#but for the past few months i've been drawing her without them more and more

[clar-a-m]

#critical role #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #imogen temult #we all know a lot of people in the fandom give her glasses #but i'm curious to know what the percentage of it is #i always drew her with glasses #but for the past few months i've been drawing her without them more and more #honestly it kinda depends on the au #and when i make canon fanart it's kind of a gamble at this point #btw my theory for the fandom collectively agreeing that she wears glasses is bc laura used/touched her glasses a lot while acting as imogen #specially in the early eps #so people just naturally started picturing the character with glasses too

[rogueddie]

"Something is really wrong with Steve," Robin says.

The party look up, startled. They wait for her to continue, but she starts pacing nervously. It immediately sets the kids on edge, glancing at each other uneasy.

"What do you mean?" Dustin eventually speaks up. "Is he... ill?"

"No, no, it's... his parents came home, right?"

"Yeah, we know," Max snorts. "Dustins mom had to ban him from the house because he wouldn't leave."

"He can't avoid them forever," Dustin points out. "I get that it's hard to talk to them when you have to lie all the time but they're, like, paying for all his shit."

"No they aren't!" Robins voice cracks. "They cut him off years ago! Dude, he hates them and now he's writing up a resignation letter so he can go work for his dad."

"Why is that a bad thing?" El asks, eyes a little wide.

"He'd have to train for a few months in New York for one."

"New York?!" All of them burst out. They all try to speak at once, loud and panicked. They're so loud that Hopper bursts out, confused and tired and panicked.

"What the hell is going on?" He snaps.

The kids all look a little guilty. El stands up so he looks at her. "We are worried about Steve."

"What? Jeez, that's what you're yelling about?"

"He's moving away!" Mike snaps. "To New York! For months!"

Hopper frowns at him like he's not making sense. "New York?"

"To work with his dad," Robin adds. "I didn't know if I should talk him out-"

"They're back?" Hopper asks. He's gone still, voice devoid of emotion and dangerously calm. "How long?"

"A month? Maybe more, it-"

"And they're home now? Do you know if Steve is there with them? It's not one of his shifts, is it? That'd make it easier."

"What? No, he's home. Make what easier?"

Hopper ignores the question, grabbing his coat and shoes. "Stay here, I won't be long."

He ignores the questions that grow frantic and panicked when he picks up his gun, stomping out the door at a fast pace. Robin is yelling from the door as he climbs into his car. She's too taken aback to even begin to think of how to answer to avalanche of questions the kids throw at her.

Hopper gets to the Harrington house in record time, having sped just a little to get there. Mrs Harrington is the one who opens the door and looks a little guilty when she sees him.

"Where is he?" Hopper asks.

She steps back, letting him in. "In his room."

Hopper pushes past her, taking the stairs two at a time. Steve is sat at his desk when he enters the room without knocking, head snapping up and looking startled. He looks a little ashamed when he realizes that it's Hopper.

"Hop," Steves voice is strained. He frowns when Hopper ignores him, pulling his closet open. "Uh, Hopper? What are you doing?"

"Taking you home," Hopper mutters. He pulls out the three bags he knows Steve has been keeping hidden, just in case. "Come on, pack up."

"I can't just-"

"Yes you can. Pack. Up."

Steve only hesitates for a moment. He slowly fills up one with his few sentimental things and some things he considers important (his scoops uniform, the drawings from Will). Hopper stuffs the other two with clothes. It doesn't take them long.

"I'll come back for the rest, if you want any of it," Hopper hands Steve his car keys, waving him toward the stairs. "Wait in the car. I'll be a minute."

Steve hesitates at the door, glancing between Hopper and his mom. He leaves though, doesn't say goodbye.

"Right, here's what's going to happen; I'm going to come back for the rest of his things. I've seen that room, I'll know if somethings missing. And that shit is his, don't try to bullshit me." Hopper eyes her with visible distaste. "He's an adult now. You can't take him back and if I hear that either of you've been trying to harass him again, I'll press charges."

She nods, which is enough of an answer for him. He throws the two bags in the back with the third before climbing in the drivers seat. The air is thick with tension as he pulls out the drive, starting the drive back to the cabin.

"Um... could you, uh, drop me off at the trailer park?" Steve asks, quiet and timid in a way that is horribly familiar to Hopper. "I, uh... I need to see Eddie."

Hopper grunts. He grits his teeth to stop himself snapping. It wouldn't be fair on Steve. So he drives him there, quiet and tense.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles.

But Hopper climbs out too, gently grabbing Steves jacket lapels to drag him over to the Munsons trailer. Hopper knocks.

"Oh," Waynes eyebrows raise. He looks Hopper up and down before turning his eyes on Steve, who he gives a soft smile. "Harrington, you doing alright?"

"No," Hopper answers for him. "Could we come in for a moment?"

"Sure?" Wayne shuffles out the way, shutting the door behind them. "Eddie's in his room, if you want me to get him?"

"You want your boy to see?" Hopper asks Steve.

Steve ducks his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. He mutters, "he probably will anyway."

"Ok. Do you want him here for this?"

"Here for what?" Eddie asks, hovering in the doorway, worried. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," Steve tries to say. "It's... really, it's nothing."

"Steve," Hopper calmly says. Waits for Steve to look back at him, simply raises an eyebrow. "Where?"

"Hopper, it's fine, really."

"Where?"

Steve tries to stare him down, unsuccessfully. He huffs, annoyed, glancing at Wayne and Eddie who, understandably, look confused.

He slowly takes his jacket off, keeping his eyes on the floor. There's a sharp intake of breath when the dark, almost black, bruises on his arms are revealed. They litter the entirety of both arms, the ones around his left wrist and right bicep standing out the most- the ones shaped like hands.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, walking forward slowly. He's careful, brushing his fingers against his skin. "Oh, baby, who did this?"

"It's fine," Steve tries to insist.

Hopper clears his throat though. "Where else?"

Steve doesn't try to argue this time. He grabs the back of his collar, lifting his top off. His ribs have the worst of his bruises.

"Fuck," Eddie carefully, gently, pulls Steve into a hug. Presses gentle, ever so soft kisses to his neck. His hand is just as gentle when he rubs his back. Steve clings to him, grip looking almost painful, but Eddie doesn't complain.

Hopper turns to Wayne, who is also pointedly looking away so the two can have their moment. "His parents are gonna try to find him. Direct them to me if they try here."

"Don't worry about Steve," Wayne glances at the pair, still wrapped around each other, at the bruises. "Worry about them. If they try to come by here, they'll be leaving in a body bag. I'm sick of assholes treating my kids like this."

Hopper looks over at Eddie, who's pulling back so he can hold Steves face, eyes painfully understanding. He nods at Wayne, pats his shoulder. "I'm getting the rest of his stuff, he's got no reason to go back there. It's my cabin he's coming home to."

"I'll drive him there myself," Wayne glances at the pair, who think they're being subtle and sneaky as they giggle their way towards Eddies room. "Tomorrow."

Hopper chuckles, glancing towards the hall the two disappeared down. "Tomorrow."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #jim hopper #ficlet #angst #steves asshole parents #well #hopper and wayne are steves real parents now #hurtcomfort

[lucabyte]

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

#PHEW THIS IS LONG. i wrote some extra footnotes and tidied it up a bit. but uh. here you go! my personal headcanon baseline for postcanon. #i could probably elaborate more but that would get unwieldy. like i have opinions on loop's dynamics w each party member but. LONG POST... #lucabytetalks #isat #isat spoilers #in stars and time #isat loop #isiloop #sloopis #WONT be tagging everyone thats absurd. loop centric post though with a chunk about nille at the end #isat act 6 spoilers

[f1letters]

vigilante shit | pg10 x cl16

"you did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them"

summary: revenge is served cold and it tastes especially sweet when it involves his best friend

warning: angst, toxic relationship, toxic reader, revenge, suggestive language, swearing, no cheating (since they are not together), a little choking? (lol this took a turn)

pairing: pierre gasly x reader, charles leclerc x reader

word count: 3.4k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

french words used: mon ange = my angel; bébé = baby; ma chérie = my darling

we are officially back after last weekend! (please, let's NOT talk about it, I'm still in denial lol) 😂 I guess this story needs a shoutout to my toxic ex? thank you wherever you are in the world for the inspo! haha 😂 anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it as always!

masterlist

Draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man

You did some bad things, but I'm the worst of them

Sometimes I wonder which one'll be your last lie

They say looks can kill and I might try

A cat eye sharp enough to kill a man was the first step necessary to a killing night.

Y/N made sure her siren eyes were on point as she got ready for the party that night. It wasn't the first drivers' party she attended since she had become a frequent presence in the paddock for the last few months. But, boy, was it a special one.

This was her time to seek revenge. 

Toxic? Perhaps. But the Machiavellian side of her didn't care. Her eyes were seeing red. 

And red was her theme: her bright cherry-red lips, her long silk red dress, and the luscious red heels at the end of her smooth legs, which showed through the slit of her skirt.

She looked like a walking Ferrari prize, ready to be picked up by the winner.

Playing with me was the worst thing you've ever done, Pierre. You'll see, she thought, leaving the house.

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

It all started on an innocent, warm summer day when Y/N and a group of friends decided to take a boat on the gorgeous, fascinating Lake Como for some fun, swimming and sunbathing, while they were in the beautiful country of Italy.

Unknown to Y/N, in the same waters, another boat passed by hers, immediately catching the interest of all her friends. The young woman was completely distracted, tanning her back, when she began to hear flirty whispers and giggles coming from her group, swooning over some random guys.

Curious, the girl turned around until her eyes landed on the figures of two athletic, handsome men. God, it was unfair, couldn't she have both? A girl can dream.

She had always been a confident woman, but old-fashioned in a sense: she wasn't going to approach them. If they wanted to know her and her friends, they could address them. If not, their loss.

However... Life has a funny way of turning against you and when the group of friends was getting ready to leave the lake, their boat couldn't start. They tried and tried, but clearly none of them had the capacity to handle the situation. So they only had one option left: ask for help from the friendly, helpful guys on the next boat.

"Hey!" Y/N called out, in an attempt to get them to look. "Can you help us?"

"Hi! Is something wrong with your boat?" One of them, in blue shorts, questioned, curious.

"We can't start the engine. Can you help us?" She asked.

The two boys jumped out and swam to the girls' boat without hesitation. When they walked up the stairs, Y/N could almost hear her friends' jaws hitting the floor at the sight of their wet, muscled abs. But Y/N maintained his carefree demeanour, which only fascinated the two young men more.

The unreachable. The unknown. The treasure to be discovered. They lived for the adrenaline, for the adventure, for the challenge.

And she was a walking challenge.

"Thanks for your help. I'm Y/N." She introduced herself, extending her hand to greet them.

"Pierre." The boy in the orange shorts replied, half-closed eyes filled with interest.

"I'm Charles." The other replied, with a seductive smile plastered on his face.

How the girl would come to regret it when she thought back on that day. From that moment came the invitation for the young women to join the two drivers in their next GP in Emilia-Romagna, which they happily accepted.

And from there came more races, group dinners, parties, and much more. Everything got more complicated when what started as a group friendship ended up leading to a silent battle between the two friends for the confident girl's attention.

One of them, unfortunately, had to lose, and in this case, contrary to their races, Pierre came out victorious, much to Charles's unawareness. Although the Monegasque was an absolute Greek God on the outside and a sweetheart on the inside, Y/N couldn't help but initially let her tendency for complicated, toxic men lead her right to Pierre.

She fell for his charm right away. She didn't even have a chance to run. As soon as he made his first move on her when he pulled her into an empty room after a night of partying, he dominated the girl, body and soul, like he was poison burning right through the inside of her veins.

But like all poison, it's only a matter of time before you die without the antidote.

Secret nights, hidden moments, empty promises. He continued to feed off of what he wanted from her, while she sustained herself with the little crumbs left from the illusions she created in her own head.

He wasn't going to change, and she knew it. But it wasn't until she heard the words come out of his mouth that she realized really how she had been used all those months.

"I never wanted a serious relationship, mon ange," Pierre confessed, unconcerned with her feelings. "You knew from the start that this was just fun for the two of you."

"Fun for the two of you?" She echoed his words. "You've been saying for months that we're eventually going to be in a relationship. Don't lie now. Which one'll be your last lie?!"

She wasn't going to allow herself to cry in front of him. She kept her gaze directly on him, with a look that could kill.

"You know what? You're right." She replied, smiling at him through the pain she felt in her chest. The corners of her lips turned up, but her eyes didn't follow the gesture, leaving Pierre almost startled by the mixed signals. "Have a good life, Pierre. I'll see you around."

Oh, he was going to see her around...

If there was one thing Y/N liked better than a good boy toy, it was revenge. 

And she was thirsty for some vigilante action.

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

She wasn't going to let herself be affected by a guy who didn't treat her as she deserved. That wasn't something that lined up with her strong, confident, determined personality.

Cry for him? Be heartbroken because of the shitty way she was treated by him? Why be sad when you can get even? 

The perfect opportunity for payback just presented itself to her. Just like that: so tempting, so inviting, so alluring. In the form of a single text.

From: Charles Leclerc

hey! you're coming sunday night, right? need you at my victory party...

Y/N spent the whole time with her focus completely dedicated to Pierre when she had a caring, honest man in the palm of her hand... And she would be lying if she didn't say that the fact that he was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous didn't help captivate her now that her heart was free.

However, part of her mind told her that, although she was attracted to Charles, it would be unfair to basically use him to provoke a reaction out of Pierre. The Monegasque didn't even dream of the affair his two friends had going on in the recent past. It was just wrong. After all, how could she do to him what the Frenchman had done to her?

With this, an internal debate was created within the young woman. There were two options: she could be the superior person and move on with her life without thinking about the past, or she could let her anger take over and play with fire a little.

Unfortunately for Pierre, Y/N was never very good at keeping the burning fire of revenge inside her, and she was determined to have a little fun with it.

She needed cold, hard proof, so I gave her some

She had the envelope, where you think she got it from?

Now she gets the house, gets the kids, gets the pride

Picture me thick as thieves with your ex-wife

That Sunday, Y/N walked into the club like she owned the place. The white lights reflected off her as if she were the mirror ball in the centre of the dance floor: all eyes were on her as she outshined the rest of the world.

