it would be to turn off his glowy eyes. Plot reasons. Also sorry I only ever post sketches, I fear if I do more it’ll sap my energy to get content out at ALL so))

I will say the plot has been wavering a LOT! I’ve been talking with some of my irl friends (all of them have lovely story writing or creative backgrounds which is amazing) and so it’s being patched significantly. Still not 100% finished, that’s why I haven’t made an entire lore post yet!! There’s a lot of loose ends and placement that needs to be figured out. But I feel like it’s only appropriate to state some at least :] you guys have given me amazing feedback and showed interest and I can’t thank you enough!

The “big bad” has been juggled around. I do like BEV, her motives are a little grey and need to be strung together accurately and cohesively. I also don’t want a twist villain, as much as that’s amazing I am not trying to rewrite WIR. Turbo in himself is a “big bad”, always will be, he’s the worst of the worst and completely irredeemable, that’s why the writing is so hard. “How do you put in a big bad that has to contest with one of the worst characters of all time?”

My answer is to make BEV solely target Turbo, and in turn it’s a domino effect for everyone, but then that makes this rewrite a little more Turbo centric than I wanted ((granted it IS because of my bias, but even then I realize he is NOT the main character of the previous movie))

These are out loud thoughts tho!! Def the story is gonna take a route where it’s more Ralph vs(?) Vanellope, where they realize their goals don’t really align but are trying to keep it from the other person (kinda like RBTI actually! But not as ‘drama needs to get in the way to actually make an issue’). Ralph is gonna be taking BEV’s side and Vanellope will be taking Turbo’s side, at least that’s the concept for now!

Talking about my day will be super short. Basically I showed my friend group (who doesn’t have the turbo autism I do, but Turbo has become such a referenced joke in my group. Instead of saying ‘this is my hyperfixation’ we say ‘This is my turbo’) the entire 2hr analysis video (thank you Randomalistic :]) and they loved it! Sat through it all front to back!! And I’m having a sleep over w them tomorrow and having a DnD session yippee!! But that’s the only reason why I’m posting this and not accumulating more for a bigger post.

I AM planning on working on ref sheets and even stuff like a ref sheet for their chat bubbles since they’re all different :] idk this became a super long ramble post idk have some funny WIR-related Jack box things my friend group made you earned it

[ziorre]

✨Commission info✨

New year, new art pieces! I'm ready, I'm rested, I'm refreshed! And I'm completely charged to take care of your new ideas and characters!! I truly believe that every character is awesome and original and deserves to be shown with their own story! And I'll try to help you with this in a way that is more convenient for you! You just pick one below ;)

✨ PRICES:

- SEMI-REALISTIC STYLE (for the cases, when you want it looks more real without much stylizing)

- USUAL STYLE (for the cases, when you don’t mind it looks more stylized and a lil sketchy)

- CONCEPT SHEET (for the cases, when you want to present your character, their outfit and props)

* you can find more examples on my page by the commission tag ** a helpful post describing a right order for your refs

✨ DEADLINES: After you DM me with a brief description of your idea, I’ll tell you the approximate date when I’ll be able to proceed with your commission

!!!!Always warn me in advance if I need to draw art by a certain deadline!!!

✨ PAYMENT:  What: USD or RUB When: full pre-payment (when you sent me the email and we approved the art idea) Where: Hypolink/Lava.top (russian platforms, support payment via PayPal)

✨ PROCESS: You write to me in private messages on Tumblr, briefly tell me your idea of our future art, what style and what slot you want (full body / half body / bust). Then I give you my email address and you send me an email (with your Tumblr name as the topic please) with all necessary references (your character's face claim, their pose, clothes, background etc.). You describe the idea of the art in details, where it takes place, and other things that I need to know so that I can base the sketch on all that info, because after you approve the sketch, I don’t change art much in the further stages of the work, just some details. I send you the payment link on my Boosty page. Send you the sketch. After you confirm that you like the sketch, I finish the work and send it on your email😊

✨ OTHER: - I don’t correct the art after you approved the finished version. - I don’t copy other artist’s work. - I publish every commission on my social media, if you don’t want it to be published, just let me know. - If you’re not sure about the art idea, I can suggest you 4 sketches with different poses/concepts/angles for extra $20 and you pick the one you like the most. - For significant corrections or a lot of small ones at any stage of work, an additional fee may be charged (this doesn’t apply to some small adjustments or details witch I missed). There are 3 free changes at the each stages of the work (sketch, finished version), further - $2-$5.

___________________________________

And of course I can't skip to say a huge thank you to those who commissioned and continue commissioning art from me! It means a lot! For real! This is not only material support, but also moral one, saying that I’m not wasting my time and energy in vain, that I’m moving in the right direction, that people like what I do! I can't tell how inspiring it is!! 350 commissions! I’ve never imagined that one day I would draw so many art for others! Just.. wow!! Thank you again so much for trusting me bringing to life your ideas! I truly appreciate it!😌

____________________________________

I think this is it, right? If you have any questions, feel free to DM me ;)  

I’ll be VERY grateful for your reblogs!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤ (and thank you very much for this in advance, it helps me A LOOOOOOOOOT, you are the ones who keep me alive literally! I see each and every one of you doing that! You’re the best!!!) Thanks for your attention! Have a good day =)

[genderlessjacky]

yayy finally im finally done!!! I hope we are the same timezone and I didn't accidentally submit this late 😭

Holmes!! The sharpshooting Rodger with a littleee but of trust issues and I adore him . He is the kind of dad to have Pavlov's dogs himself to say "language" whenever anyone is swearing an probably owns a swear jar. But don't worry, he loves both his children equally. He may not be able to keep up with a few of the smarter Rodgers in terms of intellect but he can hold his own in a mission decently well and he's more streetsmart anyways (Holmes says in an attempt to comfort himself)

(also , Sherlock Holmes , Holmes , get it??? I'm so funny I know)

Big brother of the year award goes too... SOMEONE ELSE because it's certainly not Shrimpo "DONT KICK IN YOUR 8 YEAR OLD BABY SISTERS TEETH" Rodger . He pretends to not care and at times he really doesn't. It's giving Dipper pines meets bakugo (which I'm not sure if that's accurate because I have only seen like , 2 seasons of MHA) meets knuckles and with a sprinkle of abandonment issues . It took him a decently long time to warm up to his adoptive family but it was all worth it (sort of)

(when I tell you I really did try my best to come up with an Augmented Ability for him 😭 I hope this isn't too OP...)

Edit : nvm , Shrimpo uses 80% of his energy instead and that it effects a whole area of twisteds around him , like it effects any twisteds who hear it even if he direct it at them , and that it can be mixed , like a twisted brightney and Gigi can run away while the rest start CHASING him

The baby of the family!! The one who Shrimpo taught how to swear!! Toodles!! She occasionally gets an existential crisis because of her ability but it's finee. She warmed up the fastest to people, this social little scumbag is the sole reason why her brother is NOT fully social inept

Edit: SO sorry that I'm changing my mind this much but I'd like to add like , she can just duplicate only parts of herself for way less energy, like she can duplicate just an arm as a emergency weapon for 7% energy and only her head to use as a projectile weapon for 9% energy ectect and ofc they will still hurt but yes she can duplicate multiple

(Another idea of an Augmented Ability I have to her is basically beginners luck in a larger scale , she can boost a random 'stat' of her fellow toons in a certain radius by 20% and it reduces her own energy by 20% but I went for this one instead but if you think the duplicate thing is too overpowered, feel free to use this :))

more beneath the cut <3 (pls read I spent SO much time on these doodles)

An idea I have for their background:

If it matches the lore , I'd say they joined an operation that wasnt gardenview, a different operation that was far more weaker and far away from said Gardenview , Holmes and Toodles and a couple of others were the sole survivors of the weaker operation after they got overwhelmed by a large Wave of twisteds and Shrimpo got kicked out of his own survivors group for being too aggressive and nearly leading them to their own death . After Toodles and Holmes wandered for about 3 months they met Shrimpo and the journey begins there . They reach Gardenview in about, I'd say two - two and a half years

Please ignore that fact that it's disgustingly obvious that I have practically never done digital art before 😞🙏

Pov: a single father of two rediscovers what coffee is (don't read the text too closely 😞, I mostly copy pasted a theory about ichor that I really liked and added a bit of details myself , I know I'm lazy I'm sorry)(also ignore that Cosmo said E-1, I rrly want him and his kids to be in D-1 🙏)

I have a mini comic I'm in the middle of drawing of how Shrimpo and Toots would work together in an actual mission and I'll reblog said comic on this post after I finish it and hope and pray you actually see it 😢

Fun facts about them (I'll probably add more when it's not , midnight)

In terms of fighting, I'd say Shrimpo is definitely melee and short ranged, if I decide to give him weapons it will definitely be very Vi from arcane coded

Rodger is defo long ranged sharp shooter, a sniper sort of guy , if he had to fight up close he could hold his own but he would mostly rely on his robot arm

Toodles is more agile think, very sonic or Spiderman esk , jumping around and dodging/ luring the twisteds

Rodger also has phantom pain sometimes and doesn't really know what it is (yet) so sometimes his arms just starts hurting a lot and he's like "oh, I guess that happens now" and doesn't tell anyone

Rodger got lost his arm during the incident where his old operation got destroyed

Toodles and Shrimpo have matching bite marks from eachother, it's how they differentiate eachother from a crowd

They are very "Dad said I can come!!" "YOU ARE NOT COMING ON MY DATE-" coded

honestly, I can Shrimpo tagging along with toodles and her new friends in Gardenview until he finds his own group

Rodger used to spend a lot his time researching ichor obsessively because he lost a lot of loved ones during the fall of his old operation (like a lot of the Rodgers and probably also A1 Rodger) but slowed down a LOT a while after he took in Shrimpo

Rodger didnt know how to take care of two kids at first , it wasnt until Shrimpo almost died because of his own recklessness that he decided "hey I already lost a lot of people, I need to take care of the ones I have" and stepped up , he isn't perfect but he tries

I'd like to think Rodger gets a lot of "you took in...a SHRIMPO????" From the group of people he hangs out with

Also their 'last name' is Rodger , like Toodles Rodger and Shrimpo Rodger , but he only uses when they are in REAL trouble like "SHRIMPO RODGER GO TO YOUR ROOM" energy

Also if it matches the lore , I also like to think , to save up energy and ichor , the people running Gardenview saw them come in , clinging onto eachother and went "huh... they seem close" and put Toodles and Shrimpo in the same room with a bunkbed to preserve energy

Small little Event!

