#xx Italian language week

[agendabymooner]

about names: the wingman of maranello || cl16 scenario (2)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

PART TWO OF ABOUT NAMES SCENARIO SERIES

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful. 

Scenario summary: With his brothers coming down to sickness, Jules Leclerc travelled to Italy with his father and Uncle Arthur prior to his next karting event before them as he learned more about the ‘Wingman of Maranello’ — his namesake Jules Bianchi.

Content warning: FLUFF!!!!! What is beta reading we write with no sense of proper grammar or transitions, kids' sickness, heavily mentions Jules Bianchi (+ Jules being a good sport and matchmaker), feel-good vibes, OC (Teague; OFC's relative), Uncle Arthur Leclerc is quite unattentive, possible use of explicit language, poorly translated French and Italian(?)

Note: I have two papers due in the next two weeks lmao. Enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

Charles and Aimee always thought that if it hadn’t been for their jobs, their kids wouldn’t have the chance of catching a case of stomach flu from countless germs in their school. 

They were meant to travel to Italy a week before the eldest Leclerc twins’ karting tournament occurring at the track in Maranello — but it seemed like PJ Leclerc’s class had another plan in mind. Now, two days after his last class of the week, he and his brothers Hervé, Anthoine and Alain (age two) were sulking at home. 

They weren’t allowed to travel to Italy until they felt better — after all, the parents didn’t want to be running around with kids who look sickly and would probably throw up every other minute. 

Hervé, out of the four boys, took that information to heart though. He was supposed to be with his twin brother as he, too, was going to compete in the karting event — with Arthur acting as his coach. He was excited to travel with his Da and Jules, but he started showing signs of a weak stomach. 

Aimee had promised that if he got better before the race they’d be able to travel to where Charles and Jules were. It was just a translation to, “Listen to Maman and drink your tea, eat your soup and take your medicine” but they’d decided to put it in a nicer way to avoid dealing with a stubborn seven year old. 

But as Jules placed his bag down after packing up, Hervé’s scowl turned light. His face was pale, but his face showed a lot about how he felt about his twin leaving.

Neither of the parents were paying attention to the two though. Arthur was somewhere in the house, saying goodbye to his younger nephews PJ and the twins. 

“Mon cœur,” Charles started, making Aimee hum as she washed the soup bowls. There was no right time to ask his question especially if he asked his wife this but it was a shot worth taking. “Since it’s just Artie, J and I heading there for the week I’m thinking—“

“Uh oh, that’s a bad sign,” Aimee joked, now rinsing the dishes. Charles chuckled and rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter next to the sink and his wife. He proceeded with his suggestion.

“What if we took the Pista to Maranello instead?” 

It was like his world stopped. Quite literally. 

Turning off the tap, Aimee’s grin faded as she scowled heavily in the direction of her husband. Charles’s usually widened eyes shrunk small as Aimee continued to bore her eyes into his pair. 

It was a bad idea to bring up his sports car overall.

With a scoff, she then said, “I want you to say those words slowly and understand what you just said.”

“Okay…” He nodded.

“Then I want you to think about how stupid that sounds,” Aimee smiled grimly. Yikes. He was a footstep away from being banished from his own bedroom. 

“Okay,” he said regardless.

“Don’t be stupid,” Aimee warned him, “you know that the Pista isn’t for the kids.” 

“I know,” Charles told her, his voice now hitting an octave as he defended, “to be fair, I wouldn’t put the kids in your McLaren either.”

“Darling,” Aimee laughed humourlessly, “we were thinking of two different things; I thought that they shouldn’t be allowed to ride it because it’s dangerous and you said that it was a McLaren not a Ferrari. Do you get what I’m saying?” 

“Right, alright,” Charles said with a shrug, “it was just an idea.”

“An idea that isn’t even worth looking at,” Aimee shook her head, “take the Aston or something— just don’t take any of the two seater ones. Do not ever let Jules sit on Arthur’s lap on a two-seater— he has to have a seat belt, Charles. If I find out that you took either of the Pista or McLaren I will come after your head— and you’re my husband. But I won’t hesitate to be a goddamn Black Widow if—“

“Okay, geez,” Charles interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “don’t need to threaten me. Still your husband, mon cœur.”

“Not going to be anymore if you do what you just said,” Aimee gave him a smile. It was a rather threatening one, and Charles should do anything but contest what he was told. 

Meanwhile Jules stood there and awkwardly patted his brother’s head as he said, “Tu te rendras à la course, Herb.” You’ll make it to the race, Herb.

Hervé grumbled and continued to sulk, “I hope so. Tia said that Louis is going to be there. And je n'aime pas perdre contre Louis.” I don’t like to lose to Louis. 

“Eh,” Jules shrugged nonchalantly, “you know what Maman said once? Uh… don’t take it personal? Is that what she said?” 

Hervé nodded as his twin brother continued, “Louis me taquine aussi. Je m'en fiche parce que maman a dit que je ne devrais pas me soucier des gens qui se moquent de moi. Cela m'empêche seulement d'aller plus vite dans la course.” Louis teases me too. I don’t care much because Maman said I shouldn’t mind people who make fun of me. It only stops me from going faster in the race. 

Despite being a twin, one of the things that differed Jules from Hervé was his level headed trait. It wasn’t as if he never showed any form of emotion to anything worth reacting to, but he seemed to reason more than Hervé. 

Everyone around them was quick to notice this and easily pointed out that he took this rational approach from Aimee, while Hervé got his sensitivity from Charles.

Still, Jules approached things differently than his twin — and his attempt to convince Hervé to see the things he’s seeing was something that most school aged children wouldn’t do. 

“So,” Jules told Hervé, “make it to the race not because of him. Remember! Auntie Vie raced for fun! Not because she wants to fight Uncle Max!” 

“Hm,” Hervé nodded, but kept his head down nonetheless. The eldest Leclerc boy looked up and murmured, “My stomach still hurts, J.” 

“Ah, I’ll tell Maman,” Jules nodded, “why are you up if your stomach hurts anyway?” 

“Alors je peux demander à Maman si je peux venir avec vous les gars,” so I can ask Maman if I can go with you guys. Hervé grumbled, tucking his legs in his hoodie as he groaned. “Ugh.”

A four hour drive to their accommodation in Maranello and a quick trip to the Ferrari headquarters after Charles, Arthur and Jules Leclerc were found in Charles’s in-site office. Or rather, Charles was somewhere in the facility having a meeting with the PR team and Carlos while his son and brother were in his office. 

Jules kept rolling over the chair from the desk to his Uncle Arthur, growing bored of the lack of things to do inside his father’s office. Arthur was just sitting there, his eyes hovering over his phone as he continued to browse through his twitter. 

“Da should have just left me with Maman,” Jules sighed, his head slumped against Charles’s desk.

Arthur hummed, not paying full attention towards the boy as Jules sighed in annoyance. 

Arthur wasn’t paying attention to him and Jules decided to mess with him a little, “Da could just drop me off the street and let me race by myself.” 

Nothing but an utter “Mhm” escaped Arthur’s mouth. 

“I’m bored, Uncle Art.”

Still nada.

“Herb said that he should have had Auntie Vie or Uncle Max coach him instead of you.” 

It was as if Arthur got a whiplash as his mouth gaped open at the boy’s comment. “Jules, is that true?” 

Jules shrugged, “No.”

“Then why say that if it’s not true,” Arthur exclaimed and heaved a sigh dramatically, “you scared me.”

“Because I’m booooored~” Jules whined, spinning himself while he sat on the chair of his father’s office. “Da left me here with nothing!” 

“Tell you what,” Arthur started, “why don’t we take a look around the floor and see if you can find the LaFerrari car to ride in? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you borrow it and drive around the office.” 