Two pairs of eyes averted in unison as she approached the group of drivers, both believing she was there for them.

Pierre, closest to the stairs she was going up to the VIP area, was the first to approach the girl, with an inquisitive look.

"Mon ange, I didn't expect you to be here." He confessed, convinced that Y/N was there with the intent of getting him back.

What he didn't expect was that her siren eyes wouldn't even meet his. She was a woman on a mission, and her eyes were on only one person: his best friend.

Without saying a single word to him, Y/N made her way over to the handsome winner of the race, who had his mesmerizing blue eyes already fixed on his shiny red prize.

"Wow, bébé!" He whistled, giving her his hand and making her take a turn to show off her look. "I love the red, it suits you well. Was that all for me?" Charles, more confident than usual from a couple of drinks already consumed, flirted with the girl, his eyes admiring her from head to toe.

"How did you guess?" She replied, in the same tone. Y/N couldn't deny that Charles looked incredibly appetizing. His baby blue shirt was slightly open, exposing the man's defined chest, his hair was tousled and wild, and his eyes were brighter than ever.

"Just a lucky guess. The red Ferrari was a given, though." He chuckled as he pulled her closer to him. "You look so pretty tonight, Y/N. Not that you don't always look stunning, but tonight... Damn, you look fucking incredible, ma chérie."

Charles, focused only on the woman in front of him, didn't even notice how his best friend was glued to the shocking image of the Monegasque clinging to his ex-lover, but Y/N could feel Pierre's eyes burning into the back of her neck.

The young woman couldn't help but let out a satisfied grin. Pierre thought he could play with her without having to deal with the consequences, but he forgot that karma has a way of always biting someone back.

Y/N let her hand flow along the shirt of the driver in front of her until she reached his collar. She approached him seductively until her red inviting lips approached his ear.

Letting her mouth graze against Charles' warm neck, she began her plan. "Do you want to dance, champ?" She asked, with a suggestive tone to her voice.

"Lead the way. I'm all yours tonight." Charles responded and placed his hands on the girl's waist in response.

Enjoy the show, Pierre. It's just getting started.

And she looks so pretty

Drivin' in your Benz

Lately, she's been dressin' for revenge

As the pair moved towards the centre of the club, Y/N swaying his hips gently to the music and Charles with his hands all over the girl's body, Pierre's gaze moved with them.

The Frenchman's muscles tensed up, something that didn't go unnoticed by his teammate Yuki, who was standing right beside him.

"Hey, is something wrong?" Tsunoda asked, worried. "You look... I don't know, upset."

"Everything is fine," Gasly replied, though not at all convincingly. "Everything is perfectly fine." He continued, not understanding whether he was trying to convince the Japanese driver or himself.

He broke up with her, okay, he knew that. He would've understood if she showed up with some random guy trying to tease him. But his best friend, someone he's known for decades?

Y/N was taking things too far.

Pierre unfastened two buttons of his shirt, in an attempt to catch his breath, now dominated by rage. If your plan was to make me jealous to prove me wrong, you've done it, he thought to himself. Now that's enough.

Now for Y/N, revenge was just beginning.

"I think the winner deserves something special." The young woman put her arms around Charles' neck, letting her fingers flow through his brown hair and giving him a provocative smirk. "Don't you agree, Leclerc?"

"Well, he tried really hard to win the race." He joked back, speaking of himself in the third person. The driver's hands threatened to slide further and further down her back towards her bottom. "I think at the very least he deserves a dance with the prettiest girl in this club."

"Perhaps if the winner behaves well during the night, he can find out if his prize is red under the dress too." She teased him, licking her lips as she looked down at his flawless mouth. "Do you think he would like that?"

"Oh, for sure." He answered, getting his face closer to hers.

Y/N felt her heart beat faster and more euphorically, something that caught her off guard. This all started with intentions to punish Pierre for what he did to her, but without her relationship with the Frenchman clouding her mind, Y/N couldn't help but see Charles in a different light for the first time.

Of course, she always thought he was hot and she noticed his attempts to get close to her. But at that moment, the young woman was looking at him and her body seemed to react automatically to the Monegasque's presence, trying to reduce the physical distance between the two as much as possible.

She don't start shit, but she can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

She don't dress for friends

Lately, she's been dressing for revenge

She let herself be carried away by the impulsiveness of the moment and, leaving her thirst for vengeance forgotten in the back of her head, Y/N pulled Charles towards her and let her cherry-red lips kiss his.

Leclerc instantly returned the kiss, with the same passion, the same determination, and the same hunger for each other.

At that moment, it was just her and him. It didn't matter the circumstances that led them there, but that there was indeed chemistry and desire for each other. She simply had enough of Pierre and his lies.

On the other hand, Pierre couldn't believe what his eyes were seeing. The woman he used to call his between four walls. The man he called his brother. Kissing. Hands exploring their bodies. No shame, no concern for who saw them and the opinions of outsiders.

It was what Y/N wanted from me and I never gave it to her, he realised.

The couple broke the kiss and Charles ran his hand over the girl's forehead, pushing the loose hair behind her ear. Y/N giggled when she saw the image of the driver's lips now stained with her lipstick and tried to clean them by running her thumb lovingly over them.

Suddenly, she felt the side of her face burn and instantly she realized why: her ex's eyes were fixed on her. As soon as she turned her face towards him, their eyes met and she just imagined all the names he was calling her in his head. She gave him a smirk and turned back to Charles.

"I'm going to the bathroom and I'll be right back with you, okay?" She asked, knowing full well that Pierre was going to follow her.

"I'll meet Carlos and wait for you in the VIP area." He informed her, a hungry look on his face, giving her hand one last rub with his thumb. "But you better be back soon because I've been promised a prize that I can't wait to unravel."

Ladies always rise above

Ladies know what people want

Someone sweet and kind and fun

The lady simply had enough

Just as she predicted, Gasly followed as soon as he saw her heading towards the dark hallway to the bathrooms.

Along the way, and just when he thought his nightmare couldn't get any worse, the Frenchman bumped into Charles, who had a smile plastered to his face like a man who had just won the lottery. Pierre wanted nothing more than to punch that stupid smirk out of his face.

"Mate, I finally got the woman of my dreams." Leclerc innocently admitted, unaware that he was pulling his friend's strings.

Pierre simply walked away, bumping into Charles's shoulder, who was left behind confused by what had just happened.

As soon as he reached the hallway, Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He assumed she was in the ladies' room, so he leaned against the wall beside the door as he waited for her to exit.

A few minutes (which seemed like hours to the impatient man) passed before she got out. As soon as Pierre saw her figure, he grabbed her by the wrist and pushed her against the wall in an act of rage.

"Can you explain to me what the fuck is going on?" Gasly spat out the words, hot-headed, leaning his body completely over the young woman's. "Are you fucking kidding me? Charles? Of all people."

"I'm sorry, but since when do I owe you an explanation? If I remember correctly, you and I are nothing." She spoke, mirroring the same angry tone.

"Shut the fuck up." Pierre gripped her wrist tighter, letting her know that her plan was working exactly as planned. "You crossed the line."

"I just thought the winner of the race deserved a worthy prize." She smirked until the driver placed his hand on her throat and squeezed lightly, making the smile soon disappear from her face.

While he was doin' lines and crossin' all of mine

Someone told his white-collar crimes to the FBI

And I don't dress for villains

Or for innocents

I'm on my vigilante shit again

"You already got what you wanted. You had your fun, you got me fucked up." He confessed. "But that's enough. You're going to get out of here and go home immediately because I'm not about to take this shit."

Y/N laughed in his face. This man's audacity to try to boss her around after using her as his personal toy in his spare time.

The young woman was far from done with her plan. So, she gave him those puppy dog eyes he couldn't resist and he released her throat, his eyes softening at the image of her.

Y/N brought her face closer to his, half closing her eyes as their lips prepared to meet. Or so Pierre thought, who was caught off guard when the girl ducked her way towards his ear and whispered her last words.

"This is only the start. Enjoy my revenge like I'm going to enjoy my night."

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends

Don't get sad, get even

So on the weekends

I don't dress for friends

With that, the young woman left the dark hall without looking back and walked confidently towards the gorgeous man who was waiting for her.

Charles smiled behind the glass he was drinking from as soon as he laid eyes on the girl in red, getting a pat on the back from his friend Carlos.

"Ay, ay, ay, my friend. You are completely head over heels for her." Sainz teased and walked away from them, leaving the couple alone.

Leclerc grabbed the girl by the hip and pulled her towards him, placing a soft kiss on her red lips.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Y/N asked, winking at the boy.

"Hmm, tempting..." For the first time that night, Charles made the risky move of placing his free hand over the girl's ass. "What did you have in mind, bébé?"

Y/N started her night dressed for revenge not knowing that she would end up with her body burning for the Monegasque, but maybe Charles Leclerc was just the antidote she needed in her life as she tried to get back to her past self.

"What about some undressing?"

Lately, I've been dressin' for revenge

taglist: @dan3avacado @starxqt @roseinnej @spiidergirlsworld @ccloaned @hotpigeon22 @dr3lover @lovelytsunoda @primadonnasdream @luxebeautystyle @wallfloweriism @ilivefortheleague @gwynethhberdara @satellitelh @adavenus @audreyscodes @wifeoflucyboynton @th6ccnsp6cyy @classifiedsblog @flyingmushroomss @motylekrozi @claramllera @gabrielamaex @handsupforamiracle @pierre-gasssllyy @lorenaloveslewis

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(taglist continues in the comments)

thank you to everyone that asked to be tagged! please let me know if you want to be added to the next stories! 💌

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 imagine #f1 one shot #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #pierre gasly x reader x charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader x pierre gasly #pierre gasly #pg10 #charles leclerc #cl16 #f1letters #f1 x reader #f1 x taylor swift #f1 x midnights #pg10 x cl16 #cl16 x pg10 #Spotify #charles leclerc one shot #pierre gasly one shot #formula 1 one shot #charles leclerc fluff #pierre gasly angst #f1 love triangle #cl16 x reader #pg10 x reader

[sandy-the-glader]

Happy Halloween Stranger

Character: George Karim x Fem!Reader

Type: Fluff

Length: 1.5k words

Summary: George comes across a beautiful Fittes agent he's never seen before. She's there to cure his boredom at the Fittes Halloween party and he wants to know more about her by the minute. Did I mention this is a masquerade and he has absolutely no idea who she is or how to find her?

Trope: Strangers to Lovers

A/n: This was fun to write so lmk if you want a part 2 or smth but this is a special for Halloween. A few more one-shots should come out next month so I'll get on that but like I'm in the mood to write for Mike Schmidt since the fnaf movie just came out soo hit up the inbox lol but anyways Happy Halloween everyone!!

George sat lonely at a table with a glass of champagne in his hand. He watched the dance floor as couples twirled together giggling at each other. One of those couples being Lucy and Lockwood. For the past few months at Portland Row, he had to deal with the constant third wheeling between them. Even on missions or even simple research jobs.

He swirled his drink in his hand and sighed. They had been dancing for hours and having fun by barely giving him a second glance. A mysterious woman seemed to take notice of it. George took a swig of champagne and slumped further into his seat wanting very much to leave the event and entirely disappear. He hated parties, especially a posh masquerade where he didn't know who anyone was beneath the mask.

He would honestly rather be handing out candy to the trick of treaters that came by and he hated that too.

-

I scanned his features well the ones I could see without him taking off his mask. After asking around the party I found out his name was George Karim. He works for the small agency of Lockwood and Co. There was something that drew me towards him. I don't know he looked so lonely and he wasn't like the rest of the guys here.

My feet started to walk over to his table, moving past all the rest of the masked folks. I couldn't care about any of these people here. My team was god knows where and I couldn't tell them apart from the other people here for the life of me. They were probably tipsy and making out with their partners on the dance floor. I want to have a little fun tonight. It was Halloween and I was not about to have a boring and wasted night.

I pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. The boy's eyes were immediately attached to my face out of confusion. They were a beautiful brown and they danced in the light.

His mask was also insanely creative. It was half gray half orange with swirls of black. Some of his dark curls fell over it.

"Some friends you have hm?" I spoke up nodding towards the other two members of Lockwood and Co. which were Lucy Carlyle and Anthony Lockwood. They were much more well-known than George Lockwood always being in the spotlight lately with his amazing achievements and Lucy as his partner in crime. George wasn't in the pictures they had in newspapers, let alone he wasn't mentioned much.

"What?" He quite obviously heard the question he was just startled that someone seemed to be talking to him.

"Your team," I spoke again. "they're out on the dance floor just enjoying themselves but I mean what about you? You look bored and don't seem to be enjoying your time here. Am I correct?" His brown eyes softened beneath the mask and he nodded slowly. He looked skeptical of this conversation but he seemed to be leaning into it. "Look, I've noticed they haven't been over here in perhaps an hour or more."

"Yeah but why is that your concern?" He huffed. I took out a pen and started to draw on a napkin on the table.

"I know I'm right. And you're right too, it isn't my concern but, you haven't told me to leave you alone yet." I pointed out. He sat up.

"Because I appreciated the company." He admitted. I finished writing on the napkin and shoved it in my pocket.

"So George Karim of Lockwood and Co. tell me why you're here in the first place? Since you seem to hate parties so much?"

"They forced me to. They wanted me to get out of the house and do something fun like go to a dance because 'I need someone to love' and dance with. They knew I wasn't going to dance here." He crossed his arms with annoyance.

"How about we dance?" He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at me oddly. "Look I'm not saying you gotta love me but if your friends see you dancing and at least looking like you are enjoying yourself, you could go home quicker. I mean that was the whole point of coming here right?"

"And the fact they wanted to have a romantic outing." He rolled his eyes and I laughed. "I suppose that's not a bad idea. But sorry to tell you I don't dance with strangers I need to know who's behind the pretty mask." The flirt took me slightly aback.

"Y/n L/n. Come on Karim. The sooner you dance the sooner you're out of here and you can get back to whatever you were doing before."

"Do we need to shake on it since you're so eager to dance with me?" Oh, so he can joke I thought he almost wasn't able to for a second.

"Hey, I'm trying to save a bored boy at a posh old person's party be grateful." He smiled softly and we stood up. We made our way to the dance floor. He was insanely stiff.