Hey hey, hope you’re all having a great holiday.

This little event will be running until 1.6.2025.

Im sure some of you have noticed team D and E have never been mentioned- and that’s because I’ve been waiting to host this event!

I’m choosing 11- yes 11 toons that YOU GUYS MAKE to add to Operation Ichor!

Of course, other toon submissions will show up as background characters within the comic.

Q1: How does the character sheet look?

Something like this, it being colored is optional. But I mainly just need design, personality, and ability on your sheet. Keep in mind you’re mostly choosing from the 20 in game characters (No, spoiler characters aren’t accepted, only ones in game!) and adding accessories on them.

You can make a whole team if you want too, just please keep it as one reblog if you can.

Q2: Are OC Toons allowed?

Yes, but please keep in mind they have a lower chance of being chosen just because dealing with different abilities and designs gets complicated (as if the 20 toons Dandy’s world has isn’t already enough)

Here’s the sheet for those who want to join.

Please use (#opich event) and/or just reblog this post with your submission

Disclaimer:

Any toon submitted will STILL BELONG TO THE OWNER, I have no intentions of stealing your amazing creations.

Do note; with the grim nature of this story, toons die a lot and yours might as well, if you don’t want that to happen- don’t submit.

And don’t be discouraged by your art, I love all your works and you’re all super talented :).

[tinkerbellknockoff]

beautiful blue hair // jinx x fem! reader

jinx eased quickly into her new life at demacia, deciding to do something for the first time in her life- see a hair stylist.

-- a/n: had this idea after staring at s2ep9 jinx and realizing that haircut would probably grow out terribly. this was written at 3am, enjoy!

jinx found being at demacia good enough. it was a very different culture than the life in zaun that she was used to, but arguably, she thought that was great for her. she was free to be herself, with no repercussion because here- she had no weight of the past weighing her down.

the only thing? she mildly regretted the haircut of choice that ekko had given her. during her crisis back in zaun, ekko had came to her side- he helped her. and, even with jinx's hyperindependency, she knew she had bits to thank him for.

looking in the mirror, seeing the comically long bang hanging in front of her face compared to her bob length hair, she figured this was the one thing she wasn't going to thank him for.

it looked great when it was first cut, though, which was a bonus.

but jinx's hair grew freakishly fast. weekly in her workshop she'd give herself little trims to tame her hair. unfortunately for her, she grabbed a whole lot of things while packing her bag- one thing she didn't?

scissors.

jinx let out an annoyed huff, "oh, c'mon! seriously? out of all things?"

she spoke to herself, the walls echoing back nothing but the sound of her own voice. jinx's hands continued to brush through her hair, looking at the chopped layers in mild distaste. she had never been one to ever care about her appearance but for some reason, this peeved her. real bad.

during her examining, her eyes caught a glimpse of something. during her time walking and exploring demacia, she was given scattered flyers, business owners wanting to promote their stores. she chose not to throw them away, believing that since she was making a new life for herself, she might try to get out more. normally. without explosives, even though she'll find it significantly less entertaining.

"daffodil's," jinx muttered, the name slipping off her tongue as she picked up the flyer from the pile. she hummed in interest, eyeing the design, promoting a small salon that had recently opened.

jinx scanned it over one last time before sighing to herself, "... why not?"

☆☆

jinx slowly pulled open the door of the tiny salon. it was in the downtown area, tucked into a less busy area. she liked that a lot.

she was greeted with a soft smell of sandalwood, the sound of the heater in the building slightly humming, giving a background to the idle chattering of the few people that were inside.

a girl, possibly around jinx's age, sat at the front desk. the desk was a little bit to the side of the entrance, the person sitting there catching a glimpse of whoever entered first. but, the girl was too preoccupied.

the girl sat comfortably on a chair, slightly reclined back as she calmly chewed gum, occasionally popping a small bubble. her feet were elevated, resting on the desk, a magazine in her hands as she loosely flipped through the page.

jinx's eyes scanned her over, biting her lip almost nervously. why hadn't she just decided to go out and buy a damn pair of scissors? would've been much less work. she walked up to the front desk, her boots clanking against the floor in a rhythmic, melodic kind of way. this caught the girl's attention, causing her to look up from the magazine, her chewing stopping for a second.

as jinx finally got up to the counter, the girl adjusted, sitting upright and giving the blue-haired girl a grin. she tilted her head, her (h/c) hair tumbling to the side as she looks at jinx.

"hi there! how can i help ya? do you have an appointment?"

the girl's relaxed, bubbly demeanor was almost nauseating to jinx. she never once dealt with someone so... she doesn't even know. she took a deep breath in, calming her nerves she didn't realize existed, giving the girl a grin in return.

"hi! i was wondering if you could do... erm..." jinx's voice trailed off for a moment. she doesn't know terminology. an appointment? is that the word? no, those are in advance-

her thoughts stopped yelling at her as the girl gave jinx a soft smile. "we do walk-ins. you looking for a new do?"

the girl giggled at her own terminology, moving the chair back to stand up. jinx nodded, "yup, one of those."

"great. i'm free to take you back," the girl beckoned jinx with her hand, leading her to the furthest chair in the corner, patting the seat as she grabs an apron from the side. "what can i do for ya?"

jinx slipped into the chair. it was so comfortable to her, it almost felt foreign. it was wood but it was lightly cushioned, and had a slight modern feel. jinx's reflection greeted her, one that she only recently got used to with having a new unbroken mirror.

jinx cleared her throat, "just.. wanting it fixed. or whatever."

the girl lightly ran a finger through jinx's hair, bringing it up to assess the layers in her hair. jinx slightly tensed at the new touch, but didn't let it alarm her too much.

"at home hairdo, huh?" the girl spoke humorously, meeting jinx's gaze in the mirror. jinx huffed, refraining from giving the girl a glare. she didn't want to be made fun of for her decisions, and before she could make a retort, the girl started speaking again, "i get it. once i accidentally cut my hair up to my ears- wait i shouldn't be telling you that."

the girl cut herself off, and that got a laugh from jinx, giving you a lopsided grin in the mirror, "don't tell me that when you're gonna be chopping at my hair, toots."

the girl gave a sheepish shrug, before asking, "anything in particular in mind?"

jinx pursed her lips for a moment. did she? no. "just... whatever you want, yeah?"

the girl rose her eyebrows, "trusting a complete stranger with ya looks? bold. i dig it."

jinx found the girl funny. jinx watched the girl begin to even out the layers in her hair, chopping her hair to a length just right underneath her chin. jinx liked it so far.

eventually, the girl came around to the front, bending slightly to meet jinx's height as she grabbed at the long strand of hair, evening it out as she chopped a pair of bangs on jinx. the position got jinx to awkwardly clear her throat, looking away.

even with the avoidance, the girl started speaking up, "ya know, people say that hair holds memories."

jinx didn't know that.

"so what was so special about this one piece of hair?" the girl grinned in a playful manner, and jinxed watched the long strands fall onto her lap. she looked in the mirror and there were a pair of bangs just falling right above her eyebrows, nicely blending in with the rest of her hair.

"aren't you nosey?" jinx quips back, though without malice. jinx thought this girl was nice, even without knowing her for that long at all. and, seeing her new hair, she couldn't but have some approval.

"just makin' conversation, yeah?" the girl giggled. "let's get you washed?"

jinx hadn't realize how long it'd been since she washed her hair.

feeling the girl's hands and manicured nails shampoo at her scalp was almost a moan worthy, toe curling experience as the girl didn't speak, but only chewed on the piece of gum that had been in her mouth. she could tell jinx was enjoying it, but she didn't judge. I mean... who doesn't like getting their hair shampooed?

time passed quickly as eventually jinx ended up back in the salon chair, the girl eventually wrapping up blowing out jinx's hair, leaving her hair straight and soft, the heat nice against jinx's neck.

jinx couldn't believe who she saw in the mirror. this is what she needed. what she wanted. when she saw herself in the mirror, she didn't think "jinx" or "powder". she just felt.. like herself.

the girl eyed her expression in the mirror, giving a soft grin, "ya like it?"

jinx stopped admiring herself for one moment as she met your gaze in the mirror, nodding vigorously, giving you a grin, "love it, toots."

she paused for a moment, "what's your name?"

the girl tilted her head, telling jinx her name, "recommend me to your friends, yeah?"

jinx repeated your name, letting your name roll off her tongue. she wasn't going to let you know that she has no friends, but she gave you a grin, "definitely."

jinx became a regular after that.

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

Warden: You've never killed an innocent?

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to be truly innocent?

Zevran: But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such… never on purpose, but it happens.

Zevran: It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often.

-

Zevran: In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women… and men, or whatever it is you might fancy.

Zevran: But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty. But confining.

-

Davrin: Lucanis, how do you decide when one of your targets deserves to die?

Lucanis: Usually when the client pays up front.

Davrin: I'm serious. Do you just kill anyone?

Lucanis: No. There has to be merit.

Davrin: "Merit?" Who decides that?

Lucanis: The Talon of the house.

Davrin: And then you just carry out the order?

Lucanis: It's my job.

Davrin: Must be tough to sleep at night.

-

Lucanis: You kill for a living, too, Davrin. How do you sleep at night?

Davrin: Like a baby. The things I hunt are pure evil. Monsters. There are no shades of grey with darkspawn. But you...

Lucanis: Provide a service.

Davrin: What if your target doesn't deserve to die?

Lucanis: Who does? Good, bad, everyone dies eventually. We just speed things up.

-

Emmrich: Do you have any say in your... targets?

Lucanis: You want to know if my victims deserved it.

Emmrich: Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked.

Lucanis: Everyone wonders.

Lucanis: I've never killed an innocent, by my count.

Lucanis: I cannot say if yours would agree.

-

Emmrich: Lucanis, do the implications of your work never trouble you?

Lucanis: Everyone on this team has killed before. I'm hardly unique.

Emmrich: Yes, of course. But in your case, it's a profession, rather than an act of necessity.

Lucanis: I'm not sure the Venatori or the Antaam see the distinction as you do.

-

Emmrich: I find it extremely interesting, Lucanis, that you consider the point of view of your enemies in battle.

Lucanis: I have to. It's much more difficult to find and kill them, otherwise.

Emmrich: Exactly! A utilitarian attitude towards death, and yet you extend empathy to your victims.

Lucanis: Not that much empathy.

Emmrich: Enough to wonder how the Venatori and Antaam view your actions.