“Fine~” Jules hopped off the seat, not even bothering to wait for his uncle as he ran out of the office. “Race you to Da!”

“W- Oi! Jules Lorenzo Pascal- agh, wrong- Leclerc!” Arthur grunted before he stood up and ran after the boy. “You lots have a lot of names to even call you by them- Jules! Come back! Charles has a meeting!”

The Ferrari headquarters in Maranello was, no doubt, a place that held a lot of memories for the Leclerc family. Charles’ name was engraved in the wall of fame and Aimee’s family was strongly connected to the Ferraris. Their connections to the team — one that became their family — led them to what they had now. 

Everyone inside the headquarters were fond of the Leclerc boys and Jules was no exception.

For an hour, he’d been going around the office saying hi to everyone and asking about their day — in Italian, as well, to impress them with his ability to speak more than two languages. Then he went around asking about the LaFerrari that his Uncle Arthur mentioned earlier. 

Jules gladly toured the museum with his uncle rather than finding the car he’d asked about, his eyes glimmering at the sight of Niki Lauda’s car and even Enzo Ferrari’s. When they got to Michael Schumacher’s car, however, Jules nearly jumped up and down in excitement. 

His loud excited voice caught the attention of other onlookers in the museum. It was rather funny that he was so excited, because by the time people had approached them the excitement in his features had infected the Ferrari fans as they asked Arthur for photos. 

“Oh, I’ll take the photo!” Jules offered in excitement. 

“Jules no you have to get in the picture,” Arthur kept an arm around the boy and said, “how will people know that there are two handsome Leclerc men roaming around Maranello if you’re out of the picture?” 

And find out, they did. It wasn’t even an hour after when the fans posted their photos on Twitter and became a hit tweet because of the Leclerc boy. What was funnier aside from the caption “I met Jules Leclerc with his relative today” was the result that came with it. 

Charles looked quite frazzled trying to find his kid and when the fans saw the driver they nearly freaked out. Jules merely waved at his father and said, “They said they want some pictures, Da!”

Charles sighed and smiled at the fans lightly, his eyes finding Arthur’s as he warned his brother quietly about letting Jules in the pictures.

Jules was still a child, and taking photos of him without the knowledge of either Charles or Aimee was trouble you’re asking for. 

“Jules,” Charles started as he held the boy’s hand, making their way back to the office after having some photos taken, “Do not go far from the office when Da has a meeting, alright?” 

“But I only went in the museum, Da,” Jules reasoned out, “and Uncle Artie went with me!” 

“Well I’m glad you went with someone,” Charles shrugged, “but there is someone I would like you to meet.” 

“Oh! Cool,” Jules exclaimed. “C'est le père de maman?” Is it Maman’s father? 

Charles and Arthur shared a look over Jules’ head. Yeah no.

The boys had always mentioned that they’ve never met any of their grandfathers before. They understood why their Papy Hervé was not here anymore but Aimee’s father — Julius Hearth — was still alive. How come they’ve never met them? 

“Non, mais il est proche de maman,” No but he is close to Maman. Charles replied quietly, eventually coming to a stop in front of the conference room by the Scuderia Ferrari Team Principal Fred Vasseur’s office. 

Jules stood there, expectantly looking at his father as Charles gestured to the entryway. Stepping inside without looking away from his father, Jules finally looked in front of him as his glimmering eyes turned curious. 

A man sat there. There are some signs of age in his face, but Jules could tell that he was not older than his father. The man’s smile brightened the room, the shade of his skin brightening like the sun. 

Jules looked up at Charles, who only offered him a smile before telling him to keep walking. The man stood and stuck his hand out. 

“Last time I checked, you and Aimee were still new,” the man gave a teasing look to Charles, who only chuckled. His Scottish accent piqued Jules’ interest even more.

His Maman’s accent was different from his and as he continued to think about it, his cousins’ mixture of Austrian and RP accent wasn’t like this either. He’s from a different region, Jules deduced.

The man looked down and crouched, hand still stuck out as he spoke, “My name is Teague. Teague Edmunson. And you are…?”

With a face showing a mixture of curiosity and cautiousness, Jules looked back at Charles who only gave him a go-ahead before the boy reached out to shake the hand of the man and introduced himself, “My name is Jules Leclerc.”

“Ah! Jules?” Teague smiled softly as he gave a nod of approval towards Charles’ direction. “You named him Jules?”

“Yes, we did,” Charles grinned, his hand reaching out to mess with his son’s hair.

“Seems rather fitting,” Teague teased the Ferrari driver, “the Wingman of Maranello… Ah… he made you and Aimee possible after all.”

Jules’s face scrunched up in confusion, watching how his Uncle Arthur giggled and his father’s face flush red.

It was like he missed something. He wasn’t sure what but the way his Da’s turn red told him enough about asking him about the matter later.

“I’m sorry, mister,” Jules piped up, making the men look down at him with questioning looks. He proceeded to look at the man who introduced himself as Teague and asked, “My Da said that you know my Maman well. Can I ask what you are to her?”

“Jules,” Arthur called, “do you know one of your Maman’s last names?”

The boy shook his head, making Teague laugh quietly and answer with, “Edmunson, Little Bianchi.”

“You said that is your name,” Jules pointed out, making Teague nod. “So… if Maman’s name is Edmunson then you are her… brother?”

“Well… Not quite,” Teague shook his head before elaborating, “I’m her cousin. Don’t tell me your Maman had never spoken much of me? Charles?”

“Yes we have,” Charles scoffed. But all Jules seemed to have heard was that the man in front of him was his mother’s cousin. Then he recalled that one time he went browsing through his Maman’s childhood photo album.

He saw his aunts in those photos and even his Uncles Max and Lando. He knew that some of them grew up together, but there was one person that Jules once pointed out and it was a boy with a darker shade of skin and curly hair. The boy that he saw was sitting next to his Maman. 

Suddenly it all made sense to him. Aimee once introduced him to the photo of this boy as…

“You are Uncle T.”

Jules came to a conclusion, his lips spreading into a grin as it infected the whole room. 

“Yes, I am your Uncle T!” Teague confirmed, nodding eagerly. “Gah! I thought Aimee and Charles had forgotten about me. Or even your uncle Arthur!”

“I’d never forget about you, T,” Arthur scoffed.

Jules then turned to Arthur and said, “Uncle Arthur, you cannot even remember my full name! You have put my Pascal first before Blaise!”

“Ahhh, Arthur~” Charles gasped dramatically and looked at his younger brother. Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“I forgot about it once this noon and little Bianchi considers me a criminal for it,” Arthur muttered. “You and your Da, J. You like to give me a heart attack.” 

He stood next to his father while they both brushed their teeth, getting ready to go to bed for the next day. 

Jules had spent his day with Fred Vasseur and his Uncle Teague. It turned out that Teague was to work as an engineer at Ferrari after years of working at some firm in Luxembourg.

From what Jules learned, Teague never had the chance to visit Jules and his brothers due to his work commitments. Now, he’s had every chance to— and he did make sure that his time was well spent. 

“Da,” Jules spoke after rinsing his mouth, hearing a hum from Charles as he glanced at the older Leclerc. “On reverra l'oncle Teague?” Will we see Uncle Teague again? 

“Oui,” Charles murmured as he continued to brush his teeth. He spat the contents of his mouth and rinsed his mouth before he answered his son, “He will be there for your race, Jules.” 

“Ah,” Jules nodded in understanding. Silence was shared between the Leclerc boys before Jules asked, “Est-il proche de Maman?” Is he close to Maman?