"Do you even know how to dance Karim?" His eyes widen.

"Erm.. no." He said nervously shaking his head.

"It's okay. Lemme help you so you don't look like Bambi on ice." I took both of his hands and guided them to my hips and I draped my arms over his shoulders. "Now you're just going to move your feet in a smooth pattern. And relax your shoulders you look like a brick." He listened to my advice and I noticed him start to relax under my hands. "There you go! Perfect."

"How'd you learn how to dance?" He asked as we swayed. "Just as a kid. I've bounced around many agencies and they always had balls like these." He nodded understanding. "Though Fittes was the only one I stuck with because of its high reputation."

"Do you enjoy your job though?" He asked genuinely curious.

"The job is definitely something I enjoy doing It's just my team I'm not extremely fond of." I frowned. I looked into my eyes wanting me to continue my small rant. "They're always off on their own and they're extremely careless! I want to put my abilities to good use but I can't with them around." I noted.

"I know what you mean. I used to work here and I didn't think very highly of my team either."

"You did? Why don't you work here anymore? I mean not saying your team now isn't lovely." I glanced over across the dance floor at the duo.

"I got fired." He said throwing me off.

"You got fired? Jeez Karim, what did you do?" I said shocked that he would even be considered a problem. He seems so relaxed.

"Because I asked too many questions and was doing things above my pay grade." He said and shrugged his shoulder lightly.

"Fired for being a smarty pants." Cute. "Now that's something I could see. That's idiotic of them though. Your brain could be used for some good things here. But If you're happy at Lockwood and Co. then I'm happy for you." His cheeks flushed slightly and he looked puzzled but happy.

"Thank you." He murmered. I wanted to see the rest of what was under his mask. I took my hands and cupped his cheek and he copied my action. Maybe he was wondering the same thing. Maybe this could be more than a one-time thing. We seemed to get closer to inch closer together.

Lucy and Lockwood stumbled up to us unexpectedly. We backed away from each other. They were tipsy and they were giggling like school children. George looked surprised to see them and waited for them to talk. While George was distracted I took the napkin I drew on earlier and slipped it into the boy's pocket without him realizing.

"Georgieeeee" Lucy wined. "Your girlfriend is pretty but it's late we have to go." She tugged on his shirt and he stumbled.

"Lucy!" He tried to get her to stop yanking him away but she wouldn't budge. He looked backward at me and I waved.

"Goodnight 'Georgie' Happy Halloween." I smiled. He looked upset leaving but that was what he wanted wasn't it? To get home and not have to deal with these people. That was the whole plan.

-

As soon as I got home, I guided Lucy and Lockwood upstairs so they didn't fall they giggled the entire way up. The entire way.

"Goodnight Georgie!" Lucy said before slamming her door. I shook my head and finally entered my room. I collapsed onto my bed. Once I lied down I heard the crinkle of paper. I looked at my bed confused. I cleaned up all my research papers before we left so it couldn't be those.

I felt around the bed and then my pocket. I felt a small indent and I reached into the pocket and pulled it out. There was a small not that said

Just in case you need another dance partner ;)

xxx xxx xxxx

I smiled to myself and placed the napkin on my side table. Defiantly could put that to use later. I ended up having so much more fun than I could have ever thought. Happy Halloween to me.

#lockwood and co #george karim x reader #lockwood & co #save lockwood and co #george karim #george cubbins #ali hadji heshmati #halloween special #happy halloween #happy halloweeeeeeen

[angelsanarchy]

Tangerine Skies: Possum x Y/N Series CH 3

Tagging: @svgarcaine @icarus-star @romanroyapoligist @tempt-ress @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @liquidsmoothdomme @auggiethecreator

Possum and Y/n have been co-habituating for almost two weeks before she found him stripping down outside smelling his shirt.

"Possum? Everything okay?" She asked curiously.

"Apparently not." He continued to strip down.

"What's going on? Why are you getting naked out here? It's not that warm." She felt the chill in the air.

"The convenience store told me I couldn't come back until I didn't stink. I was offending patrons." He shrugged.

"So what's the plan here?" She held onto her coffee mug as Possum kicked his shoes off to remove his socks.

"I usually just air out the clothes for a day. That will buy me some time." Possum had started taking his belt off and Y/n finally walked towards him.

"Okay that plan sucks. You can use the shower in the RV and I'll toss your clothes in with mine. I can do laundry a day early." Possum froze hand hovering over his belt buckle.

"Really? I'm pretty dirty. I'd hate to make a mess." Possum looked surprised by her offer but she rolled her eyes.

"Do you have a set of clean clothes?" Possum shook his head.

"Okay, leave all of your dirty clothes on the picnic table with those pants. I'll start the shower and find you something to wear." She left the door of the RV open and turned the knob for hot water so it would be warm by the time Possum walked in. She didn't have a ton of extra clothes but she did have a large pair of sweatpants.

"Okay I might have to-" Y/n froze hearing Possum enter, turning to see he was completely naked.

"Um...alright. We could have left our underwear on." She blushed trying not to stare. He was thin but the definition he had from his hips only served to draw her attention to his happy trail that lead to a dark bushel of pubes. If there was one thing she wouldn't have suspected of Possum, it was that he would have a large cock. It hung uninterested to about the middle of his thigh with a thick head. He had dirt on his legs and a few cuts on his shins.

"I don't wear underwear." Possum said without hesitation. Y/n cleared her throat and shook her head.

"S-sorry. Um...the shower is ready." She held up the towel and sweats, putting them on the table adjacent to the shower. Possum walked past her and she felt him graze against her. She blushed so hard that she took off out of the RV to get started on his clothes.

She ended up wearing rubber gloves to wash his clothes, mostly because they were crusty as if he hadn't washed them in a good month. She could understand why the store manager told him he couldn't come in. She listened for the shower to turn off and got lost in the thoughts of what fucking Possum would be like. Would he be a rough fuck or slow and sweet? In conversations with him, he seemed calculated yet at a slower pace. She knew it was the drugs but she liked their time together.

She couldn't help but think about the last time she actually had sex. It wasn't with someone whose cock could serve as a limbo stick and it certainly wasn't slow paced. She remembers getting herself in the car on the way home swearing to herself that she would stop hooking up on the road. It had been months.

"Can I help?" Possum appeared behind her now wearing the sweat pants and the towel over his shoulders, hair sopping wet.

"Jesus! I'm going to get you a bell to put on. You're too silent when you move." She knew it was more her fault being lost in thought and not his sneaky movements.

"Did I scare you? I'm sorry." He put his hand on her arm.

"No no I was thinking-

"About me naked." Y/n blushed.

"W-what?" She questioned but he shrugged.

"It's okay. I like to be naked. I don't mind you staring at me naked. I've been told I have a noteworthy cock but I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." He was very nonchalant about his naked body.

"It's a good thing. It's a very good thing." She laughed.

"I didn't mean to stare. I haven't see a naked man in a bit." Possum's eyes went wide.

"Really? I could take these off-" His hands moved to the top of the pants and she grabbed them to stop him.

"Possum! Work with me here! If you're naked, I will be too distracted to hang your clothes." She laughed and he smiled.

"Okay then I will keep them on." He walked over to assist with hanging the clothes and she shook her head.

"Hold on." She took the towel from around his neck and put it over his head to dry his hair a bit more.

"I have a hairdryer under the sink if you want to use it. You can't just walk around with soaking wet hair or else you'll get sick." She explained with his head hidden under the towel. When she moved it off his head, she could see him smirking at her.

"What?" She asked returning the smile.

"I feel like Pretty Woman." He said proudly.

"You feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman?" She laughed.

"Yeah...thank you for taking care of me and hanging out with me. You don't even have to pay me, I want to hang out with you." His smile spread wider and his cheeks blushed.

"Go grab the blanket off my bed so you don't catch a chest cold, Vivian." She teased.

"You know, Pretty Woman is one of my favorite movies." She called to him as he walked back onto the RV.

"No way! That's my mom's favorite movie. She made me watch it with her every Saturday while we had Crunch." He emerged with the thick blanket over his shoulders, he held it to his chest.

"Crunch? You mean Brunch?" She questioned.

"Um no we wouldn't have the money to go out so we would have breakfast for lunch on the couch. Crunch for couch brunch." Possum's explanation was sweet.

"That sounds really nice." He finally stood next to her, holding the basket of wet clothes while she removed them to hang on the line.

"Yeah I miss her...my mom. I think about going back East all the time." Possum admitted.

"You should. I'm sure she misses you too." She smiled at him. The fell in a comfortable silence for a few moments before he finally spoke up.

"You would make a terrible prostitute." Possum said matter of factly.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" She couldn't help but laugh.

"You're too nice. You just give things away." He smiled. She could think of a few things she would give to Possum, no questions asked.

#Possum #Welcome To Wilits #Possum x Y/n #Tangerine Skies #Tangerine Skies Series #One shot Series #Rory Culkin #Culkin Cult #3/9

[strawberrysodaslut]

𝓓𝓸𝓰𝓰𝔂 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮 𝓘𝓷 - Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

(and GN!dog)

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

[ main masterlist ]

[ eddie munson masterlist ]

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

word count: 1.9k

(description in small font for formatting and convenience, actual story is in regular)

warnings: mostly fluff, some angst, mentions of upcoming death of dog, dog in palative care, not fully proof read but i tried to keep both dog and reader as gender neutral, and without descriptions, i am basing a this in real life so it might have slipped.

summary: After receiving bad news about your dog, you and Eddie decide to take them to their favourite movie at the drive ins.

authors note: Hi. It’s been a little while. This is based on something i did with my dog a few weeks ago, we took her to the eras tour movie and it’s one of the best nights i’ve had with her. i’ve i wanted to get it out within the week of that but then life happened, i had to take care of her a bit more and we sadly had to put her down the sunday before last. we’re receiving her ashes soon and i got a plush that looks like her so i felt inspired to write this again as a way to deal with my grief. i have included a lot of anecdotes about her in this, so im sorry if you’re trying to picture your dog or a past one and some events done line up. i tried my best to keep the descriptions of the dog pretty general, the only big thing i think is that they would have a tail. anyway it’s 4am and i’m crying now so i’m gonna be on my way. i hope you enjoy <3

i won’t be doing my taglist for this one, hope you can understand <3 if you would like to join the taglist for less emotional fics you can here

❛ ━━━━━━━━･❪ ❁ ❫･━━━━━━━━━ ❜

"They're not gonna let us in."

"Will you sto- they're gonna let us in." He chuckled, glancing at you quickly with a smile."Stop worrying. Remember what I told you? Your only job this week is relaxation and snuggles."

You sigh, opting to look out of the window instead of responding.

Eddie notices, but he also knows you're still listening. "Which conveniently go hand in hand don't they sweetheart." He says, upping the baby talk as he stretches his arm behind the drivers seat to scratch your dogs chin, marvelling at how quickly they leaned into his touch, groaning in joy.

"See!" He said, laughing. "I'm their favorite."

It's the same thing he said when he installed the makeshift doggy car-seat Wayne had made you months ago. When Eddie first suggested taking your dog with the two of you on drives, he started drawing up the plans immediately.

"That dog is the darn cutest thing I've seen since you were in diapers." Wayne said, pointing to his nephew. "And I don't trust your cowboy driving."

Two weeks later when he picked you and your dog up for your first big drive, you were immediately taken by surprise that he put the seat on his side.

"You traitor!" You said, pointing towards the seat Eddie was now fastening your beloved dog to, away from you.

Eddie gasped in faux shock, looking at your dog with wide eyes. "Can you believe they called me that?" He said to your dog, who responded to him only with a wagging tail and a lick on the chin.

"See!" He said, clapping his hands once your dog was settled in. "I'm their favorite. So I get to be closer to them. You get a nice view, so don't complain." He said, winking at you as he swung into the drivers seat.

You had done a lot of trips since then, but this was the first one later at night. It wasn't too bad, springtime means the sun is slowly setting a bit later. You can't help but be enamoured when you turn to look at your dog, the way the sunset sits behind them makes look like a painting.

Eddie seems to have noticed, because he's reaching on the dashboard and passing you his prized film camera. "If you don't get a photo of them right now I'm never talking to you again."

You laugh, snapping a photo that you would later discover is your favorite one you've ever taken of your dog... and a few more for good measure.

"We're here!" Eddie says,  pulling into the Hawkins Drive In. He parks just outside of the concession stand. "Do you want anything."

"Popcorn and a coke please." You say, pulling out your wallet to give him money, but you know it's no use when swats it out of your hand.

Instead of mentioning it though, he turns around to the back of the seat to face your dog. "And some nuggets for you bud?"

As if they can somehow hear him, your dog yaps in response. Eddie nods, "Thought so."

"Eddie..." You start, nuggets were salty and salt is not good for your dog.

Eddie cuts you off though, "I'll ask for no salt, they'll probably like it better that way anyway. And hey, you said it didn't matter what they ate anymore."

It's not Eddie's fault, but you feel as though you've been struck. He was right, that was what you had said, but for a shining moment, you had forgotten the constant countdown ticking over your dogs head. Displaying a number you had no way of reading exactly what it said.

It doesn't take more than a second for eddie to realise what he's said. "Hey- no. I'm sorry I didn't mean to bring that up. Here, let's take them in and they can pick out something." He said, running around to your side of the door and opening it for you- ever the gentleman.

He helps you out of the car and the two of you take your dog out of the back of the van, heading into the concession bay.

Immediately you- or your dog- is greeted by a young girl running up to pay them. Her mother quickly scolding her for going up to a strangers dog. Less than a minute later, the girl carefully walks up to you, almost stubbornly.

"Can I pet your doggy?" She asks, her hand twitching as she clearly fights the urge to give your dog a big hug.

You nod your head, "You definitely can, thank you for asking." You say, looking up to the girls mother and winking at her, getting a mouthed 'thank you' in response.

And you have to say, if there is a heaven, it's going to have a tough time beating the joy your dog gets when a new person gives them cuddles. You and Eddie both swear that your dog is convinced that everywhere you go, everyone is there to see your dog specifically.

"It's the pet tax." Eddie said a few months ago when your dog barked out your front window at unsuspecting people walking by for the third time that afternoon. "The people walking past have to pay a pet tax to the top dog."

