#no we never photographed it as a child either

[rosewind2007]

Last night we walked down to the beach and looked at the unfamiliar stars and listened to the sea lap the sands, and tumbling in the surf I spotted little balls of green light! Little glowing bioluminescent bundles! I saw the sea glow as a child growing up in Cornwall, green shimmering trails behind my hand dangled over the side of the boat, magical then…and (staring out to sea at the faintly ghostly glow of the buoys) magical again now here 4,500 miles from my birth…

#sea glowing #bioluminescence #dinoflagellates #Cornwall #Jamaica #no I didn’t get a photo it was nighttime on the beach #no we never photographed it as a child either #it was unexpected then too #beautiful

[forteafy]

Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Carlos Sainz is a best friend. 

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband. 

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life. 

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore. 

When you did wake, the bed was empty. 

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes. 

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side. 

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you. 

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him? 

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself. 

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea. 

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic. 

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept. 

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs. 

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact. 

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.  

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him. 

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.” 

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now. 

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to  the moment he had said the Spaniards name. 

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you? 

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months. 

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman. 

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate. 

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you. 

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time. 

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?” 

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue. 

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?” 

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head. 

You were his wife, after all. 

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook. 

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies. 

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. 

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light. 

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase. 

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek. 

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first. 

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow. 

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock. 

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress. 

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence. 

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest. 

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago. 

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you. 

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life. 

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement. 

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes. 

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“ 

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend. 

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own. 

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon. 

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart. 

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring. 

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room. 

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way. 

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter. 

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers. 

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say. 

11:32: Carlos Sainz: 

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish. 

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that. 

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances. 

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always. 

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily. 

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day. 

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him. 

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much. 

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you. 

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes. 

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied. 

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest. 

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you. 

“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”  

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites. 

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

 Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser. 

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks. 

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable. 

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word. 

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit. 

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you. 

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone. 

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum. 

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all. 

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology. 

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head. 

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort. 

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel. 

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day. 

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil. 

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly. 

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist. 

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs. 

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows. 

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat. 

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead. 

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth. 

Carlos Sainz is a liar. 

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind. 

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that. 

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.” 

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction. 

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier. 

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases. 

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months. 

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from. 

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home. 

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other. 

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago. 

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon. 

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence. 

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible. 

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance. 

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.  

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival. 

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call. 

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark. 

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“ 

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you. 

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh. 

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom. 

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now. 

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind. 

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him. 

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez

#F1 #Formula 1 #F1 x Reader #Carlos Sainz #Charles Leclerc #CS55 #CL16 #Charles Leclerc x Reader #Carlos Sainz x Reader #Charles Leclerc Imagine #Carlos Sainz Imagine #Charles Leclerc One Shot #Carlos Sainz One Shot #Reader Insert #Reader x Charles #Reader x Carlos #Formula 1 Imagine #F1 Imagine #Ferrari #Mercedes #Aston Martin #Fanfiction #Carlos Sainz x You #Charles Leclerc x You #Charlos

[wolken-himmel]

In which Crewel and Grim interrogate (Y/n)'s boyfriend to make sure he won't hurt their child/henchhuman.

But why did it have to be Floyd?

Request by anon.

"Floyd Leech. Second-year. Octavinelle—"

Floyd let out an annoyed sigh. "Yeah, I know who I am, beakfish..." he grumbled under his breath, all the while glaring at Professor Crewel in a mixture of anger and disinterest.

Poor Floyd just wasn't feeling it: the lack of lighting inside the room, the ropes that bound him to a wooden chair, his annoying professor looming over him — and did I forget to mention the lamp trained right at him? He would rather be working overtime at the Mostro Lounge than be stuck in such a strange situation as this.

A disappointed sigh echoed through the room, and a new figure stepped out into the dim light. "Ugh, did you have to interrupt your own introduction? We were starting off so cool..." the newcomer muttered and waddled over to the professor's side.

At first, Floyd's head snapped around the room to find the source of that familiar voice, but he was only face with darkness. It was only when he lowered his gaze that he found the culprit — a cat monster.

At once, a squeal escaped the merman's lips, and his frown turned into a grin. "Oh! The baby seal is also here!" he exclaimed in excitement and even tried to clap his hands together, only to realise that he couldn't due to his hands being bound. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Uh... but why am I here? I still need to fulfill my daily hug quota..." He sighed wistfully.

Crewel raised an eyebrow. "Why you're here? Well..." he trailed off before he — out of nowhere — pulled out a sheet of paper and almost slammed it into Floyd's face. In a split second, his nose touched the photograph. Crewel's voice turned low into a threatening whisper. "Do you know who this is?"

Although a frustrated hiss escaped the eel's lips at first, he soon brightened up when he recognised the person in the photograph. Strange cackles of happiness escaped his lips, the absurdity of them causing Grim to hide behind Crewel's coat.

By then, a Cheshire cat grin adorned Floyd's lips. "(Y/n)! My little shrimpy. Of course I know who that is—" Floyd exhaled lovingly and closed his eyes in delight. "That's my significant other, my better half, the air to my lungs—" He would have continued if it weren't for Grim letting out a cough.

"Love. How disgusting," the cat monster mumbled and feigned to gag. That comment earned him a glare from the Octavinelle student.

Their staring contest didn't last long due to Crewel interrupting with a cough, and Grim was grateful, knowing he would have otherwise lost. The professor, shoving the protesting cat aside, stepped forward, right into the limelight. His shadow cast over Floyd in a threatening way, Crewel calmly explained, "Well, you're here exactly because of that." He paused and took a deep breath. "I will not sit idly by as you hurt my dear child."

Grim jumped up to catch Floyd's attention. "And I will not either because (Y/n) is my friend—" The cat froze and quickly corrected himself, "No, just henchhuman!"

With their eyes glaring down at him, Floyd let out a shocked gasp and let himself sink into his uncomfortable chair. "You think I could hurt my dear shrimpy?" Floyd cried out, causing the other two to raise their eyebrows in suspicion. "I could never hurt a fly!" Tears brimmed in the corner of the eel's eyes, and an offended frown decorated his face.

However, Crewel didn't look too impressed. "Say that to all the students that landed in the infirmary because of you— it's all documented in this file." To underline his point, he grabbed the file that Grim eagerly handed him and held it right in front of Floyd's face. "Do you wish to take a look at it, Mr. Leech?" Crewel mocked when a few documents sailed down onto the floor, the file having been close to combusting anyway.

Floyd's demeanour changed at once. "You can't prove anything!" he said coldly. "I want to speak to my lawyer."

Grim let out a chuckle. "You mean Azul?"

"Yeah, who else."

His request was immediately rejected by his professor raising his hand. "All these... violent incidents around campus, most of them having been traced back to you, give us reason to harbour concerns regarding your relationship with the Ramshackle's prefect..."

Floyd shook his head stubbornly. "Shrimpy is different, not like those other lost guppies on campus."

"Hey," Grim cried out angrily, "I just don't want to wake up one day and find my henchhuman snapped in half by the likes of you!" A look of desperation and concern on his face, he jumped onto Floyd and grabbed his loose collar with his paws. "Who else will provide me with tuna, eh?!" Without any mercy, the cat monster began shaking the poor second-year back and forth.

Unimpressed, Floyd began cackling. "Playing good cop, bad cop, aren't you? Oh, you're so funny..." His gaze lazily drifted from the cat to the professor. "Who knew a beakfish and a baby seal could be this hilarious..." the merman mocked and stuck his tongue out at them.

"Oi, take this more seriously, eel!" Grim cried out in frustration and slapped him across his face. Crewel was about to start scolding his accomplice for such an outburst, but was interrupted when Floyd began laughing.

A red paw-print remained on Floyd's cheek when he turned his head back to stare Grim right in the eyes, bored and still unimpressed. "I already told you that I wouldn't hurt my shrimpy. I see no reason why you would detain me any further," he simply said and let out a yawn.

Grim narrowed his eyes. "Well well... do you swear that on..." The cat hesitated for a moment, caught deep in thought about how to continue his sentence. Only after a while did his blue eyes light up in pride. A cocky grin appeared on Grim's face as he asked Floyd, "...do you swear that on your twin brother?"

"Sure thing."

Crewel let out a confused gasp. "Wait, really—?"

As Floyd was about to answer, the door to the darkened room the three of them found themselves in was swung open from the outside. The sudden flood of light revealed the crumbling wall paint and the ancient furniture in the room. No doubt, this was just another abandoned room in the Ramshackle mansion.

But what surprised the Octavinelle student even more was the figure that remained in the door frame — you, his shrimpy. At first, you didn't notice him and only absent-mindedly peeked inside, your gaze lingering on Grim and Crewel, who were panicking amongst each other.

