#nobody @ me pls

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

#I AM LOUDLY PUSHING THE BATDAD AGENDA #anyways— add ons are encouraged i wanna talk more dpxdc with folks i just cant find any aus i really like enough to engage with #which is nobody's fault and its why im making my own content in order to reach more people #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dpdc #dc x dp #dpxdc prompts #i took a ‘which batfam member are you (except its personal)’ quiz a few days ago #and got bruce wayne. and then was promptly read to filth why im most like him and it rudely but accurately explained why im the most like #him. it also consequently explained to me why i like him so much. whenever i see him in his kindest form i see a mirror looking back #anyways lots of ‘danny rejecting bruce as a parent’ aus. may i present: bruce and danny finding family in each other aus. batdad aus pls. #dpxdc prompt #dcxdp #this prompt can take place at any point of Batkid accumulation but personally i was imagining this as before Bruce has any of his kids yet #eldest brother danny supremacy and also just that one on one bonding #danny being someone who was never afraid of the dark as a kid and even less so as he got older. taking solace in it as a ghost because you #cant hide in the dark when you glow. his enemies can't jump out at him. but he can jump out at them. how can he be afraid of the dark when #the dark is where the stars like to live? there's a comfort in the shadows. there might be something hiding in it. but he's hiding in it to #blood blossoms eat ghosts headcanon #wasn't sure where i was gonna go with this at the beginning and then i caught steam. #batman casually kidnaps an orphan upon kid's request. also the kid was Actively Dying Of Poison. What was he gonna do?? NOT help him? #mister 'keeps candy in his utility belt specifically for scared children'??? no way.

[strawberryspence]

When you ask Steve Harrington what his first memory of Eddie Munson is, he will say it was in Mrs. Click's class. Yeah, he didn't know Robin then, but it was hard not to notice someone like Eddie.

Steve remembers it being a Monday, his parents just left for some random country. Mrs. Click was not in a good mood that day.

Steve remembers her stopping mid-lecture and staring at the curly head bowed down three seats behind Steve's left. He's resting his head on his arms, body limp.

"Munson. I don't teach so you can sleep." Mrs. Click impatiently says, her fingers tapping against the plastic table.

Eddie doesn't move, Mrs. Click squints harder and says a little louder, "Eddie Munson."

It's so obvious Eddie was sleeping, but what he does next cements him in Steve's memory.

Eddie jolts a little. It's a small unnoticeable movement, before he finally raises his head. He smiles at Mrs. Click before saying, "Thank you, Jesus. Amen." and does the sign of the cross.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Click. It was time for my morning prayer." Eddie says, a small innocent smile on his face.

And it's so freaking ridiculous. Steve remembers shaking his head and biting down a laughter.

It's even more ridiculous when Mrs. Click nods approvingly, saying, "That's okay. Next time don't do it in class."

The next time Steve and Eddie get the chance to talk, somewhere in between broken bottles and running from the police, Steve tries to joke as he says to Eddie, "I bet you forgot to do your morning prayer. That's why this is all happening."

It's lame. But eh, it's worth it when Steve hears Eddie laugh for the first time in two days.

#i dont know where this came from #sorry uhm #tw religion #????? is that right???? pls nobody get mad at me for this #its just a funny little thing hehehehee #steddie headcanon #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson fluff #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie hc #daeheadcanons #dae writes

[poeticsapphicism]

gonna tell my kids that they were jack and rose

#the second pic is literally giving I’M FLYING JACK!! I’M FLYING!! #pls tell me i’m not the only one who sees it #titanic except nobody dies and everyone’s gay and the only thing that’s sinking is the patriarchy #only the real will get it #barbie #barbie x gloria #gloria x barbie #barbiegloria #cinema #lesbian #lgbt #sapphic #wlw

[marcirose]

Nobody understands Kingdom Hearts that well cause everybody compares it to shonen anime when it's actually a magical girl anime because it has:

-A protagonist who is an ordinary lad who got given a special power that could save the universe

Teammates that the protagonist can lean on and who help the protagonist with said special power

A love interest heavily involved in the plot that both motivates the protagonist and is motivated by the protagonist

A monster of the week format that has its own standalone conflict that eventually leads to the next major plot point in the story

Overarching themes about love and friendships and connections and identity

#kingdom hearts #kh #i haven't stopped thinking about this #it literally started with recoded #and how recoded is basically the first arc in sailor moon ghjkdfshfds #and then i realized that it literally applies to the whole series #oh ye and let's not forget that kairi is the protag's bestie who gets caught up in the monster of the week conflicts #kingdom hearts is a shoujo #this is exactly why nobody understands #god i feel so big blained for this #nomura pls just tell me you've watched magical girl anime cause it's all right there #i feel so smart rn stg lmao

[eriyu]

The FFXIV script is updated through the end of 5.0!

So far I've got the entirety of MSQ up to the start of the Shadowbringers patch quests, the Crystal Tower raids, the archer and bard quests, seasonal events from the past few months, and the first few snippets of optional dialogue (I'm trying to focus on catching up first, but I couldn't not include Emet-Selch's occasional optional lore drops).

I'm also still tinkering with little layout and feature things as I go — I just added sticky headers so you can tell where you are in the middle of the script. :D

Link below! ⬇

#ff #ffxiv #final fantasy #final fantasy xiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #xiv script #shadowbringers #shb #i DID manage to queue last night and actually finished it then but it was too late to post so here we are #i still need to go back and get the changes since they added duty support to 4.x though; nobody let me forget that pls

[figofswords]

like some hauntings and family reunions

#hollow knight #hk #hornet #the knight #hk hornet #hk knight #hk hollow #pen doodles #i know nobody follows me for hk but pls appreciate that i spent uh #*checks clock and then calendar* Entirely Too Long On This

[formulaforza]

oh, simple thing— c.sainz

"the earth laughs in flowers" pairing: carlos sainz x female reader wc: 4.1k notes: guys remember when i used to write? back in january? crazy times. anyways.