Lucanis: Death comes to everyone, in time. I get paid to deliver it. Like a letter not everyone wants to read.

-

I think about this a lot. I'm always... surprised when I see the talk that they're supposedly trying to make Lucanis into the perfect "cinnamon roll" in Veilguard, because his sweet personality doesn't "match" his profession and background. Like, no? That's a very surface level of looking at it, I think.

Zevran is like this, too. He is an incredibly chill guy, and when you romance him, he is also very sweet and vulnerable, despite being an assassin. They're not that different in that department. They were both trained to be assassins since they were children. They're both traumatized in various ways. But neither of them acts like a bloodthirsty, evil freak. But they both also take pride in the job they do (or did), and how well they can do it, and have no intention of stopping. And yet they both express surprising empathy. (Zevran argues against annulling the Circle! Quite extensively!) And they make pretty much the exact same arguments about being killers for hire, as shown above.

Death is a natural part of life. Sometimes it just comes sooner, because we're there to deliver it. There's (almost) no such thing as an innocent person, so my victims aren't innocent people. Therefore, I've never killed an innocent in my entire life, as far as I know. (At least not intentionally.)

And that's interesting and fun about them! It's beautifully deranged. Lucanis completes an assassination mission, slitting somebody's throat or what have you, and then goes on his cosy coffee break, satisfied with a job well done.

The fact that they both say that they've never, in their opinion, assassinated "an innocent", so it's all good, doesn't automatically make it true and doesn't mean it's not complicated, however. Not every line of dialogue can be taken at face value. As video game players, we're rather desensitized to this, but hearing this should normally be at least a little alarming. For a regular person, at least. And it is for the people in the game! Like Emmrich and Davrin. Davrin has several banters with Lucanis about it. Like, who decides when somebody deserves to die and which contract's going to get carried out? Well, the "CEO" of "the company," of course! What could ever go wrong that way? Emmrich tries to coax Lucanis into saying that he does feel something about the whole thing, because he really wants it to be true. While Lucanis is very matter of fact about it. He knows what the Crows are, and that's it. He doesn't glamorize or demonize it.

So, it definitely isn't that "Veilguard says that Lucanis has never done anything wrong ever in his life," just like Origins doesn't do it with Zevran. Both the men's attitude towards killing is warped in an interesting way, completely in line with their background and upbringing. It shows when Lucanis argues with Davrin about them both being killers, because it completely escapes him (or maybe he ignores it for the sake of the argument) how the killing he does (contracts where the targets tend to be people) and the killing Davrin (a monster hunter, a darkspawn slayer) does is of different kind entirely. His logic is flawed at that point. But to him, it boils down to the fact that "it's just a job," and "killing is killing," and "death is death" regardless of form, and that rightfully baffles Davrin to no end. If anything, it shows how the Antivan Crows are taught to hand wave the issue, because the arguments Lucanis and Zevran both present are too similar to be anything else.

Of course, Lucanis, unlike Zevran, as the grandson of the First Talon and her favourite, might have had some extra privileges and wiggle space in comparison, which might have allowed him to bend the rules sometimes, give him space to show more compassion and act more heroically, because people are complex and there are many layers to what each person might consider right and wrong (e.g. killing is okay in various circumstances, and slavers in particular can get fucked - hell, we do it in video games all the time), but still. The fact that his grandmother wanted to tap a new market, so she made Lucanis specialize for hunting mages, which ultimately led to him killing a lot of Venatori and blood mages, makes it cleaner, which is nice, but then again, we hardly know the full extent of all his work. Moreover, when you ask Zevran to tell you stories about his jobs, you don't get much dirt out of him, either. He talks about some of the goofiest ones he's had. One of his targets that he (unsuccessfully) participated in taking out, a royal that got his position through plotting and murder, he also describes as somebody so immoral he basically deserved it. Also very clean. (Compare both these guys with somebody like Blackwall who truly committed a despicable act of murder for money that we do know of. And this single crime sounds so much more upsetting than anything either Lucanis or Zevran describe. None of the things Zevran says is as awful, besides the murder of his lover, which is framed like it wasn't really his fault, because he was misled.)

It's also worth noting that Zevran talks about how he was the best the Crows had before he left and how it brought him respect, wealth, women, men, or "whatever it is you might fancy." All in all, it comes with benefits. By his own admission, he was well off. But of course that came with a catch, as well. The "gilded cage" Zevran talks about. But that's not what made him leave. It was the plotting, backstabbing, and ever present distrust in the end, which led to the biggest mistake he'd ever made. Much like him, Lucanis also mentions that he had a comfortable life before getting captured, in the same quest where he also talks about how he didn't actually have full control of his life. ("Even before I was captured, my life was not really my own. So much had been determined for me.") The gilded cage comes up yet again. And it was plotting and backstabbing that made him lose a year of his life in the underwater prison.

My point is: Lucanis and Zevran are both assassins, because that's what they've always been, they were trained to be assassins since they were kids, they have a very pragmatic approach to death and killing, which they were most likely taught or perhaps were forced to develop, and they both take pride in how good they are at their job, and express no intention of ever stopping. And yet they both show that they have a good heart in various other ways, turn out to be friendly and incredibly loyal, and even very sweet as lovers. Because people can be complex, and so can be fictional characters. Yes, they're very different men, with different problems and personalities, yet also not that different.

You can't think that Lucanis is "too good" without also thinking that Zevran is "too good." You can't have this problem with Veilguard unless you also have it with Origins, is what I'm saying. And I think this may also apply to some of the other Crows we meet in Veilguard.

[trippinsorrows]

wicked games + one

authors note: here we go again. i have no excuse atp. none whatsoever. this is more a prologue than anything, because the following parts will show just we ended up here...

words: 4k

**gif belongs to @dejameflorecer

warnings: angst

Her laughter haunts him.

Once an anodyne for any and all of his bad days, now the source of his bad days.

That same laughter echoes through the hotel room, radiates from the phone in his hand as he watches one of the many videos she took.

“I want to remember these moments,” she once told him as explanation for why she seemingly couldn’t go one date or outing without snapping a photo or recording a video of them together.

The video in question that serves as his punishment is one she took when they were at his place. One of the times where he didn’t take her somewhere special or have elaborate plans. He just wanted to be around her and vice versa.

Roman sees himself sitting back on the sofa, remote in hand, probably trying to decide between the options of movies she gave him.

She then shifts the focus back onto her, and he’s immediately moved by how she’s wearing only one of his shirts, signifying she’d spent the night.

Roman’s chest tightens.

He hasn't had a good night’s rest in months, the absence of her, in all the ways, chasing and overwhelming his every waking moment.

“Ro!” She giggles, moving around again, now on her knees on the sofa as she holds onto him from the side. “Can you at least smile for me? You look like I’m torturing you.”

Present Roman watches past Roman cast an irritated glance to the camera followed by a significantly relaxed one to her. “You know I’m not a camera person like that, Sol.”

She rolls her eyes. So big and pretty. Innocent. “Whatever.” Her dismissal is followed by her kissing his cheek and smiling wryly. “I know how to get your attention.”

A misunderstanding on her part, because she always had his attention. 

Still does.

More movement followed by music playing in the background. 

G-A-N-G baby, let me B-A-N-G, baby

Let me fuck some'

G-A-N-G baby, let me B-A-N-G, baby

Let me fuck some'

He’d heard the song before, played at the gym and club a couple of times, but the song is not the focus. She is. Always. He watches her her climb onto his lap, that sneaky look on her face replaced with a new angle.

The angle of her holding the phone so it’s focused on her ass as she twerks on top of him, cheeks and hips moving perfectly in sync to the beat of the song. 

If that ass fat, better shake that shit (Baow, baow)

Put a hand up if you take dick (Tryna fuck some')

Keep shit P, I'll never be a trick

But the way she fuck, make me spend that shit (Let me fuck some')

A viewing at a different time would probably evoke a different, more physical, carnal reaction from him, but present Roman is too focused on the sound of her laughter when past Roman slaps her ass and tugs her against him.

She bites on her bottom lip, focusing the video back on them as he whispers something in her ear that makes her eyes go wide.

She gasps, smiling and blushing as she turns to him, “Roman!”

The video stops, and the emptiness returns. 

Roman locks his phone, gripping it. His eyes shut, the memories crashing into him like waves of suffocation and devastation. 

He’s not sure why he continues to do this to himself. To torture himself with constant reminders of what will always be his biggest regret in this life. 

The same reason he’s unsure why he’s even doing this.

He needs to leave her alone. He promised he would leave her alone.

But, that was before. 

Before he was informed. Before it was told to him. Not a sure thing. Just a rumor. But a rumor, nonetheless, that resulted in him hopping on the jet and flying to Mexico. A rumor he needs to know is either just that—a rumor—or a secret that’s bound to change everything.

For better or worse remains to be seen. 

It takes another ten minutes for him to exit the vehicle, ten minutes of going back and forth if he should just get back in his car and drive straight to the airport. It’s tempting, but not enough.

He needs to know.

And that’s what he keeps reminding himself of as he makes his way through the mall strip, partially confused due to the fact that it’s all in Spanish. He keeps in mind, however, the name of the shop and the pictures she showed him. Pictures that included promises of him to come see it in person, for her to give him a personal tour of all of her home, one day.

Promises and dreams that lie in the wastelands of what could but will never be.

Bypassing a couple, the woman wearing a bright green bikini top and shorts brings him back to a memory.

She runs over to him, giggling, holding onto her chest, the thin straps of her lime green bikini top failing to properly secure those beautiful breast of hers.

Sitting and straddling his lap, she takes the phone from him. "Let me see."

He watches her eyes survey the photos he snapped, his hand moving to her hips, holding her. "They alright?"

Her eyes flicker up to him. She nods with a small smile, kissing his cheek. "They're perfect."

Roman says nothing but thinks the same.

She is perfect.

Placing the phone down on the towel that he sits on, she moves her arms around his neck. "Guess what I've been thinking about?"

He makes a sound, hands massaging the meat of her hips. "No idea. Tell me."

She bites on her bottom lip, answering in a giddy tone. "Us."

Funny. He thinks the of the same thing. More often than not.

Roman lifts his hand to her chin, gaze softening. "What about us?"

Her eyes alight with elation. "When we're married and have a house full of kids running around."

Her answer surprises him. To some extent. Not entirely. She's brought up marriage before. Voiced her desire for them to one day be wed, but it's always marred by the dark secrets he continues to sit on.

Continues to withhold from her.