"Hey guys, have you seen Floyd—" you asked rather calmly — but your tone shifted immediately when your eyes fell on the student you had just mentioned. A shrill gasp escaped your lips when you noticed the ropes that tied him to the chair. "What is going on here?" You were fuming, threatening to boil over at any given second.

Crewel and Grim shot each other a helpless look.

Floyd, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear. "Shrimpy!" he cried out to you. "These two kidnapped me! Help!"

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #y/n #reader insert #twst grim #twisted wonderland grim #twst divus crewel #twisted wonderland crewel #divus crewel #floyd leech #twst floyd leech #twisted wonderland floyd #gender neutral reader

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Timeless - Part 5: "We Really Were Timeless"

"I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray. We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made, and you'll say, 'Oh my, we really were timeless'..."

Summary: It's the kind of love you find once in a lifetime, the kind of love you don't put down, and somehow, you know you would've found each other in every life.

'Timeless' Chapter List | The Grumpy Sunshine Series

You smile down at the cardboard box that sits in your lap. You hold up a yellowing photograph, "Oh, I remember this! This was one of our very first assignments with the three of us. It was a complete disaster."

"Why? What happened?"

"Oh, what didn't happen!" you giggle. "We were after some bad guy - an arms dealer, I think. They almost got away. We had an entire building evacuated because we accidentally started a fire, which they still blame me for. We bickered the whole time." You look down at the photograph, at you, Bucky, and Sam, at the whole box filled with photos of the life you made. "And it was the most fun I ever had."

"I can't believe it," Sam awes from the other side of your porch. 

"It feels like yesterday," you agree. 

"No, I still can't believe that after all this time, you still won't admit that you started that fire."

"I didn't!" you insist. "We've been through this time and time again, Sam. I didn't start that fire."

"What about-"

The question is cut off by the slam of the screen door and a begrudging sigh, "You're supposed to be helping them with their project, not doing it for them, Mom."

You dismissively wave off your oldest child, Thomas, "I'm just telling stories."

Your oldest grandchild holds up a picture from decades ago. One of you and Nick Fury. Side by side, you wear a beaming grin that looks even more bright compared to his stoic frown and crossed arms. It was taken on the day you celebrated his birthday against his will. "Who's that?"

"He is the man that saved my life. We named your Uncle Nick after him."

"So how did you and grandpa meet?"

"Your Uncle Sam introduced us."

"That's right, you're all here because of me!" Sam boasts from the porch swing across the deck.

You chuckle and roll your eyes, "We all worked together. We would've met either way."

"That doesn't mean he would've talked to you if it weren't for me."

"Don't listen to him, kids. He's full of sh- He's full of it. I said it!" Bucky announces, refusing to put another dollar in the family swear jar.

"Nice save." You pat Bucky's leg with a soft chuckle. "It's true, though. He didn't like me very much when we first met."

He settles beside you with a gruff muttering, "That's not true."

"What?" Your oldest grandchild pouts, "Why didn't Grandpa like you?"

"I don't know." You shrug, turning to Bucky with a teasing grin. "James? Why didn't you like me when we first met?"

"Trick question, I always liked you."

"What'd you like about him?"

"It was those eyes," you reply. "The same beautiful blue eyes you have."

"What about these? Is that you?"

You smile, remembering that antique shop from a lifetime ago, "It was us in another life."

"Can I see that?" Bucky asks, jutting his chin toward the box in your lap. You slide the box over to him.

The years came and went. You knew that. But as you look around your porch, at the proof of a love that would last much, much longer than a lifetime, you're left wonderstruck.

The family you found. The family you built. The life you that never ceased to amaze you.

You look at Sam, the smile lines now permanently etched into his face. You look at Bucky, his dark hair now grayed with time. But those blue eyes, the same eyes you fell in love with on that very first day, those were still the same.  

Time broke down your bodies, but it never touched your soul. It was an age old classic. It was your age old classic. The story started long ago, at that very first hello. 

"Oh my..." It's not very often Bucky gets struck by overwhelming waves of emotion. He flips through the box to find much more than a lifetime's worth of memories. "We really were timeless."

--

The clanging of the grandfather clock startles you, tearing your eyes away from the photo. "Sorry, I think I got lost in thought there."

The shopkeeper chuckles at you, waving her hand at you, "It's no problem, dear."

You chuckle, "That's the second time that grandfather clock scares me."

The shopkeeper quirks her head at you, "What grandfather clock?"

"The -" You point in the direction of the clanging. Your brows furrow when you turn to see nothing but more stacks of books there. "Uh, never mind....Thank you for showing me around. You have a lovely store. I should be getting back now."

"It was my pleasure, I'm sure you and Bucky will have lifetimes worth of happiness."

"Thank you." You offer a smile in return. It takes you a moment to realize that you never told her Bucky's name. "Wait, how did you-"

But as you turn back around, she's gone. The store is as empty and silent as it was when you first walked in. 

Though there's a strangeness you can't ignore, there's a something else more important that you need to do. You walk out of the storefront, and immediately dial the only person on your mind. You know he probably won't answer, not with how chaotic his mission turned out, but still, you just need to hear his voice.

"Doll? Is everything okay?"

You sigh in relief, a lightness filling your chest and lungs. Tears unexpectedly spring to your eyes, overwhelmed by the stories of love and triumph. It felt so real. It felt like it was you and him. A love as timeless as they come. You shake your head, clearing the knot building in your throat, "Yeah, yeah, I just wanted to hear your voice."

He groans dramatically. You swear you can almost see the grimace he wears. "God, I miss you."

"I miss you, too," you softly exhale, wiping away the stray tear that slips down your cheek. "So, so much."

"I have something to tell you, by the way."

You finally perk up. "Yeah?"

"Turn around."

You softly gasp, whirling around to see him. His smile is brilliant. The faint orange of the setting sun only makes his eyes shine even brighter. He's here. Standing before you. You bound into him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"I missed you so much," you mutter into his shoulder. 

"Me too."

You're not sure how long you stand there holding onto each other in the middle of the cobblestone streets, but you do know you're going to be fine. You were going to be more than fine.

As long as you were his and he was yours, it would all be fine. 

You were going to be timeless. 

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist Bucky Barnes Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

#anonymityisfunwriter #anonymityisfun #anon's 1k celebration #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #reader insert #grumpy sunshine trope #grumpy sunshine #grumpy x sunshine #x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #inspired by taylor swift #timeless

[utahimeow]

oikawa’s kids find a photo album

the kids and their curious hands never fail to amaze you. this time, they managed to uncover a photo album from a box somewhere in the depths of your home. you stumble across them sat in a circle around it in the middle of the sitting room and cross your arms over your chest.

“where’d you go and get your noses stuck this time?”

“mama, is this you and daddy?” your seven year old asks. he’s the middle child—also the loudest, a stark contrast to your first son who’s two years older and hardly made a peep when he was a newborn. your youngest, your four-year-old darling girl, is somewhere in between the two.

as you approach your little clan, you find that he’s right. the photo he points at is one of you and oikawa on a high school trip in your third year, back when you two were still hiding feelings from one another. back when you were still fawning over the volleyball team’s captain and setter, one of the top players in your prefecture. a smile overtakes your face then, a nostalgic warmth setting into your bones.

“come on,” you say, picking up the album so you can take a seat on the couch. the boys earnestly take their spots on either side of you, and your little girl scrambles into your lap.

even you’d forgotten the contents of the album, having left it untouched for so many years. but as you sit there, sifting through the pages that held memories from fifteen years ago, you have to bite back tears in front of your children.

“there’s daddy with your uncle iwa,” you say, pointing to a picture where the two boys strike some dumb poses. it was the summer after you all graduated, and you had gone to the beach with a bunch of classmates to celebrate. next to that photo is one of you and oikawa, his jacket around your shoulders, his arm pulling you close.

“there’s me with daddy,” you say, voice oozing with fondness. “that was when we fell in love.”

it was the night he kissed you for the first time. it took him three years to do it—to this day you haven’t let him live it down. it was also the night he told you he was moving to south america to play volleyball for a living, and the night you cried until you couldn’t breathe.

he had made a promise to you that night— “this is just the start of everything, my love. not the end. i promise.”

…and here you are sitting with three of his kids. well, he certainly didn’t break his promise.

as you flip through the pages, you find photos of you in college, and oikawa with his teammates. photos from when you graduated and moved to argentina. photos of your parents as well as oikawa’s. photos of when oikawa proposed. photos from when you became pregnant.

“you know who’s in there?” you ask, tapping at your bump in the picture. taken in mexico, when you and oikawa decided to head there for a vacation. three heads shake, and your fingers tickle at your oldest’s side. “it’s you.”

“but how did he get out?!” your younger son screeches, and your eyes turn dramatically wide, your shoulders shrugging as you stare at him with an expression that mirrors his one of perplexity.

one of your favourite photos is of your husband after winning a match, holding his very first son who was just one, who’s wearing a tiny version of his jersey that you’d gotten custom made to surprise him. there’s a second photo of the three of you at the same match. at the time oikawa had no idea you were three months pregnant with his second child.