“Very,” Charles nodded, “but he is not your Maman’s best friend though. He was…” 

Jules Leclerc, if you were to compare him to his twin and the rest of his brothers, was good at reading expressions. He could just tell that Charles wanted to tell him something but refuses to.

Jules always told himself that his Da got the look that his brother Hervé had whenever he was in the verge of crying or breaking down, and this was no exception.

So rather than bringing up the situation Jules went ahead and said, “Da, pourquoi l'oncle T a-t-il dit que mon nom correspondait?” Da, why did Uncle T say that my name is fitting? 

Charles’s expression changed as he snapped his head towards the direction of his son. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know,” Jules said before he tried to recall the events earlier, “he said uh… Il m'a appelé quelque chose… W- wingman?” He called me something.

“Ah,” Charles chuckled, shaking his head lightly before he grabbed the brush from the sink alongside a hair tie. He stepped behind Jules and began brushing the boy’s hair back. “The Wingman of Maranello.” 

“Oui! That!” Jules exclaimed, wincing lightly when he moved and his dad tugged on his hair lightly. Charles muttered an apology before Jules continued, “What does that mean?” 

“Uh… so,” Charles tried to speak but he couldn’t help but focus on the detangling brush on his hand as he continued to brush Jules’ damp hair. “Do you know- Maman t'a-t-elle parlé de la Saint-Valentin?” Did Maman tell you about Valentine’s Day? Jules nodded as Charles explained, “There is something called a Cupid. Now, Cupid— he matches people with others. To find someone to love.”

“Maman said that! She said that Cupid helped you and Maman!” Jules said as his eyes glimmered at the thought of Cupid doing their work— a masterpiece that the boy called his Maman and Da. 

“Yeah, well you see,” Charles chuckled, “long before Maman and I got together with the help of Cupid, we had something called the wingman. It’s someone who encourages you to talk to the person that you like.”

“Like Cupid?”

“Pretty much, but Cupid just helps people get together and love stronger,” Charles shrugged, “the wingman, in this case, helped me discover my love for your Maman more.” 

Charles smiled to himself. He remembered it vividly. 

BACK THEN

It turns out, being a student and a godson of a test driver — who was best friends with a stakeholder’s cousin — could lead him to a party at the Ferrari headquarters… and to her. 

Teague chuckled quietly before nudging Jules Bianchi slightly, earning a scowl from the Frenchman as he followed Teague’s line of sight, smirking lightly as Charles Leclerc — at the age of fifteen — blushed furiously and walked away from the golden skinned girl.

When the girl was out of their sight, Jules whistled as if to tease the boy. Charles gave Jules a glare as Teague laughed.

“Come on, Shal,” Jules grinned lopsidedly before he wrapped his arm around the Monegasque. “I think you should talk to her.”

“I already did,” Charles tried to shove Jules away from him, but the Frenchman was stronger than him as Jules laughed.

“Not that,” Jules shook his head, “maybe someday she’ll be your girlfriend~~”

“Jules, shhh-“ Charles hissed. 

“Careful now, Wingman of Maranello,” Teague piped up, “you might give my aunt a heart attack with all of your matchmaking.”

“I’ve done an alright job so far, don’t you think, T?” Jules winked at his best friend. “I’m sure your Aunt Amara wouldn’t mind having a handsome Monegasque for a son-in-law. It worked out so well with you and your girlfriend!

“Now Shal! Promise your best godfather Jules that you’d ask her out one of these days, hm? I’d be damned if you let go of a smart girl like her.” 

NOW

“So if I’m called Jules and he was your Uncle Jules… does that mean I get to play matchmaker too?”

Charles laughed aloud, finally tying his son’s hair into a bun before he wrapped his arms around his boy. 

“Why not,” Charles rolled his eyes before pressing kisses on his son’s face. “You can do whatever you want, little Bianchi. Just not anything that will send your Da or Maman to the hospital, hm?” 

Jules sighed contentedly, resting against his father’s chest as he looked at himself and his dad in the vanity. He then smiled and said, “I hope Hervé gets better before the race. Then Uncle T can see me and him race.” 

“I hope so, too, Jules,” Charles sighed quietly, patting his son on the shoulder before nudging the boy towards the direction of their bedroom. “Now off we go. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Will I drive the LaFerrari this time, Da?”

“If your Zio Fred has someone to find it for you, then yes. Perhaps don’t crash around the office. It’s a busy day tomorrow.”

“Uh… okay. Maybe I can make that promise.”

“You can promise? So silly of you, Jules.”

#formula one fic #formula one imagine #formula one x oc #formula one fanfiction #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #formula one dad #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x oc #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #formula 1 fluff #formula one fluff #formula one au #charles leclerc au #f1 au #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc series #charles leclerc story

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi! Hope you’re doing great!

I love all of your advice :), it’s so helpful.

I’m currently in college and I would love to work for the EU or UN one day (fingers crossed?). How could I be in spaces that’ll lead me there - even though I’m a student? And how could I prepare for those spaces and pioneering for advocacy for the “voiceless?”

Thanks so much!

Hi love! Thank you so much.

I actually know a couple of women who interned/worked for the UN! So, from what I know, here are some important skills and experiences you should consider acquiring to work at these types of organizations:

Become as fluent in English and French as possible. Bonus points for additional languages including German, Spanish, Italian, etc.

Study and focus on gaining internship/volunteer experience in public policy, international relationships, political science, sustainable development, nonprofit management, pre-law/environmental science, and ethics

Consider applying for a volunteer, internship, or study abroad opportunity with the UN (I don't know anything about working with the EU, but that sounds so cool!)

Intern/volunteer with an NGO or another international nonprofit (Women for Women is a great organization!)

Visit or attend events at local international embassies

Volunteer, intern, or work in some capacity for events hosted by influential international figures (foreign ambassadors, global human rights activists, etc. – I met one of these women at a Fashion Week event a few years ago, so think outside of the box. Consider what events draw an international crowd in your area and go from there)

Leverage your university's and professors' resources to help get into clubs, networking events, internship opportunities, and informational interviews with people working at these organizations or the same/adjacent fields

Hope this helps xx

#career advice #university student #college student #student tips #career path #professionalism #networking opportunities #networking #international relations #public policy #united nations #european union #publicsector #femmefatalevibe #q/a

[sayitaliano]

XX Settimana della Lingua Italiana nel Mondo

Dal 19 al 25 ottobre. Raccontateci cosa vi piace della nostra lingua, o parlateci della vostra canzone o poesia preferita! Parliamo italiano insieme!

(source)

From October 19th to 25th, XX Week of the Italian Language in the World. Tell us what do you like the most about our native language, about your favorite Italian song or poem! Let’s speak Italian together!

#xx settimana della lingua italiana nel mondo #it #italian #italiano #italian language #lingua italiana #language #langblr #italian langblr #xx Italian language week #italian language week

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Hi besties - here is part 6! We are officially halfway through this fic! Part 6 sees friendships blossom, situationships struggle, and cheeky intercontinental facetime chats! I hope you all are enjoying it as much as i am! I love hearing from you after you've read it! Love always, Steph xx

Part 6 | parte sesta

warnings; a couple of tugs on the heartstrings (in both the best and worst ways)

word count; 2301

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 06/08 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

Amelia had been back in Turin for a week or so, settling back into her city apartment had been more difficult than she anticipated as she was now alone for the first time in more than 2.5 months. It wasn’t very often, but sometimes she did miss the companionship of having a boyfriend. She missed someone to have breakfast with, to watch movies under the covers, to bring to official events. She still did all of these things, with a date, that was a friend, that sometimes maybe crept beyond the friendship zone and into the we shouldn’t be doing this but it feels so good zone.