You both agree that it's better for it not to be an official tax, as your dog would not appreciate having to stop at every house with a dog so that you could pet a random dog. Absolutely not.

Eventually, the little girl's mother got her food, and told her they had to go. The girl frowned, but said bye to your dog, whispering a 'i'll save some popcorn for you.' before running off to join her mother.

In the meantime, Eddie had ordered your food, two large popcorns- of course, a coke and a pepsi- something the two of you could never agree on, and two servings of nuggets, no salt.

"You're funny." You say, opening the door for him as he tries to balance the abundance of food and drinks.

"I am- hey could you-?" He started, but you've already grabbed your drink, noticing it just about to slip from his grip and onto the dirty cement. "Yeah, thanks."

You smile at him. "We're a well oiled machine you and me." He nods in agreement, muttering something about 'you and i' incorrectly when you get back to the van. It’s hard not to chuckle.

It's barely a thirty second drive to the parking spaces for the movie, but both you and Eddie insist on strapping your dog in their seat while you park.

Unfortunately, you have to do it while your dog is giving you the saddest puppy dog eyes you've ever seen. They don't want to be in the doggy-seat, they want to be in the front with you... and the food.

The order of those aren't important.

"I know hun, but it'll just be a minute and then we'll get to cuddle okay?" You say, doing absolutely nothing to stop your dog viewing the car seat they're now in as an obstacle from the food they want.

Eddie parks the van with the back facing the screen, jumping out of the car before pulling the back doors open. You giggle when he shouts at you to wait so that he can once again open your door for you.

"Here you go m'lady!" He says in a bad british accent, pairing it with a theatrical bow.

You take his hand like how you've seen rich people do it in movies. "Why thank you sir!" You gasp, matching his dramatics instantly.

Before you can get too lost in the bit, your dog barks, reminding you that the more you chat, the longer they have to wait for food- cuddles. Cuddles, not food. Not food at all.

You climb into the back of the van, Eddie following close behind you, food in tow. "Here you go buddy, I've got the goods."

"Don't say it like that! You sound like you're giving them weed." You giggle, unclasping the safety belts from around your dog.

Eddie furrows his brows, clearly still appealing to his inner theatre kid with faux confusion, "Wait..." He says, before dramatically laying out the first blanket. "Was I not supposed to?"

You both giggle as you set up the blankets and pillows, and if you hadn't been keeping such a close eye on your dog, you might not have noticed them slowly sneaking towards where the food sits.

"Hey!" Eddie laughs, grabbing the food and moving it to where you're all going to sit among the blankets and pillows.

Once again, your dog gives an oscar winning performance, giving Eddie a look at only a starving puppy could have.

Eddie, ever the softie, gives in.

"Oh alright." He says pulling out a nugget from the box and ripping a chunk from it. "Okay, now sit." Your dog follows, tail wagging so hard it's making a clanging noise against the metal floor.

"Good, now high five." Eddie says, lifting up his right hand, your dog deciding not to leave him hanging by smacking his hand with his paw. "Good job buddy." He says, "Now other paw, can you do other paw?"

Other paw was one of the newer stills your dog learned. To be entirely honest, you have no idea how they learned it. You were just asking for high fives one day, said other paw and it worked. You gave them praise and then the next time they did it again, and then again.

You're half convinced your dog taught you other paw, not the other way around.

It's still about 50/50, if your dog thinks they've done enough, they won't respond to other paw the same they would with other commands. You guess that comes with the whole 'they trained you' theory you had.

That odd also jumps wayy down whenever you try to show off  'other paw' to someone who hasn't seen it before. Your dog loves you and enjoys your games, but they're also a pet and they love embarrassing you and proving you wrong.

Today, the odds were on your side, with your dog doing a perfect example of the 'other paw' to Eddie, who for weeks of failed attempts of showing him, thought you were lying about.

"See! I told you!" You cheered, grabbing a bigger chunk off of the nugget in Eddie's hand and giving it to your dog. "Good doggy! What a good doggy!"

Eddie laughs, "I'll be damned." He says, throwing his piece of the nugget into the air for your dog to catch, they do so, ready for more.

You both give them the rest of the nugget before settling in for the movie, you figured you'd try to spread the nuggets out, so your dog could enjoy them the whole time.

Your dog seemed to get the message, crawling inbetween you and Eddie. Or- actually, pushing the two of you apart so they could be sandwiched in the middle. Their favorite spot.

As the previews come to an end, you turn to Eddie "Thank you for doing this with me." You say, scratching your dog behind their ear.

"No thank yous necessary sweetheart, I'm glad you're both having a good time." He replies, a soft smile adorning his face.

You all relax into each other just as the beginning of your dogs favorite film; 101 Dalmatians, starts to play on the big screen.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #hurt/comfort #tw death

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“What’s wrong with your friend?” For 5 sentence game

CW: Some frank references to dubcon/noncon, also Juliet is fucking calculated and I love her

Beringer's masterlist is here

-

"What's wrong with your friend?"

"What?" Juliet looks over her shoulder, blinking a few times, trying to figure out who in the hell Gina could possibly be talking about. There's at least a dozen people eating dinner in here already, and the other two dozen or so will come in on their own, stragglers fighting the wind cutting their cheeks and freezing their lungs.

"Who... who do you mean, Gina?"

She doesn't exactly have a lot of friends. She holds her bowl out while Gina ladles the soup into it.

It's been bubbling on the stove all day in a giant pot and smells like sheer heaven, slow-cooked pork with hominy and tomatillos and a pile of cilantro as big as her head waiting for everyone to decide what they want. Juliet looks down at her steaming bowl and adds cilantro, radishes, cabbage strips, a dollop of sour cream. The others add different things, and she thinks about how when she worked, she mostly just ate shit from the convenience store. Sometimes she was lucky enough to snag a tamale from the tamale cart.

Sometimes, her clients took her out to fancy dinner at restaurants that had four-month waits for reservations, but none of that food ever tasted as good as the tamale straight from a big plastic bucket, wrapped in corn husk, making her fingers damp and slick with lard and condensation, burning her tongue. Sometimes Romeo was with her and would buy her one with money he got washing dishes at restaurants, paid in cash with no question asked. He used to make more selling his mouth and hands, but he's got too many scars for that, now, he said. People want Romantics to look young and flirty and like innocence defiled, and it's hard to look innocent when half your face is a twisted line pulling your mouth to one side.

Still, he made life work.

She hopes, sometimes, that he's still out there, still making it work. But life expectancies for runaway Romantics aren't more than a couple of years, and he'd already outlived his by the time she met him.

She'd love to see him one more time, though. Those tamales, sitting on the curb with Romeo giggling over them with fruity jamaica soda fizzing up her nose, those were the greatest things she ever ate, the best times she had. Those tamales, and Romeo's good-natured cursing, tasted like home, like laughter and Christmas, in ways she isn't allowed to remember.

The posole that Gina makes, though, that brings memories, too. Headaches, sure, but lately she can get through the headaches, more and more.

Gina snorts. "Him," She says, gesturing with her ladle. Broth shimmery with pork fat drips off of it, unnoticed. She has tendrils of dark curls stuck to her forehead and cheeks and the back of her neck, where her heavy hair is swept up in something both like and unlike a bun. "That one. He's with you all the time lately."

Oh. Beringer.

Juliet shrugs. "He's not really my friend. He's the one that came in with the handler out in the shed. I've been helping him figure stuff out here. Might as well be useful before Brock notices I don't do shit around here."

"Brock's a softie, he won't make you do anything you don't want to do." Gina leans around Juliet to look more closely at Beringer. "Huh. Ophie said he was a daycare pet."

"He was, I think."

"Really? But he's..."

"Handsome?"

Gina smiles, slightly shamefaced. "Well... I just. He looks more like one of your kind, is all I'm saying."

Juliet snorts. "My kind. Right. The whores, you mean. The giant fucking sluts."

Gina turns bright red. "I didn't say that!"

"Thought it, though. Anyway, we're all good-looking, remember? It's part of the draw of the whole damn system. Get a pretty person to do whatever degrading shit you dream about with a smile on their face and a song in their heart." Juliet laughs without humor. Outside, the wind whirls snow past the windows. It stopped actually snowing a while back, but it's dry stuff, easily lifted by the breeze that whistles past the corners of every house. It races itself over the salted, plowed roads like horses hellbent on making it to the horizon.

"Well. Not everyone has to... you know." Gina's smile fades, and she won't meet Juliet's eyes as she says it.

Juliet lifts her chin. It's not her fucking fault, she reminds herself, that she only knows one way to get by. It's not her fault, she was made that way, and you can't blame someone for doing what they know. "Trust me. You might not have had to fuck them, but you still had to act like less than a person, and that's a kind of fucking, too."

Gina swallows, hard. Silence draws out, and then Juliet stomps away, over to the table where Beringer sits. The daycare pet watches the window, lost in his own mind, a cup of coffee long since gone cold in front of him.

"When's the last time you ate, huh?" Juliet sits her tray down a little too loudly, watching him jump in surprise. There are scars on him, too - she can see it on his hands, creeping up the side of his neck, just barely visible. He has more under his shirt, like cobwebs of dead skin.

"Wh-... oh, hi." His smile is brief, but gentle. She could see how he worked well with kids. There's no malice, in a smile like that. No aggression like the men at bars she'd pick up, no desire or demand like the more expensive clients who scheduled in advance. It's just a soft smile, easy as an older brother waking up for church on a Sunday morning so your mother won't know you slept in.

The little girl that's usually glued to his side is off in the play area in the big building where everyone eats, giggling through tag with another girl. One of the Domestics had come with a child in tow, too, unable to bear the thought of losing her. No one has asked if the child is hers.

Juliet wonders if she was a happy kid, when she was that age.

She'll never know.

"Hi doesn't answer my question, Beringer."

"Oh... uh. I don't know." He goes back to watching the window, and she sighs.

"He's not coming out of that shack any faster because of you making goo-goo eyes, you know."

"I know." Beringer leans forward, resting on his elbow, hand in his hair and palm against his forehead. "Rye says he's got a cough starting up. If helping me escape is what gets him killed-"

"Then it's exactly what he fucking deserves."

Beringer looks up, startled, at the flat, sharp edge of her voice. She watches his adam's apple bob as he swallows, sees the slight flare of whites around his eyes. "... Juliet. I told you, he didn't want to do it anymore-"

"Yeah, I hate to let you in on this, but that doesn't matter. Not even a little bit." She smiles to cut the sting in her words, but it doesn't work. His own eyes narrow in response. "Look. Just. You're still in it, I can tell, and it makes sense since you're so new at being out. But he's a handler, Ber. He was a handler, he's still a handler. You don't stop being a handler once you sign their fucking contract. We all know that."

Beringer's jaw works, but he only looks away, back to the window. "He's..."

"What? Nice?" Juliet laughs, bitter as raw chocolate. "Oh, sure, no doubt. Nice to you, you were taking care of his precious baby girl. But I bet he beat the shit out of someone else as soon as he got downstairs to the training rooms, or had one with a mouth on his cock and told the poor trainee it's breakfast. Handlers aren't nice."

"... he isn't like that-"

"They're all like that. You think it was just Romantic handlers who came to my training room to have their fun?" She smiles, and it's a grimace. A snarl. "God, no. I had to spread my legs for every kind of handler you can imagine. At least the Romantic handlers were fucking honest about it."

Beringer stares at her. He has beautiful dark eyes. The kind you could fall into. She can see why the handler out in the shed followed him here, brought him. She'd have done anything for those eyes, too, once upon a time.

"Stop," he whispers. "He was never like that."

"Guarantee he fuckin' was."

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you. Handlers go through fucking months of training, Beringer. They only keep the ones they know will do the dirty work, the worst sons of bitches, the worst bastards, the worst people on earth. I probably sucked fifty handler cocks in training, or more, and you know what?"

He looks like he'll be sick, and some part of her feels good at seeing one of the lucky ones realize what it takes to keep existing when you've been what Juliet had to be to survive. "What?"

"The only ones I saw wearing wedding rings weren't wearing them anymore a few months later. They can't stay married because they don't give a fuck about anyone but themselves."

"His wife-... Marc's wife hated what he did for work, she left-"

"She left? Lucky woman. You should be that smart. Take the kid, go to Canada, and let the handler out there rot. He deserves it. He let plenty of us rot, didn't he? That great good man out there? Looked the other way, probably did plenty of shit he isn't telling you about. While his little girl learned her ABCs upstairs, he taught one of us how to clean grout knowing they'd get shocked half to death if they ever paused for a single. damn. second."

Beringer's eyes go back to the little girl. She's stopped playing. She's watching a show about a cartoon dog, now, standing with a stuffed tiger crooked in her arm. "I-I don't-... know. I haven't really asked him... if he..."

"I know." She sighs, trying to soften her voice, and reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm being really rude about this, but I swear, it's because I'm worried. If you let him take you to Canada, he'll just want to keep you, to use you. They just have people they want to use. He's using you, Ber."

"He's not." Beringer shakes his head, running his hand over his mouth. He's pale, haunted around the eyes. "He's not. He wouldn't have thought of it on his own. I... I talked to him for months, let him think I'd kiss him, made friends... flirted... did the things I saw them do on TV. I used him."

"Now you don't need him any longer." Juliet nudges his foot under the table with his own, until he looks back at her and she can give him her best wry smile. It's as much a performance as the flirty little grins she'd been so good at once upon a time. "So let him go. Thanks for all the fish, thanks for your baby girl, now go to hell."

"... Rye, he was Rye's handler. Rye said he was always so nice-"

"Right, sure. Bet he was. Then, once Rye knew how to count pills and give baths to old ladies and smile his face off, he sent him on to a house where he got the shit beat out of him by his owner's daughter over and over and over again until he ended up in the clinic four times in a year. Even when he's nice, he's not nice."

Beringer is silent for a long, long time. "What do I tell Mallie when she asks where her daddy is, then, huh? What do I tell her?"