Solana nods, moving her hands up and down his broad shoulders. "I want to get married back home in Mexico, but I want us to live here in the states." She explains, sighing in awe. "I want us to have a house in the country though."

He chuckles quietly. "The country, huh?"

Her smile is warm and loving as she leans forward, holding him, burying herself against his safety. "I want to be away from everyone. Just you. Me. Our kids." Solana sighs as he moves his hands up her back and kisses the top of her head. "Us.....that's all we need."

Detaching from distant times, Roman does his best to push away those uncomfortable feelings and heartbreaking memories to stay focused on the task at hand, his dedication eventually bringing him to his destination.

Dulce's.

He stands outside the building, recognizing the outside, the beautiful flower arrangements that line the window. It's all so her.

And for a second, he considers turning around once more. Fears this place of purity and sanctuary will be polluted by him, polluted by the stench of betrayal that follows him wherever he goes.

But, the desire, the almost need to have his question answered is overpowering. Is enough to take him to that next stop.

And Roman walks into the store.

“Buenos días!”

Months.

It’s been months since he’s heard her voice in real time, having to make do with archival footage. But hearing it now, after so long, the happiness in it, it’s….difficult, to say the least. Roman swallows, studying the back of her head as she stands behind the counter, clearly working on a bouquet, the seconds stretching to minutes in terms of how long it takes her to turn around. But, when she does, he’s wishing she didn’t “Cómo puedo ayudarle—”

Solana is silent the minute her eyes land on him, the terror and shock in her pretty brown hues filling him with all the shame. 

She’s far from pleased at the sight of him.

Her mouth parts slightly, and he swears he can see her chest gradually moving up and down, indication of panic. “Roman?” It’s been months since he’s heard his name on her mouth in real time, and it nearly kills him how horrified she sounds saying it. “Wh—what—how—”

Roman didn’t think of what exactly he was going to say when he was standing in front of her, didn’t think he needed to. Now, he realizes that wasn’t the smartest decision. Her very strong reaction to seeing him shouldn't surprise him, shouldn’t bother him. After all, what he did to her…the way he hurt her….he’s surprised the door isn’t slammed in his face.

“I—” Struggling with verbalization has never been a thing for him until this moment. “I needed to see you. We—we need to talk.”

For better or worse, his words seem to trigger her out of her state of shock. Her brows furrow slightly, her hands tightly gripping the counter. “How did you find me?” 

“Solana—”

“How—” Her voice is harder, a new emotion rising: anger. “did you find me?”

He straightens, jaw fixed. “I’ve always known where you were.”

And, it shouldn't come as a surprise. It only made sense after everything he did to her, the pain he caused her, that she would return to her safe space. Be around her family.

That she would go home.

Her expression seems to indicate she recognizes this as well. Recognizes that it was maybe unwise to think Roman, of all people, would not know where she disappeared to. “Well, you’ve wasted your time, because I have nothing to say to you.” 

It’s then that she tries to turn away from him, but he takes a step closer, hating how she leans back against the counter. It’s almost physically painful to see and feel her disgust towards him. “You don’t want to talk to me, I get that.”

Solana’s eyes widen, her voice harsh and unforgiving. “I don’t even want to see you, let alone speak to you.” She shakes her head, reaching and pointing to the door behind him. “Now, I won’t tell you again, get out.”

Roman does his best to shove away the emotions that only seem to come up when he’s with and around her. “Solana, please just—”

“Don’t you get it!” She snaps, gesturing again to the door. “I don’t want anything to do with you, Roman! I don’t want to think about you, I don’t want to remember you.” Emotion imbues her voice and face. “I’d give anything to be able to wipe you and the past year from my memory.”

A slap. Verbal. Painful.

He straightens, reminding himself of his objective. Reminding himself that everything she’s throwing at him is deserved, no matter how much it kills him to know just how she feels about him.

About them. 

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need—”

“You don’t get to need anything from me!”

Another fair statement. Understandable. But, it doesn’t negate the fact that he needs to talk to her about this. He needs to know. 

And, it’s only then that Roman allows himself to take her in. Her face and breast both look fuller, a certain glow to her she’s always had but seems….brighter. He’s also just now noticing the way she keeps adjusting her dress. 

Specifically around the stomach area.

He….he doesn’t know what or if anything to make of that. 

Solana, however, seems to notice his gaze that’s focused on her stomach area and clears her throat, moving past the counter to walk away. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you to please lea—”

Roman knows being forceful isn’t the best move in this situation. However, he’s not even sure if there is a right thing to do, but what he does, whether right or wrong, manages to answer his question in the most unexpected way. 

His arm reaching across, serving as a barrier that prevents her from walking away. An effective barrier, but also a source of reveal. Because when Solana jumps back slightly, that movement causes the material of her dress to flatten against her stomach, revealing an unmistakable swell. 

A bump.

A baby bump.

There was already a million and one things going through his mind from the moment Jimmy mentioned to him that he overheard Bayley tell Naomi that Solana was pregnant. And normally, he wouldn’t think anything of it. Would try to come to peace with the fact that not only had Solana truly moved on, but she was starting a family with someone else. A quick turnaround time, but not anything he could judge. Not fairly, anyway.

But, this nagging, insistent voice in the back of the head wouldn’t leave him. Wouldn’t trickle away. Because he knows Solana.

Knows how major her letting him take her virginity was for her. Sacred. Special. 

He couldn’t envision a world where she could just fall in bed with someone else so soon and end up pregnant, at that. And, it’s all of that that led him to his suspicion that if Solana was in fact pregnant, it wasn’t by another man.

It was by him. 

An almost inconceivable thing he sat on for almost a week before feeling an almost requirement to fly down to Mexico and see for himself.

And seeing, he certainly is. 

“It’s true.” His voice is barely above a whisper, shock and a million other emotions swirling around his entire being. He doesn’t even really register the way her face turns red, undecipherable emotions coming over her. “You’re pregnant….”

Somehow, they both seem to snap back to a more logical state, Solana covering her body. “That’s none of your business.”

His eyes snap to hers, and for the first time since stepping foot into her shop, he’s hit with something else other than an insurmountable amount of regret.

He’s hit with anger.

“None of my business?” His voice is leveled and even. “You’re carrying my child, Solana. How the hell is that none of my business?”

“No, it’s my child,” she counters, voice just as firm as his as she reiterates, “my baby, who I will raise by myself. You don’t get to be in their life.”

Just like that, anger morphs into burning rage at her words. It’s one thing to keep him completely in the dark about the existence of his own child but to still think that she can keep him in the dark once the light is on is beyond him.

Roman knows he hurt her. Did her wrong. Broke her heart, and he’ll always live with the regret of that. But, their unborn child has nothing to do with what transpired between them, and it’s unfair to try to keep him away. 

And he responds as such, from that place of hurt.  “The hell I don’t. You’re crazy as hell if you think I’m gon’ let you keep me out of my child’s life.”

A poor choice of words, the wrong thing to say, clearly. 

“Roman….” Her name leaving his mouth is a thing of disbelief, like she’s incapable of comprehending just what she’s hearing. “In what world do you think you have any right to be involved in my child’s life?”

It’s the singular possessive word of ‘my’ that continues to grate his already paltry nerves. “Our child!”

“No!” She yells, jumping an octave and a level of vulnerability. “I won’t let you be in their life, Roman! I don’t care if I have to—if I have to move to do it. I’ll—I’ll go into hiding.”

Roman can’t deny the fear that creeps into him at her threat. Solana leaving and going home to Mexico is one thing, nothing really, because he knew where she was. But Solana disappearing and going off the radar, with their child, is something entirely different.

He won’t have that.

He can’t have that.

“I’ll find you,” a quiet, truthful vow. A promise. “I’ll always find you.”

She lifts her chin, reiterating, “then I’ll keep moving, keep running for as long as I have to to keep this baby away from you.” Her voice breaks, her jaw trembling, as she admits in a quiet voice, “I won’t let her hurt her the way you hurt me.”

His shoulder drop, anger melting away, incapable of remaining in the face of such hurt.

“Solana….”

He tries to step toward her only for her to jerk back, arms almost protectively wrapped around her stomach.

“Do you have any idea how empty I’ve felt?” A rhetorical question, he’s sure, but one that cuts him. Cuts him deep. “How I—how I cry myself to sleep most nights. How stupid I feel at believing you ever cared about me, ever loved me. How–how I try to not think about how this baby got here, the lies she was created from?"

“Solana, my love for you has never and will never be a lie.” And that has and will always be the God’s honest truth. “Baby, I love you.”

“Fuck you, Roman!” She yells, tears leaking down her face. “You don’t do what you did to me to people you claim to love! You don’t even know what love is! You’re not capable of it!”

He swallows. “Solana—”

“You are a heartless monster. You feel nothing for people. You use them for what you need, and then you throw them to the wayside like they’re trash. You broke me!” She looks away, covering her mouth to conceal the sob she’s doing her best to hold in. “You—you don’t deserve to be a father.”

Roman refuses to show her deep her words hit him, the pain she clearly still feels from how they ended, from what he did. He knows he deserves it, that he broke her heart, that he fucked with her head. But still, he never thought she’d be the type to hold their issues with each other against him when it came to a child.

Their child.

He swallows, doing his best to not allow the verbal daggers to consume him, because although deserved, it’s still a devastating, excruciatingly painful experience. One he wasn’t fully prepared for. 

Roman looks down, taking a breath, wanting, needing to be careful with what he says next. “Solana, I—”

“Hermana?”

A new voice introduced into the conversation. Male. Unfamiliar. Unwanted.

A scowl appears on Roman’s face as trepidation overtakes Solana.

“Wes….”

Roman’s scowl falters ever so slightly. Wes…..

He’s heard that name before. 

It takes a second or two for it to hit him. Wesley.

Solana’s brother.

Fuck.

She angles her body more toward him. “Wh—what are you—”

“Roman Reigns?” He’s clearly not listening to her, his suspecting, almost challenging gaze focused on Roman. “What the hell?”

Solana shakes her head, nervously twiddling with the material of her dress. “Wes, plea—”

“What the hell do you want with my sister?” Wesley’s angry question is directed toward an irritated Roman. He doesn’t have time for this shit. Wes takes a step closer. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

“Wesley, please,” Solana implores, her eyes pleading. “It’s not—”

“How do you even know her?” The questions are fair and ongoing but simultaneously increasing Roman’s irritation and Solana’s apprehension. “Why are you even here?”