You were five years old the first time you proclaimed that you were going to marry Carlos. It came, of course, after the implication that you would also be marrying Prince Charming (as long as he didn’t keep your glass slipper–shoes are a woman’s best friend, your mom had told you once and you never forgot it) and the gym teacher at your primary school, whose crush you’d never admit to anyone but your mom. Can you imagine the teasing? Thinking a grown-up is cute? It’s completely preposterous… or, when you were five, super-duper silly. 

All three of the loves of your life were completely coincidental, coming to your brain while your mom read you a bedtime story completely coincidentally. You’d had gym class that day, of course. Played with the rolling scooters and argued with the older kids about getting a turn on the tube slide. Scooter day was always your favorite, so it was no surprise your teacher was in your good graces that evening. A

After dinner, while flipping lazily through channels on the big square television in the family room, your dad had clicked on the Disney Channel by mistake. Cinderella was halfway through and you threw a fit every time he tried to change the channel. You just thought she looked so pretty, in her big princess dress dancing at the ball. 

Carlos, what had Carlos done to be in your good graces that day…? He wasn’t in your class, so you couldn’t enlist him in the war of the slides or crash into him on the scooters. He definitely wasn’t running around your house after dinner. If he was, your Mom would still be cleaning up after him somewhere in the house. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos… what had he–oh! That’s right! The flower on the way home from school. How could you ever forget the first flower? He’ll give you shit for it later. 

Your mom and Carlos’ mom had been best friends long before you and Carlos burst into the scene. They liked each other more than just about anyone, and you never did understand how Reyes never tired of your Mother’s antics. She was always bossing you around, forcing you to clean up your toys and read your books. Carlos got away with whatever he wanted, his parents would even lie for him on his reading logs. Anyways, stay focused. Because your parents were such good friends, you and Carlos grew up side by side. Parallel play or bust, since neither of you were particularly apt at sharing. Everyday on the walk home from school, your moms would catch up on the gossip from the night before while you and Carlos tried to kill each other with various objects found on the sidewalk. This day, there had been eleven pebbles, two rocks, a stick, and Carlos’ metal water bottle (the one with the HotWheels logo on the side). Now, Carlos was charging at you with… a flower? A bluebell, one he’d picked straight from the ground, root and all hanging from his fist. When he held it out to you, you scowled. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. In fact, it was about as perfect as a bluebell from the sidewalk can get, but, you’re a little shit. 

“It’s dead,” you said, took it from him and tossed it aside. “It’s not nice to pick flowers, Carlito. It kills them.” He burst into tears and your mother scolded you the rest of the way home, even though it was her who always told you to leave the wildflowers wild. After some time and consideration (a plate of dinosaur nuggets, half of Cinderella, and a bedtime story) you’d decided maybe Carlos was right to cry about the dead flower. 

Carlos, it seemed, had gotten over the dead flower incident pretty quickly because, the very next day, he was already making a joke of it. He’d held up the walk home for fifteen minutes while he searched through a field in the park. Both of your mothers and Blanca had already shown him what had to be a hundred or so healthy, perky flowers. Carlos shook his head at each one of them, typical. You sat on the curb of the garden and played with the ants that had built a sandy hill beside your foot. You resisted the urge to stomp it, only because you knew you’d be lectured about leaving the bugs alone in the same way you were about leaving the flowers alone. After a lifetime–or enough time to have an after school snack–Carlos finally settled on the ugliest, most wilted flower you’d ever laid your eyes on. He presented it to you with a laugh and, because you’re just as stubborn as he is, you accepted the gift graciously and let it sit vaseless on your dresser for three days before someone threw it away. 

Truthfully, though, the real reason you probably proclaimed your intent to marry him that night wasn’t some flower. It was that Blanca had defended you from his water bottle strike with a pebble to the back of his head, and you thought that would be a good kind of person to have as a sister. 

Carlos was seventeen when he figured he’d probably end up with you eventually for the first time. There wasn’t anything romantic about it. It was more of an ah, fuck. It’s gonna be her, isn’t it? 

Your families were in Mallorca, touring some vineyard–well, your parents were touring the vineyard. You, Carlos, and all of the siblings had snuck off from the group one by one and met up in the grove just outside the property. Carlos was bumming a cigarette from Blana when Ana finally turned up, stomping her way through the grass and wildflowers annoyedly. Carlos takes a puff of the cigarette and passes it over to you. 

“You’re going to start a wildfire, you know?” Ana says, crosses her arms over her chest and pops out a hip all bratty. 

“Ana,” Carlos groans, “shut the fuck up.” You exhale a puff of smoke through a laugh. 

“If you’re going to be mean, I’m going back to Mom and Dad.”

“Okay,” he says, “have fun.”

“I will,” she proclaims, visibly annoyed that she isn’t drawing a reaction from her big brother. She loves to piss him off, everyone does, because it’s just so easy. “I’ll have sooo much fun telling them about how you’re all in the woods smoking. I’m sure Dad will love that, don’t you think, Carlos?” Blanca rolls her eyes. Sometimes it’s fun to mess with Ana, and sometimes keeping her humble becomes more of a chore than anything else. 

Ana stomps away, her whole sneaky journey wasted, the group’s entire smoke session ruined by the pesky baby sister who can’t decide if she wants more to be included or to be a tattletale. “Don’t kill any more flowers on the way back!” Carlos calls after her, passes the cigarette to you again for one last puff before the lot of you have to make your way back to the winery, to the bathroom you’d all claimed to need to use over the past hour. Ana turns on her heels to make sure Carlos can see her eye roll. He just smiles, and you think if Carlos was your brother you probably would have killed him with your bare hands a long time ago. 