“you guys wanna see photos of younger daddy playing volleyball?” you gasp. your kids give a chorus of excited yeah!s in response, so you rise to your feet after plucking your daughter off your lap. “okay, be right back.”

what you thought would be a treasure hunt doesn’t last long enough to be called that. because sure enough, you find the album you’re after underneath you and your husband’s shared bed—a scrapbook filled solely with professionally developed photographs of oikawa throughout his career.

you’re not sure how you didn’t hear the front door, but when you return to the sitting room, your husband is home, getting climbed on and attacked with affection from his children.

“oh, hello,” you chime. dark brown eyes find you and in an instant they light up.

“hi, gorgeous,” he grins. when he stands, his daughter remains clinging to him, arms wrapped firmly around his neck. she doesn’t budge even as he plants a kiss to your lips in greeting.

“we were in the middle of looking at some old photo albums. care to join us? oh, wait, you’re probably hungry, aren’t you though? let me heat up—”

“baby,” oikawa chuckles, ever so charming when his arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you towards the couch with him. “dinner can wait. i can’t miss the chance to tell the kids what an annoying brat you used to be when we were young.”

your mouth falls open as you scoff in disbelief. “wait till they hear what a cocky son of a-”

“oi,” he cuts you off, but not without a cheeky grin.

you stick your tongue out at him, eventually taking your spot in the middle of the other oikawas.

your husband gives some kind of story for each photo in the album, one of the plays he recalls making, how close the match had been, how he had made the last point by pure luck.

“daddy, you’re like flying!” your daughter squeals, pointing at one of the pictures where oikawa was spiking—a rare occasion for a setter, and extremely impressive for that reason.

“i felt like i was,” oikawa says.

“i wanna be like you, daddy,” she declares.

oikawa had never pushed volleyball onto his kids, no matter how much he wanted to pass on his legacy. if they wanted to play volleyball, he wanted them to play it out of passion, not some random obligation, not out of pressure. and your daughter had always been the biggest daddy’s girl—she adored him, as much as he adored her. it’s why his chest swells at her words and the both of you know: a volleyball player had just been born.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa fanfic #oikawa x you #oikawa tooru imagine #oikawa tooru fanfic #oikawa tooru x you #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x you #꒰ lovers. ꒱ — oikawa

[lightlycareless]

Could you please spare some child au or high school au hc? Please I’m so hungry 😔 /hj

Hello dear anon!!

Well, I've decided to write a lil thing for the child au :> It's the au that I have most neglected, mainly because I don't get any inspiration for it 😭 (idk, just... nothing comes to me, you know?)

BUT I did manage to get this, mainly from my experiences... or maybe that was just me. Either way, I remember taking pictures of just about anything and posting them to my myspace (OOOF) soooo........ enjoy :>

warnings: none, fluff. plus a little something I wanted to explore at the end.

Happy reading!

“—A camera!” Naoya grins as he proudly shows off his newest acquisition, a gift from one of his grandparents; the latest digital model found in the market!

And perhaps something the adults might’ve wanted to wait a bit longer before getting, or at least put up some resistance against Naoya’s never-ending fits when it comes to impressing you…

“What do you think? Nice, right?”

You stare at it for a few seconds, before giving him a big, bright grin and a nod.

“Yes!”

Naoya’s heart flutters—his purpose accomplished.

“I knew you’d be able to recognize excele—exclen—excellency!” he boasts, whether he knew the meaning of that word meant or not, is a mystery for both.

“What are you going to do with it?” you curiously ask. You’ve never had a camera, even though you’ve long expressed your interest for it, (your parents were a bit more… sensible when it came to spoiling you.) Nonetheless, what Naoya’s got was also yours, much to their chagrin.

“Take pictures, of course!”

“But of what?” you pout, frowning.

There’s actually so many things he wishes to do with his new camera, things that he’s partially done already, from taking pictures of the new figures he’s got from his favorite anime to the drawings he’s been slowly working on to impress you…

However, he had a reputation to maintain, and such, he gives you the response he thinks will make him look the coolest, straight from Naoaki’s —his oldest brother— book.

“I don’t know, just, whatever I guess.” He shrugs, copying every mannerism, down to the tone, to impress you.

But to you, he only appeared absent-minded, as if he was foolishly failing to realize the great opportunities having a camera presented!

And thankfully, you’d come to his aid. Unknowingly creating a win-win situation for the two.

“Oh, I know! We can take pictures of us doing cool poses!” you grin. “Like the ones in my brother’s posters!! Or that anime you were watching the other day!!”

“That girl group?” Naoya twists his lips, not very… fond of your idea at first, until the frown on your face rectifies his response. “I mean—If that’s what you want…”

Of course, what he said wasn’t what he felt, for the moment you grabbed his hand with your soft one, tightly holding onto him as you led him towards your room, he was nothing but willing to do what you desired.

He’d silently observe you take out a few of the magazines you managed to sneak out of your brother’s room (Ren’s very aware of it, he just lets you keep them, happy to share his enjoyment for the Spice Girls.) and get ideas of what poses to replicate—down to the smallest details.

Naoya’s commitment had some limits, though.

“I don’t know if I want to do that one…” Naoya murmurs, slightly embarrassed, fearing what he’ll look like before you if he accepts…

“Why not? I even got the clothes!” you encouraged. Kind of. They’re your best attempt at something like that. It’s the thought that counts, though.

But in the end, you let Naoya not take part in the activity, solely because he got an even better job to do—that is, being your own personal photographer.

A camera is something that you’ve always been allured to, especially the instant ones where you can get the picture immediately after, so to hear that your best friend is getting one, and that he’s more than happy to share this adventure with you, is like a dream come true!

So, the two begin to take all kinds of pictures, with just about any pose you could think of, and landscapes to choose from; getting more and more ideas the longer this photoshoot went on.

Eventually, Naoya would also feel comfortable enough to take pictures with you; although truth to be told, he was hoping to get one either way, realizing that by doing this… he’ll have a piece of you to take come.

The thought of keeping your adorableness through pictures is enough to fill his heart with this growing sentiment he has yet to discover as love—or perhaps completely understand, achieving so until much older…

When he isn’t fretting about your increasingly worrisome choices, that is.

“Take a picture when I’m jumping down the edge!!” you’d say. “I’m going to do this cool pose like in Naruto, so be ready!!”

“Y/N, wait!” He cries, camera unprepared, while fearing for your wellbeing. “What if you get hurt?!”

“I’m a ninja! I can’t get hurt!”

The number of scares you’d put him through that day are ones that he’ll never forget, the mere thought of them enough to send shivers through his spine…

But even then, he didn’t complain much. Because he was nothing but happy see you smile and laugh, proof that his decision was the right one, yet again, just to show how well he’s gone to know you—already planning what to get when you eventually grow tired of the camera…

If he doesn’t destroy it first when his brothers eventually discover his embarrassing photos.

“Naoya, come here please!” You’d call from another room, a request that was immediately granted just a few seconds after when he crosses through the doors.

“What is it, my love?” Naoya asks, throughout the years, his determination to please you has never dwindled.

“Look what I found!”

“Oh, its—”

The same camera he got all those years ago, the first one he’s got. A relic of his childhood, in other words.

“The camera, that one! Remember?” you say. Rummaging through the moving boxes has been quite nostalgic as of lately, but you never expected to see something so… ancient, no offense meant. “Wow, can’t believe it’s here…”

“Me neither…” Naoya says, somewhat… nervous.

“Think it still has pictures from back then?”

Naoya immediately turns red.

“No!” he shrieks, making you raise an eyebrow. Did you forget, perhaps? “I mean—It’s old, who knows if the battery or memory are any good.”

“Let’s find out then!” you grin, quickly standing up to look for a compatible charger.

Naoya tries to stop you, kind of; he doesn’t really put that much of a fight whenever he sees you this enthusiastic, although he wishes he could’ve for once, considering how anxious he felt for the impending moment the camera turned on and revealed all those embarrassing pictures he innocently took back then.

To when you giggle graces his ears, amused by his antics…

But when the camera beeps on, he’s received with… well, nothing. Just silence as you diligently flick through the photos, each one received by your intense gaze that makes him wonder if perhaps the camera didn’t work anymore…

Until noticing the fluster in your cheeks, then did Naoya dare to ask what’s wrong.

“Y/N, is… everything ok?”

“Naoya… did you really… keep all these pictures?” you ask, slowly turning around to see him, revealing your burning face.

“I… did.” He silently admits, unsure where this is going, but convinced it wasn’t good. “I… well, you liked them, so I thought I’d keep them, in case you wanted to see them again, of course. I didn’t know you wanted me to… delete them.”

It’s funny to see that even when married, Naoya is just as anxious when it comes to openly expressing his feelings—he’s gotten better at it, of course, the two were now living in the same house together, hoping for a baby…

But maybe it’s the inner child in him, the one that never got to express his feelings back then, didn’t know how. Even though he wanted so, so much.