Fede was someone that hung around Amelia like a fly to sugar. She enjoyed the attention most of the time. She appreciated his friendship, wisdom, talent and intellect. He could hold a conversation, talk to her about the arts, sell her the dream. She even didn’t mind it when they did cross that line a few times. Long afternoons and even longer nights spent wrapped up together in his bed sheets, her bathtub, his kitchen, her lounge room...you get the point. It was almost as though the two were in a committed relationship - committed being the operable word.

Fede wanted Amelia all to himself, and she was just that - available to him and for him whenever he wished, which was often. That’s what confused Amelia most, he didn’t want to label their situationship. He was happy to be ‘friends’ outside the four walls of their respective homes, but lovers when the curtains were drawn. She would maybe understand if he was elusive, always going out and on his phone but he wasn’t. He spent all of his time with her, there wouldn't have been enough hours left in the day if he separated those he spent with her from those he spent alone.

The Juventus players noticed this behaviour early on, seeing a noticeable difference in the way their number 33 paid attention to their tactical sessions. How he was turning up to the training centre early, with an extra piccolo for the english member of their coaching staff. Federico claimed he was helping Amelia brush up on her Italian, but having an Italian-born mother who insisted on sharing her culture with her kids, meant she was pretty much fluent in the language before arriving in Turin. His teammates weren’t stupid and neither was she.

This was the one area of her life where Amelia felt comfortable to go with the flow, she didn’t need to prepare or overthink anything to do with the charming Italian boy from Firenze. She let him take it at his own pace, she was in no need to rush. She let him take her home to meet his Nonna, she spent quality alone time with his dogs when he’s running late from training, and that’s a rare occasion being that it’s normally her there after him and he hangs back to drive them both home.

Everything was progressing at his pace, and the moment Amelia just asks for some clarification on the situation, he would get visibly stressed. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And for a long time he could, he had Amelia's attention and affection at Juve, he even had it during their european campaign. At the end of the tournament, when they all broke up for their summer breaks, Fede conveniently waited until their final round in the shower, if you know what i mean, before pulling her into bed and having a heart to heart with her.

Amelia thought that she was finally getting the clarification that she was after, which in a way she did. Fede spoke whimsical words about how she makes him feel wanted and understood, and in turn he told her about the affects he knew he had on her. It was a conversation that would turn Shakespeare to a pile of rose petals. In the end, he told her that he wanted to continue what they had just how they had been doing it. And so, that's exactly how they left it. No labels. Friends outside of the four walls of their apartments. That was all Amelia needed to be able to enjoy her family holiday in Mykonos, guilt free, not missing the man that became the equivalent of her shadow.

The constant company she had in Mykonos compared to what she was experiencing in Turin made her more eager to return to work than she had previously. Of course, there are group chats and facetimes and phone calls throughout the days that kept her occupied, but she was missing the boys and her brother. Her friendship with Kyle was back to its old ways, memes being shared across the european continent, long phone calls to talk about their problems. Kyle knew all about the Fede x Amelia situation, Amelia having given him the sparknotes version over a wine filled zoom session one evening that same week. Their pre-seasons hadn’t gone back yet so they were able to indulge in a bit of vino, guilt free.

She was surprised about the constant contact, or lack thereof, that some of the boys had maintained with her. Ben Chilwell hadn’t once messaged or instagrammed the girl, despite being active in their group chats and liking her holiday pictures on instagram. He even made the rookie error of liking a picture so far down on her instagram, there was no way to explain his need for being there. She messaged him a couple times, assuming he just got busy with whatever he was doing, but there was radio silence on the other end.

A friendship she was surprised had blossomed so well, considering their flirtatious start to life, was with that of Jack Grealish and Tyrone Mings. There had been more facetimes than she could count between herself and the two villa boys. Whether it was Tyrone telling her about a book he had finished that he thought she would enjoy, or Jack asking her how to cook dinner, maybe even them both cooking dinner together - of course she had to have a later dinner to be able to do so, with the time difference and all...and there was no way Jack was going to be having dinner an hour early “athlete’s schedule an all tha ya’know” he would smirk down the camera, brummie accent on full display.

She met Tyrone through Jack, he facetimed the girl for outfit advice one night before going out with the tall defender and the pair hit it off. Both giving Jack the fashion advice he needed but didn’t want to hear (a Gucci two piece tracksuit set is never the answer). Tyrone immediately noticed a certain attention to detail being applied by his fellow number 10, to the tactics that were being put forward by the girl that was far too good at her job. His training was improving, his set pieces having a certain amount of flare. There was also a lack of attention being paid from Jack to other girls. Instead, much preferring to spend the evening at home watching the same netflix series as Amelia so that he could discuss it with her the next day, or better yet, at the same time.

As pre-season had commenced, Amelia had been applying the same tactics that she developed (and that obviously worked) throughout the European campaign to her Juventus club level. Having faith in the four men that were with her and the Azzurri to ensure that their other teammates were completing them accurately. It appears that her skill was widely recognised, having a few missed calls and voice messages left from English telephone numbers that she was yet to listen to. In all seriousness, she was nervous to listen to them. Worried that they would make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. A wise person once told her that you shouldn’t make any decisions whilst you're at the top of your happy, or the bottom of your sad. You should make important decisions when your life is at its constant. It's very easy to accept things that you wouldn’t normally when you're at the peak of your mood, just as easy as it is to forget the bigger picture when you're down. Who knew Kyle Walker was so wise.

“So, i’ve got a bit of a dilemma” She spoke down to her facetime camera one evening in early August.

“Hit me with it darlin’” Jack spoke back to her, getting his dinner utensils out so that they could cook together again. He didn’t like not being prepared for her tutorial, he got stressed if she added pepper and his pepper was still in his pantry. Each afternoon, when it was agreed upon what they would be cooking together that evening, she sent him a list of what he would need out on his bench to complete the meal.

“I’ve missed a few calls from English teleco numbers this last week or so”

“Ok? Do you think they’re scams? You’re beautiful Amelia but I don't think it's actually an Egyptian prince on the other end that wants to offer you 250k in exchange for your paypal info…”

“Ha ha very funny - that was one time ok and he wasn’t a Prince, he was claiming to be an investment banker and wanted to help me start up my portfolio-ANYWAY JACK I WAS 16! God just forget I even told you that story” Amelia barked down facetime, now pausing what she was doing to point at the British boy with her wooden spoon, the same way her mother would to her when she was being cheeky. All she was met with was boisterous laughter.

“Nah i’m only joking, continue with your story.”

“I began to listen to the start of one and it was a talent acquisition manager for one of the premier league clubs, offering me a job” Amelia said as she continued to stir her pasta. Tonight they were making penne arrabiata. She received no reply from the boy. Looking down to her camera to check the call was still active, she saw him looking at the camera with a serious expression.

“Are you going to tell me what the problem is before I start to get excited that you’re going to be living within driving distance from me? Oh god i’ve just realised - was it from Villa? You could be even closer than I imagined” Jack started to ramble, getting over excited with the prospect of being so close to the girl that he could physically hang out with her, instead of virtually.

“Jack calm down, I didn't listen long enough to find out what club he was from. I have 5 more just like it waiting in my inbox.”

“What's the problem then Mils?” Jack could see the girl had apprehension written all over her face.

“I’m just nervous that they're going to tell me everything I've always wanted to hear. That they’re going to make me an offer I can't refuse and I have to leave my life here.” Their pasta was ready to be dished up now, so the girl poured herself a glass of red wine and got herself comfy on her couch.

“Come on, play the messages and i’ll listen to them with you, be your voice of reason,” Jack offered the girl.