You squat down to put the cigarette out in the dirt and Carlos digs a hole with his heel for you to drop it into, kicks the dirt back over it and stomps on it a couple times. “Fuckin’ snitch,” he mutters under his breath. 

He snatches up one of the stomped on flowers, pulls it from the ground–root and all–and presents it to you. “You really are such an ass,” you say, take the flower and link your arm through his for the remainder of the walk back. “I love you,” you add, “but you’re an ass.”

You were twenty the first time your friendship with Carlos became a threat to one of your relationships. It wouldn’t be the last time. You’d been together for seven months, you and Mateo, Mateo and you. Met at a club in Barcelona and the rest was history. It was a simple conflict of interest, a scheduling woe. You were forced to make a decision. Your boyfriend’s grandma’s birthday party… or Carlos’ debut in Australia. To you, it seemed like the easiest decision in the world. His grandmother isn’t even that old–she’s got plenty of birthdays ahead of her, ones that you’d be happy to celebrate. But Carlos’ debut? Really? That’s once in a lifetime. It’s the shit you just don’t miss, even if you’re in the hospital or literally on your deathbed (which Mateo’s grandma is NOT, by the way. She lived seven more years according to recent Facebook posts). 

“You’re going to Australia?” He’d scoffed when you told him, mentioned it so nonchalantly over dinner. When I’m in Australia, don’t forget to water the plants, or something along those trivial lines. He was just as offended as you were utterly confused. There’s no way he thought– “What about my abuela’s birthday?”

You’d laughed. The wrong thing to do, you know, but it was an action done without thought, without intention. “What about it?”

“You’re supposed to come with me.”

“I never said that,” you shake your head and he pulls a face. You set your silverware down and prepare for the coming argument. Normally, you’d just back down, but this is Carlos we’re talking about. Carlos, and his dream. Carlos, and his reality. “I didn’t,” you reaffirm. 

He leans forward onto the table, elbows shaking the entire thing, rattling the wine glasses and ceramic against the wood. “I assumed you–”

“–I don’t know why you would assume I‘d be doing anything except supporting Carlos,” you say, more defensive than you intend to be. It’s just, you can already see where this is going, even if it’s never gone there before. You’ve watched the girls Carlos brings home look at him the same way Mateo is looking at you right now, or more importantly, how he doesn’t look at you. 

“You know, I don’t either.” He nods, but it’s more of a full body movement, like he’s rocking forward, lips pursed and jaw tight. His eyebrows raise like he’s going to shrug, like he’s surprised with himself. You doubt you read the emotion right. “It’s always about Carlos, isn’t it?”

You lean back in your seat, cross your arms over your chest, close your eyes just long enough to hide the eye roll, and then you’re piling the silverware and the napkin onto the plate and moving the party to the kitchen sink. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say when you grab the wine glass carelessly. 

“Oh, so you know what this is about, then?” He calls after you, gathers his things sloppily and follows you into the kitchen. 

“You just said it’s about Carlos,” you say, slamming the sink on and clattering the plates into the bowl. Carlos had told you about these fights, about the ones he’s had with his girlfriends. You’d laughed about them, always thought it was so funny–the idea of someone left fuming by your friendship. The crazy assumptions, they couldn’t be more wrong if they tried. You and Carlos are nothing but platonic, you’ve always been platonic, you’ll always be platonic. When you know someone as long as you’ve known Carlos, they just become a part of you, build this little home in your soul that blends in so perfectly you could never cut it out with clean margins. It’s not just Carlos, either. It’s Blanca and Ana, too. Hell, it’s even Carlos Sr. and Reyes, but nobody ever seems to understand that. 

“It’s my Abuela,” he says, like you’re supposed to be moved or something, and he sets his dishes in the sink on top of yours. “It’s her birthday, and you’re supposed to come with me. I told my family you were coming.”

“I don’t understand why you would do that,” you start scrubbing the first plate with far more aggression than required. You’re not a good fighter, you get mean, and you get mean quick. “I was never not going to Australia.”

He laughs, leans against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at the ground, at the crumbs waiting to be swept up. “Because you’re never going to choose me over Carlos, right?”

“Mateo.”

“Answer the question.”

You freeze, squeeze the soapy sponge in a fist until there’s nothing left to ring out of it. “I’m certainly not going to choose your Abuela over my friend. Over my brother.”

“He’s not your brother.”

You sigh, go back to cleaning. “He’s like my brother.”

“Yeah, if you wanted to fuck your brother,” he says, and meets your eyes with wide, proud eyes like he’d done something, caught you in some illicit love affair. You resist the urge to grab the wand from the sink and spray him with a jet of water. 

Instead, coldly, you’d replied, “get out,” and pointed to the door. 

His hands shot up in some great defense. Or maybe it was offense, you really never could read him that well. “I see how you look at him.”

In. Out. In, and then out. Deep breaths. “I said leave, Mateo.”

“Because you know I’m right.” In, then out. “You know how fucked up it is that there’s three people in our relationship,” in, out. “Four, if you count Carlos’ girlfriend! What do you think she thinks about all this? You looking at her boyfriend like your favorite candy?” In, then. In, then–in, and then you slap him with a wet hand, the contact reverberating into a splash, coating the walls and the ceiling and the entire fucking room in anger. Anger, and dirty dish water. 

The anger is deafening, the room so quiet that the sink makes the kitchen sound like it’s directly behind a waterfall. 

He storms off into the living room. You return to the dishes, hear the jingle of his keys, the door opening. “Fuck you!” You call after him, but what you really mean is Fuck Carlos. 