“This doesn’t fucking concern you,” Roman snaps. To his credit, if it was anyone else, he’d have them unconscious. Or dead. But, this is Solana’s sibling, so he’s doing his best to remain calm. As calm as Roman Reigns is capable of being. 

“Anything concerning my little sister concerns me, motherfucker.” Roman has to smile, has to look away, jaw clenched and flexing. This son of a bitch truly doesn’t know who the fuck he’s dealing with.

Solana must detect as such, pleading with her brother once again, “Wesley, please, just—just give us a minute.”

Roman returns his gaze to the two of them, watching as Wes temporarily redirects his focus from the Head of the Table to the woman standing between them. 

“Solana, what’s going on?” A calmer delivery combined with a suspicious gaze. “How do you know him?”

Roman couldn’t give two shits about Solana’s brother right about now. Doesn’t care that even while carrying his child, she’s still keeping the truth about them, about their prior relationship, a secret. It was always something she preferred.

“I just want to enjoy us. Without all the opinions.”

A shared sentiment during nicer, happier, simpler times.

“I—” She’s clearly at a loss of words, unsure of how to handle said situation. “I—” But, a cardinal, betraying mistake is made the minute she, most likely unintentionally, tightens her grip around her belly. A protective, telling thing, because Roman is also very much aware of the second recognition dawns.

“No…..” Wes eyes widen from the disbelief that accompanies said recognition. “He’s the father, isn’t he?”

Solana sniffles, voice quiet, “I can explain, Wes—”

However, Wesley's attention is completely on the object of all his anger and rage.

Roman

“You son of a bitch!”

A verbal lashing accompanied by Wes charging for Roman who easily moves out the way. An active effort considering his first instinct is to lay this bastard out, because in what universe does he think he stands a chance one on one with Roman Reigns?

“Wesley, no!” Solana’s attempts to settle her brother are all in vain as he once again tries to swing at the Tribal Chief. “Stop!”

“She’s 24, you sick fuck!” And it’s up until this point Roman was doing a well enough job controlling himself, maintaining his composure, all things considered. But, it’s Wesley’s next accusation that all but snaps his self-control. “You fucking predator! You raped her!”

In that very moment, whatever hold Roman had on his temper is nonexistent. He’s blinded and consumed by anger, by rage, because Roman is a lot of things. But that has and never will be one of them.

Both hands formed into fists, Roman doesn’t try to dodge or even avoid Wesley as the shorter man once again attempts to come at him. He’s ready this time.

But so is Solana.

“No!” And just like that, she puts herself in between them, a hand on his chest and her brother’s. She says something in Spanish, rushed, pressured, aimed toward Wesley. And then she’s looking at Roman, eyes begging, switching back to English, “please leave.”

For a second, Roman considers it. Doesn’t want to cause her anymore stress—or pain—than he already has. But that fucking brother of hers twist the knife even more.

“You should be in jail, you rapist!”

“Stop calling him that, Wes!” Solana snaps, urgency and anger filling her voice. “He didn’t rape me! It was consensual!”

“You’re fucking 24, Solana! He’s almost 40! Nothing is consensual about that!” It’s not even the words and accusations as much as the fact that Wes is practically screaming at her that has Roman’s rage growing.

“Watch how you fucking speak to her,” Roman growls, mindful of Solana’s hand still on his chest. 

“Fuck you!” Wesley spats, hate in his eyes. “I should kill you for what you’ve done to her!"

“Wesley, please!”

“Shut up, Solana!” He screams, the volume and force of which make her jump, her eyes filled with shock. “Are you too stupid to even see—”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

“I swear to God, if you say one more fucking thing to me—”

“What the fuck you gon’ do, huh?” Roman snaps, completely unhinged, seeing and feeling nothing but red. “You ain’t gon’ do shit!”

It all happens fast, so fast, too fast. Because one minute Solana is doing her best to separate two men she loves in two very different ways, and the next, an unconscious, unintentional act occurs. Unfocused, distracted gaze on the other person followed by a set of arms that push and shove her away. 

Solana’s balance is lost from the force of the push, her body stumbling backwards, a set of eyes—horrified, shocked, repentant—filled with abject horror and her name being called with matching said emotion, the last thing she sees before a brief, intense, painful thud against her head against the corner of the counter and the consumption of the dark abyss.

[angelmichelangelo]

Any thoughts/opinions on TMNT 2007, either in comparison to other iterations or about the characters/relationships in general?

oh boy have i got some thoughts on TMNT 2007 !

straight off the bat i’d say it feels so set apart from all of the other ninja turtles movies we had/have at that point. they’re a little older (i can’t remember the canon ages but wasn’t it pretty much fanon for a long time that they were at least early 20s?) and starts their story off kinda at their end.

2007 was also supposedly a continuation of the 1990s movies. whether you want that to be solid canon or not (personally i don’t) but either way, they’re kind of in “retirement” stage of their lives with everything with shredder already happened and this is kind of just the aftermath of that.

the relationships in this movie !!!!! oh my GOD it’s just near to absolute perfection. i usually don’t always super love the classic raph/leo tension just because sometimes it feels a little overdone and can really take away the shine from other aspects of the movie, but i really do like how different it feels here.

raph is so obviously not coping with having so much of his family dynamics changed. and i think that’s why the whole aspect of the movie being set after all of their biggest most heroic adventures works well, because in a way, this movie just highlights how much their lifestyle has impacted them. imo raph struggles with having leo so far from home. he’s going through a little bit of separation anxiety, can’t regulate his emotions properly and lashes out bad.

leo obviously takes this all the wrong ways. he’s going through something too so he’s blind-sighted to the fact that raph isn’t intentionally trying to piss him off. they’re back butting heads maybe because it feels most familiar in a way that hasn’t been since leo left.

b-team in this movie is just. chefs kiss. so much to unpack here, too.

donnie who is finally being highlighted for how much he does for his family behind the scenes, normally quietly bumbling along, now here he is, trying to keep a sense of normality and feeling under appreciated!! which rightly so!! he kind of just gets this shit load of responsibility thrusted onto him when leo leaves and raph distances himself. he’s treading water in the deep end, barely afloat but rarely does he really lash out because he wants to do good, and keep peace (mostly for mikey’s sake, I would argue)

and mikey. oh mikey. easily one of my favourite interpretations of mikey in this movie. he’s kind of mellowing out and maturing in a way that i think hits leo with full force when he comes home from south america. all because he’s had to grow up and pick up the pieces left behind in the wake of their family kind of slowly crumbling apart.

they’re all hurting in this movie but mikey’s hurt is so painfully obvious and so masked when he’s putting up with a job he really hates, barely seeing much of either brother he has left because of their schedules and feels cooped up. he trips over himself with just pure glee when he sees that leo is finally home. he’s still that kid at heart, despite everything, that truly believes that his big brother can mend this. it’s a really bittersweet thing to think of him just hoping his life would fall back into place again after it being so out of sorts for so long.

TMNT 2007 isn’t a perfect movie by any means. whilst i adore the way the turtles have been written, is still falls into the trap of making don + mike background characters towards the last half, giving leo + raph the limelight once again, and sometimes leo does act a little out of sorts but i could just pin that down to him having some sort of PTSD, so it remains high in my ranks regardless.

it’s not perfect but it’s still really really good. the animation holds up pretty well. it paved the way for 2012 in regards to CGI turtles. the voice acting is something i don’t see hyped up enough. nolan north as raphael?!!! i feel like as a fandom we definitely sleep on that fact way too hard

the plot is original and fresh and it’s clear that this wasn’t just a cash grab, but a real love letter to the franchise and to the fans:) the people that made this cared for these characters and this world and it shows :)

the fight scenes are really fun and easy to follow. the leo raph rooftop scene is just incredibly done. whoever wrote that.. please always be involved in tmnt wherever you are.. honestly pure fire some of those lines

nobody feels like a caricature of themselves here, which often happens with tmnt when a new universe is introduced, just to establish their character roles. i really love the thought of them in the wake of the fight and after the dust settles and they’re trying to cope with their feelings and problems separately because they don’t know what else to do. they need a million hugs, please, i would love to see more of this that isn’t just the last ronin. show me the turtles in their 30s trying to adjust to their lives changing drastically as they’re getting older and recognising their trauma, finally. i would eat that up!

in anyone hasn’t seen TMNT 2007 (which, i’d assume most of my followers probably has) then i would absolutely recommend it !!

forever mourning the mikey centric sequel we were supposed to get before the studio shut down and forever sending wishes up that there’s someone out there with enough money and a dream to bring it to life in some way shape or form (i’ll take a comic. a mini series. anything lmao)

TMNT 2007 will always have a special place in my heart :)

[imhappierthanever]

Aftercare

Billie always took the best care of you. If you weren’t feeling well, if you needed rest and were stubborn about going to sleep, after sex. No matter what it was, she treated you amazingly.

This night wasn’t any different as she untangled her body from yours. But not before kissing your lips sweetly. She wrapped you up in the sheet before heading for the bathroom, her naked flawless figure being the last thing you saw before she shut the door behind her.

How badly you wanted to just be in there with her already but you knew to give her time. Time to set everything up for you just how she wanted. You smiled letting sweet thoughts of Billie take over you, thankfully helping to pass the time before she cracked the door opened, motioning you to her with her finger. You smiled unwrapping yourself from her little blanket burrito, letting your body glide over to her.

Billie’s arms instantly wrapped around your bare waste as yours wrapped around her neck. “Let me take care of you?” She asked sweetly, kissing your ear before leading you into the bathroom you both shared.

She dimmed the lights and lit some candles that smelled of vanilla. One of her favourites. A must have for you both. You let the smell carry you away into your own little world of Billie as you smiled noticing her song choice playing softly in the background. Billie brought you back to life as you both slid into the tub together. And at this moment, you were happy she loved smaller bathtubs better as you both pressed your bodies against the other. Your back on her front as you lie back in her arms.

The warm water felt amazing, but still not as amazing as she did. “You did so well for me darling. You deserve to feel so good always.” She whispered playing with your hair whilst she held you close to her body. You hummed softly, feeling so cared for and lost in the moment. Only Billie could take you some place beyond the moon and the stars, and send you soaring even higher somehow moments later. You were beyond cloud 9 and so in love.

She helped to clean you up, unintentionally teasing you in the process.”Sorry my love.” She said chuckling a little at your reaction to her hands touching your most intimate parts. All of which just for her.