“I should probably call Tyrone, you’re just going to reject every club that isn’t Villa.” she laughed before switching facetime to her laptop, moving to the floor of her lounge room and resting her elbows on her coffee table. With the phone near the screen of her mac, she began to play the messages.

_____________________________________________________________

“Hi Amelia, Shaun here from Newcastle United-” “As if you’d waste your talents at Newcastle”

“Jack! That's horrible! At least i know i already look good in the black and white striped kit”

“No, not happening. Next”

“Amelia, Hope you don’t mind but I got your number off of one of my players who knows you. Long story short, we have a position here are Arsenal” “Bloody Bukayo, needs to keep his silky mitts off ya”

“Jack, give it a rest or i’m calling Tyrone”

“Amelia White, Greg here from Aston Villa Football Club” “Get in Greggles!! That's it, stop listening, you’re taking this one”

“I need to listen to them all Jack”

“So, you’ll consider Villa?”

“I’ll consider all of them”

“You’d really go to Arsenal? Aren’t you a Spurs supporter? Shocking stuff”

“Ok maybe not all of them”

“Ciao Amelia, Mario here from Chelsea Football Club - I’ve heard nothing but good things about you. We could really use you here at Chelsea next season. Give me a call when you get a spare moment to discuss the opportunity”

“What? Nothing to say to this one, Jack?”

“Nah, sounds ok. You deserve to showcase your skills at a big club like Chelsea. And besides, you’ll have Jorginho there to look after you. Come on, next one”

“It’s the last one actually”

“Amelia, we’ve got a fantastic opportunity here at Manchester City for someone with your skill set. It would be a massive advantage to have your tactical insight to the game coupled alongside the fantastic leadership we’ve already got at the club”. “Holy shit, Pep called you himself? Kyle Walker really knows how to pull strings when he wants something”

“I am overwhelmed”

“Hey, you don’t need to make any decisions right now. Sleep on it, talk it over with your family. Speak to Jorgi, I know you’re close with him. And just let me know when you decide to pick Villa so i can start house huntin’ for ya”

“Night Jack, speak soon”

“Sleep tight darlin’, speak to ya tomorrow”

Part 7. | settima parte

#football imagine #football fic #jadon sancho #ben chilwell #mason mount #declan rice #ben white #jack grealish #tyrone mings #kyle walker #ben chilwell imagine #jack grealish imagine #mason mount imagine #football one shot #tyrone mings imagine #x reader #a family affair fic #steph writes #stephspurs #italian national team #jorginho #federico bernardeshci #jorginho imagine #bernardeschi imagine #juventus fic #juventus imagine #italy nt imagine #england nt imagine #three lions imagine #azzurri imagine

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Bella Ciao (Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader) *ANGST

Characters: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Death, mourning, spoilers for End Game

Request: hey, i really love your writings! can i request a tony stark × daughter!reader where she sacrifices herself instead of him. and at her very end, she wants tony to sing her favorite song which happen to be "bella ciao" from money heist shjshsjshj because it's a goodbye song??? thank you very much, you did a very great job! ly and stay safe bby xx 

Things were silent. Everyone looked around as the aliens turned to dust in front of them, including Thanos. Everyone almost felt out of place now, realising it was all over. They’d won. However, after a moment, someone spoke up. 

“Y/N!” Pepper gasped in realisation as she took off near to where she’d last seen you, and everyone realised as well and followed after her, until she stopped. Everyone stopped beside her and behind her, as they realised it wasn’t silent anymore. As everyone stopped and listened they realised they were hearing singing. Quiet, a bit out of tune, but clearly singing, and it wasn’t long until they realised what the song was, and who was singing. 

Everyone stayed put, lowering their heads in respect as Pepper came closer, rounding the corner of debris to find her husband holding his daughter in his arms, singing her favourite song. “O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao…” Tony sang quietly, sniffing to himself trying to stop himself from crying. You were quiet, not moving, and Pepper came around, sitting beside her husband and rubbing his back as he continued to sing, and she looked down at you. 

You looked so peaceful. Your head was resting against your dad’s chest as he was holding you like a baby, a faint smile on your face. Your body was burned, starting on the hand you used to snap, leading up to that side your face, despite this you didn’t seem to be in pain. Pepper could see your chest lightly rising with each breath, with Tony looking down at you as he sang. He kept singing the same section over and over again- Tony admittedly didn’t know the entire song, not that it had stopped him from singing it with you in the past at the top of your lungs whenever cooking anything Italian. Sometimes he just made up words, and you always laughed when he did that. Tony started to do that as well, making Pepper smile to herself, and Tony chuckled as he tried to make it sound as silly as possible, but you didn’t react. Pepper checked your chest movement. Stillness. Tony continued to sing. She turned around, seeing Steve stood at a distance, Bruce not far behind. Pepper didn’t nod or shake her head, she instead covered her mouth to silence her sob as she started to cry. They lowered their heads, turning back to the others to announce the news. Pepper turned back to her husband and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to try and comfort him. His voice grew quieter, until he finally stopped. He took several deep breaths. “You’d think after singing Bella Ciao every other week since she was 6 I’d know the lyrics. Hell, how have I not leant the entire language?” He tried to joke.

“Well… maybe you could learn it for… her funeral?” Pepper asked, as she tried to control he crying. It was then it seemed to have actually hit Tony. Funeral. Your funeral. He immediately broke down crying, Pepper pulling him into a tighter hug.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

TAGS:  @klanceiscannon14​ @waywardemo @marvelhoeingismyhobby @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort  @abbybills22-blog @waywardemo @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh  @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lena-stan-xavier @lady-of-lies @sebstanismylife @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines

#marvel #Avengers #tony stark #pepper potts #Steve Rogers #bruce banner #Iron Man #captain america #hulk #tony stark x reader #tony stark x fem!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x daughter!reader #reader #fem!reader #daughter!reader #oneshot #writing #story writing #question #request #ask questions #ask me anything #send me anything #send me questions #send me asks

[anjuschiffer]

To Find Home [Jasonette BROTP]

More self-indulging writing! :D Mainly because I see some fics where Jason isn’t desperately searching for Mari... ENJOY!

Edit: WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME ABOUT HOW THE POST WAS MESSED UP?!

@-@-@-@-@

AO3

@-@-@-@-@

Jason rose to the water’s surface in desperation, clawing at the water, his body on fire. His lungs were adjusting to the chilling air and his senses attempted to calibrate to his new surroundings for a second time. 

Get back to her.

For some reason that phrase rang stronger than before through his head, motivating him to get out of the water and run. He dressed himself with clothing he found along the way of his escape, faces barely registering as he ran past people, their voices muted as they tried to grab him back.

He didn’t dare let him lay a finger on him, fighting through the burning soreness in his calves.

He had to get back to her no matter what.

-----

Ignoring the groaning man by the door, Jason huddled next to the fire, warming himself up after running in the snow for who-knows how long. He found a cabin and quickly seeked refuge, not caring if he had to hurt a man in the process.

After all, it was all to find her… her? Who was her, or rather she? 

What was her name? 

Ma. Mari. Mari. It was Mari. 

That’s right! He had to get back to Mari… but how?

XXX-XXX-XX-XX-XX-XX 

A number! A phone number! 

What was the number? Her number?

Would it still work?

Jason ran his hand through his hair, stopping as he reached the tips of them. While they weren’t to his shoulder, they were definitely too long to be considered short. 

He froze.

How much time has passed? And… Where was he?

How was he going to get back to Mari?

Jason looked out the snowy window, knowing there was no time to waste if he wanted to find Mari as soon as possible.

Taking a few things from the cabin, Jason headed out the door, thanking the injured man as he closed the door behind him.

-----

Jason waited for his coffee as he went over what he was able to gather from just walking to the closest town. 