When you get the breakup text a few days later, you’re not surprised. You put on your best face and pretend you never read it because while your boyfriend did just break up with you in a seven word text, you’re sitting out the back of the Toro Rosso motorhome watching Carlos pace.

You’ll tell him later, you think, after the race. And then, you don’t dare ruin the celebration, ride the high out until it can’t be ridden any longer. By the time you do get around to telling him, you’re all but moved on, mentioning it nonchalantly amongst the chaos of his first season. It falls away to the backburner, into irrelevancy, and Carlos never does ask what happened to sour the relationship. He does, however, have a wilted arrangement of flowers delivered to your front door with a handwritten note–ugly and dead, just like your relationship. You’d laughed for maybe twenty straight minutes. 

Carlos was twenty-four when he realized he was in love with you, that maybe he always had been. He’d just broken up with a girlfriend, one whose name he hardly remembers now. Alessandra… Alena… Adrianna–oh, screw it. It was definitely an “A,” and if it wasn’t, he’s sure it was a vowel. Not the point. He was twenty-four and had just dumped whatever her name was because it just didn’t feel right. (What does right feel like at twenty-four? And how do you know it when you see it? The world may never know). 

It was three races into the 2019 season, and he’d been having a particularly unlucky start with his new team. He’d spent the offseason relatively alone in Woking, finding his footing in a new place, a new team, a new car. Everything is gray, you’d told him the night he announced his impending move, scrolling through your phone at Google search results for the town. “It’s not gray,” he said, and without needing to say anything or flash him a look, he backtracked. “Okay, it’s a little gray.”

Three races in–an engine fire and two first lap collisions–in, and everything is feeling pretty gray, not just his rainy apartment (flat, he’s been taught to call it) in Woking. The cards felt stacked against him, and reluctantly, he’d called in reinforcements to Baku, a couple of good luck charms in the form of the people he loved. You, Ana, and Blanca flew in together and made Carlos come pick you up from the airport himself. 

You climbed into the backseat and were anything but gray. You were glowing, completely and utterly sunkissed, and your hair was messy from travel but it reminded him of what you’re like after a good nap. Groggy and sleepy and desperate to stretch out like a cat. He hates that he knows how you like to stretch after a nap, the exact pattern of movements you do. Do you know how much time you have to spend with someone to memorize their post-nap stretch routine? Too much time, that’s how much. 

You got into his car, all bright and sunny, and sure, his sisters were there and he loves them so much. But, you’re here, and you’re bright and sunny and everything feels just a little less gray. He pulls out from the airport and while he doesn’t realize that he loves you just yet, he knows something in him has been chemically altered by your smile, irrevocably so.

It’s Sunday when he realizes, somewhere between the checkered flag and the team debrief when you and the girls appear, practically crash into him like you’d been dropped down into the garage right from the sky. He hugs you, and you smell like sunshine. He wants to bash his head into the wall of his driver's room, to lay in front of Lando’s car and ask him to run him over because he’s not supposed to take note of the way you smell (unless it’s to call you out for smelling like shit). 

You kiss his cheek and shove his shoulder because you’re so happy for him, because you’re always so happy for him. He doesn’t think it’s fair for someone like him to always have someone this happy for him. He loves that about you. He loves everything about you. He loves you. Fuck, he’s in love with you. 

Lando nearly pees his pants over a tweet the next day. Carlos has reached a new level of Carlos-ing, it read, with a picture of him visibility distracted while being fed to the media pen. He can’t tell his teammate that the reason he’s so distracted is because he’s internally debating the pros and cons of ruining your friendship forever. 

You’re twenty-four when you and Carlos start dating. The two of you drag it out for as long as humanly possible, stretch the patience of everyone around you so thin they won’t be surprised (or concerned) at the idea of you and him getting together. It’s scary. Really, really scary to admit your feelings for each other, to tell the rest of the world about it, but Carlos keeps bringing you these mis-shapen flowers, ones where the dye is soaked up poorly or they’re a couple days too wilted. It’s our thing, he would always say, and kiss you while you cut the stems to fit in your favorite vase. 

He was right, it was something that was just yours. There was nobody else actively searching out dying flowers in the shops or carefully picking the dirtiest wildflower from its root on an evening walk through the city. That was just the two of you, and nobody else understood it. 

“It’s gross,” a friend told you, twiddling one of the half-dead flower stems between her fingers while you shared gossip over glasses of wine. “You got these today and they’re ready to be thrown in the bin.”

“You don’t get it,” you’d swatted her words away. The dead flowers weren’t understood, and they didn’t need to be. They were special to you and Carlos, and when it came down to it, nothing else mattered to you. 

“Seriously, though,” she’d continued, “It’s… I don’t know. Dead flowers, it’s just weird.”

Carlos is twenty-six when you break up. It’s mutual, it is. Even when it doesn’t feel like it’s mutual, when either one of you desperately searches to blame the other for the pitfalls, it’s still mutual, still two people who love each other. Who just aren’t in love with each other anymore. 

There’s a lot of reasons if you want to get into it, but his new drive is the catalyst for pretty much all of them. Carlos is with Ferrari now, which is the dream, but it's also the nightmare. McLaren is iconic and historic but Ferrari… well. Everyone knows the Vettel quote, everyone knows the kid’s car is red. Ferrari’s Ferrari and you’re just… you. Time runs out, patience runs thin, and that’s the end of it. 

You’re twenty-seven when you see him for the first time post-breakup. It’s a setup by your parents. Mallorca and the vineyard, again. You don’t think anything of it, so much has happened in the last decade and Mallorca is half of Spain’s favorite vacation destination. 