Which is coincidentally, the same reason that made your breath hitch to your throat, heart skipping a beat when realizing that Naoya, all this time, has…

“—You’ve always cared for me, haven’t you?”

Naoya blinks, caught off guard by the direction this conversation was heading; but even then, he nods, admitting what you confessed.

You knew that already; you wouldn’t have married him if that wasn’t the case.

It’s just that… to be reminded that Naoya always had your wellbeing in mind, probably since the moment he met you… melted your heart.

Truly, you had found your soulmate.

“Enough to even… take these silly pictures of me!” You add, it’s your turn to be embarrassed by all the goofy pictures you made him take; you knew you were nothing but a child back then, actions like these more than expected, but now that you were an adult… you can’t help but wince, covering your cheeks with your hands as you continue to fret. “Oh my god, Naoya—how did you even put up with me back then??! Seriously, look at this one!! It’s all coming to me now—I think I got hurt, didn’t I? Or at least that’s how it felt…”

“I guess I just liked you too much.” He says, a smile on his face.

“I guess you did.” You giggle. “Guess you must’ve had it real bad if you were willing to make silly faces with me! Though you looked far cuter than me, but then again, you were always good-looking.”

“What are you on, love? I don’t think either of us looked good.” he snickers, leaning down and looking at the camera. “Definitely not you on that photo.”

“Hey!” you gasp. “No need to go that low!”

“Or what?” he smirks. “Gonna make me take more pictures of you?”

You gasp. “I’ll take this as blackmail, then!” and then, you stand up, sprinting past the door and away from him, hoping to get a copy of these pictures onto the computer and let your evil scheming commence.

“Huh?! No you’re not!” Naoya says, running right behind you, eventually catching up to you and taking the camera away from your hands.

But you meant no harm, of course, not when the presence of them filled the two with nostalgia, fondly looking back to the moment the two were nothing but kids, yet, unknowingly fated to be with one another.

It’s always meant to be that way; to be happy together, whether in the past, the present, or the future.

One the two have yet to create, now as a family.

Which neither could wait for it to happen.

Naoya and YN growing to be together is the ultimate endgame. I will not discuss otherwise :) also, Naoya might be holding onto those pictures in hopes of showing them off to their future daughter, just to get back at her (Naomi is not thrilled, at all. It's probably the first time she thinks of her parents as weird)

Oh, I hope you enjoyed this little thing 🥺❤️ thank you so much for sending in this ask, the child au is 😭 the fluff I need amongst these times of angst haha.

Anyways, I will try my best to write the Naoya b-day one shot :> In between requests and updates.... you know... eheh.

Thank you so much for your patience, take care, and hope to see you soon ❤️❤️❤️

#ask #naoya zenin #naoya zen'in #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin x you #jjk naoya #naoya zen'in x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #prompt series: jujutsu kaisen

[teabreakpancakes]

im in love with the way you think @bobabees

A Baker's Struggles Bloody Queen, Photographer, Wu Chang, Geisha, Axe Boy, "Disciple", "Hermit", Naiad, and Feaster & GN Baker Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Wasted Delicacy

"Son of a biscuit" the baker mutters, hearing their heartbeat race, indicating that the hunter was nearby. Three ciphers had already been popped beforehand but the thing is, whilst going around the map and healing the injured survivors with your treats, the hunter found you by tracing the aroma of your goodies.

"Luca," they spoke, carding their fingers through the inventor's soft brown locks. Luca hums, head twitching as he nibbled on the cookie, occupied with the cipher machine. "Dear, the hunter is nearby, I suggest scurrying off to another cipher so they don't target you" they coaxed, gently pushing the brunette off the cipher machine.

The inventor blinks owlishly, nodding with a toothy smile, "Thanks, s, see you later" he waves, running off to the nearest cipher. They smile before continuing the unfinished cipher, waiting for the hunter to appear.

The hunter draws nearer and nearer, making their heartbeat pick up more and more. They nod, picking up their basket and vaulting the window, activating their speedboost.

Looking behind them, they spot the hunter a few meters away from them, already preparing their abilities.

They really didn't mean to make you spill your cookies, so when they accidentally smacked the basket out of your hands, they really didn't intend to do so. Your eyes remained stuck on the treats splayed across the ground.

The hunter approached the still survivor, surprised to see you walking near them with a downcast gaze. You point to their weapon, "End me already" they said, tone void of any emotion.

The hunter eyes you, unsure of what to do, sure, it is a free kill, but it's no fun if you won't even try.

Footsteps approach the two, stilling at the sight of the hunter. They watch with interest as they attempt to console the devastated survivor.

Why did they want to try consoling one of the various pain in the asses they had to deal with? they didn't know either, it just... came over them.

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘

"Now now, you're a baker, surely, you have more?" the queen chided in an almost questioning manner. The baker frowned at her words, "Those were all the cookies I baked" they replied solemnly, voice quiet.

Mary, unsure of what to say, instead chose to let out a quiet "ah", waiting for you to speak—she wouldn't want to make a fool out of herself trying to pry more from someone that would eventually speak up. The baker looked up at her, gaze never wavering, "I spent three hours on those, I made extra for everyone too" they spoke, frustration rolling off their tongue.

Mary didn't know how to respond, but, by instinct, she placed one of her cold hands on top of their head. "I don't think it would be too late to let everyone have a taste if we ended the match right now," she paused, a bit unsure of how she should continue.

"I'll... even try to help if you'd like" she whispered, patting their head gently as if they were her child—it could just be that she was missing her own children but it wouldn't be so bad if she indulged just a bit.

𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐒

"Are you really just going to remain in that position until I strike you because of some pastries?" the older man questioned, a bit annoyed because a survivor was throwing a tantrum over pastries. The baker sighed, mumbling something the former count wasn't able to decipher.

"Speak up, no one can hear you with how quiet you are" Joseph frowned, leaning down slightly in order to hear them a bit better. "I, I made a lot more than usual so everyone could have a taste even after the match—those were the last ones" they grumbled, frustration piercing through their upset exterior.

The photographer's mouth parts slightly, eyes softening. He had read the baker's background beforehand, he remembered that they valued the art of baking much more than other bakers, to them, pastries are things you should pour your heart into making.

"I apologise for being insensitive, I," he paused, wondering about how to proceed. After thinking for a few more seconds, a lightbulb lights up in the french man's head. "Would you like me to teach you a recipe my... brother and I used to love?" he offered, albeit a bit hesitantly. He watches your eyes light up at the idea, taken aback when you embrace him. "Yes, I would" you mouth into his waist coat, smiling when he returns the hug.

𝐗𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐈'𝐀𝐍 & 𝐅𝐀𝐍 𝐖𝐔𝐉𝐈𝐔

Bi'an lowered the umbrella, looking down at the survivor with concerned eyes. Wujiu was displeased, Why are they so upset over pastries? he complained, sighing in irritation.

The white guard kneels before them, umbrella tucked under his arm. He takes their hand in his, rubbing it reassuringly. His smile is small but apologetic, amethyst eyes uncertain yet firm with resolve.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his soft baritone sounding comforting to your ears. You sniffle slightly, shaking your head—looking into his enchanting orbs. He slowly moves to cup the side of your face, finding the feeling of your warmth against his cold hand pleasant.

Fan sighs from within the umbrella, feeling a bit guilty. It must've taken you a while to make those treats and now all that effort has been wasted. Perhaps, he could step out of the umbrella, he could help you with baking and Bi'an isn't all that lacking in that aspect either so he could also help. It felt oddly troublesome and yet, it felt welcome.

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐎

Worry paints over her delicate features, she lowers her fan, slipping it into her obi. She rubs their shoulder, "I apologise for the cookies, do you have any more?" she asks, staring down at the survivor.

You swallow, shaking your head. "Those were all of them, I, I made extra for everyone but now it's all gone" you whispered, disappointment rolling off you in waves.

She smiles softly, you reminded her of the people she used to care for back when she was still alive. Michiko pulls out a small Wagashi, presenting it before the small survivor.

"If you'd like, I can help you in making more, I know quite a bit about making pastries" she offered, smiling at them genuinely. She watches their expression light up, a grateful smile gracing her. "Thank you, I would like that" they spoke, taking the Daifuku from her hand.

Gluttonous Hunters

The hunters don't need food, but that doesn't mean they don't wish to partake.

The baker huffed, leaning against the rocket chair. They shift uncomfortably, trying their best to not drop the basket in their lap. The hunter eyes the basket with interest, the pleasant aroma drawing them towards it.

They snatch the basket from your lap, obtaining a random treat and taking a bite out of the delicious dessert without paying any mind to you.

They always heard the survivors talk about how your treats were the best they've tasted, they've always wanted to judge whether or not that was true or not.

𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐙

The inventor eyed the basket with interest; whilst he was still alive, Herman would often get him to try out new dishes, recipes and treats of all sorts—but he had to admit, the aroma of your pastries stood out amongst all of the pastries he's had beforehand.