"Tell her he died." Juliet shrugs. "He will anyway, if you're not here to vouch for him any longer. Tell her whatever the hell you want. She's not even old enough to remember you lied. She'll never know. She'll call you daddy after a few months, dad in a few years. You'll be the only father she ever knows. You can watch her grow up, knowing that he can't. Erase him from everyone who mattered to him. Just like they do to us. Take his life and make it serve your needs, what you want, leave him for dead when you're done, and once he's gone through all of it and died after, he'll have paid for everything he ever did to the rest of us who weren't you."

Beringer's breath catches. She thrills, just a little, whenever she lets a man see inside her mind and he looks that frightened afterward. She's never hurt a man in her life - but she's frightened a few, and it's always felt so good.

Romeo was never scared of her, though. He would just find some way to twist her idea and make it even more terrifying. They laughed all the time about the things they could come up with to have their revenge.

"Christ Almighty," He whispers. She's not even sure he knows he said it.

She eats her soup, delighting in the heat and lime and salt and spice, in silence until she's done. She stands to take her dishes back over to the pile of them next to sink, deciding she'll make sure she washes for a half an hour or so to help earn her keep, and pauses.

He's staring out the window again.

"You don't owe him anything." She makes her voice as calm and as gentle as she can. "Understand?"

He doesn't look at her, or answer, but she knows he's thinking about what she said.

Outside, the snow blown by the wind makes sure you can't even see the shack where that handler is being held. Only the fence, and the darkness beyond.

Right where every handler belongs.

#beringer #juliet #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #box boy #runaway whumpee #escaped whumpee #whump #referenced past noncon #referenced past dubcon #referenced beatings #defiant whumpee #whumpee #referenced prostitution

[romaine2424]

Daily Blog June 21, 2023

Hi! Welcome to my first day of fandom blogging! I'm very excited about doing this and hope you'll join in on the conversation and really hope that you might start one of your own!!! So on that note, lets get going.

What I'm reading:

I'm currently re-reading The Changeling by @annerbhp. It's a canon rewrite of sort, with a big twist. Here's the summary: Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why. It's 182K from Ginny's POV. It does follow canon to a point. I read this about 6 months ago and I still think about it when writing Drarry. I now have to give Ginny a positive break-up with Harry. LOL No dissing her because she's such a badass in this story. While it's listed as Harry/Ginny, it really is mostly a Ginny story for the main story. There's follow on stories after this one that are fab too.

It starts with Year 1 and the house sorting. Ginny is surprisingly sorted into Slytherin. She at first thinks its a joke done by her twin brothers, but then reality sets in. Most of her family is devastated and she feels completely isolated. This is a Ginny you'll recognize from canon and then so much more. If you longed for more Slytherin background and lore than canon gave us, this you will love. And if you think Slytherin is dominated by the males...well this will give you a headcanon that you won't forget.

What I'm writing:

The Azkaban Letters, which I'm so far behind on I want to cry. It's a 2007 WIP I started right before HPDH came out. So it's canon divergent after HBP. I did edit the first 7 to be more in line with canon and post canon. My issue is I have too much in my head and too many ideas to get down on paper...er on the computer. When I stopped writing it in 2007, I had posted the first 7 chapters on The Hex Files. It came over to AO3 during the transfer and has been staring at me in the face since then. I'm now up to 16 chapters, which sounds like a lot, but there's 4 sections to the story and I'm in the middle of section 2. sigh.

Tumblr Posts of Interest:

@xanthippe74 on her blog has reposted her 2020 fic, Follow the Water in honor of summer solstice. If you have not read this fic, you are in for such a treat. Perfect summer fic. Give her post a reblog and fic some love!

@julcheninred posted on her blog yesterday that it was the 5th anniversary of Draw Drarry badly. I so love her block H/D art, and so happy we've had five years of her sharing them with us. Make sure to reblog to share the Drarry fun!

3. HDMpreg2023 has posted the reveals on A03. TWENTY fics in all. I only got to read about 1/3 of them, but whoa there are some serious gems. (If I find the Tumblr post for this, I'll add it.)

4. @lcdrarry has also posted their reveals! My apologies to the fest and authors/artists. I've only read a few this round but plan on diving into the treasure trove of Drarry. This was a new fest for me to watch when I came back to fandom. While I don't watch many movies or watch tv much anymore, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to follow/understand the stories as well as I should. I was wrong. Most I have found I could enjoy without knowing the source.

Tumblr Drarry Fic/Art Resource:

I'm guessing most of you follow @drarryspecificrecsdaily, but in case not, you should definitely follow! They post Drarry completed fics which have been posted on AO3 for the current day. I have found some amazing gems from this resource. Fics I haven't seen discussed or recced anywhere else and authors I haven't been blessed reading before.

Okay, that's it for Day 1! Hope you found something interesting. I'll be switching around the categories on a daily basis. Tomorrow, I'll be adding in Fic Rec from the way past. Feel free to comment. :)

#romaine2424 daily blog #june 2023

[youwontlikethisblog]

Armando Mendoza: A Brief Analysis

Hey, how are you? It's been a while. This will be a lil update so if you want you can skip down to the [GREEN] to start with the post :)

It's been a hectic few months. I finally decided to stop setting it aside and get real about my writing and begun the tedious task of editing the final draft of my original manuscript. I'm a perfectionist(Although if we're considering my posts about YSBLF as an example of that, than you wouldn't expect it lol. I suppose that's what I get for writing post when I haven't had a lick of sleep and don't stop to take breaks while writing the posts and then, half brain dead, I sit down to "edit" the grammar). When it comes to something that truly means a lot to me I do not feel satisfied until it has reached my exact expectations. I've made a few updates on my writing and how it's been going. There's some exciting development on it but I want to wait a little more to be able to fully talk about it and share the news with y'all.

That being said; I still have not continued watching YSBLF since the last time I did a post about the show, y'know, life and all but without further ado, here is the post :)

Armando Mendoza: An Objective and A Not So Deep Dive

Now that I've had some time and space away from the show, I can look at the characters in a more objective manner. I've been considering a lot of things regarding them and I feel like this post might come right out of left field —seeing how I normally seem to "defend" Armando, or some might assume I do— and this post will most likely not do that. In reality, it won't. It'll rightfully so call him out.

See, the stark difference between Marcela and Armando, not personality wise, but writing wise, is that Marcela doesn't really have a backstory. Her past is pretty blurry and the very few clear images we get of it always paint her to be the exact same person. However with Armando his past, while also not clear, is more visible and a little bit more precise than hers. In the post I made for Marcela I wasn't as empathetic as I should have been.

Marcela's past is basically unknown and the very little information we do get doesn't paint her in the best of lights. However, that doesn't mean that she deserved or that what Armando was doing to her was okay. I should have said that in her post. I placed a lot of emphasis on the fact that while Marcela had a right to feel what she did, she didn't have a right to act the way she was. Feelings are valid, actions are not.

Well same goes for Armando.

Armando could have been dating a helicopter as a girlfriend, someone who was possessive and controlling of him, but that doesn't justify nor excuse his horrible behavior towards her. While yes, one could assume that his cheating had to do with his lack of control with life, it still doesn't justify or excuse it. Nothing, ever, justifies cheating.

As I said in the Marcela post: This isn't about her so I won't be explaining her reasoning, her behavior, her actions, or anything of those sorts, therefore, don't take it as me excusing her bad behavior. It's simply being mentioned.

With modern times come modern solutions. Nowadays it's very easy to be able to pick up your phone and google something, read a self-help book, find the root of your childhood trauma and even a therapist. Child development isn't easy to understand to the naked eye and you have to have years of experience on the subject to fully understand how point A gets to point B. I'm no expert of it, just done some basic research on certain topics of childhood trauma and such so while I might have some form of understanding, it's not an exactitude on the subject.

We can estimate that Armando had emotionally absent parents, witnesses how his parents turned their backs on his sister for falling in love with a poor man and the way the elite society they're a part of was about the whole subject. How do we draw to this conclusion?

His father doesn't even know what he went to college for or what he got his degree on. His mother coddles him, only when he acts to her standards, enables a horrible relationship that does not benefit neither her biological son or her basically-adopted daughter. Quite the contrary the show does a good job at showing the drastic parallels of Betty's relationship with her parents compared to Armando and his parents. Consider the fact that any time Armando is on screen with his parents they only talk about two things: His relationship with Marcela and the company.

They don't sound like the warmest of parents do they?

I talk a lot about being a writer and how knowing your characters IS one of the most crucial and important parts of developing your story. I mention this because when you write characters, fleshed out ones, you have at the very least an understanding of their past. Not an exact one, but an understanding in order to have them say the things they do and act the way they do.

Roberto was always cold towards Armando, from the very start. He clearly showed signs that he didn't very much care for him. He cared more about the company, his wife, Daniel, Marcela, Beatriz, and then, at the very end, Armando. With obvious reasons we understand why Roberto didn't trust Armando. It's always been told that he's always been a player, doesn't commit, and is immature, plus with the devil on his shoulder he calls a best friend, Armando isn't the most trustworthy.

Yet, that does not excuse Roberto's lousy father role in his son's life. Children need strong(by that I mean emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually present) male role models in their lives, especially father figures. I've said it before that it could be a possibility that Armando's childhood was very much with an emotionally distant father. This creates the perfect breeding ground for a child to constantly feel like they must excel in every part of their lives(perfectionism), have an anxious attitude, a fear of losing the love of their loved ones if they aren't excelling(low self-esteem), and other difficulties. Basically this ball of fear, resentment, anger, perfectionism, and anxiousness(being avoidant) . These issues on their own bring their separate problems that mixed together make for an unlikeable person. I don't know about you, but this sounds a lot like Armando.

Of course there's people who grew up with emotionally unavailable parents and grew up to be fully companionate, kind, loving, and wonderful people. That's the tricky thing about trauma, not one size fits all. Just because two people grew up the same doesn't mean they'll deal with it the same way.

Emotionally absent parents equal physically absent parents when it comes to their children's development.

His mother was the same, though, unlike Roberto, Margarita did love Armando and was present but very conditional with her love. You can have examples of this when Armando and Marcela would be fighting. She always took Marcela's side and pressured Armando to continue the relationship. She also guilted Marcela into staying with Armando. She was never there to comfort her son when he was at his lowest or even before. She was just only ever present in his life and made an effort to talk to him when it came to his engagement to Marcela. Plus, the whole causing Camila to divorce her husband and move to a different country fiasco.

Armando did a fine job of taking after his parents, as he is a perfect reflection of them.

There's one thing that Armando said that has ran laps around my brain for a while now; "I know I did things wrong, damnit I always do!" outside of el Meson.

He's aware of the things he does, even if it's at the heat of the moment, Armando is a self-aware jester, who never cared enough to change until he lost everything.

This change, while outside forces moved him to change, were not the reason why he changed. That's another message that is lost with this show.

Armando didn't change because he fell in love with Betty. Armando only learned to be brave enough to be the person he always aspired to be, because he fell in love. Doesn't matter who he fell in love with, he simply did. The love he received from Betty only taught him to be brave enough to love the same.

The same way Betty was naïve to how depraved any man can be, whether educated or not, rich, poor, or from a "high" society or lower class, Armando too was naïve to what was actually good and bad because he never really had parents that cared enough to teach him. Now this in no way frees Armando from accountability. Lets not forget that the whole point of his personality at the beginning of the story is that he sucks, and is a horrible man.

[TAKE A BREAK IF YOU NEED ONE.]

Sex addiction is a serious addiction. As I've mentioned before, in one of my earliest posts, that Armando shows to have signs of it but I'm no expert so I wouldn't say he does. For example, his affairs often cause issues in his relationship, his professional life, and for himself. While he's aware of all the risk that these affairs cause in his life, he still part takes in them! These are all signs that he has an addiction. However, I don't think that was the intent behind this part of his personality when he was being written, simply there to show how he was a Casanova of sorts.

These are all things I've already talked about in different posts but I wanted to dive a little bit deeper here in case some people haven't read those.

Let's get to the real juicy stuff now.

Armando's horrible, terrible, abusive, treatment of women.

Yeah Armando defended Aura, he wasn't a misogynist, and he didn't abuse his position of power nor assaulted any women(not talking about the constant harassment of Betty after she found the letter yet). Still, Armando was abusive.

He constantly manipulated women into believing he was serious about them just to use them, he gaslit —not only Marcela but all his side chicks— people in order to control a situation, and at times even got physical. Let's not forget the hair pulling, choking, and dragging of Karla, Marce, and Larson. Let's not forget Betty! While he never hit them, the way he acted, was not okay!

Armando was aggressive, he was controlling, and he was manipulative. God, he was awful!

There's no excuse or even a justification for him in this part.

While you can argue that his intentions weren't to harm those girls, he still did it. The moment they didn't behave to his standards, he removed his "love"(infatuation) from them. Does that sound similar to a pattern? like someone else? (Margarita).

However Marcela for this instance was a victim of his. His constant cheating made her so controlling, resentful, and bitter.

A cycle starts somewhere. Whether it be Marce being possessive from the get go of their relationship or Armando cheating first, somewhere the cycle began.

One thing I want to make clear is that both Marcela and Armando were abusive and victims of each other.

From the start of the novela Armando isn't a good person. He's horrible. However, he was meant to be charismatic, which would cause people to over-look those red flags.

There's a lot of sides to Armando's character and that's what makes him complex.

There's obvious reason as to why Armando, in a sense, has some redeeming qualities compared to the people he's surrounded by. You know, he feels remorse for the way he acts, especially towards Marce and Betty. He feels the pressure of not letting his parents down and the responsibility of keeping people employed. However, even if it's remorse, the problem always lays in the fact that he doesn't truly change.

In this half of the post I'm focusing more on his relationship with Marcela.

I've talked about reactionary abuse, toxic relationships, abusive tactics, and patterns in all of my posts regarding Armando and Marcela. I've explained in a simplified way and yet I feel like some people either reject the idea or only want to blame one party.

What makes Marcela and Armando's relationship toxic and not D.A. is that they both enable each other and their bad habits. See, even if Armando were the one that started the conflicts, Marcela also acts out abusively. Basically they up one another in any fight. As if saying "Oh so you're going to threaten to leave? Fine! Then I'll ruin your life! If you leave me it would be like losing my parents all over again." while the other responds with "Marrying you is simply a favor to you! If you speak up about this than the wedding is off!" get the idea?