He’s sitting with his family at the bar, the whole clan of them sipping from a wine-tasting tray. His eyes shoot up to meet yours with the loud creak of the old, heavy doors. He does a double take, and your stomach turns into a ball of knotted necklaces. 

During the same tour you’d been on all those years ago, you sneak off with the same excuse you’d used. Blanca and Ana don’t follow after you to debate the environmental damages of bumming a cigarette in the grove or to threaten to snitch on you to your parents. They stay behind and listen and you stomp through the wildflowers to get some air. You’re already outside, Carlos would say if he were there. You’re my dirty air, you’d tell him, and he would roll his eyes, shove his hands deep in his pockets and rock on his heels. 

He knows you’re not in the bathroom, there isn’t a single nerve in your mind that thinks he doesn’t know exactly where you are. He doesn’t sneak off behind you. You gather your thoughts in the grove by yourself, leant against a tree older than you’ll dream of being. You pick a wildflower, one that looks picture perfect, snap it carefully from the root and stick the stem behind your ear. 

When you return to your party, they don’t notice you’ve been gone for far too long to use the bathroom or that you’ve got a flower in your hair. Well, all of them except Carlos, who slows his walking pace to drop to the back of the group next to you. “Nice flower,” he comments quietly. 

You nod, watch your feet as they move in synchronized steps with him on the grassy path. “Thanks.”

“It’s dead,” he adds, and you smile dimly. “It’s not nice to kill the flowers.”

Carlos is twenty-eight when he’s perusing the birthday card section at the local gift shop. He’s trying to find one that perfectly sums up his birthday wishes for you. It has to be sunny and happy and so, so sorry for everything (even when it’s nobody’s fault). It has to say, I’ll always love you without saying I am still terribly in love with you. It has to be subtle and obvious and endearing and serious and funny. It has to be everything his words can’t be. 

He eventually settles on one, tucks it into the yellow envelope and licks it shut. He handwrites your name on it messily, like you could get confused about who it’s for and need a label, or like he has a stack of yellow envelopes for dozens of other people sitting sealed on his kitchen counter. He goes to the florist next, picks out a stock arrangement from the fridge and a package of flower seeds. The final stop on his city tour is your apartment. Three knocks on your door, and then you’re undoing the deadbolt. 

“Hi,” you say, confused by his presence on your welcome mat. 

“Happy Birthday,” he smiles. “This is the last time I get you dead flowers.”

You and Carlos are thirty at your wedding. He cries when you walk down the aisle and there isn’t a single real flower in your bouquet. It’s all fake, and one of your friends asks if you’re worried it might look tacky or cheap. Anyone who thinks that shouldn’t be at our wedding, you’d told them. 

#pls nobody speak to me about the quality of the photos. #thank. #mack500 #do i hate this? yes #was i told to post it anyways? yes #ugh #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz fluff #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz angst #f1 #f1 fic #f1 smut #f1 angst #f1 imagine #cs55 #ferrari #formula one #charlos #carlando #mclaren #red bull racing #ur mom says hi

[riuhere]

HELP

DUDE, I-

LOOK AT HIM!!! LOOK!! LOOK!!!

#NOBODY TOLD ME HE EXISTED #WHAT #HE'S SO BEAUTIFUL #PLS #I JUST FOUND THIS OUT WHILE I WAS SCROLLING THROUGH GOOGLE- #Btw don't ask why I was scrolling through a bunch of pictures and drawings of swk- #Anyway #LOOK AT HIM #What I'd give to have him- #Sun wukong afk arena #afk arena #Journey to the west #Sun wukong x reader #sun wukong #monkey king #the monkey king #jttw sun wukong #Jttw #BLESS MY EYES-

[cupcakeslushie]

Pt 1 || NEXT

Post movie Leo is adamant about putting all his mistakes behind him, and being the best leader he can be. Rise!Leo is still a Leo, and when it comes to being self-critical that can be a problem.

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #save rottmnt #my art #rise of the tmnt #leonardo hamato #april o'neil #rise leo #rise April #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #I love the idea of Leo becoming more like the others Leo’s because of his trauma #but he’ll take it to the extreme #Leo’s gonna have a hard time in this but his family will help him out #god give me the strength to finish this #if I don’t pls nobody come for me #canon verse

[petcr3]

dreams | rhett abbott x reader

summary: rhett asks if reader ever wants to move out of their apartment, and before either of them know it, they’re planning out a future together.

word count: ~1.4k

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, my usual in depth cuddle descriptions because i am not normal, rhett getting to feel loved uwu, rhett being romantic because he IS i just know

a/n: this was completely unplanned, i was just yearning so hard an entire fic fell out

You’re curled up against Rhett’s chest, his cheek resting against the top of your head as he idly trails his fingers up and down the length of your spine.

“You ever think about leaving this place?” he asks.

“Wabang?”

“No.” A chuckle. “Well, yeah. But I just meant the apartment.” You hum in understanding, fingertips idly dancing along his side.

“Yeah. I wouldn’t mind living in a bigger place. Maybe a house someday.” 

“Any chance I’m in that house with you?”

“Of course you are. There’s a little spot for you to curl up at the foot of my bed and everything.” Laughter rumbles in his chest and he leans down to nip harmlessly at the shell of your ear.

“Mean.” 

You giggle and hide your face against his chest. He can feel you smiling against his skin. Despite your transgression, Rhett reaches up to play with your hair and you let out a contented sigh.

“There’s no house without you in it,” you say after a moment. It catches him a little off guard. Sure, he likes to think he plays a part in your fantasies about the future, but it’s something else to hear that he’s a fixture in them. Something clenches near his heart–– a beautiful ache that comes from a missing piece sliding home.