Alva leans on the wall behind him, admiring the craftsmanship of the basket. The chaired survivor eyes the tall hunter, eyes trained on his every move. Their eyes widen when he makes a move to retrieve one of their goods from the basket.

The baker frowns, "Hey! I only made enough for the survivors!" they hollered out, visibly annoyed. Alva glanced at them, cocking his head—"Will you make some for me after the match if I only eat one?" he asked, eyes holding a particular look in them that made it hard to say no.

The baker blinked repeatedly, shocked to hear the hunter being so polite during a match. They huff, nodding, "Alright, I will, b, but, don't eat those okay?" they request with a pleading look, knowing only two pastries are left. Alva smiles slightly, placing the basket in their lap gently.

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄

Grace traced the patterns of the basket, smiling gently. The baker stared up at her, wide-eyed, in awe of the pretty woman. "Y, You can taste them if you want" they say, bashfully looking away.

The hunter eyes the survivor, she knows you're different from all the other humans but she just can't bring herself to warm up to anyone so easily.

She nods hesitantly, taking a pastry in between her two fingers before chipping off a small piece with her teeth. Her eyes widen, palate screaming with joy at the taste.

She peers down at the survivor, tapping their shoulder gently. Smiling at them softly, she ruffles their hair, hoping that it would deliver her gratitude.

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

The boy's mouth waters at the aroma of the pastries, hugging the basket to his chest. His head shifts up, hesitantly meeting the baker's gaze. "C, Can I have some?" the kid asks, as polite as he can be.

The baker opens their mouth, contemplating. Do I give in to the kid and spare the survivors none or... they consider, already reaching a decision. "You can eat them all, but leave one okay?" they beam.

Robbie embraces them for a bit before opening the basket and snacking on the treats. The boy practically vibrates with joy, enjoying the taste of each wonderful treat.

"Do you like them?" the baker prods, staring fondly at the sight of the hunter being a kid. The hunters all seemed human in one way or another, the baker thought, smiling. The boy nodded fervently, hand still stuck under the accessory covering his head.

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐊𝐎

Onyx eyes widen slightly upon hearing a soft thud from behind her. Turning around, she eyes the basket on the ground. The survivor looked visibly flustered, in an awkward position that made it look like they were attempting to retrieve the basket.

The Geisha only smiled graciously, gently picking it up. She dusted off the basket before presenting it in a manner only a seasoned hostess would know how to. She placed it on their lap, gazing at them curiously when they nudge it towards her.

"Are you offering me one?" she voiced out euphoniously, lowering herself until she was face-to-face with them. You nod, "I, If you don't mind, you can have some, I made a bit more than usual" you replied, smiling at the hunter.

She smiled gratefully, gently opening the basket before taking a cookie into one of her hands. She flicks her hand fan open before taking a bite of the cookie. Her obsidian eyes seem to sparkle with each bite. Finishing the cookie, she bows to the survivor, thanking them.

𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑

His tentacles manhandle the basket, forcing out angry yells of disapproval from the survivor. He pays you no mind, examining the beautifully crafted basket.

He lifts up one of the hatches, greeted by the soft and warm aroma of their pastries. The eldritch god takes one of the cupcakes into his hand, while the baker watches in horror as a rift rips through his "face" forming a mouth.

He seems to be pleased by the taste—judging by the fact that he literally threw the basket's contents down that very same rift. Hastur emits a sound resembling a cat's purring, and slowly, the rift slowly shuts, reassuring you that you wouldn't in fact be one of the things on the menu.

He slithers close to you, placing the basket back onto your lap. "I would like for you to make more for me after the match" he requests, oddly docile as he trails his odd tentacle up your neck, purring even more when you nodded. It felt weird to have the hunter rub your body, it felt as if he was treating you as his pet.

#lawless.writes #idv.writing #gn reader #idv x reader #idv x gn reader #idv mary x reader #idv joseph x reader #idv wu chang x reader #idv the ripper x reader #idv naiad x reader #idv hastur x reader #idv yidhra x reader #idv robbie white #idv geisha x reader #idv alva lorenz x reader #idv alva x reader #idv xie bian #idv fan wujiu #idv photographer x reader #idv scenarios

[booktomoviebrawl]

We are not judging how bad the movie is, we are judging which adapted the book the worst. There are good movies that are bad adaptions.

Propaganda below the cut (spoilers may apply)

Persuasion:

They massacred my girl!! That is not Anne Elliot!! The whole point is that she's beaten down and thinks she's missed her chance at happiness and is bullied by her family, not making mean and snarky nods to the camera :( They completely missed the whole point of the dynamic and it's SICKENING! They also cut Mrs Smith who is arguably one of the most important characters as she highlights Anne's lack of focus on title and rank and her family's comparative obsession with it + it's only through her that Anne learns about Mr Elliot's true nasty nature. Also they cut the 'I am half agony, half hope' line from Wentworth's letter at the end so what's even the POINT of adapting it if you don't have that!! Oh my god!! My poor favourite Austen novel :( (I do want to make it very very clear that my issues with the movie come from the writing and adaptation and not in any way from the race blind casting. The casting is superb and I'm genuinely so disappointed that they got such a bad adaptation bc so many of the cast are literally perfect)

Where do I even start? They tried to 'modernize' both the protagonist and the love story and managed to take out everything that made it good in the first place. Anne Elliot in the novel is quiet and good and helpful, full of regret. In the movie, she constantly turns to the audience to mock everyone around her, feeling so much better than everyone, to the point where nobody understands why Captain Wentworth would still be in love with her, or have fallen in love with her in the first place. Eight years before the plot starts, she broker her engagement to him because she was persuaded by a family friend that it was a bad idea. No way would movie!Anne have let herself be persuaded. They just tried to do a Fleabag/Emma type of thing without understanding what made either the novel or those two things work and thereby ruined it completely

Whoever made this didn't understand the point of the novel at all. They completely screwed up the character of Anne Elliot (the protagonist), which in turn screws the rest of the movie, as the original story only works because Anne is the way she is. Also, it's a period piece but the characters are talking in modern slang the entire time. And not in a clever way but in a very cringey one. If Jane Austen knew, she'd probably turn in her grave, and rightfully so.

Maximum Ride:

The storyline makes absolutely no sense, and the movie is nothing like the book. You could've given the movie an entirely different name and and keep the plot I wouldn't bat an eye

the movie's just bad mate

Horrendous low budget netflix movie with effects so bad they make me feel physically ill and acting so wooden the cast is in danger of being attacked by lumberjacks. The story already wasn't the best and the film somehow made it worst. I came in with nostalgia for my dear kids with bird wings and left never to be the same again.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children:

While Miss Peregrine was one of my favorite books as a kid and incredibly unique in the way the story is written (The author basically took a box of weird antique photographs and created an underlying story behind a handful of them) the movie is incredibly boring. Like seriously I can't remember a single goddamn thing about the movie besides my extreme disappointment with it after leaving the theatres. It's probably because the original is a trilogy but they didn't want to make it a trilogy for the movie so they just scrapped the ending of the first book and rewrote a shitty climax where they threw snowballs at the nightmare child eating creatures or something. I remember THAT scene perfectly because it was so, so dumb. It was so stupid oh my God- ALSO, thank God I have a copy of the book from before the film came out because new copies don't have one of the photographs that the actual book uses as a base anymore and instead have the shitty movie poster! We truly do live in a society.

Changed way too much so it doesn't feel like the same thing. The main characters are these kids with different abilities (called peculiarities) and the movie switches around their powers and changes almost everyone's age. Emma and Olive switch powers so that Emma now floats (they also added that she can kind of control air to some extent) when she's supposed to have fire powers to match her fiery personality. Olive can make fire now and she's also aged up from an eight year old to a teenager and put her in this weird romance with Enoch. Enoch is also aged up from a grumpy thirteen year old to around the same age as Olive. Bronwyn, one of the older kids in the book and sort of a motherly figure to the younger kids, is now one of the youngest kids. Hugh and Fiona are aged down and basically have no interaction at all in the movie, even when their book counterparts had such a good relationship. The only one they didn't really change was Horace and Jacob. They also added these gorgon twins that do like two things. The antagonist in the movie is Mr. Barron who honestly isn't super memorable and isn't in the books whatsoever. The ending of the movie is weird too because they manage to turn back time somehow so Jacob's grandfather isn't dead and then he hops through loops so he can be with Emma and the other peculiars. I guess the problem of wights and hollowgasts is magically eliminated and we do not have to deal with the consequences. It took six books to fix everything. I appreciate that the movie engaged me enough to read the series but once I did, I could not believe they did my kids that dirty.

Yikes where to start. The 3 girl characters are all mixed up. There are 2 teens, one who's super strong and has a brother (I'll get back to him) and one who controls fire and is the love interest named Emma. The third girl is a child called Olive who floats. She's lighter than air.