Marcela enables Armando by acting out in her rage, further pushing him to act out in his cheating and gaslighting. Armando enables Marcela by his cheating and gaslighting. They both feed the cycle and reject any accountability for their actions.

What makes this drastically different in what a typical D.A situation in where the abused reacts abusive(aka mirrors their abuser) is that they BOTH switch sides. One moment Armando is the abuser, the one with the upper hand in the relationship and then, the next, Marcela is the one that is being abusive and in control. Often times they bounce off each other. It's not Armando constantly and only being the Abuser with Marcela mirroring him. They BOTH DO THIS.

However, at the very least, Armando at the end of the series took accountability and broke the cycle.

When you write two explosive and complex characters meant to be together you have to separate them from each other. By this I mean that Marcela is her own person away from Armando, just like Armando is his own person away from Marcela. Together, however, they are a volcanic eruption. While, for Marcela, this can translate to just being passionate and intense, for Armando it can be an absolute tragedy that must continue in order to keep every party of people in his life "happy" while in the end, at the very least, he has his affairs to give him something.

Together Armando and Marcela are a horrible duo because all they do is cause harm to one another. That's what makes their relationship toxic, not one sided abuse.

One can argue that the ONLY reason Marcela acted this way was because of Armando, meaning, if you remove the cause of the problem, the issue would be resolved, right?

Not entirely as we're often shown and told that Marcela is this way with everyone. She keeps up with public appearances for the sake of their elite society but she treats people outside of her economic class poorly, en fin she treats anyone that isn't to her standards poorly and inhumanly. What does this tell us? That she on her own is toxic and abusive so even if she were in a healthy relationship, her prejudice and expectations of things causes her to be this way.

Armando was a cause of the problems in the relationship! That's where the tricky part and what makes them complex, is.

We know that Armando and Marcela were basically forced to be together, or groomed. From a young age all they've heard is how they must be together to unite the families, how her dead parents wanted that more than anything. That's placing a lot of pressure on two people.

However, even if this were the case(which it is) Armando's go about and treatment of Marcela was not okay. For the sake of this post let's say that Armando is the reason Marcela is the way she is(meaning we ignore her personality all together). He caused her to be possessive, controlling, toxic, and cold. Marcela was once a kind and sweet person who did nothing but show devotion and adoration for him, and Armando's constant cheating and lying pushed her to be this way.

Armando could have handled it a lot better. If he felt obligated to be with Marcela from the get go, he could have at the very least, like the very minimum treated her as a human being, and not cheated. That's the very least she deserved.

Obviously, we don't know how the start of their relationship was like. All we know is that when they got engaged that he made a promise to Marcela to be faithful and that Marcela knew about the affairs. We know that Armando and Marcela at least had somewhat of a "happy" relationship, despite the affairs and fights they'd get into. (Which this on it's own establishes that Marcela was fully aware of Armando's unfaithfulness before their engagement, that and his promises to be faithful show us that it's been a problem for years.)

Let's consider this; If Armando fell for Betty when she was ugly SIMPLY because of the adoration and devotion she had for him, why didn't he do that with Marcela at the start?

Had she held this devotion and adoration for Armando from the start it would imply that Armando would have fallen for her, same way he did with Betty, and therefore Marcela would have never turned out to be the way she did, right?

Let's be honest here. That's the sole reason why Armando even began to have some sort of confused emotions towards Betty. It made him feel good, boosted his pride and ego, and tide with the fact he trusted her, he liked Betty. So if Marcela would have been the same way at the start, don't you think Armando would have felt the same? Therefore he wouldn't had cheated on Marcela?

Again, that sounds like I'm solely blaming Marcela for the dissolvement of their relationship but I'm not.

Armando is part/responsible for Marcela's possessiveness in their relationship and there's no excuse for it.

What is cheating and why do people cheat?

Cheating can range from emotional intimacy with another person that isn't your partner to physical. The physical can range from simple hand holding to full blown intercourse.

(source: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-people-in-relationships-cheat/#:~:text=The%20participants%20admitted%20to%20cheating,desire%2C%20and%20situation%20or%20circumstance.)

In the article linked as a source it mentions that most partners cheat due to a lack of validation, love, or due to neglect in their relationship. What does this tell us?

While cheating is not a valid response to whatever is a lack in a relationship, there's always a valid reason the person feels the way they do. Let me say that again. Cheating is not valid, but the emotions of the person who is cheating, are. Cheating is not valid, but emotions are. What does this mean? (Unless we're talking about a narcissistic abuser. In that case, no. They are not valid) This is overall just a an idea of why cheating occurs in otherwise "healthy" relationships.

If you feel like your relationship lacks validation, love, neglectful, abusive, or there's no spark or desire: LEAVE or go to couple's therapy and work on it with your partner(EXCEPT FOR THE ABUSIVE ONE. LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! LEAVE! There is help for you.).

Emotions are valid, actions are not. A person's feelings are valid but that does not excuse nor justify cheating.

While Armando's cheating was a huge reason why they had fights and arguments, there had to be a reason why he cheated in the first place and while his emotions were valid, his actions were not.

His cheating could have very well begun at the start of the relationship feeling as if he had no real control over his life because of his parents persistent push for him to be with Marcela, which means it had nothing to with Marcela, everything to do with his parents, and ultimately this caused Marcela to be so possessive. Or it could have simply been Marcela who was like that from the start because she too had to deal with the ever guilting of Margarita's "this is what your parents always wanted, for you two to be together and unite the families." In all honesty the real villain of this show is Margarita.

Yes, their relationship was a paradox of sorts. If they broke up, Armando would lose the presidency, the company would dissolve, his parents would hate him, and he'd be a failure. Marcela wouldn't have really lost anything except Armando.

We can go with the 'could have' and 'should have' or 'what if's', but at the end of the day all we've got is what is actually canon in the show and not just speculation.

A few weeks ago I saw this video on my IG feed of FG talking about the ending of YSBLF. He said he didn't give them their happily ever after, since Armando was Betty's executioner(verdugo).

If the writer himself is saying that Armando wasn't all that amazing, I suppose that means he wasn't.

Yes, Armando went through a redemption arc but even then, Armando wasn't the best person. He was simply a better version of himself. He learned to be honest, to view people as his equals, women as humans and not properties, and to be selfless and caring, that's a huge difference from the Armando from the beginning but Armando was still neurotic. He was still a control freak, and was prone to his anger outburst.

However, this is realistic! Armando didn't change to be the perfect man that was deserving of Betty. He came to be real. He had his traumas and he was healing from them. The love of Betty didn't fix him, contrary, when she stopped showing a pure love towards him, osea, removed her love from him, Armando had no other choice but to LEARN to love properly. In order to do that, he needed to revaluate himself, his goals, his life, and what had pushed him to such a low point in his life and the ironic thing is that Armando's low point wasn't him drunk and suicidal at the bar that night. Armando's low point was the moment he agreed to manipulate Betty in order to retain her devotion and the company.

The downfall of Armando began the moment the novela started. It was a slow trickling drip from the throne he believed he deserved for simply existing and just as that, so was Marcela's.

Unlike with Betty, who was basically seduced to be bad, Armando and Marcela's downfall began from the very beginning.

So many people dismiss the abysmal abuse that was plain in the novela when it's the women acting out this way but are quick to crucify any male who acts the same way.

Now, I'm not saying Armando was only a victim of circumstance because that's not true. If I believed anyone was a victim to circumstance I'd say it was Marcela or Betty.

Why?

Because Armando, with chest puffed in pride, cleared headed, and sober CHOSE to manipulate these women. That's the abhorrent part of his character. That above all he always wanted to save his own skin and while his feelings were complex as to why, at the very end of it, he didn't want to deal with the repercussions.

While Armando wanted to be good, to prove he could be good, to himself, Marcela, and his parents, there lacked a true conviction in him. He felt like he needed to be good in order to have his parents love and approval and one of those things was that he also marry Marcela but he didn't feel inspired to be good.

There's a difference between knowing what's good, wanting to do good, and feeling inspired to be good. See, with inspiration comes motivation and with motivation comes action.

Writing complex characters means that good motives are acted out wrong. It means that bad motives are disguised as good acts. Not fully good, not entirely evil.

When you get to know your characters the rest of the story comes to you naturally and by that I mean that the actions they take, the words they speak, how they are, kind of rolls out of you naturally. You need to know your characters before you sit down to write your story.

Armando's actions are horrible. He was abusive but he was also a victim and I know someone is probably wondering "well why aren't you talking about the way he was towards Betty when she found the letter?" and that's simple.

Armando perfectly mirrored Marcela and Betty perfectly mirrored Armando.

I mentioned this in the Marcela Valencia post but I'll try and talk a bit more about it here.

Armando's constant abuse and violation of Betty is an exact mirroring of Marcela, however, he still chose to act this way knowing that instead of drawing Betty closer to him, that he'd push her further away and while in moments of lucidness Armando attempted to resolve the issues he had with Betty in a calm manner, she wasn't on the same page.

Armando chased Betty all over the place, threw jealousy fits, and forced himself onto her. Marcela did the exact same to him.

However, here's the tricky part of it.

Betty.

Betty was the perfect mirror of Armando. She lied to him, manipulated him, and "cheated" on him. The same way he was towards Marcela.

Obviously this is a simplified version of it but it's the same thing at the end of the day.

Had Betty never acted this way, would Armando have treated her the way he had?

To a lesser degree, I do think so.

I think he would have manipulated her and that he would have thrown some jealousy fit here and there.

See the thing is that if Betty had never given him a taste of his own medicine Armando would have never changed. No matter how much he wanted to or how badly he was in love with Betty.

Armando, to his core, was a coward. That's what he was in the story. Due to this he resorted to manipulation and cheating.

While some of his actions were due to some sort of trauma or the fear of rejection, and came from a place of hurt and self-preservation, Armando still acted wrong.

At least at the end Armando took accountability for his actions and somewhat changed his ways. Was he deserving of getting the girl? Not entirely but was Betty deserving of getting Armando? Not entirely and see that's the problem with writing romance.

Often times the most important bit of the story is cut out because "people don't want to see the reconciliation, they just want to hear about it. "

From what I know, Betty never took accountability for the way she treated Armando after she found the letter and this I will later discuss whenever I get around to watching YSBLF and write a post about the episode but in simpler words: Betty chose to exact revenge on Armando and yes, her emotions were so valid! but her actions were not!

Betty treated Armando the exact same way Armando treated Marcela.

Lastly, I've said Armando is a complex character from the start and while that may be true, this complexity does not excuse his horrible behavior because complexities never do.

Well, I hope y'all enjoy this long over due post, and I apologize for the long hiatus on the YSBLF breakdown posts.

Also, again, sorry if there's any grammar mistakes, I'm working on it! Lol.

'Til next time :)

#don armando #armando mendoza #betty la fea #yo soy betty la fea #ysblf #marcela valencia #marcela ysblf #beatriz pinzón solano #betty #beatriz pinzon solano #character analysis de ysblf #analysis of ysblf

[weepingfromacedartree]

Dancing Around the Truth Snippet

Dearest Polinators,

I've been working on this fic for monthsss but have been holding off on releasing any chapters until I finish writing the entire first draft. I'm still a few weeks (and about 30K words) away from officially publishing, but... I just got laid off an hour ago and need to distract myself! Sharing a snippet of the first chapter for anyone interested :)

Friday

It's the final ball of the season. The social gathering to celebrate every social gathering that came before it, each one an important chapter in some lucky couple’s love story. That’s what Violet Bridgerton would say, at least. Benedict would call it a celebration of the friendship and art (and sex, wine, drugs, etc.) forged in the last six months or so. Eloise would say it marks the last time she’s forced to endure a corset before retreating to the country for the remainder of the year. Tonight, Colin would argue that it’s an excellent place to drink. And to catch a glimpse of a certain elusive redhead. 

Colin stands in the depths of Lady Danbury’s ballroom, swishing back the last drops of champagne in his glass. As the bubbles prick his throat, he half-listens to Violet and Francesca’s musings on his sister’s first official season. Colin had made an earnest attempt to take an interest in Francesca’s coming out all season. It was an momentous time in any woman’s life, at least that was what he was told. But there were more other, more important things occupying Colin’s time and attention, leaving little room in his mind for other matters. Well, there was one thing on his mind. One person, really. 

One of Francesca’s (discarded) suitors approaches the group to share a word. If Colin had given slightly more of a damn, he might roll his eyes at the man’s feeble attempt to win Francesca’s favor when the season is practically over. Instead, Colin takes the opportunity to slip away. He follows the path his eyes have been trained on all night. 

Moving through the crowd between them, Colin watches Penelope as she dances across the floor. He supposes “dance” is somewhat of a generous term to employ. It would be more accurate to describe Penelope as being “thrown around” by the geezer she’s been paired with. 

The man is Jeremy Michaelson, a Welsh lord who’s been attending these events a few weeks now. Colin had never spoken to the man, but he knows his type. The type to wander into the Ton halfway through a season and expect to scoop up whichever young bride fits his liking. Judging from his performance on the dance floor, out of sync with not just his partner, but the room around him, Colin also takes him for a deaf man with two left feet. 

As the orchestra grows louder, the strings building towards a climax, Colin’s eyes shift back to Penelope. She’s wearing a dress of blush and gold, the floral fabric reflecting the light of the room. It’s as if every step she takes changes the light around her. It’s entrancing. Literally. Colin cannot take his eyes off of her. Her hair is loosely pinned atop her head, pink flowers laced through red curls. She looks beautiful, even with that unmistakable frown persisting on her lips as she’s guided by Michaelson. When Colin thinks of Penelope, he usually thinks of her smile before anything else. Before this season, Pen rarely spoke to Colin without that smile gracing her lips. 

When the music finally draws to a close, Penelope take a step back from Michaelson and nods politely. Her partner, in turn, starts hacking relentlessly, his old lungs clearly not built for the dance routine. His greasy fingers latch onto Penelope’s right shoulder for balance. That is Colin’s last straw. 