“Tell me more about it?” he asks, feeling suddenly a little vulnerable. You nose affectionately at his chest and pull him a little closer

“It’s got a lot of light. It’s big, but not too big, like, you can’t get lost in it. We wouldn’t need that kind of space. Mostly it just feels open and bright, you know? Lots of sun. Our bedroom has its own bathroom so I can listen to you sing to yourself in the shower.” Rhett lets out a quiet snort.

“Thought you did that anyway.”

“Yeah but now I can do it lying down. It’s a game changer.”

You’re funny, Rhett thinks. People don’t notice that enough. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…” Your head bobs a little with his gentle laughter.

“Go on.”

“We have a big ol’ bathtub–– one where we both fit.”

“Sexy.” He can’t help himself. You pinch his side, but he can still feel you smiling..

“We have a big yard. Maybe even big enough to keep horses, if you wanted.”

“What about a dog?”

“Well we’d have to get two, so they can have a friend.”

“Agreed.”

“What about you? What are you adding?” Rhett thinks for a moment.

“Nice deck. Rocking chairs or a porch swing so we can sit out and watch the stars at night.” You let out a happy little sound, and he can tell you’re picturing it. “Lots of blankets out there. You can get nice n’ cozy and I’ll bring us out hot toddies.” Rhett knows he’s not playing exactly by the rules of the game, but he’s starting to get lost in the idea of a future with you–– one that you seem to already be counting on. “The dogs like to sit by our feet. At least one of ‘em’s too big to sit in your lap, but you let ‘em anyway because you’re soft on ‘em.” He smiles. “Guess I probably am, too.”

You’ve always loved Rhett’s voice. It’s sexy as hell, sure, but it’s also unbelievably calming. Paired with his arms wrapped around you, it’s positively lethal. But he’s so wrapped up in the fantasy you two are creating, he doesn’t notice the way your breathing evens out or your grip on his waist starts to slacken.

“Once it gets too cold we head inside and you tell me just to leave the mugs in the sink because you don’t wanna go up to the bedroom by yourself even if it’s just for a few minutes. Our bedroom is big, but it’s cozy. You picked out most of the furniture but you always tell everyone I helped. I built our bed frame, though. You like to brag about that.” He knows he’s right because you still tell everyone you know about the end table he made for your living room last year. When he starts speaking again, he hardly realizes what he’s saying. It just starts to flow out of him.

“I ask you to marry me in that bed. I got a ring and a proposal all planned out but you have to go and look so beautiful one night that my plans go right out the window. I take you out for a walk like I was going to, though, and get down on one knee. You don’t even let me get up, you practically tackle me to the ground saying yes again. Maybe we get married out in the yard or we find some place pretty to go. But I think the ceremony happens outside; that feels right. We make Amy the flower girl even if she’s not a kid anymore. I’m crying the whole damn time and I don’t care who sees. You hold my hand even if we’re not supposed to.” He isn’t sure if that’s a rule–– he thinks maybe it isn’t–– but he knows you’d break it if there was one.

“I know we haven’t talked about kids, but…” Finally Rhett catches himself. “Well, I guess I’m getting a little carried away, there, huh?” For the first time in several minutes, he realizes you haven’t said a word. He nudges his nose against the crown of your head. “Sweetheart?” You shift a little bit, saying nothing. Rhett can’t help but laugh when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep. He leans back just enough to drag his thumb gently underneath your eye. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, a little louder.

“Mmm?” The sheets rustle as you start to wake, the sounds of a slow inhale as it fills your lungs. “Rhett?”

“Hey, sleepyhead,” and he thinks that maybe he’s never loved you so much as he does now. It’s not the first time he’s felt it–– he falls more in love with you every damn day. But his chest is full of something honey-thick, and warm. Your groggy expression is the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. “Think you fell asleep.” You blink some of the sleep from your eyes.

“Oh fuck!” you swear through a yawn. Your eyes seem bigger than ever when you peer up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just you were playing with my hair and your voice is so soothing and––”

“It’s okay,” he says softly, “it was kinda cute.”

“No, but I wanna hear what you were saying!”

“You’re tired, honey. Let’s go to sleep and I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“No,” you say, wiggling out of his embrace and sitting up. “I wanna hear everything. No details skipped.” Rhett only smiles up at you, expression growing mischievous, lips sealed tight.

“Here,” you say, oblivious to the fact that he’d do anything you asked. “You can put your head in my lap. I’ll play with your hair. But you have to tell me everything I missed.” He chuckles and tucks his head against your thigh. His eyes flutter shut and a happy sigh leaves him as you begin to card your fingers through his hair. 

“Where’d I lose you?”

“I let the big dogs sit on my lap.” He grins up at you, eyes peeking open.

“Oh good, so you missed the proposal.” You freeze.

“The what?”

“You heard me.” And the smug bastard has the nerve to shut his eyes again, settling back into your lap.

“Rhett Abbott, you open your eyes right now.”

“Hmm… nope.” You tug at his hair but he just lets out a contented groan. He can’t see you glaring at him, and it’s hard to keep it up when your heart is threatening to melt down into nothing and kill you. You think that maybe you’ve never loved Rhett as much as you do in this very moment. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask, voice suddenly small. Rhett opens his eyes, expression serious now.

“Yeah, I did.”

“And you’re not even gonna tell me?” you cry. He smiles and turns his head to press a kiss against your tummy.

“I’ll tell you everything else. I promise. But some things ought to be a surprise, don’t you think?” You let out a huff, but it’s all fondness.

“Okay, so I’m a pushover with the dogs, and?”

“You leave the mugs in the sink overnight because you can’t stand to be without me, even for a second.” You give him a look, but you know it’s true.