In the movie, strong girl is the child, olive is now the fire girl and is for some reason super introverted, and Emma the love interest floats and gets given a super breath??? Power?? Like she rises a sunken ship by blowing in and keeps a man blown against a wall by blowing air at him. He makes a remark that she'll run out of breath eventually, which happens here because plot convenience, but not when she's blowing in the sunken ship.

The enemies in the book are terrifying Hollows. Creatures who have lost themselves and devour souls of those with powers... The movie decides they eat eyes now. And turn human again. And get busted up in a fair for the final act of the movie. Ugh.

The movie also decides randomly that time travelling through the loops is a thing; a loop being a pocket of time that replays the same day over and over. But apparently this means Main Character can travel back in time and stop his grandfather dying??? What?? His grandfathers death is the whole start of the movie and motivation for the character.

The movie undermines many of things that made the book amazing and even decides it's not a trilogy anymore!! Fuck the other 2 books, right?!

Tldr; it is terribly hollywood-ised and t tim Burton ruined a franchise by trying too hard to make it quirky and fun when the books already had a brilliant sombre and interesting tone to them.

#tournament poll #persuasion 2022 #persuasion #maximum ride #miss peregrines home for peculiar children

[rlbbackup]

About the Forger Family Potrait

I have a rather sad headcanon about this.

In the original family photograph, the one that was taken in Episode 3 though in the Manga there is no specific date for this photograph as it usually includes Bond, there is something very specific about Loid's placement in the photo that just...always bothered me.

He is strategically positioned behind Anya and is standing. This oddity is that it makes everyone else much smaller than him in the photograph.

(To note: I am not a photographer. I have many family photos, including ones taken of relatives in the late sixties and this positioning was never seen by me). From my own experience and from samples of professional photographs I've seen, photographers try very hard to get everyone on the same level for these types of pictures. Usually, the tallest party (typically the husband/father) would be sitting, sometimes with the child in his lap and the shorter party/wife would be standing behind him with either her arms loosely draped over him or with her hands on his shoulders. It's a more intimate picture.

But the Forgers (probably Twilight's request) get this somewhat odd picture where they are mostly detached from each other and with Loid almost purposely just out of frame. Of course, we know that this is to show how distant and uncomfortable they are with each other. That they are thrown together misfit family with loose bonds at best.

But what is the in-universe reason? I think Twilight picked this style so that His face could easily be cut out of the picture once operation Strix finished or if he was burned (spy term for cover blown irreparably). To remove undeniable evidence of his appearance. With is terribly sad.

#Spy x family #Spy x family Meta #Sxf meta #Loid Forger #Agent Twilight #Yor Briar #Yor Forger #Anya Forger #Bond Forger #Family photograph

[britt-kageryuu]

The audience of the stream is watching Leo move about the set checking a laptop, tablet, and his phone all sitting on a desk with a blue gaming chair. He was also swapping his models outfit, not sure which would fit with whatever he was about to talk about.

He finally chose a full Lou Jitsu jumpsuit, with gloves, platform shoes, and shield glasses worn over his usual mask. He plopped back into the chair and poses with his one of his ligs crossed over the other, and leaning onto his left hand.

"Sorry 'bout starting the stream while I wasn't ready. I found some amazing news, and wanted to track down as much actual facts, to make sure I had everything correct." He leans over to the laptop to set something up. Once he was satisfied he turns back to facing the camera.

"So, it's fairly obvious we're big Lou Jitsu fans here, so imagine our surprise to hear about someone attempting to claim his supposed left behind fortune. Because people for some reason think he's dead, and not just trying to live peacefully somewhere." Leo clicks on something, and a news article pops up.

"Woman claims to be Lou Jitsus 'long lost' Daughter/Granddaughter."

"Either the Lady couldn't keep her story straight, or whoever wrote this kept getting conflicting evidence. Part of why I wasn't quite ready. Had to check is with my journalist sis to see if she could help get things straight." He clicks over to something else and a different article takes the place of the previous one.

"Woman attempts to steal fortune of Lou Jitsu with faulty Scam. Surprised by the results!"

"So to set the scene better, this lady shows up out of nowhere, claiming she's, let's see by age... Daughter! Of Lou Jitsu. I don't know how she planned to have this work with modern DNA matching and everything, but she apparently refused to do a DNA test to prove this. If this was literally 30 years earlier she wouldn't have to worry, but I guess she didn't bank on people asking so many questions." He gets rid of the article, and brings up a badly edited birth certificate. "Seems she believed she could just wave around a doctored Birth Certificate, and some flimsy 'photographic evidence' that looked like they were put together in a bootleg photoshop program."

A couple of pictures appear on screen, they were obviously edited pictures of Lou Jitsu "holding" a baby, or child. Then a couple with a little girl that looked very off, the lighting didn't match between the girl, and Lou.

"Yeah, this didn't fly with the people at the banks, or whichever government offices, she had attempted go to, especially since there was a different thing blocking her from succeeding in this sham of a scam." Leo looks proud of himself for that slight word play. Something is thrown at him from off screen, and he glares at whoever threw it before continuing.

"You see, Lou Jitsu had set up an interesting set of security questions and or tests for getting access his bank accounts. He did include a DNA matching test as a last ditch security, but it never got that far. No she got caught at a slightly obscure set of security questions that required you to answer a random on set inside joke from one of Lou Jitsus first movies!" Leo laughs and spins in his chair a couple times. He stops and brings up a new document.

"Okay, so this is a copy of the security tests list we got ahold of, as you can see," He points at a spot near the top that's highlighted, "Lady didn't get very far into the security tests. Yeah there are alot of them, he apparently set this up not long before completely disappearing from the limelight. Though why there's so many tests is anyone's guess! Maybe it's just to annoy whoever attempts to fake their way into his accounts?"

Leo thinks it over a bit before muting the mic and shouting off to the side, then waiting for an answer, where he nods his head, and talks to whoever's off screen, with a couple of odd gestures and head tilts. After a couple minutes he unmutes the mic.

"So, just asked Dee a couple questions, and while we can only speculate why Lou make such a complicated set of tests, what we do know is that the tests were actually updated a few years back. So Lou is still out there, and he knows the Lady made this attempt. And has filed a lawsuit against her! That will be an interesting day in court!!" He quickly stands up and throws his arms up in the air with jazz hands.

After sitting back down he swaps out the documents still on screen with a couple of pictures of the Lady's headshots from getting arrested for attempted fraud, and scam. Her name is blurred out.

"This is the Lady, we don't want to give out her name since she either has a very unfortunate name, or she would only give them a very crude name instead of her actual name. Plus some places can't legally tell the names of people who were arrested, so let's go with that." Leo reads some notes on the laptop then added, "And she might have a record already, but we can't read or find any legal documents that confirm or deny this."

The pictures are taken off the screen, and the lighting changes.

"Well, there's not much more of that incident that's public, so let's move on to something else Lou Jitsu related! They've announced a new special anniversary movie bundle! And we have some info on the special bonus features!" Leo announces, and brings up some graphics for this movie bundle.

The stream continues from there, and even though some people in chat are still shouting questions about the scammer lady segment, they get ignored and buried under other things spammed in the chat. Especially since donation notifications were disabled for the stream.

-------------------

Masterpost

#VTurtles! #vtuber au #rottmnt au #tmnt au #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt leo #rise leonardo #rise leo #lou jitsu #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #rottmnt #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt 2018 #rise tmnt #rise of the tmnt #rottmnt lou jitsu

[hooked-on-elvis]

Lisa Marie and daddy Elvis, the generous tooth fairy 🧚🏼‍♂️

When talking about how Lisa Marie Presley was bred, Becky Yancey (who was Graceland's secretary) was clear in state that Priscilla wanted to build character in little Lisa Marie, whereas Elvis was more such in a high with being a daddy that he just wanted to see Lisa happy all the time.

Since Priscilla was pregnant with Lisa, according to Becky, when she didn't even knew if the baby was a he or a she, Priscilla feared her kid would grow up not knowing the true value of things if she had everything granted to her that easily, with presents heaped on her all the time. According to Becky, some of Priscilla's words were on this matter were, "I don't want the baby living off Elvis' name". Daddy Elvis didn't care a bit for that talk. He spoiled Lisa to a fault, doing everything he could think of that could make his baby girl as happy as she could be.

To be fair, it's easy understand both sides. Obviously it's not that Priscilla didn't wanted Lisa to be a happy child but, as any caring mother normally does, her sight was way ahead in time and she worried about Lisa's personality in the future, not wanting a little brat walking around feeling all entitled to everything at a snap. This would help older Lisa to be conscious in understand about how privileged she was and the reality of the real world which is way apart from the "Elvis world" Lisa would grow up in. Elvis certainly was not a bad parent for spoiling his daughter either. He just couldn't help it. He loved seeing people smiling, thus it couldn't be any different when it comes to his little princess, his first born child. Who are we to judge parents and their parenting choices anyway, right?