(Where he had grabbed the money? Old habits die hard he guessed...)

First off, the place he managed to escape from was on a mountain.

There was fucking snow on that mountain. 

He barely understands the languages that were spoken here. 

German was widely spoken here, in which he barely understood. 

He thought he was in Germany for that matter, but quickly replaced it with Switzerland. 

Germany only had German as its official language, but the official languages here also included Italian, Romansh and French. 

And French… Jason understood better than German.

He had a feeling Mari had something to do with him knowing the basics of French, conversational French for that matter.

He was able to confirm that this was indeed in Switzerland through a French speaking resident, finding out he was hours away from France. Which led him to his next dilemma. 

Money. 

Jason chuckled into his coffee at this setback, wondering why he thought it was a problem. He was going to find a way to get to France, to manage to snag a ride there. 

Surprisingly he did, at least, for half the way he was able to. 

Catching the train wasn’t hard, even pretending to have a ticket for that train wasn’t hard. The problem with Jason was that he had a hard time staying out of trouble.

He was quickly found in the kitchen of the train he stowed away on, stuffing his mouth and bag with food before being chased out of the train, Jason having to resort to jumping out of the train to avoid being shot. 

He badly wanted to shoot back, but didn’t when he realized that there were children around the same age as Mari in the cabins, Jason quickly dismissing that idea as soon as it came.

That led him to being stranded again, having to walk to the nearest town in search of information once more. Of course, he would have to go to the center of the town. More information was gathered standing there than sitting at a pub in the outskirts.

Luckily, Jason found one in record time.

However, a waft of something made him detour towards reaching the center of the town. This waft was familiar, almost nostalgic. 

Jason didn’t realize he was following the aroma until he got to the source of familiarity, cradling his head as snippets of his memories came back to him. 

Alfred… recipes… Mari… bread… home… family…

Staggering, Jason opened the bakery doors and made his way to the baskets of bread, his mind already placing names onto the breads he swore he didn't know the names of. 

Ficelle, Fougasse, Pain de campagne and… Brioche…

Mari liked brioche. Something about it being the first recipe she learned. 

The man asked if he needed any help with the baked goods, Jason shaking his head, picking up the brioche. 

“1.65” Jason muttered to himself as he looked at the price tag of the brioche; 165. !65!

Quickly placing the bread at the counter and paying for it, Jason also asked to use their phone, getting a look from the bakery owner.

Okay, let’s try that again. Nearest phone?

The man gave him an address and directions to where Jason could use a public phone, Jason thanking him and promptly leaving the tiny bakery. 

-----

“‘011’ because I’m from America, ‘33’ because you’re from France, 165 because it’s the number that won us the toy, 619 because I hate that wrestler and 623 because it’s the day we met.” Jason said to himself as he dialed the number, waiting for someone to pick up, only for the operator to tell him that the number was invalid. 

Jason hung the phone before picking it up again to only once more hang the phone. 

Invalid? Invalid. Invalid!

Jason picked up the phone once more, knowing what he had to do.

01 6561 96 23. 

America, he was no longer in. In France, it was the place he was in. 01 because he was in France. The rest was his way to her. 

The phone rang, Jason tapping the tiny shelf like counter in the booth, when he heard a click. 

He eagerly greeted the person in English, started to talk to Mari about how he was in France now and-

“Désolé monsieur, mais vous avez le mauvais numéro.” And with that, the person hung up, leaving Jason back to square one. 

Slamming the phone back into its place, Jason left the phone booth, wondering if he really had to search for Mari from scratch.

A month passed as Jason finally made his way to Paris, using whatever little leads he got from where Mari could possibly be. After tracking down certain names he remembered writing to her about and different landmarks she would mention, it directed him to Paris. Aside from these pieces of information, he also let his memories guide him. Using the bakery he first went to as a guide, he would enter every bakery -whether a family runned one or a professional one- to taste the pastries. 

None of them tasted the way Mari told him her father made them. 

None of them used rice in their bread, causing some of them to scoff or even laugh at the concept. 

However, one person did tell him where he was able to find such a marvelous technique: Paris. 

So there was Jason, about to start his search for his little sister when a black car pulled up to him, the tinted window rolling down. 

Jason’s eyes narrowed. While his memories have returned for the majority, Jason would’ve never forgotten the name of the man in front of him.

“Bruce.”

-----

Another month was wasted thanks to Bruce dragging Jason back to Gotham, Jason escaping him various times along the way. The only escape Jason would even look at as a success was when he jumped out of the plane while they were over the Atlantic Ocean. It took Bruce a whole week to catch Jason on the shores of some remote island.

The game of cat and mouse ended once Bruce placed a tracking device on all of Jason’s things, essentially placing him under house arrest. 

Jason managed to find where all the tracking devices were at after a few days, but even then, he was caught by Bruce, being thrown off his motorbike and taken back to the Cave. That led to him sitting in front of the supercomputer, watching minor crimes happen in Gotham.

He huffed, watching the old man take down one crime after another. He watched as Bruce-

The supercomputer! Jason laughed, his laughs bouncing throughout the Cave, giving a scare to the other residents. 

He had all the information he needed right here! Why didn’t- 

Realizing his stupidity, Jason banged his head on the table.

“You alright Jason?”

“Timmy, right?” Ignoring the ‘It’s Tim’ correction, “Want to help me locate someone?” The twinkle that appeared in Tim’s eyes reminded him of a certain someone.

“Who are we looking for?” Tim asked, Jason wondering if this was the right person to ask, especially when he wanted to know where Tim got a hold of that coffee machine that wasn’t there moments ago.

“Not we, me.” Jason clarified, noting to never ask Tim again to help him out. Nor to ever meet Mari… ever.

-----

After a few days of using the resources at the tips of his fingers (and help from Tim), Jason had finally done it. 

He felt the ends of his lip curve upwards, a surge of happiness swell inside of him when he finished composing the file he needed. 

A pair of bluebell eyes stared back at him, her midnight hair tied into low pigtails, the red ribbons added a nice contrast to her hair. 

Jason stuffed the file into his bag and grabbed his leather jacket and made his way to the deep portion of the cave. 

However, a hand on his shoulder prevented him from advancing. 

“Where are you going?” Bruce asked, his hand gripping on Jason’s shoulder. Hitting the hand away, Jason stared at Bruce. 

“To find my sister. So move.” 

Jason was glad to not be asked more questions, even if the murmurs behind his back sent a shiver down his spine. 

-----

Jason took one last breath as he saw Marinette walk down the stairs of the school with her head hung low. 

He wanted to run over and hug her to cheer her up, but decided against it as it would ruin his surprise visit, although the bigger question was if she still remembered him. Did she?

She’s grown since the last time he had seen her, which was eons ago. Her skin looked tanner than before, but her eyes seemed much older than what they should be. They shrouded in tiredness and longing, in determination and misery. 

But he was about to change that, whether the two were prepared for the future or not. 

It was now or never, hoping this didn’t end in complete failure. 

Taking a deep breath and cupping his hands around his mouth, “PIXIE!”

The way she perked up at the name and began to look around to who had called her brought tears to his eyes. She still remembered! “PIXIE!” He yelled again, watching as her eyes landed on him, her hands quickly covering her lips as tears formed in her eyes. The corners of his lip wobbled as they curved upwards. 

Jason ran up to the girl, scooping her into a squishing embrace. “Pixie Pop! We meet again.”

“Jason.” Marinette softly said, trying her best to suppress her quaking voice. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” 

Stepping away, placing his hands on her shoulders, he gave her a smile. 

“Of course it is Marinette.” He wiped away her tears with his thumb. “I told you I would come to Paris one day.” He grinned. “I always keep my promises.” 