Luckily, if everything goes to plan, you won’t have to.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x you #outer range imagine #lewis pullman x reader #nobody perceive me #pls and thank you

[inmaki]

excuse me! 😀

#inmaki #the way my jaw dropped #this is like actually concerning #pls tell me im not the only one scared of these ppl??? #how can you enjoy reading abour r*pe and inc*est i js dont understand!!!! #WHY IS RHIS NORMALIZED WHY IS NOBODY SHAMING THEM #jjk x reader

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 04: here come the tears

a/n: the people have requested a surprise eddie pov and i have decided to pull a eurovision and ignore the public vote, just a little bit. but you get a tiny eddie pov, as a treat 🤍

Steve is crying. It's 1:07 a.m. and Steve is crying. And there is nothing Eddie can do about it as he's lying in bed, his heart breaking further with every passing second that they lie there in silence, quiet sniffles carrying over the phone. 

Steve is crying and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not talking to him and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not okay, and neither is Eddie. They're both breaking. 

And Eddie doesn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. How to make it better. How to tell Steve that he misses him, how to ask him to talk to him, how to keep him. To stop him from slipping through his fingers further and further until all there is is silence. 

"You know," his mind wanders back to years ago, his heart cracking at the memory. "I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. Forever, really."

He remembers the way Steve's eyebrows shot up, his eyes round with... shock? Surprise? Or maybe something bad? 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," Eddie had chuckled, fiddling with the straw in his drink to give his hands something to do. "Remember that kiss?" Steve nodded. "Well." Another chuckle, awkward this time, and possibly too revealing. 

Steve grinned at him, a self satisfied smirk that wavers just a little. "So you're saying you did fall madly in love with me, Munson?" 

Eddie's breath had hitched a little because Steve remembered those words so perfectly that had since doomed Eddie completely. But he covered it up with a laugh so easily, he was sure Steve didn't notice. 

"Maybe," he grinned. "But eh, that's in the past." 

It wasn't a lie; not really. But wasn't the truth either. 

The truth was that Eddie had moved on. The truth was that it's the kind of crush that was never really a crush. The kind that is a Forever more than anything else. 

The kind that will always be there, a flame burning inside my chest that carries your name and keeps it alive, keeps me warm. The kind of flame that will always be ready to become a bonfire again. Just say the word, Stevie. It's written in the universe. Say the word and I'll be yours. 

"Good," Steve said after a while, and Eddie remembers frowning, remembers that he wanted to ask what that tone was, what Steve was thinking. If he was worried or disgusted or felt betrayed that Eddie's been so hopelessly and helplessly in love with him. 

But all he said was, "Yeah. Remember Chrissy? We're kinda official now." 

And Eddie had known then just as he does now, that he'll be a happy man with Chrissy. She's his best friend, a sunshine on bleak days. She's no Steve, but she makes him happy. He had to move on from Steve – to try – and allow himself his own kind of happiness. He'd never expected to find it with Chrissy, but he loves her so much. He's grown to love her in the past years – not the movie kind of love, not the all-encompassing Steve kind of love, because that flame inside his chest can still only carry one name. 

But life is not a movie. And love is not always a fire. But he's still warm, still content, still happy. And so is Chrissy. She knows about his flame, says she understands. Eddie thinks he has one of her own, but he never asked; just held her that night, creating more of that silent happiness.

…Is he happy? Lying in bed, listening to Steve's quiet breaths that are barely audible over the phone, remembering the kiss, the confession, the Forever that he tried to move on from, he wonders what he's doing. Wonders if that contentment is worthwhile if it somehow lead him to losing Steve. 

Did he miss something? Did he fuck up without realising? 

He can't ask; Steve won't talk. 

All he can do is lie there and feel that flame that still carries Steve's name after ten, eleven, twelve years scorching his insides. 

All he can do is wonder if the whispered, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you," is some kind of goodbye. All he can do is lie awake all night and wonder where they started losing each other. 

~*~

Missing Eddie is worse than loving him. Missing Eddie makes it feel like all the heartbreak songs are written for Steve and his pain that will persist.

It’s been three months since the engagement party, and the sharp, biting heartache that cut into his lungs every time Steve tried to take a deep breath has dulled now, turned into a constant ache, an emptiness, the sorrowful traces of where an I love you turned into an I miss you. 

He’s barely talking to Eddie anymore, and with every passing day he just misses him more. 

Steve types the words I miss you over and over and over again, but never hits send. Just stares at them, wondering if Eddie knows. Wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He isn’t. There is no right thing. Nothing is right. Not without Eddie. 

He scrolls up in their chat, past Eddie’s questions if he’s okay, past his very own I miss yous, up and up and up to the strings of hearts, to the inside jokes, to the gentle teasing, to the You’re my favourite persons, to the happiness and joy and good, good times. 

He scrolls and scrolls until his phone vibrates and tells him there’s a new message in the chat. Steve frowns, his hollow heart racing as he scrolls down again to see Eddie’s new message. 

Eddie Munson: — Can I come over? 

Steve frowns. 

— why? are you okay? 

Eddie Munson: — No. — Nothing is okay. You’re gone and you’re not talking to me and I miss you and I’m losing you and I don’t know why — I dont know anything. — I just wanna know, wanna talk, wanna understand — I wanna fix this. I fucked up, I think, and I wanna make it better. — I need to talk to you — Please. Please can I come over 

Steve swallows hard, as he reads the incoming messages over and over again, watching the little bubble that says Eddie’s typing still. Watching as it disappears and reappears, reading until his eyes begin to sting and his vision is blurred with tears for the first time this week. 

Letting them fall as he types, 

— no. please dont 

Eddie doesn’t reply to that, and Steve breathes out long and hard, throwing his phone to the side, not caring where it lands on the couch as he slumps over to the other side, turning up the music even louder. 