The 1815 season had been markedly different than years past for several reasons, but the most distressing difference for Colin was in his relationship with his best friend. Before the season even began, he could sense that something had shifted between them. During his travels, he had sent her countless letters, persistent but always unanswered. While it was not unusual for his siblings to leave such letters unanswered, he did not expect the same from Penelope. But while he could sense a that a shift had occurred between them, he could not think of a logical reasoning for its occurrence. So, for months, he foolishly held on to hope that he was simply over-thinking Penelope’s silence, that all would be well once they could speak to each other in person again. 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she had called him, the night of the Queen’s inaugural ball. Her eyes apathetic, her voice cool. The fact that she had run out of every room he had walked through that night should have been the first clue that his suspicions were correct, that something of significance had changed between them. But Colin has a tendency to overlook those sorts of details. 

“Miss Featherington,” he calls to her now. 

Penelope’s head turns quickly, a look of surprise on her face. Although Colin’s eyes have been transfixed on her all night, clearly she was unaware of his presence. 

“Colin?” she says quickly, the surprise carrying through to her voice. He tries to suppress a grin when he hears his name on her lips.

“It is getting quite late,” Colin says, taking his eyes off of her for just a second to glance at the old man. He’s coughing up a storm a foot away from where they stood. “I was hoping you might save me a dance before the night is finished.” He looks down at the dance card tied around her gloved wrist. It looks disappointingly full. 

“I believe the lady said she was about to retire —” 

“Yes. I believe I have one dance left in me,” she says, cutting the old man off. Colin is so pleasantly surprised that his brain seems to stop working for a moment. Then Penelope’s hand is in his, leading him towards the other side of the dance floor. 

“Thank you,” she says when they take their places standing across from one another. 

“Whatever for?” he says, a smirk on his face. The music starts. Colin pulls Penelope, hand already resting in his own, a few inches closer as their feet start to move in step. 

“For saving me from that…” she glances behind her. Michaelson is now walking towards the staircase at the back of the room, looking as though the distance might kill him.

“Walking corpse?” Penelope laughs in spite of herself. Colin considers it a win. 

Colin wants to tell her that he would save her from a million men like Jeremy Michaelson. He wants to tell her that he would do anything to make her happy, to protect her. He wants to tell her this, but he fears uttering those words aloud will only make it easier for him to let her down. Again. 

The music picks up and, despite the tension between them this past season, Colin can’t help but notice their movements are as natural as they ever were. It always feels natural with Pen, he supposes. 

About halfway through the dance, Colin notices Penelope’s attention float to the back of the room. His curiosity gets the better of him and he turns his head to figure out what she keeps glancing at. That’s when he sees Portia… speaking very closely with Jeremy Michaelson. 

Suppressing a groan from deep within his gut, Colin gently pulls his dance partner towards the other side of the room, towards the garden. As if taking Portia out of view could magically save Penelope from her mother’s scheming. The movement disrupts the flow of the dance floor, each other couple following the intended steps (Colin silently prays Anthony is not watching from the corner somewhere, or else he will surely receive a lecture on the embarrassment of improper dance etiquette later that night). But while Cressida Cowper may throw him a disgusted look for nearly stepping on her dress, Penelope does not miss a step. 

Once they land on the edge of the dance floor, Penelope squeezes his hand. Leaning in a bit closer, she says, “This hall is starting to feel a bit crowded, would you say?”

Colin’s brow furrows. What is she getting at? 

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I believe a stroll through the garden would be quite refreshing at this time of night,” she says, her eyes fixed on his intently. Earlier in the season, Penelope would have said something like this to avoid Colin’s company. The way she’s looking up at him now, her gaze open and uninterrupted… this is an invitation. Maybe there’s hope for them yet. 

He clears his throat. “Yes, and the perfect weather for star gazing.” 

The orchestra plays on. The other couples move in sync. Colin and Penelope exit the dance floor. No one notices them slip into the moonlight.

#no I will not be providing any more context #(unless you ask cause... ya know I got a lot of time to fill all of a sudden) #polin #penelope x colin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #fanfiction #fanfic #dancing around the truth #weepingfromacedartree #hey at least I have more time to finish this fic!

[van-yangyin]

TW tw: mental breakdown, tw: illness, it's abour our dog (Lea and me), just in case

A month and a few days ago I guess you have seen how I've done practically nothing on this blog, just writing challenges and little else. That's because some time ago Yuka, the puppy of our family (me and @lea-heartscxiv among them) didn't eat any fodder, and started scratching the wall with her mouth. At first we didn't take it as something so serious, in fact we thought it was the fodder, because she did eat the homemade food. But the night of the 6th to the 7th July, during the night she became very immobile and only breathed (although the first thing shouted was that she was dead, which was something quite shocking, before seeing her breathing) so we decided to take her to the vet, first we went to one and she told us that Yuka was anemic, that she ate very little and that lacked red blood cells, she needed a blood transfusion and they referred us to another vet. We went to the other vet and they did the same tests as at the other vet because the information they sent to them was insufficient and poorly done. They did an analysis and an ultrasound, in the analysis they found insufficient red blood cells as in the other vet and in the ultrasound they found that she has a fairly large tumor in the stomach which is what causes anemia, as the tumor causes the vitamins in the food to reject the vitamins provided.

The first operation is very expensive, of the three options we were given from $1600 to $2600 the most expensive (more or less) and it is also the first of many, not counting chemotherapies. It's a hereditary disease, she's 10 years old and her father died when he was 13 years old because of the same thing, so surely it was something that had to happen to her. In the end, much to our regret, we have decided not to operate her, because of the financial issue and because we don't want her to spend the last years of her life with operations and all that entails both physically and psychologically. This week until next week we're administering pills and liquids that protect her stomach so that she can eat again, the problem is that it's decisive that she eats, otherwise we will have to go back to the vet and see what we can do. And just today she doesn't want to eat anything and has vomited the pill along with the food we have given her. We have already had another dog with tumor in the past, in fact she had threetumors and died at the age of 15 without any operation, in fact she died because got lost and her condition when she was found was very weak (I was still a toddler). Although we know that every dog is different, when it has to happen it will happen and in the meantime she will be surrounded by lots of love and lots of cuddles, be it one, two, three, four, five years or whatever.

Lately that's why I haven't had the energy to sit down and start organizing posts of Custom Content to share. I've only been able to draw, write and create half-made custom content that isn't even well done, because of this lack of emotional energy.

I hope you can understand my situation. It's not that I'm leaving everything half done, it's just that my mental energy is only focused on Yuka, just like it's with Lea. We're starting again to publishing but for Costum Content part I don't want to share anything at the moment, because I can't do things in mood I'm in and then later regret what I've shared because I hated the final result.

I'm already starting to process everything that is going on and waiting for this week to see how everything progresses and if Yuka will finally eat or not, and get the energy she's missing. It's so heartbreaking to see how she wouldn't stand still before and now she's not even able to walk down a step from the door to go into the house. All she can do is just lie in the yard. But unlike the other day, now every time we go to her, she gets up and wags her tail, which was very difficult for her the pasts days.

#tw: mental breakdown #tw: illness #it's abour our dog (Lea and me) #non sims #although it's about it at the end #lea-heartscxiv #van-yangyin

[sarcasmrights]

A Man, A Girl, A Dragon, A Home

[ao3]

Hello!

Long time no write! First fic I've published in four years. This is entirely dedicated to Voira/Voi for their gorgeous animatic featuring Hanzo and Hana. I highly suggest watching it either pre/post reading to really get the feeling.

Thanks for reading!

🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾

Hanzo finds Hana in the greenhouse long before dawn, when the world is bathed in a pale somber blue and is only just coming out of the secrecy of pure night. He, like many other agents, has nights where sleep escapes him completely, even in the comfort of another. Cole has been understanding when Hanzo untangles his octopus-like grip at odd hours of the night, offering a bothered grunt but rolling over without resistance. Tonight, he even returned to snoring before Hanzo left their shared room, a feat given how difficult Cole has complained it is for him to return to sleep after being woken up.

The greenhouse had been a later addition after the Petras Act had been repealed and Overwatch activity reinstated. With additional funds, Winston had taken it upon himself to create a greenery space for agents to return to should the Gibraltar winter be particularly harsh and force plants to wither. Hanzo had been on the committee that brought it together, personally selecting some plants and seeking those who also had green thumbs. It had been a surprisingly smooth affair, and the committee continues to meet every handful of months to discuss what supplies had to be repurchased.

It became Hanzo’s safe haven in these silent hours, when the only thing breaking the eerie quiet is the muted sounds of his footsteps. When Hanzo first sees a bundled silhouette, he approaches warily but approaches nonetheless. Hana’s form takes on more color as he draws closer, and by the time he stops (in a respectful distance), he can see the dark uneven purple under her eyes and puffy redness in them. No one has seen her for the past week, news of a particularly bad Gwishin attack in South Korea drawing her from the base, and she had returned under the guise of night only a few days ago.

Hanzo takes her in once more, paying closer attention this time, and sees an echo of himself in the large ill-fitting t-shirt she wears and the untamable exhaustion bearing down on her small frame. He is looking at a true Hana Song, a far-cry from the pop-star persona she puts on. In many ways, Hanzo realizes, he is looking at a younger version of him. While Hana does not have a clan behind her, she does have an entire country looking to her for strength, comfort, and reassurance. The weight of the world on such tiny shoulders… Hanzo’s chest aches in a bittersweetly familiar way.

Hana’s sniffle draws Hanzo back from his thoughts and he takes in a deep breath from his nose, walking closer to sit an arm’s length away from her. If Hana has not waved him away or drawn back herself, it would appear she wouldn’t mind the company, and Hanzo knows he would have appreciated a wiser someone to have sat with him in these hours.

Silence blankets over them again, and Hanzo knows he cannot be the one to approach Hana in these times. He believes in her inner strength, silently encouraging her with his mind as he gazes upon the Gibraltar horizon. The sea’s waves lazily tumble over each other, and Hanzo recollects someone briefly mentioning a gloomy weather prediction for today. Perfect weather for staying indoors today and train. He and Cole have been chasing each other’s sharpshooter best. Today may be the best day of competition yet.

A soft draw of breath brings Hanzo out of his light meditation, and he sits up a bit straighter to let Hana know he’s listening, that he wants to listen.

“What is the bravest thing you’ve ever said?” she asks, turning her head to look at him. Hanzo meets her eyes, gaze immediately softening at the sight of her. There’s a distinct lack of life on her face, a look Hanzo recognizes as survival over enjoyment. Hana must not have been sleeping for the past few days, or doing much for that matter. Her presence has been sorely missed by everyone, no jovial chirp as she bounces down the halls with Lucio nor late night screeches as she streams for her faraway fans. In terms of Hana, silence weighs much more heavily than words.

“Well…” Hanzo manages out, voice scratchy and deep with lack of use. He returns to look at the horizon again in search of the answer. A dozen memories come to him, vying for such a prestigious title. The first that comes clearly is his first rebellion against the Shimada elders, where Hanzo called for the end of the clan and vowed to seek retribution once they exiled him. Brave, yes, but not the bravest.

Seeking Genji after their confrontation in Hanamura Castle surfaces as well, when he packed what little belongings he had and came to Gibraltar. Hanzo had found Genji during his dawn meditation with Zenyatta and asked for a brief private moment. There, on a cliffside and with the sun as his second witness, Hanzo fell to his knees and performed the deepest and, in his eyes now, the only meaningful dogeza of his life. As his forehead brushed the cool stone, he heard Genji gasp and pause in his movements to beg Hanzo up. In one breath, Hanzo professed his final apology to his brother and made a vow to choose to live, instead of offering his life so willingly in a poor form of reparation. A stark reversal from the man he was in the Hanamura confrontation. The memory brings a warm pride to Hanzo’s chest, a feeling he is working to become familiar with. It draws a small smile to his face, and yes, it was brave, but still not the bravest.

A memory bubbles up to voice a delicate nomination, a time before he promised Genji to live. Hanzo faintly recalls a post-celebration late night, commending agents for a particularly grueling mission, one where the members left behind in Gibraltar cursed at feeling so helpless and those on the field made peace with conflict being the last sight for this life. By a string of miracles, Hanzo returned home, bleeding onto the emergency transport and Lucio raising his voice into a frightened scream for Angela. Nearly a life for a life, where Hanzo’s feet leapt him between a bullet and the young medic, dragons bursting from his arrow just as the opposing shot sank into the soft flesh of his stomach. As Hanzo fought for consciousness in the transport out, Lucio’s audiotech turned to dangerously experimental levels in hopes to give Hanzo a chance to live, his entire life flashed before his eyes and Hanzo realized something. He had not yet had a life to live. His life had been in the hands of others for its entirety. His clan, the elders, his father… Then Genji, as penance. Never his own.

Oh, he will never forget seeing Cole when he woke after surgery. The sound of struggle, protest, and defiance echoed behind his door loud enough to rouse him from medically induced slumber. His eyes had barely cracked open for more than a moment before his cowboy came barreling through the door. They had only recently acknowledged the possibility of meaning more to each other, gone maybe on a handful of “dates” before Hanzo had been called away on a mission. His last thought upon leaving Gibraltar had been how unworthy he was to be so fully loved by an honest, kind man. The last thought he had before he felt his eyes roll back and darkness take him was if he lives through this, if he opens his eyes again, he will learn to love Cole despite what he feels for himself, because that was what Cole deserved.

After rounds of drinks and Lucio’s exaggerated retellings of Hanzo’s bravery, Hanzo found himself crawling into Cole’s bed yet again to find his warmth and, after drawing a shaky breath, asked.

“Help,” Hanzo finally replies, returning to the greenhouse. He looks at Hana’s tiny frame over his shoulder, a softness coming over his features. Her eyes widen impossibly so, reminding Hanzo she still has yet to enter her twenties.

“Asking for help is not giving up. It is refusing to give up,” he expands, unable to keep a swell of emotion from blooming in his chest at how true his words ring. All his life, he has faced dragons, disappointment, war, and loneliness. At times, Hanzo feels his soul is older than his body can carry, impossibly heavy in ways that test the limits of human spirit, and there have been times he has stumbled, fallen from a bone-deep exhaustion. Surrender was not an option, though it had tempted him deeply. Instead, Hanzo found new purpose and resolve in those around him. Freed both Genji and himself from their past with his declaration, found love in a man who threw his entire being into making sure Hanzo felt loved. And, perhaps the greatest act of growth, Hanzo feels he deserves to feel this way: loved in every fulfilling way.