Once the water ran cold, she helped you stand, immediately wrapping a towel around your body before reaching for hers. You headed back into your bedroom where Billie helped you pick out some of her clothes to sleep in, helping you dress as her fingers caressed you along the way. You did the same for her, letting her sleep in your clothes. She kissed your lips as a thankful before pulling you back into her body. “You were such a good girl for me. My good girl, always making mommy so proud.” She said running her finger across your lip before going back in for the kill.

“Im going to get you a little midnight snack, baby. Wait for me in bed?” She said. You nodded, eager for her to return to you already. And when she did, she pulled your body into hers once again, wrapping an arm around you, feeding you and helping you drink your water as you half watched whatever had been on tv.

Her fingers gently raked through your hair, soothing you until you fell asleep in her arms with her whispering sweet nothings and praises. “Mommy’s here sweet girl. Did so good for me.” You heard her say before your body surrendered to sleep.

a/n: I always try to include little Billie facts every time I write. Hope you catch them xx Also, idk what it is but the idea of Billie saying the last thing she’s said here… makes me lose my mind.

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 5: Let It Once Be Me

Summary: Lucius and Aurelia bond.

A/N: I am back! Thank you for following along. This is more of a filler chapter but our Empress and Emperor bond and we love to see it. I have like three WIPs and this one is ever so present in my brain....

Warnings: forced marriage, kissing, Geta being a dick, use of flashbacks

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

It had been nearly a month since the Senate had tested them both, since that night when Aurelia had stood before the assembly and defended their union with a strength she hadn’t known she had or wanted to have. In the days that followed, there had been more meetings, more formalities and more attempts to define what their relationship would be as Emperor and Empress of Rome. They’d learned to function together, to stand united in front of the Senate, but behind closed doors, the marriage still felt like a fragile, untested thing—something that existed more in the realm of duty than desire.

However, tonight was different. There was something in the air—a subtle shift that neither of them could explain. The palace was quiet now, the usual bustle of advisors and courtiers having faded into the background. Aurelia had dismissed most of the attendants earlier, craving solitude after a day full of speeches, meetings, and the ever-present undercurrent of political maneuvering.

She stood before a mirror in the grand dressing room, staring at her reflection with a mixture of weariness and determination. The weight of the imperial robes felt heavy on her shoulders and the gold laurel wreath she wore seemed more like a burden than a symbol of power. She reached up to remove it, her fingers trembling slightly, but before she could, the door to the room opened.

Lucius stepped in without knocking, as was his usual way—no pretense, no formality. His piercing blue eyes found her immediately, and for a moment, they just stood there in silence, neither of them saying anything. He was dressed in a simple tunic, the black fabric a sharp contrast to the golden robes he’d worn earlier in the day. His dark hair was tousled from the long day, and the way he stood—hands casually resting on his hips—made him seem like an Emperor but yet entirely human.

"Is this how it’s always going to be?" he asked, his voice low but with a certain wry edge. He nodded toward her reflection in the mirror. "The crown, the robe, the constant formality?"

Aurelia raised an eyebrow at his reflection, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "Do you expect something less formal from the Empress of Rome, Lucius?" she teased, not looking away from the mirror.

Lucius chuckled softly, crossing the room toward her. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping for a little... less grandeur. Something more..." His voice trailed off, and his gaze fell to the empty space between them, as if trying to find the right words.

"More what?" Aurelia asked, intrigued despite herself.

"More human," he said, his voice suddenly more serious than she expected. He stood beside her now, leaning casually against the stone wall, his blue eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "Less of the queen and more of the woman. Do you know what I mean?"

Her breath caught in her chest. There was something in his tone, something unguarded, that made her feel as though she wasn’t just a political pawn anymore. She wasn’t just the Empress or his wife—she was Aurelia.

And she hadn’t been just Aurelia for years. 

"I think I do," she said slowly, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crown on her head. She removed it and set it gently on the table beside her. The cool, heavy metal felt like a weight lifted from her brow. "But it’s not that simple, is it? This is Rome. We don’t get to drop the titles and just be. We are what the Empire makes us. Besides, the Aurelia I was before all of the Empire - I don’t think she exists anymore.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "I don’t know. I think Rome has always been about more than just titles. It’s about the people, too. The ones who actually live here. The ones who, every day, don’t get to play by the rules of power and court politics. They just... live."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat at his words. The rawness of it, the simplicity—it was unlike anything she had expected from Lucius. He’d always been so composed, so controlled, but in this moment, he seemed to be searching for something—perhaps for her, for something more than just the role they were both forced into.

"And what do you want, Lucius?" she asked, turning to face him fully, her voice quieter now. "What do you want when the titles, the robes, and the politics aren’t in the way?"

Lucius smiled, but it wasn’t the hard, calculated smile of an emperor—it was something softer. Something real. "I want to see who you really are, Aurelia. Not just the Empress, not just the woman Rome expects you to be. The real you. The woman behind all of this," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the palace, toward the Empire that had consumed them both.

Aurelia stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his directness. It was something she wasn’t used to—people looking at her, not just her role, not just her status. And for the first time, she realized how much she longed for that, too. To be seen for who she was. To be Aurelia, not just the pawn of Rome’s political machine.

"You’ve seen me already," she said, her voice quieter. 

Lucius laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. "Maybe. But I don’t think I’ve seen everything yet."

The playfulness in his tone made her heart flutter—something she hadn’t expected. She stepped closer to him, the space between them charged now, the air crackling with a strange, new energy. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else in the room—the Empire, the Senate, the crown—faded into the background.

"What do you want to see, then?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer, more intimate.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Maybe I just want to see the woman who isn’t afraid to laugh. The one who isn’t afraid to live a little, even if it’s only for a moment when we have time to set the Empire aside.”

Aurelia’s breath caught in her chest. There it was—the invitation, subtle but clear. She couldn’t help but smile, her lips curving upward. It wasn’t a smile of royalty, not a smile of duty—it was something real, something that was just her.

"You’re a bold man, Lucius Verus," she said, her voice a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something more uncertain. "Is that how you always speak to people? Or am I special?"

He grinned, his eyes flickering with something she hadn’t expected—a spark of mischief. "Only the ones who interest me."

Her smile widened and for a heartbeat, she felt something shift between them—something less about their roles, less about the duty they both carried, and more about the two of them as people. They were no longer just Emperor and Empress. It felt like she was a child again. Hopeful even. 

They were Aurelia and Lucius. For once they could just be themselves and not have to worry about the Empire. 

"Well," she said softly, moving just a bit closer, "I hope I do interest you."

Lucius’s expression softened and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The tension between them was palpable now, the shift undeniable. There was something magnetic about the way they stood there, so close, yet still unsure of how to bridge the gap completely.

"I think you do," he replied, his voice low. And then, with a small, teasing smile, he added, "I think I’d like to get to know you better, Aurelia. Much better."

The flirtation hung in the air, playful but laden with something more—a promise, perhaps, of something more to come. Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. She was no longer just a political partner, a piece of the Empire’s machinery. She was herself, and that, for the first time in a long while, felt like enough.

"Well, then," she said, her voice a bit breathless.

Lucius’s grin widened, a glimmer of something new—a hint of warmth, of genuine interest. "I look forward to it."

For the first time since she had become an Empress, Aurelia felt the weight of the Empire lift—if only for a moment—leaving only the two of them, standing there, on the edge of something neither of them could yet define.

Flashback ~ What Life Was Like

It had been a time of gilded isolation.

Aurelia sat in the grand, dimly lit hall of the imperial palace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the smooth edge of a marble table. The air was thick with the scent of incense, which mingled with the weight of oppressive silence. Her surroundings, vast and opulent, were meant to inspire awe in any visitor—gleaming columns, the soft glow of golden lamps, intricate mosaics that depicted Rome’s triumphs over its enemies. Yet, for Aurelia, the luxury felt suffocating.

Her gaze wandered to the floor, where a servant was arranging purple flower petals for the evening’s banquet. The sound of her soft footsteps was the only sound that filled the silence between them. Aurelia had long since ceased to care for these grand displays. Everything, it seemed, had become a performance—a pageantry she could neither partake in nor escape from.

Across the room, the throne of Emperor Geta stood empty. Though she had once believed that the seat of power would imbue her with the sense of importance she had dreamed of when she was young, she now found the empty throne to be a reminder of all the things she had lost.

Her marriage to Geta had never been a love match. Her family, desperate to secure their own position in Rome, had arranged the union, hoping it would elevate them. She, a highborn woman with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of politics, had come to the imperial court with grand aspirations of power—of leading alongside her husband. But Geta had always kept her at arm’s length, a distant ruler who seldom involved her in any decision of importance. He was a man ruled by suspicion, even cruelty, and his cold demeanor had always kept her at bay.

They had been married for nearly two years now. Two years of watching him rule with an iron fist, of feeling his icy indifference toward her. Despite her noble birth and her intelligence, despite her natural grace and the strength she possessed within, Geta had never truly seen her as his equal. She was Empress in name only. To him, she was little more than an ornament for the court—a figurehead.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, drawing Aurelia from her reverie. Her heart quickened, and she stood up, smoothing the layers of her dress, the fine fabric rustling around her. She turned to face the door, where the figure of Emperor Geta emerged.

He was a striking man, his dark eyes piercing, his expression always a mixture of arrogance and brooding dissatisfaction. His frame was imposing, his movements calculated. Yet, despite his external power, there was always a certain fragility to him—an insecurity that gnawed at the edges of his confidence. Aurelia could feel it, even if she did not acknowledge it aloud.

“Ah. My Empress… Are you ready for the banquet?” he asked, his voice cold, as though speaking to a subordinate.

Aurelia nodded, masking the frustration she felt deep inside. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady, though she couldn’t hide the weariness beneath it. She had long since stopped expecting warmth from him, but the emptiness of their interactions cut deeper with each passing day. It was almost as though her very presence was a burden to him.

“Good,” he said curtly, barely sparing her a glance before walking toward the gilded doors that led to the banquet hall. He did not wait for her to follow. He never did.

Aurelia stood still for a moment, letting the heaviness of the moment wash over her. The palace, the empire, her marriage—they all felt like a gilded cage. She was trapped by her title, by the expectations of her family, by the political machinations that surrounded her. She was not a partner in governance; she was a symbol—an accessory to his rule.

She followed him to the banquet, her every step measured, her heart hardened by years of silence. She entered the grand hall behind him, where the guests were already gathered—senators, generals, wealthy patricians, all partaking in the splendor of the empire’s wealth. There were laughing voices, clinking goblets of wine, and the warmth of firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. But for Aurelia, it felt like a performance. She was simply another figure among them, her status as Empress making her the center of attention, but never allowing her to truly belong.