Marinette let out a wail before throwing herself at him, causing him to step back. Despite being smaller than him, she showed she was stronger than she looked like. 

She cried into his shirt, Jason having to awkwardly lead her to the side as other students watched the two in complete befuddlement. 

They were finally together, finally able to see each other after several years, almost a decade since they last saw each other in the flesh. 

After what seems\ed like minutes, Marinette sniffled one last time before giving Jason a smile. 

“Ever since you stopped mailing me letters and stopped calling me every Friday night, I thought you had gotten annoyed with me.”

“What!” Jason was hurt. “Why would I ever get bored of you Nettie?” He hugged her. “You’re my sister, whom I love dearly.” At that, Marinette smiled, but something made Jason shiver. 

“Then why haven’t you kept in touch?” Marinette said in a growl. Jason gulped. “Why haven’t I received something from you for the past four years?!” 

“H-has it really been that long?” Jason inquired, just realizing that he never questioned the quick passage of time.

“You see, about that-“

“Well if it isn’t Marinette.” A voice interrupts their sweet reunion, Jason watching as Marinette tensed up before her body laced into defense. “See you got a new boy toy.” Marinette scowled. 

“First off, how dare you assume that!” Marinette looked at Jason. “Jason, this is Lila- my new bully since last semester.” She then turned to Lila with a smirk. “Lila, this is Jason… my older brother.” Marinette watched as blood in Lila’s face drained from her face before returning. 

“Sure, whatever you say Marinette.” Lila got nose to nose with Marinette. “We both know what you're really up to. And for the record, this won’t give you brownie points in trying to get Adrien to look your way.” 

“For the record Lila, I’m already over Adrien, ever since I found out he already had someone he likes.”

“Oh?” She flipped her hair, thinking she had finally won. “Do tell.”

“Sure thing.” Placing a hand in her hip, Marinette smiled. “Her name is Ladybug and he’s head over heels for her, every inch of his desk covered in her. From photos to merch. If I were you, I’d give up. After all, you could never light a candle to her.”

Seething, Lila raises her hand to slap Marinette, only to be overpowered by Jason. 

Grabbing hold of her wrist, he jerks her forward, using that momentum to pin her arm behind her, holding her in an armlock. While it seemed like he was hugging her from behind, only the trio knew what was actually going on. 

All of Lila’s spunk and superiority fled from her being, Lila now whimpering as she felt something dig into her back. It was cold and round, fear instilling into Lila when she heard the cocking of a trigger. 

“Listen here bitch. If I ever hear or see you raising even a finger against my sister, I’ll make sure your life becomes a living hell.” Lila let out a wobbly scoff. 

“L-Listen here! My mother is a diplomat for the Italian Embassy and when she hears that you’re threatening her little girl, a mere child, she’ll-.” Lila felt her heart stop when Jason pressed the gun further into her back. She felt him loom over her ear. 

“You think you’re above the law just because you’re some diplomat’s daughter? Bitch please, I am the Law.” Jason let out a chuckle. “The world wouldn’t care if one mere child went missing, nonetheless be better off with one less diplomat.”

Jason let go of Lila, watching as she stumbled to recompose herself, watching as she trembled like a newborn fawn. “So do me a favor and play nice because Big Brother is always watching.” 

With that, Lila scampered away, leaving a shocked Marinette. 

Jason smirked only for it to drop when he saw Marinette look at him with anger in her eyes. 

“Jason Todd.” He gulped. Shit. “Why the hell do you have a gun in your possession?!”

Good thing Bruce wasn’t here or else he would have something new to bother him with. 

Little did he know Bruce heard everything. That one bug he couldn’t find? 

It was in the holster of his favorite gun. 

-----

“Maman, Papa! I’m back!” Marinette yelled from the door, guiding Jason into the bakery, a rush of nostalgia hitting him. 

The waft of different breads welcomed him back, as if they’d been expecting him for a while, the scolding Marinette gave him at the school long forgotten. 

This was what he was looking for. 

Jason looked around the bakery, noticing the brioche. He took one with caution before he swallowed it whole, resisting the urge to cry. 

It was just like he remembered it. Warm and filled with love and kindness. 

“Jason!” He jumped, almost choking on the piece he technically stole. “This is my Maman and Papa.” Marinette introduced, motioning to the people beside her. 

A small stature woman and a tall plump man stood by Marinette, Jason now seeing where Marinette got her features and personality from. 

“Um… hello.” Jason awkwardly said, not knowing if he should stretch out his hand or not. “I don’t know if you remember me, but my name is Jason Todd. I-“

Jason felt as he was lifted off the ground, his entire body enveloped in warmth. It was… nice. 

“So you’re the Jason that’s been writing Marinette all these years!” Tom exclaimed, putting Jason down. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“We were worried when your mail stopped arriving and when you no longer called.” Sabine spoke up, giving Jason an embrace of her own. “And we got even more worried when we had to move. Since we had no other form of contacting you, we couldn’t give you our new phone numbers nor address! We were worried you’d never reach out to us again.”

“Don’t blame yourselves!” Jason averted his eyes. “A lot of things were happening back in Gotham. If anyone was to blame, it was me for abruptly cutting off any type of communication.” Even if it wasn’t in my control Jason wanted to add, but chose not to.

“Well, that doesn’t matter now, does it?” Jason looked up to see Tom and Sabine smiling at him. “You’re here now and that’s all we can ask for.” 

Oh how badly Jason wanted to cry. Guess Marinette noticed because she quickly proposed to have him join for lunch, her parents agreeing. 

The family invited him past the counter and into their apartment, closing the bakery for the day. 

Before he entered the apartment, he took one look at the family rushing around to prepare lunch, Marinette flashing a smile before her mother reminding her to take the bread out. 

Jason placed a hand over his heart, the other quickly wiping away a stray tear. 

He had done it. 

He came back to her, to Mari, to Marinette. 

He was finally home. 

------

Perma-tag: @theatreandcomicfreak

#maribat #jasonette #jasonette brotp #big brother jason #because im a sucker for big bro jason fics

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Mean It by Lauv.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex and violence, slavery in American history.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

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What The Fuck, Washington Animals Are Weird

I woke up in a bedroom drenched in a rainbow of darkness, shades of grey vacillating from charcoal to the wings of a mourning dove; indolent dawn rain pattered against the window. There were no glaring veins of sunlight spilling in through gaps in the curtains, no promise of dry invigorating heat, no whistle of vicious parched wind. Toto, we’re not in Phoenix anymore.

“Ugh,” I complained to the empty room, unraveling from a tangle of blankets patterned with cacti and pure white clouds and rust-orange suns.

I clicked off my iPhone alarm—I’d beaten it by two minutes; my circadian rhythm was finally conceding that this whole Pacific Time thing was permanent—and read my nine new texts from Joe.

3:12 a.m.: Hey it’s an emergency what’s the plural of octopus

3:13 a.m.: Rami is insisting that it is octopuses

3:14 a.m.: But it’s octopi, right? Right?? I just announced in front of everyone that it’s octopi

3:15 a.m.: Scarlett is verbally abusing me

3:18 a.m.: Oh you are probably asleep

3:21 a.m.: Update, according to the internet Rami is right and now I have to assume a new identity and move to Antarctica

3:25 a.m.: We can discuss logistics of the Antarctica relocation tomorrow

3:26 a.m.: Hope you like penguins

3:30 a.m.: Okay goodnight!! Don’t let the mythical creatures bite!!

“That man,” I murmured to myself, smiling.

I typed out: It’s definitely octopuses, you clown. Then I deleted ‘clown’ and replaced it with its Italian equivalent: pagliaccio. Text sent.