Hana continues to look at him, eyes becoming glassy before she chokes out a sob and hides her face between her knees, shoulders shaking as Hanzo feels her impossible weight fall off her shoulders. Hana sobs, and sobs, and fills the entire greenhouse with the release of her sorrow, weariness, and pressure. Because he has found a new strength in himself, Hanzo sits with her and, after a moment, reaches out and rests a calm hand on her kneecap.

It's as if Hana has been waiting for permission, as she explodes with movement as soon as he touches her. Delicate arms are flung around Hanzo’s shoulders, and she nearly falls off the small bench they share, continuing to unleash. Hanzo gently rests his hand on her back now, the other going to her hair and petting in the way his mother had a long time ago.

Once the sobs fade into something softer, Hana draws away to rest into a casual seiza, stubbornly wiping the wetness from her face. She looks at Hanzo and he hopes his expression is as encouraging as he feels.

She takes in a shaky breath.

“Help.”

🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾🌣☾

Cole wanders into the mess hall, having woken up earlier than he’s used to. The bed had been a little cold without Hanzo in it this time, but he has a hazy recollection of Hanzo leaving him to probably head to that greenhouse of his. It’s been his happy place when he can’t sleep, so Cole decides to head over there after fixing them up some breakfast.

To his surprise though, Hanzo is already sitting across from Hana. The picture is quite heartwarming, with Hana eagerly eating a hot bowl of rice porridge and pecking at a mighty fine spread of side dishes, and Hanzo sipping on a steaming cup of tea and working through a bowl of his own.

“Good mornin’ y’all,” Cole greets, sliding into the seat by Hanzo. He first presses a kiss against his darling’s cheek, enjoying the pleased hum he gets as thanks.

“Greetings. There is still enough for a bowl on the counter, if you are hungry,” Hanzo mentions and Cole eagerly gets out of his seat again, padding over to help himself to leftovers. Silently, he listens to Hana continue to eat, chopsticks against porcelain a rather pretty sound for him. Maybe it’s just ‘cause it reminds him of Hanzo finally taking care of himself and eating right.

“What’re you two doin’ up? Ain’t nothin’ good if it’s with you, squirt,” Cole teases when he sits. Hana’s wince immediately draws concern and Cole looks to Hanzo to check for a faux pas. Instead, Hanzo only offers a chuckle and nods to Hana, who shyly peeks up at Cole from her bowl.

“…Help.”

#hainoon #mchanzo #cole cassidy #hanzo shimada #hana song #dva #overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow #ow2

[assortedfruitsnacks212]

This is a post about art. But because art is my whole world, it's about so much more too.

Attached is a photo of a small stack of printer paper. It doesn't look like much at first, just a few scribbles with a mechanical pencil on cheap paper. At least one page has a coffee stain on it. Others have been erased so much that their texture's starting to fray - and that's saying something for printer paper.

For me, this stack of paper is the way home. I've been lost for a while, longer than I care to admit. I could always see the lights in the windows, no matter where I was, but I had no idea how to get there. So every time I looked, I'd smile sadly to myself and think, "I'll find my way someday." Then I'd duck my head and keep moving.

These messy sketches are me finally reclaiming my place in the world. It's scary as hell, but with each one I claw another hole in the wall that's kept me away.

Looking back, I'm not sure I can explain where the wall came from. All I know is it's been there in some form for many, many years. As a little girl, I was a breathless whirlwind of creativity. I'd take a small pile of printer paper just like this one, staple it together on the sides, then fill it with drawings and stories like a comic book. I had little concept of what I was "allowed" to make or what a "good" drawing is. My only goal was to keep going till I got bored.

Somewhere along the way, I absorbed ideas that weren't good for me. I forgot what art meant to me in the first place, how it was my vehicle for telling breathless, whirlwind stories. When I started working professionally in 2014, something even worse happened: I began to compare myself to other artists. That and a mounting wave of anxiety all but destroyed my ability to create. By the time the pandemic came around, I couldn't draw without my hand shaking. That little girl who used to go through stacks of printer paper, who still lived inside me longing to create, was so scared of failure that she couldn't hold her pencil steady.

So I walked away.

Since then, I've done everything *but* make art. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't been a waste of time - far from it. But inside me I still carried that little girl, and she was... sad. Sad that we didn't get to draw anymore. Sad that she had to wait for who knows how long. Maybe forever.

Over the past four months, life has conspired to put me in a room with that sad little girl. I've had no choice but to sit with her, observing her grief and confusion. Over time, I've gotten angry.

How did I let this happen? She used to be so beautifully happy, the kind of kid I would kill for. And I let the world tear her down.

Now I'm going back to my roots. I'm grabbing stacks of printer paper, without the staples this time, and drawing whatever inspires me. Some drawings aren't that great. When my little girl panics over it, I tell her, "It's ok. No one has to see this, and you're drawing on cheap paper anyway. Just turn the page over and try again."

And it's WORKING. My hand isn't shaking anymore. I'm even starting to look forward to drawing. My little girl is happy again, lying on her stomach on the carpet in the living room, illustrating her own private world in a homemade comic book.

The timing couldn't be better. As if the stakes needed to be *any* higher, I'm in a position now where I need to rely on my art again for an income, at least for a few weeks. It's definitely not what I would've chosen, but I've risen to the challenge, accepting commissions and slowly but surely fulfilling them.

I can't believe I'm here.

#personal

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WEDNESDAY WHENEVER

I got tagged by @theviridianbunny thank youuu!

ART

The Kurt drawing I started a month ago is almost finished so I won't show that as a WIP again lol. But I settled on what I want to draw next already and I am way to hyped by the idea (Cyberpunk/Witcher crossover)

WRITING

I write quite a lot lately (or try to). Manly oc stuff because I managed to get obsessed with Alyona. Welp.

Her character introduction for my AU is halfway finished, but I am overthinking if it got a little to shippy (I didn't intendet that in the beginning but it just happened and I like it hehe). Maybe I make my shippy stuff into something extra and name it after the ship to keep the actual AU "cleaner" bc it's not that important for the plot. I don't know! I can't organzie my stuff!

Here's a preview of the introduction tho. For context: It's a backflash and around 2073, the business in Dtown starts to bloom and she comes for a visit to see what the Colonel came up with (try not to cringe by posting your writing but cringe anyway):

————————————————————

A woman got out of the helicopter after them. Relatively tall, slim, athletically muscular, her short black hair was tousled by the wind, the sides of her skull were shaved short. She wore simple, military-style clothing. Cargo pants, lace-up heavy boots, a tactical leather jacket. Everything was kept in black and dark olive tones. If you didn't know any better, you'd say she was from here and it would be easy for her to blend in with the masses in Dogtown. One detail that made her stand out, was a multitude of thin scars that ran from the lower left side of her face across her nose and up to her forehead. Judging by the degree of healing, it was a very old wound. At least on the outside.

She walked confidently past her people, holding a bottle of clear liquid with an elaborately designed label in her right hand. Probably high-proof alcohol from her home.

After a few steps, however, she stopped abruptly and pushed the aviator glasses she was wearing down a little to look over the rim in disbelief and with a raised eyebrow.

"You look old, Kurt," she said blatantly, examined the man in front of her from top to bottom and continued to walk slowly towards the him, then took her glasses off completely and put them in the inside pocket of her jacket.

"It hasn't been that long since we last saw each other, has it?"

Her English was remarkably good when compared to other representatives from this part of the world who were usually up for business in Dogtown. However, she was unable to mask the slight accents common to the Russian language.

Kurt ignored her little teasing and tried to be professional.

"I'm glad you're here too." He couldn't help but welcome her with a thin smile." And it should be about half a year. The last time was in Laos during the negotiations."

Both slowly came to a halt in front of each other. Jago had followed the Colonel discreetly and kept to the background.

"That was six months ago already. Seems like I did good on suppressing the memories about that terrible place“, she answered shaking her head in disbelief.

"How was the flight?" he added tersely.

"Ah," she made a dismissive hand gesture. "Alright. I am getting used to traveling.“ She showed him the bottle she brought with her. „Here's your favorite. Don't worry, I've got more in the helicopter."

Without further ado, she pressed it into Hansen's hand.

For all the people standing by who were not yet familiar with Alyona and her way of dealing with Kurt, this whole encounter must have seemed incredibly strange. They all only knew him as the undisputed authority figure and nobody, except at most his old brothers in arms, would dare to talk to him like that. And even there were limits.

Alyona finally looked with interest at the man standing behind the Colonel.

„And who is the cute little cat? I don't think we've met yet.“

Jago's features froze completely and he didn't think he had heard correctly.

"The cute little... EXCUSE ME?" he replied with audible outrage in his voice.

————————————————————

And I still NEED to write her fucking lore down. I think I got it togehter by now.

VP (new to the list)

Just started to activly making pics on my console and would like to come up with a little series in the future maybe.

Atm I try to make pics for a fun Discord Challenge where I have to show a single day in the live of my V. Since I am still obsessed with a certain disctrict I thought I make it a "Dogtown Days"- Edition. I struggle with the limited set of poses but I'll figure something out.

Yea think that's it for now. I still have so many ideas for a lot of different things but I have to restrain myself and finish some things first before I get lost in my WIP-Limbo.

#wip whenever #ouroboros talks #writing stuff #art stuff #VP stuff

[imboringasfuck]

The Dance of the Fire God

P.S. This is from my AO3 account by the name Hamilfan_538

"Onii-san, its time."

But even without Nezuko's reminder, Tanjiro knew that the sun was about to set.  He can already feel the sun's dying rays on his skin, and the warmth it brings is more than welcome from the freezing temperature of his surroundings. But he knows that it won't last throughout the dead of the night, so with one last prayer, he stood up from his family's grave. 

He can fool himself and say that he's ready for this, he thinks. Yet he knows that months of preparation will never be enough to prepare himself for this almost-impossible task. 

Yet Tanjiro must do so, in order to honor his past.

He then looked at Nezuko, who is now wearing a beautiful red kimono with sakura blossoms embroidered in its sleeves and at the ends of the kimono, secured with a white obi. Her hair was now tied in a simple bun with a red bow and she wore red paint on her lips. 

If he had never learned Total Concentration Breathing: Constant, he could've said that she took his breath away.

But her pink eyes had an apprehensive look on it. She was worried. Which he doesn't want her to be.

"I'm gonna be fine, Nezuko," says Tanjiro. "I've been practicing it for months. I'm sure that my body could endure it all throughout the night." 

(But if he's being honest, he's not sure that he would last the night either.)

Yet that doesn't take that worried look from her eyes, and he can't help but frown. But when he thought that he was going to get another scolding, her sister only said,

"Turn around."

He was surprised yet he complied. A few seconds later, a long white blindfold covering his face was tied around his head, with the kanji flames written on it. 

Ah, it was father's Kagura blindfold, he thought. 

After the blindfold was tied his eyes widened as a pair of warm arms hugged him from behind. 

"Good luck," whispered Nezuko. 

He can still smell the worry from her, yet it was not as strong as before. He smiled.

Nezuko then broke the hug. He then gave her a pat in the head before heading towards the circle of torches ahead. 

It's time

He can feel the snow beneath his feet, yet he feels no cold. The blindfold obscured his sight, yet he can still find his way forward. He can hear Zenitsu and Inosuke cheering for him from behind, yet he ignored them. It was just him and him alone.

Not long after, he felt that his feet no longer touched snow, which means this is the ritual grounds. From the sides of his blindfold, he can see the torches were already lit up, probably by Zenitsu and Inosuke before he came here. 

They both have offered to celebrate the New Year with him, and though he refused, saying that him and Nezuko could only afford a simple celebration, they still insisted, saying that they don't mind (though he's certain that Zenitsu has other things in mind).

So they also helped him prepare the house for the New Year, as well as help him prepare for the Hinokami Kagura. They help him build new torches, since the old ones went brittle due to lack of care, while Nezuko stitched up any tear or hole in the ritual clothes he now wore.

But the clothes still hang loosely from his frame, so she offered to sew it up to fit him. Yet he refused. He didn't want his father's ritual clothes be tampered, not even by a skilled seamstress like Nezuko. He'll grow into it, he says. So instead, he wore pieces of fabrics as belts so that the clothes stay in place.

And even though Tanjiro doesn't feel worthy in these clothes, he still wore it with pride. 

He then started pacing his breath, drawing out his Shinchishitō as he got into position. From the corner of his eye he counts the seconds before the sun touches the horizon. 

Ichi.

He still remembers the child, who despite shivering due to the cold, watched his father dance in a circle of flames all night long, and how he wished that he could do that too. 

Ni.

He can still remember the smell of blood, as his bedridden father uses his last remaining strength to remove the hanafuda earrings from his ears and attached them to Tanjiro's own, before saying his last words.

San.

He can still remember the ghost of a voice that was his father, guiding him as the elegant, water-like movements of his blade turned into the powerful and deadly slashes of the scorching sun as he slashed Rui's neck. 

Yon.

He can still remember his father guiding him in exiting the dream world, the world he had already lost and will never gain back.

Go.

He can remember his father, dressed in the very same clothes he's now wearing, standing barefoot in the same ground he's on, and holding the same Shinchishitō he's holding. 

He still remembers every New Year, and how his father performed every segment of the dance flawlessly from sunset to sunrise, not once stopping to rest.

And the only attempt of the dance which he himself had only done in his fight with Muzan. And it left him extremely battered and damaged, while his father did this every year without fail.

Can he do it?

Yes you can, my son.

Now, dance!

And as the sun touched the horizon, he slashed his Shinchishitō through the air, filling the silence with the chiming of the bells.

As Tanjiro continued to dance throughout the sunset, he didn't feel that his movements were of his own.

Rather, it was the movement of his ancestors is what he felt. 

Yoriichi, Sumiyoshi, his father.

The same movements that they have passed down, from generation to generation. The one that he is doing now. 

The same slashes, same turns of his body, the same strikes. The same paced breath, the same footsteps and the same body shifts. All of these, he's doing right now.

Something that he has only ever dreamed of accomplishing, he's reaching for right now.

And so as he danced through the night, his movements still as precise as ever.  Yet still he prayed and prayed in his mind:

Father, guide my sword.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #tanjiro kamado #nezuko kamado #one shot #oneshots #character study #introspection #writing #anime and manga