Oh, can you tell I haven’s slept very well Since the last time that we spoke. I said, ‘Please understand I’ve been drinking again And all I do is hope.’

It consumes him, this song and the way it was written for him. The way it was written about him. Because he has no right to ask Eddie to stay. He’s the one who’s leaving. He’s the one not telling Eddie what is wrong, why he’s pulling back so suddenly. 

I’m not strong enough for the both of us. What was I supposed to do, You know I love you. Please, stay.

Please stay. Please, please, please stay. It’s about him. It’s about Eddie. About them. 

And Steve listens to it over and over again, not caring that his neighbours will know it by heart by know, will be so tired of him wallowing for weeks and months, and will come knocking soon. He doesn’t care, not when Mayday Parade are singing, All the love’s still there, I just don’t know what to do with it now. 

He types that into Eddie’s chat. Doesn’t hit send. Sends it to Robin instead, and gets a shaking hands emoji in return. It makes him smile as he re-starts the song. 

~*~

That night, he wakes around 2 a.m. to a missed call an hour ago and one new message on his mailbox. He lifts his phone to his ear with shaking hands and bated breath, a pit opening in his stomach when he hears the Judas Priest song that’s been in his Sad Eddie playlist since the beginning. 

His heart cracks open when he hears Eddie’s sniffle, a heavy sigh, and another sniffle, followed by a little, Fuck. 

“Stevie? I’m… You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just— to just disappear. To slip through my fucking fingers, or float away like a— a dream, when you wake up, and you wanna go back to sleep because it was a good dream, and you— I don’t wan’ you to be a good dream Steve. You’re like… Fuck, man!” 

Eddie’s voice is breaking, and so is Steve’s heart as his hand begins to tremble and he sits up in bed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut because he doesn’t want to see the world as Eddie’s rambling at him. 

“I miss you. I miss you so much, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t… I don’t wanna miss you. How do I get you back, Stevie? Please just… God, please just talk to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Just tell me, just say the word. Just… Just say the word, please.” 

There’s silence after that, only Judas Priest’s Here come the tears over and over as the song is ending. Steve is crying as he listens to Eddie’s silence. 

“Just. Just… Please, Stevie.” 

The call ends then, the line cutting to the staticky voice instructing him to save or delete the message. Steve saves it. He doesn’t know why. 

He also doesn’t know why he’s scrolling through his contacts with trembling hands and hits Call when he reaches Eddie. 

The call doesn’t even get to the second ring before it’s picked up already. 

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds breathless, wild, and just a little hoarse. Like he was still crying. 

“Hi,” he says lamely, still shaking, a little breathless himself, and with absolutely no idea what he should say. 

“I’m… Hi.” 

Silence falls, and Steve wipes at his eyes. He’s still in bed, just sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, and the ball that’s coiled inside him is growing larger and larger with each passing second that he doesn’t say Sorry, that he doesn’t say I miss you, too. That he doesn’t say I love you. 

“Can I come in?” 

He blinks, the question throwing him off his thought spiral. “Huh?” 

“I’m sort of… outside your building right now.” 

Why, he wants to ask. No, he wants to say. You’re gonna see, you’re gonna know, you’re gonna hate me forever. 

“Okay,” he breathes and climbs out of bed, blanket around his shoulders despite the summer heat, because suddenly he’s freezing. He buzzes Eddie in, listens to him on the phone as he walks up the stairs, neither of them thinking of hanging up, and opens his doors with shaking, trembling hands. 

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript (sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3)and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for [redacted] | read here

#steddie fic #steddie #steddieweek2023 #steddie week fic #steve harrington whump #eddie munson whump #dio words #hi uhm. please nobody be mean to eddie for moving on or think he's emotionally two-timing chrissy i swear i'll try to make it make sense #but moving on is good and healthy pls don't give him shit for it <3 sometimes in life that's what happens #also thank you all for being so nice to me legit all your comments and tags keep me going 🥺😭🤍🌷 thank yous

[maribird444]

the tortured poets department

#pls tell me nobody’s done this yet #kind of giggling ngl……. #dan and phil #amazingphil #daniel howell #phandom #dapg #phan #dnp #dan and phil games #dnpg #dip and pip

[nathaaaan]

Darcy in a suit?

Nah.

Danne in a button-down 👍

w/o horns

#LAST ONE I SWEAR #anne boonchuy #danne #amphibia #digital art #art #ao3 fanfic #how has nobody done this b4??? #if someone has pls tell me 🙏 #SHE LOOKS SO PRETTY #AUDJSMSNFNENFNFNSNC #villainous thing

[pixlokita]

The stupid animal shelter won’t help (as usual) and we already have too many rescues in our house but someone abandoned a dog in our area, just left him there with his plate and he’s not looking too good. I want to help and take him in but we don’t have space or money for it anymore. Idk if anyone is interested, this is in Houston. He seems very sweet. Idk what else to do y’all, I called and they said they wouldn’t do anything unless he’s injured badly.

#pix habla #abandoned dog #idk how to tag this #just ? idk hope it reaches someone #legit 10 cats and two dogs and we can’t take in more we don’t even have space in the garage #there’s so many people who could help but they don’t care about these guys #and me and my fam are tired of finding them dead because nobody else helped them #but we don’t have any more space #sorry yeah anyhow #reblogs are appreciated #or resources even #if anyone knows what else we can do pls let me know

[crayycrayon]

can't believe the butcher just let some twink call him a dog multiple times i wouldn't have taken that personally

#something something he wants him so bad #nobody get upset at me calling arthur a twink pls i needed to to further my point #malevolent #malevolent podcast #the butcher malevolent #collins malevolent #the butcher #dennis collins #arthur lester malevolent #arthur malevolent #arthur lester #cray posts about malevolent