Geta had taken his place at the head of the table, as always. He barely acknowledged her presence when she sat beside him, his gaze drifting past her as he spoke with a senator on his left. Aurelia stared down at her goblet, swirling the wine, her thoughts miles away. The lavish feast, the sweet fruits and delicate pastries, the elaborate platters of roasted meats—none of it brought her comfort. Her mind wandered to the emptiness of their marriage, to the distance between them that seemed only to grow as the days wore on.

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered to a young general across the room—Tiberius, a man of strength and courage whom Aurelia had met a few times at official events. There was a glimmer of warmth in his smile whenever their eyes met, a subtle acknowledgement of shared frustration with the court. Aurelia quickly turned away, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t that she found him attractive—no, it was something more dangerous than that. It was the quiet recognition in his gaze, the understanding that she was more than just a figurehead. He saw her.

But of course, she could never act on such a thing. Not while Geta ruled.

The evening dragged on. Aurelia’s interactions with the other guests were formal, polite, as always. She engaged in conversation with senators, her words clipped but measured. Her smile was reserved for the public, and though she knew how to play the part, every moment of it felt like a lie. She couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in her own life.

When the banquet finally ended, and the guests slowly trickled out of the hall, Aurelia was left alone with Geta once again. He had barely spoken to her throughout the evening, consumed by his own concerns and the ongoing political games he was playing with the senators and generals.

She stood by the door as he moved to leave, her heart aching for something—anything—that could make her feel truly seen. But Geta didn’t notice. He never did.

“Aurelia,” he said, his voice distant, almost as though he were speaking to a servant. “Make sure your chambers are prepared tonight. I will be there shortly.”

Her heart clenched in her chest at the dismissal. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, her throat tight. But she nodded, as she always did. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

As Geta exited the room, Aurelia stood there, feeling smaller with each passing second. The silence enveloped her once again, the weight of the palace pressing in on her. There was no love here. There never had been. Only duty. Only the cold, suffocating politics of Rome.

In that moment, she realized the truth that had been building in her for so long: she was not loved here, not truly. She was an asset, a tool in a political game. She had tried, for a time, to win her husband’s affection, to find some way to warm his cold heart. But the effort had always been in vain.

Aurelia’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep her composure. The realization stung, but it was a sting she had grown accustomed to. In time, she would learn to wear the crown without longing for the affection it had failed to provide.

She turned and left the hall, her steps echoing in the empty corridors as she walked toward her chambers. Alone. 

Always alone.

The night had settled over Rome like a blanket, the cool evening air filtering through the open windows of the Imperial chambers. The palace was quiet now, the bustle of the court and the weight of their first day as rulers fading into the background. Aurelia  sat by the hearth, the soft glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face, her thoughts far from the polished, orderly world of politics and power that they had navigated earlier in the day.

Lucius Verus had long since retired to the other side of the room, taking a seat at the long table where scrolls and reports had been hastily abandoned. His cloak was discarded across a nearby chair, and the golden laurel wreath that signified his imperial authority sat forgotten on the table next to him. The informalities of the day had peeled away his usual stoic demeanor, and for the first time since their wedding, Aurelia saw him not as an emperor, but as a man—vulnerable, perhaps, but also strangely familiar and perhaps, relatable.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than she meant to. He had removed the tight formal tunic, his muscular frame now encased only in a tunic of simple linen, his dark hair messy from a long day of work and council meetings. He was still the warrior—he couldn’t shed that part of himself, not even when it was just the two of them. There was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected. Something raw, human. It was a side of him that made her feel less like a prisoner in this marriage and more like a partner, though the line was still delicate given the circumstances.

He caught her gaze, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers across the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to break it, to make the next move, to give a sign that they were no longer just husband and wife in the eyes of the Empire, but something more.

Aurelia looked away first, but not before she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t about duty, politics, or the Empire. It was just… him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator turned emperor, a man who had spent years fighting for survival, now standing on the edge of something he had never intended to find. Something neither of them had bargained for.

She pulled her gaze back to the fire, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The taste of it still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the ceremonial banquet they’d shared earlier. The lavish meal, the formal toasts, the endless speeches. Yet none of it felt real—not compared to this moment. This quiet, unscripted moment in the stillness of their chambers.

Lucius stood then, moving toward her, his bare feet silent on the marble floor. He didn’t speak right away, but his presence was enough. Every step he took felt like an unspoken challenge, a question hanging between them. What were they, really? Were they just two people forced into a marriage for the sake of an empire, or was there something else starting to bloom between them? Something fragile, maybe, but real?

"Do you ever think about how this all happened?" Lucius’s voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant, as though he were treading into dangerous territory. He paused beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "About the roles we’ve been given? About what we’ve lost to get here?"

Aurelia’s chest tightened at his words, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire, watching the flames dance, but the weight of his question settled heavily in her chest. It had been only a few days since their wedding, but it already felt like years. What had they lost? What had she lost? Her husband Geta. Her autonomy. Her dreams.

"Every day," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a small flicker of bitterness lacing the words. "I think about it all the time. The life I had before I married Geta, the things I thought I could control. And now... this." She gestured vaguely, indicating the palace, the crown, the empire that bound them both. "I was never supposed to be here still.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her closely, his gaze piercing in a way that made her feel as if he could see every one of her secrets. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the armrest of the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but not touching her. Yet, in the space between them, something shifted.

"We’re both here, Aurelia," Lucius said, his voice lower now, more intimate. "You might not have chosen it, but neither did I. I didn’t ask for any of this. But here we are. Together."

The words felt strange coming from him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator who had survived the worst of Rome’s brutality, the man who had fought his way to power for the honor of Rome. For all his bravado, there was something different in the way he spoke now. Vulnerable, perhaps, or just honest. It was a side of him that Aurelia hadn’t expected, a side of him that made her question everything she had believed about him.

She turned toward him then, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met again, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the anger that had been simmering in her since the day they were wed. Instead, there was something softer in her heart—a quiet understanding, maybe even a flicker of trust.

And, just like that, the distance between them felt smaller.

"You’re right," she said softly, her voice a little unsteady. "Here we are." Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, a smile that held no pretense, no obligation—just the fragile reality of two people trying to make sense of the mess they’d found themselves in. 

Lucius didn’t respond with words. He reached out, slowly, as though waiting for her to pull away, but when she didn’t, his fingers brushed gently against hers. The contact was light at first, tentative, as if they were both testing the waters, uncertain of what it would mean.

But in that touch, something unspoken passed between them. Something raw. Something real.

Her heart began to race, and she found herself leaning toward him before she could stop herself. He did the same, as if drawn to her by an invisible thread that neither of them could explain.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

Lucius’s lips were warm, his kiss slow at first, like the soft brush of a breeze across the skin. But then, as if the world had fallen away, it deepened, a kiss that was no longer just the joining of two people by duty, but the merging of something else—something fragile and tender and unexpected. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not yet. It was the kiss of two people who had been bound together by circumstance but were beginning to feel the stirrings of something more.

Aurelia’s breath hitched as she kissed him back, her hand rising to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She had no idea how this had happened, how this strange intimacy had unfolded between them in the quiet of the night. But she knew one thing—whatever they had been before, whatever had brought them here, this moment was theirs.

While it was only the second time they had shared this closeness, Aurelia felt like it was the thousandth.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Lucius’s blue eyes were dark with something she couldn’t quite place, but she saw it now: the vulnerability, the softness beneath the warrior’s armor.

"You never answered my question," he murmured, his voice low, his breath still warm on her skin, his lips brushing against hers. 

Aurelia smiled faintly, her hand still resting against his chest. "Which question?"

Lucius laughs, a genuine laugh that filled Aurelia’s heart with actual joy. “I don’t remember. Forgot all about it to be honest.”

For the first time since they’d met, Aurelia felt something she hadn’t expected. Hope.

And, as their lips met once again, she realized that, perhaps, this unexpected marriage—this strange partnership—wasn’t as much a prison as she had once thought.

[larryisinlove]

I completely agree with this post by @apparentlybychance and what I write below is from my perspective. My understanding comes from the perspective of someone who studied marketing since 2019, is a community manager and currently works in a marketing agency. 

You are not compelled to take everything I say as the real and only way to look at it, this is my opinion and I respect others as well.

It's clear that Louis needs a new marketing team, as the current one doesn't seem to be doing its job properly or, worse, doesn't even seem to understand what they're doing. Their attempts to divert attention to topics such as his "fatherhood" or sexuality are way too obvious, while his music is poorly promoted. Many fans try to fill that gap by promoting his music organically, but it doesn't have much impact as we are not an enormous fandom and it's not our responsibility either. Moreover, the fan base shrinks with every failed "strategy", which generates disinterest, anger and abandonment of the fandom. This is also reflected in the organisation and promotion of their shows and music releases. 

The worrying thing is that this mismanagement is not new; it has been going on since the beginning of his solo career. Some justify this by saying that Louis prefers to be an underground/indie artist and be left alone with the usual fans, but that makes no sense, that's just a justification for the bad actions of his team. No artist seeks to stagnate or limit his growth. To advocate without questioning every decision of an artist's background doesn't mean being a "bad fan", and it is important to understand that questioning the strategy is not attacking the artist. 

It is frustrating to see that many fans believe that Louis doesn't really want to grow as an artist, which, again, makes no sense. The problem is the lack of planning and analysis on the part of his team, who act without foreseeing the long-term consequences. I don't understand this image they want to give him, because as a fan for years, this is not the Louis I grew up with. Maybe he's trying to distance himself from One Direction and avoid the mainstream stuff, which is admirable, but this kinda rude and distant image doesn't seem to align with his original (and real) essence. 

Those of us who work in marketing and communication have a different, more analytical and technical vision, which allows us to detect patterns and strategies (or the lack of them). This is not a justification to invalidate other opinions in any way, but to offer an informed perspective. With Louis, it is clear that there is no clear strategy. His team seems to improvise, as if every decision is made without a long-term plan, simply reacting in the moment.

The resurgence of the babygate stuff a few days ago is another example of this lack of planning. From the outset it seems to have been an idea launched without considering the consequences and, now that it has grown out of control, they don't know how to handle it or shut it down for good. This only creates more chaos as the years go by. The exposure of the child has been contradictory from the beginning: How can you justify wanting to protect his privacy when he was initially exposed so much by his whole family, from pregnancy onwards, and then included in the documentary "All of These Voices"? Nothing has any coherence if you analyse it at all.