The main point here is: I'd like to share a couple of stories on Becky Yancey's book about how funny-daddy Elvis Presley was excited and very proud of his child. To begin with, let's see how Elvis himself helped decorating Lisa's nursery at Graceland and how he loved to show Lisa around to his fans:

With the baby's arrival, the attention at Graceland shifted from Elvis to Priscilla to Lisa Marie. And Priscilla quickly learned that there was more spoiling to fear from the loving indulgences of the proud father and grandfather than from fans. Fans would have been happy to spoil Lisa, but Priscilla could keep them at a distance. Elvis and Mr. Presley (Vernon) were a more difficult problem. Elvis himself shopped for statuettes, pictures, and knick-knacks to fill Lisa's new nursery, which had at one time been a little-used conference room. Lisa wasn't old enough to toddle before Elvis had a gym set erected for her in the back yard. When she was big enough to play with it, Elvis often played with her. At other times we could look through the window or walk out the door and watch Elvis in a golf cart, with Lisa on his lap, driving slowly around the mansion grounds. One time he thrilled fans and gave his security goose bumps when he hoisted Lisa onto his broad shoulders and ambled down the driveway to greet the people standing in front of the Music Gate. It was one of the few times Lisa was photographed at Graceland by persons other than the family members. Priscilla may have had something to say about that incident, because Elvis never did it again.

February 5, 1968. Elvis and Priscilla presenting Lisa to the fans as soon as baby and mommy were ready to go home.

Second story, the title of the post. I found it so funny. This was after Elvis and Priscilla divorced (post 1973).

Priscilla laughs about the time Lisa was visiting her father in Las Vegas and lost a baby tooth. The tooth fairy left her five dollars. "I told Elvis that the tooth fairy usually left fifty cents, that five dollars was a little steep," she said. "He knew I wasn't angry, and he laughed about it. After all, who would expect Elvis Presley to know the going rate for a tooth?"

Elvis and Lisa Marie Presley. Circa July, 1973.

Stories come from the book "My Life With Elvis" (1977) by Becky Yancey & Cliff Linedecker.

#the presleys #elvis presley #lisa marie presley #priscilla presley #priscilla beaulieu #elvis and priscilla #elvis #elvis the king #elvis fans #elvis fandom #60s elvis #70s elvis #elvis history

[midnight-in-town]

Hi. I hope you are having a nice day.

I just happened to have a question about Kuroshitsuji. We are all wondering that who could it be that attacked the Phantomhives on the twins birthday and 2 of the most common theories r that either it's the queen or it's real Ciel.

However, I think it could be a bit different. Like maybe real Ciel, still being a child may not be the mastermind (although my viewpoint is kinda changed after seeing so many kids in real life turning psychos or murderers more often than ever lol XD). I remember Yana showing us the evil aristocrats in the circus arc from Vincent's time. We saw undertaker, Claus, dee, that photographer, one unnamed lady I think, and maybe some more guys. Here's the thing, what if it's one of them that backstabbed Vincent? We know that Claus, undertaker and dee could never do that since they were there to help Ciel after he became the watchdog (although now undertaker took real ciel's side, somewhat). But not all of those people from Vincent's time came to serve his successor, which was our Ciel at that time. The photographer looked quite sus as well since he didn't necessarily take anybody's sides and would just do whatever would benefit him (like what if he's not just a photographer but an aristocrat under a fake identity?). Then whatever could have happened to the rest of those evil aristocrats like that lady for example. Did they just stop being evil or being related with the Phantomhives especially after what happened to the Phantomhives or did they really betray Vincent? What if somebody was grooming (not in the sexual way) real Ciel and was collecting all sorts of information from him like how the Phantomhives may let their guards down on the twins birthday? It obviously seemed like the attacker was indeed close to the Phantomhives or else how did they manage to carry out this plan so perfectly? Also real Ciel did have a bubbly personality and was extroverted. We saw nothing of the boat trip that happened without our Ciel. What if real Ciel was hanging out with an adult with whom he would be talking about his problems (like how he didn't want his brother to leave him and open a toy store) and that person was taking advantage of real ciel's vulnerability to gather information about the Phantomhives. But real Ciel at that time may not have known that and maybe he trusted that adult but then sadly he realized that he was betrayed? What if that's the reason he looked more disappointed and guilty while being kidnapped (since neither him or his dad was able to see through that attackers real self) while our Ciel looked confused and scared.

Sorry for the long ask. Well, I want to know what you think, if you don't mind.

Hi Anon ! I'm having a busy day but I'm okay, I hope you're fine as well. :3

So, about the attack on the manor 4 years ago, I definitely talked about this subject many times, meaning next time, please do a quick check before asking. ;) Long story short, it's not "the Queen or real!Ciel", it's "the Queen, John Brown and real!Ciel".

For real!Ciel's motivations, please read my recap post about the RCMT theory (the name is definitely a misnomer yes, since real!Ciel was manipulated by Victoria and John Brown). Also feel free to browse the RCMT tag for more discussion.

As for the Queen and John Brown, here's the companion theory about the Fenian Brotherhood being one trigger behind Vincent and Rachel's death.

Lastly about Vincent's evil nobles that we have yet to meet, I think most of them are still working with the Watchdog, it's just that, like Dee, they may not all be in England.

As for any potential traitor, yes it's possible, though there is no real hint so far in the story (UT being a special case). To tell you everything, @dorkshadows and I, we bet on Klaus.

No real reason why, except that we see him a lot in the story despite him having, so far, 0 narrative significance. Also, we believe, unlike Dee who probably knew all along which twin our!Ciel was, that Klaus might choose real!Ciel's side in the upcoming future.

TL;DR Vincent probably became a political enemy of Victoria, so she indeed used real!Ciel's obsession for his little brother against his parents ("maybe you could replace your father as my Watchdog, that way I won't have to get rid of you and your little brother, also you would have enough power to make your little brother stay with you forever UwU").

Lastly, on December 14th, it's probably John Brown, as "Jane the maid", who killed most of the servants and abducted the twins.

My blog's missing a post about John Brown's motivations, as a demon staying for about 50 years by Victoria's side, but @dorkshadows and I discussed a few ideas that I'll share publicly at some point when I have time.

Have a good day Anon ! :)

#kuroshitsuji #ciel phantomhive #vincent phantomhive #2CT #rcmt #queen victoria #john brown #jane #kuroshitsuji theory #anon #answers #klaus #diedrich

[eldritch-spouse]

Will we ever get to see what Grimbly's mom looked like? Will Grimbly get to see what his mom looked like? Like maybe old photo of her. Or would that be a bad idea ?

Well, I only ever had one concept for Grimbly's mom, and that would be this-

This is not her actual coloration, she'll be plenty darker if I ever complete this design.

Catalina is not doing well at all. Outwardly, she's quite peppy and bouncy, especially for her friends, but this woman lives with her sins heavy on her back. Of course, her biggest betrayal was abandoning her poor newborn child, fruit of an affair with the King of Greed- A passion which had blinded her, had made poor Lina feel so special, that she would be wanted and accepted forever, maybe even made Queen one day.

Of course, that was far from the case, and Rinx, who was already planning to discard her, wanted absolutely nothing to do with the bat woman as soon as she innocently revealed that she was pregnant... She never quite got over the shock of the heartbreak, the ruination of her life, and the selfishness of her own actions.

Although age has been kind to Catalina's looks (just as it is with Grimbly's), her torment and exhaustion shines through her eyes. She doesn't have the courage to face her son, and would rather not cause him more harm than she already has.

In a very ironic twist of fate, she also works as a waitress, in some hidden nook, far away from prying eyes.

Grimbly wouldn't be receptive to meeting either one of his parents, in all honesty. He has a lot of hurt he's never worked out, and the meet-up wouldn't be pretty.

Catalina wouldn't be able to halt her crying. And Rinx would most likely try to kill him. Grimbly would shun both.

If ever he were to stumble upon an old photo of his mother, Grimbly might be able to recognize a faint resemblance between himself and her, but unless it's clearly stated that is his mom, he won't assume. While the hybrid feels intense hatred for the woman, he can't bring himself to destroy the photograph, shoving it to the depths of his closet so he can find it again in the future and cry himself to sleep with.

#Grimbly oc #pinnie's art #tiredidot #monster girlfriend #monster oc #Catalina oc

[justmelookingbackatme]

The first time I looked in the mirror and felt at peace with what I saw was on Yom Kippur, in 2021.

Before then, the mirror wasn't usually painful, but it felt like looking at a photograph of someone else. The connection between myself and the reflection was never there, not until that Yom Kippur.

What to wear to services has been a long running debate in my family, ever since I renounced dresses as a child. For a long time, my mother still bought me formal outfits that were feminine, if not a dress or skirt. I tolerated those, though I never liked them much either.

I didn't wear a dress to my Bar Mitzvah, though I know she wanted me to.

I didn't wear a suit to my Bat Mitzvah either, but I would have, had I known that was a possibility.

This was the first service I can remember being comfortable in my own skin.