As for the blocking on Twitter, it is hard to believe that Louis has blocked so many accounts without it being known beforehand. It's an absurd and ineffective tactic to manage the narrative of his public image. I agree with the post that "Louis and his team are no different. They like to use subtle tactics like blocking, following, unfollowing or general interactions on their social accounts (mainly X) to manage the narrative of their public image" as this is part of a strategy that has been carried over from One Direction, like when he tweeted "I am in fact straight" or "Larry is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard".

Or Another example we can name is this 2012 interaction with Rebecca Ferguson, where she expresses the overexploitation she was receiving and "Louis" replies "Success is impossible without proper hard work". That contradictory image does not fit with the Louis that many of us fans have known and followed for years. Why would an artist seek to lose fans and, therefore, limit his growth?

Over time, all this has made their actions feel fake and automated. As a fan, one ends up questioning and analysing every action from another perspective, as nothing seems genuine or truthful. His "Hope everyone is doing alright" tweets seem scripted and even programmed, lacking that closeness that used to exist. While we know that artists' social media accounts are controlled, the fan/artist connection remains crucial to maintaining public support and loyalty. When repetitive patterns and bad strategies accumulate, the authenticity of the artist is lost, turning him into a kind of "robot" with no control over his actions, which can end up damaging his image and damaging the relationship with his fans, often without him being fully aware of it. 

From a music marketing perspective, there are several key aspects that Louis' team seems to ignore. An effective marketing team should focus on  research and investigation of the audience, clearly identifying the artist's target audience, considering factors such as age, interests and content consumption platforms. The lack of consistent branding is evident, as Louis' public image doesn't appear to align with his musical and personal essence, leading to confusion.

A well-planned release strategy should include a pre-launch campaign with teasers, interviews and strategic collaborations, something that seems to be absent in most of his projects. In addition, multi-channel promotion is essential, using social media, interviews, streaming playlists and specialised press, without relying exclusively on fandom. A competent team should also focus on authentic storytelling, creating an emotional and genuine narrative to connect with the audience, rather than resorting to polemical tactics that distort his image.

Fan growth and retention is another key aspect. Good marketing seeks to expand the fan base while maintaining the interest of the current, as opposed to what appears to be happening. Finally, long-term planning is essential, with measurable goals and clear direction, rather than reactive and inconsistent decisions.

In conclusion, Louis' team is not managing his career professionally or effectively. Successful marketing requires planning, analysis and authenticity. His fans deserve a clear and respectful narrative, and he deserves a team that will really promote his music and his career. I hope that for LT3 we have a good promotion, that his team starts to get things right because I don't want his career to continue to suffer consequences from this, besides from his image to be ruined by the mismanagement of those working with him.

[glowettee]

hi there! i love your content and was wondering if you’ve made or plan to make a “how to romanticize chores”, or something about romanticizing your work, for those of us who are out of school / in the work force? TIA (: <3

ೀhow to romanticize work and choresೀ

hi angel! 🌸 thank you for being so sweet!! i absolutely adore the idea of romanticizing chores and work, especially for those of you who are no longer in school and navigating through the workforce. i think this concept can apply to everyone, no matter where they are in life. we all deserve to find beauty and joy in the little things we do every day.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about pretending everything is perfect, it’s about shifting your perspective and finding small, meaningful ways to make your daily tasks feel more special. it’s about creating moments of joy and treating yourself with love and care, even when you’re doing something as simple as folding laundry or answering emails.

first, let’s talk about mindset. one of the biggest lessons i’ve learned (and something i’m sure applies to work life too) is that your attitude matters so much. instead of thinking “ugh, i have to do this,” try reframing it to “i get to do this.” even the most mundane tasks can feel different when you approach them with gratitude. for example, when i’m cleaning my room, i remind myself that i’m creating a cozy, peaceful space for myself. if you’re working, think about how your efforts contribute to your goals, your growth, or even just your ability to support yourself and those you love. it’s not about forcing positivity!! it’s about finding meaning in the little things.

next, let’s make the environment dreamy. i truly believe that aesthetics have the power to transform how we feel about tasks. for chores, light a candle with your favorite scent or play a soft, romantic jazz playlist in the background. for work, create a workspace that feels like a sanctuary. add a vase of fresh flowers, a cute mug for your coffee, or even just organize your desk so it feels inviting. i know it sounds simple, but these little touches can make such a difference in how you feel while you’re working.

another tip is to romanticize the process, not just the outcome. instead of rushing through your tasks, try to slow down and be present. notice the way warm water feels on your hands while washing dishes, or the satisfying sound of typing on your keyboard. i know it might sound silly, but when you focus on the sensory details, even the simplest tasks can feel more meaningful. this is something i practice when i’m studying, i try to enjoy the process of learning, not just the results.

you can also turn chores or work into rituals. for example, if you’re doing laundry, make it a cozy moment by folding clothes while watching your favorite movie or sipping tea. if you’re answering emails, set a timer, put on a calming playlist, and reward yourself with a little treat when you’re done. rituals give structure to your day and make even the most ordinary tasks feel intentional and special.

one thing i’ve learned from my psychology studies is that humans thrive on small rewards. so, give yourself permission to celebrate the little wins. finished a big project at work? treat yourself to your favorite dessert. cleaned the house? take a bubble bath. these rewards don’t have to be extravagant, they just need to remind you that your efforts are worth celebrating.

lastly, remember to romanticize yourself in the process. dress up a little, even if you’re just working from home. wear comfy yet cute clothes while doing chores. play music that makes you feel like the main character of your life. the way you present yourself to the world (and to yourself) can have such a big impact on how you feel.

romanticizing your work or chores isn’t about ignoring the hard parts of life. it’s about finding beauty and joy where you can. it’s about making the most of your daily routines and treating yourself with the love and care you deserve. so, even if you’re scrubbing floors or working on spreadsheets, know that you’re doing amazing, and you deserve to feel good about it.

sending you all the love and dreamy vibes! ✨

xoxo, mindy

quick tips for romanticizing your daily tasks! 🤍

create a morning ritual that feels like self care

invest in pretty organizational tools

make a workspace playlist for different moods

use your favorite scented products while cleaning

treat yourself to cute office supplies

keep fresh flowers or plants nearby

write your to-do lists in a beautiful journal

take mindful breaks with your favorite drink

dress in a way that makes you feel confident

create evening routines that feel peaceful

use soft lighting instead of harsh overheads

organize your space in an aesthetic way

set tiny rewards for completing tasks

document your progress in a pretty way

make your lunch break feel special

use beautiful containers for storage

create seasonal touches in your workspace

keep inspirational quotes nearby

make cleaning feel like a reset ritual

celebrate small wins with little treats

turn mundane tasks into mindfulness moments

add personal touches to your workspace

keep comfort items close by

make your desk feel like a sanctuary

use timers to create focused work periods

quick tips for making chores feel magical! 🤍

- light a vanilla candle while doing dishes

- use pretty cleaning supplies in pastel colors

- create a special cleaning outfit that makes you feel cute

- make a "cleaning day" playlist with dreamy songs

- invest in aesthetic storage solutions

- turn laundry time into a cozy movie moment

- use sweet-scented cleaning products

- take aesthetic photos of your clean space

- reward yourself with a bubble bath after cleaning

- make your cleaning caddy look pinterest-worthy

- pretend you're in a soft, aesthetic montage

- use pretty baskets for organizing

- make your bed like it's a luxury hotel

🌸 love, mindy

[ant-nikki]

STOLITZ FANART FINALLY!!!

This is the last piece i did in 2024 so lots of love to these two <3

This technically takes place some time after apology tour obviously :) I got the idea before mastermind came out and pretty much finished the drawing before sinsmas came out... Then my black marker gave up on me and i had to wait some days to get another one of the same type...

You can see a bit of a splotchy different black thing in the background from me trying to use a different kind of marker i had at home :/ Luckily it's not that noticeable from the photo but it really bugs me irl

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

I think William and Kate are real people and real people go through stuff and not everything is sunshine and roses, so I do agree that going through a big thing like cancer may have changed their relationship in ways we won’t even know. However, there can a be a hundred different reasons for small interactions and we can’t know for sure what they’re feeling in that moment.

For example, my friend who is casual with her interest in the royals saw that video of William and the kids waiting fot Kate and just thought it was funny and cute and didn’t think much about it. But I guess for us, maybe we know better or maybe we’re just more prone to overanalyzing their actions? Idk.

Anyway, as I said there can be a hundred different reasons. William may have been aware of how her “hurrying Kate” was perceived the last time (during the Jordan wedding) and wanted to avoid something similar. However, I think he used to have more gentle ways of reminding Kate to hurry before, so there’s that. But maybe it’s possible Kate has told him she doesn’t like being hurried no matter how he does it and he’s simply following her wishes.

Also, this is Kate’s first time to talk to the public since Christmas 2023, so maybe William had that in mind and didn’t want to be seen hurrying Kate in any way because he understood the public would want to talk to Kate. Maybe he also knew a lot of people would want to talk to Kate about her diagnosis, and William isn’t really the type to open up to the public during walkabouts about big personal things like that. He keeps it light: anecdotes about the kids or their dogs, Aston Villa, dad jokes. He probably didn’t want to be cornered and ambushed about a question about Kate’s illness that would make him vulnerable. Or maybe Kate wanted space to talk to the public about by herself. I also did notice that he was constantly looking for her or trying to see where she was during the walkabout.

I also think we can’t always interpret the change as William being callous as if William is the only one wearing the pants in the relationship and everything relies on the change in his feelings. In my own personal opinion and imagination, I think Kate has become more vocal about her boundaries. And if something has changed in their dynamic, I think it’s Kate wanting more individuality in the relationship. But idk this is just a feeling. I know I’m doing a lot of projection and I can’t be sure about my interpretations.

Anyway, maybe it could even be something as mundane as William having stomachache and needing to go to the bathroom and that’s why he was in a hurry lol. As I’ve said, there could be a hundred different reasons.

To be honest, I'd completely forgotten about the Jordanian wedding.

I was thinking about this moment from one of the garden parties.

(This is one of my favorite photos of them. I love how happy Kate is. I love the firm hand William has on her, like he knows if he lets her go she'll wander away again. I love how ladylike her trailing hand is posed. I love the soft feminine pink of Kate's suit contrasted with the sharp black of William's suit. I love everyone in the background cheesing at them. I love how Mary Poppinseqsue it feels.)