Throughout the year, I had been collecting hand-me-downs from my parents; mother and father. I had my father's old blue button down shirt hanging up in my closet. I found it when I was getting dressed that morning, and put it on.

Good, but somehow incomplete.

I knocked on my father's door and told him I wanted to learn how to tie a tie.

He nodded and handed me one from his closet. We stood together in front of the mirror as he undid his own tie and started the process again, slowly. I followed the best I could through each loop and twist, mesmerized by how the necktie wove itself around. When I finished, it wasn't bad for a first attempt. The knot was clumsy, sure, but I didn't care if it wasn't perfect.

It was me.

I spent the day praying and fasting, and I was comfortable, and I was me.

#found this in my drafts and it's honestly good so. posting it #gender shit #also judaism shit #not enough judiasm shit on this blog #i like it when i think about the connection between my gender and my jewish identity bc they are connected #and that's very sexy of me

[xjustakay]

(8/21) prompt: hallway— 954 words (sweet moments alone) @jegulus-microfic

Getting invited to Euphemia and Fleamont’s anniversary celebration wasn’t odd; he’d met James’ parents by now, been to dinner or other gatherings. Still, Regulus can’t always shake the feeling that he’s intruding by being there when they all get together like this. 

There’s an ease in the family, his own brother included, that Regulus hasn’t fully adapted to. He knows they’re great people —look at the son they’ve raised, after all— but it’s hard to brush off the habits built out of self-preservation in his own home.

Regulus can still hear the chatter echo from the sitting room. He hears Monty and Sirius’ boisterous laughter, Effie teasing them further, carrying to him where he leans against a wall a little ways outside the room, collecting himself.

He’s walked this hallway a handful of times now, knowing that the walls are decorated with a collection of pictures, but until now he hasn’t stopped to actually look at length. There’s a whole lifetime of joy immortalized in the frames on the wall’s surface. Effie seems to do a few of the multi-photo frames per year. 

Regulus’ gaze catches on one from the year James turned six; gap-toothed and grinning with two thumbs up and a paper birthday crown lopsided on his head. He’s in a brand new pair of rollerblades, the gift bows still stuck to the toes of each one. A couple pictures from a family vacation, another of just Monty and Effie and their dog at the time, and one of a group of friends and family out to dinner together.

Unbidden, Regulus finds a small smile twitching at his lips. He squeezes his folded arms tighter across his chest when the slightest ache starts to bloom. That’s not new, either, the way witnessing such obvious love stings somehow, even when he does get to receive some of it now.

“There you are.”

Regulus looks away from a picture of nine year old James holding up a ‘student of the month’ award at a school assembly, instead letting his eyes fall on a present James. His James. The ache in his chest fades, makes room for the stutter and skip that follows being under James’ adoring gaze. His smile eases wider as James comes up close beside him and kisses his temple.

“Alright, love?” James asks, dragging his hand along Regulus’ lower back in a soothing glide.

“Just needed a moment,” Regulus murmurs.

James nods like he understands. It’s strange, even still, to know that he does. That Regulus has opened up to him enough for him to know some of the complexities of how he feels about things.

“Did you see the baby pictures already?” James gestures a little further down the hallway.

Regulus’ eyes flicker with amusement as he nods. “That one of you screaming your head off on Santa’s lap is a personal favorite.”

“Okay, the man is frightening and I was one, can you blame me?” James laughs, the breath of it breezing through Regulus’ hair. “I’m adorable in the other ones.”

“You were quite a cute child,” Regulus agrees, scrunching his nose faintly afterward. “What happened?”

James curls his hand around Regulus’ side and pinches gently. He looks far too thrilled with himself when Regulus flinches at the contact where he’s maybe, just the slightest bit ticklish. Unfortunately, James has been able to learn those sorts of things about him, too.

Regulus keeps his attention on James even as James’ head turns, hazel eyes flickering over photographs he’s seen hundreds of times. They’re his life, his parents’ lives, the lives of them all together as a family. Regulus knows at a certain point down the next hall that the pictures will likely start to feature Sirius, too. 

Here, though, it’s just James as the happy child with a loving mum and dad who did their best to give him the world. It’s nothing but light and joy and a magic all their own —one Regulus is unfamiliar with, has never been sure there was room for in his own life.

As if reading his mind, James quietly says, “We should make our own hallway someday. Like this.”

Regulus’ smile falters, dark brows furrowing together over slightly widened eyes. His stomach somersaults at the mere consideration that a life like that is something James can see. He can see it for them. 

Fuck, Regulus loves him so much.

James doesn’t notice his display of feelings right away, glancing fondly over the captured memories on the wall.

“Even for just the two of us, yeah? Trips we take, holiday celebrations. Oh, and if we get that cat you wan—” James freezes when he looks back at him and catches the overwhelming emotion on his face. “Sorry did I— Am I getting too far ahead of myself? I didn’t mean to upset y—”

“James, shut up.” It comes out an exhaled whisper seconds before Regulus tugs at the front of James’ jumper, tilting to bring their lips together.

It’s a soft kiss, lingering and tender; no point other than needing to show his own overflowing devotion, not totally knowing how else to properly express it. Regulus keeps his eyes closed when, after a few long seconds, James touches their foreheads together. A shared sigh, James’ steady while Regulus’ stutters.

“I love you.” It’s not the first time Regulus has said it, but James definitely says it more often, more open with his heart than Regulus has fully learned to be just yet. But he is learning, and James helps him with it each day. In moments like this.

James loops both arms around Regulus’ waist, pulls him against him, presses another delicate kiss to the edge of his mouth. “I love you.”

#jegulus #gonna cry about them i think #i love them more than life #and i’m emotional about it #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing

[imponderabillia]

David Sylvian - Perspectives (Polaroids 82-84)

”In the early part of 1982 I had, for numerous reasons, decided to take a rest from songwriting. This was to be the first break I had had since I’d started as a child at the age of 12. It was therefore not surprising that to relieve the subsequent frustration caused by this action, I turned to the only other creative outlet I’d known, and which had been my main preoccupation until my discovery of music, drawing.

The freshness brought on by this change, the naive pleasure of working and learning in a virtually unexplored area for me opened many doors.

Not least of which being my new found appreciation of the world of the arts. Drawings, paintings, sculpture, ceramics, a universe of creativity which had always been hidden from me, suddenly came to life. I had of course been aware of works by various famous artists before, but although I was able to appreciate a lot of what I had inadvertently seen, I had never felt anything emotionally from the work in the way that I could quite naturally feel from music.

Now all was changed. I first realised this whilst visiting a major exhibition by a painter living and working here in England, Frank Auerbach. The depth and intensity of emotion I experienced surpassed anything I had felt in music for a very long time, if at all. I explain this because through these and various other similar experiences my outlook on life and work changed (or maybe matured would be more appropriate) at quite a dramatic pace. In the midst of these changes came my first attempts at Polaroid montage.

It was during a visit to Hong Kong, one of the stops towards the end of a rather lengthy tour, that I first started working with Polaroid film. As was my routine throughout the tour, I would return to my hotel after the day’s performance and there I would stay for the remainder of the evening, reading and drawing sketches. On our arrival in Hong Kong we found ourselves with a day free. However, having been there fairly recently, and not having particularly enjoyed the place, I decided to spend the day at the hotel, and among other things write some letters and complete some rawings. By evening, having filled all the paper space available with notes and sketches and wishing to continue working on ideas formed while drawing, I turned to the only materials available to me at that time, the Polaroids. This is how it started and so it has continued since, constantly developing, trying to find different uses for the same materials, and when a new technique shows itself using it to the advantage of creating interesting photographs/pictures. I feel I must point out that although looking back I know there were other artists working with Polaroids in the same, or similar areas as myself (most notable of these being D. Hockney), at this time (the remaining months of ’82) I was working totally by means of self-discovery as I had no other possible guides. I gradually became more aware of the work of others towards the middle of ’83. Sometimes consciously (and I hope with humour) I place references in my work to that of others.

Prior to my work with the SX-70, my interest in photography was to be found in areas of concept and design. I never intended or expected to become personally involved in photography, indeed even now my knowledge of the practical side of the art is extremely limited. For this reason and also because of the nature of the work I do, I would not begin to think of myself as a photographer. I have far too much respect for the people who spend a large part of their lives working with the camera (Brassai, Kertesz, Riboud, Benton, McBean and Ray) and who give true meaning to the word.

I do not see the work in this book as an end in itself. Essentially I believe that there are only a handful of pictures I have produced which transcend the techniques used and show a possibility of standing up to time. The remainder are either very personal pictures and ‘or show and explore germs of ideas which may be followed up in the future by work in other mediums.

My experimenting with Polaroids is about at an end. Although I’m still working with the techniques I’ve developed in an attempt to produce pictures of a more lasting quality. I’ll soon be turning my interests to new areas, using, along with new ideas, the more valuable I have learnt from working with Polaroids."

#david sylvian #polaroids #japan #photography #1980s #ryuichi sakamoto #yuka fuji #collage #nature