Joe responded almost instantly. I had to ask Lucy what pagliaccio meant and now she’s verbally abusing me too. Send help. See you at lunch. xx

Wait, two Xs? What did Xs mean?? Kisses???

Did Joseph Francis Mazzello, sexy undead Italian man, just send me multiple text kisses?

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism, Chicago boy,” I muttered at my phone as I slid it into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. And then I glanced out the bedroom window into a tussle of rain and thick, caliginous fog.

Just a few feet beyond the misted glass, its leathery talons hooked around a branch of Charlie’s decades-old red alder tree, was an owl. But not just any owl. A hulking, spotlessly white owl.

“Oh, hey, you,” I whispered, leaning closer, pressing my palms against the cold window. My hands left transparent imprints in the condensation. “Hey, buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I sure wish I was. Did something wake you up? Did your idiot vampire boyfriend disturb you with a series of ridiculous texts?”

The owl just contemplated me with unnervingly vast, slick, engrossed eyes. And there was something else, too: those eyes were blood red.

“So you’re an albino owl, huh big guy? Good for you. You know, usually albino animals don’t last all that long in the wild. Because they’re really easy for predators and prey to spot. Or they get skin cancer. So congratulations on living to become the voluptuous, tremendously creepy creature that you are today. Job well done.”

The owl stared back at me unflinchingly, blinked, then resumed staring. Rainwater gathered in swelling beads like blood drops on its ivory-colored beak and talons.

“Well,” I noted, turning away and grabbing my shower towel off the back of the desk chair. “You don’t get that in Arizona.”

Thirty minutes later, I was bounding down the stairs two at a time to meet Charlie in the kitchen. He was browsing through his daily newspaper at the table, drinking coffee and nibbling messily on burnt triangles of toast. Crumbs littered his moustache.

“You didn’t tell me that living here came with the added benefit of freaky albino animal friends.”

Charlie crinkled his forehead at me. “Huh?”

“How was bowling with the dads last night?”

“Oh, awesome!” he exclaimed, folding up his newspaper and slapping it down on the table. “We bowled against the team from Mora and it came right down to the wire, but we caught them. Dr. Lee got a strike on his very last turn. He always seems to do that...he’ll be bowling hit or miss all night and then when it really matters he manages to pull a strike out of nowhere. He’s a beast.”

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” I agreed, rummaging through the cabinets for Pop-Tarts.

“He mentioned that you and his son were really hitting it off,” Charlie said, grinning. “Not the ragey blond one. The spindly annoying one. What’s his name again? Josh? Jimmy?”

“Joe.” I conjured up my best poker face of lofty indifference. It crumbled like a sandcastle beneath reckless, rushing footsteps.

“Ohhhh, I saw that!” Charlie said, pointing, delighted. “Check out that smile. My gorgeous, brilliant progeny has a crush. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be single for long up here. Alright, I’m ready. Bring on the grandchildren.”

“Shut up,” I pleaded good-naturedly.

“Relax, I have great news. According to Gwil, that Joe kid is pretty wild about you too.”

“Oh, is that what you old guys do between bowling turns? Betray your children’s deepest confidences? Matchmake them over nachos and chili cheese dogs?” Still, my curiosity was piqued. “What else did Dr. Lee say about Joe?”

“I think the exact word he used was...” Charlie reminisced, sipping his coffee, curls of steam pouring over the rim of the mug. “Smitten.”

Supernatural Pictionary

I turned the notebook to Joe so he could see; everyone else momentarily covered their eyes or looked away. Then Lucy started the timer on her iPhone. Thirty seconds.

“Go!” Lucy announced.

“I think it’s a boat,” Rami said, hesitantly, haltingly, squinting at Joe with great concentration.

“Do you?” Joe teased.

“Yeah. But I’m also getting something about a fish.”

“Maybe I’m trying to make you think it’s a fish because it’s actually a boat,” Joe replied flippantly.

Rami muttered: “Or you want me to think it’s a boat because it’s actually a fish.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you’re mentally singing Never Gonna Give You Up just to fuck with me.”

Joe gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do!”

Scarlett snickered, dunking her chicken tender in honey mustard, slurping Coke through a straw clenched between crimson-painted lips. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Lucy warned.

“Fish or boat, boat or fish...” Rami chanted, peering fixedly at Joe.

“Make a decision,” I taunted, hugging the notebook to my chest.

“I’m going with boat,” Rami decided.

“Final answer?” Lucy asked, then stopped the timer when Rami nodded.

“Loser!” Joe cackled victoriously, leaping out of his chair, waving his L-shaped fingers in the air. Calawah University students at nearby tables glanced over with wide, startled eyes, their beloved chicken tenders briefly forgotten. “How’s it feel to not win every round of a game, huh?! Loser!”

I flipped my notebook so Rami could see the extremely unskilled pencil sketch I’d drawn there: a smiling fish. “My condolences.”

“Damn.” Rami pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Joe. Joe snatched it up, tucked it into the waistline of his jeans like a stripper collecting money in her G-string, and slung his arm around my shoulders.

“We are the champions. Bask in our glory.”

Scarlett turned on her iPhone flashlight and waved it in slow arcs over her head. “Youuuuu are the champions, my friendssssss...”

From my usual lunch table, Jessica gazed at my esteemed place among the Lees with palpable envy, resting her chin in her hands. I had worked out a schedule that seemed fairly obvious given my extensive experience as a child of divorce: lunch with Jessica et al. one day, lunch with the Lees the next. I took a bite of the Chipotle veggie bowl that Joe had insisted on ordering for me and tossed Jessica a sympathetic wave. Get Ben’s Snapchat for me! she mouthed back. I harbored serious doubts that Benjamin August Hardy, former professional assassin, born in 1893, had a Snapchat.

Joe’s words from last week rolled around in my head; I could see him all over again, nodding to the enormous painting hung in Gwil’s upstairs office, telling me about those startling, ethereal figures who had initiated Ben into life as a vampire. They call themselves the Draghi. They collect dues from covens, offer protection, keep order, protect our secrets. But they also demand loyalty. They force people they want into service. They might try to make it seem like you have a choice, but you don’t. They destroy anyone who tries to resist them. And they feed on humans.

“This is so awesome,” Lucy sighed, elated. “We could never play Pictionary before, drawing something is way too much of a mental process, Rami always figured it out right away...”

But now they had a built-in blindfold, someone who could draw without Rami getting a peek into their thoughts, a fighting chance at hiding the truth from him...for thirty seconds, at least.

“Okay Benny Boy, you’re up.” Joe darted over to Ben’s side of the table and massaged his tense, muscular shoulders as Ben grimaced. “You got this. I believe in you. Baby Swan is gonna pitch you a home run.”

“I’ll pass,” Ben said.

“You can’t!” Lucy cried. “Ben, please? Rami got Scarlett’s, and then he didn’t get Joe’s...and I know he’s going to see though me immediately. You’re our only chance to tie things up and maybe beat him!”

“Traitor,” Rami told Lucy affectionately.

“Uhh...” Ben hesitated, glimpsing longingly at the doors that led outside to the grove of bigleaf maple trees. He was fidgeting restlessly with his vape pen.

“Come on, Benny!” Joe begged. “I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything.”

Ben perked up a little bit. “You’ll do my Calc 2 homework for a month?”

Joe groaned theatrically, but nodded. He was wearing a grey U Chicago hoodie today. “Fine. Okay. But you’re gonna have to learn that shit eventually, I can’t take the MCAT for you.”

“Deal.” Ben bumped his knuckles against Joe’s.

“Batter up,” Joe heralded in his best mock-umpire voice, grinning at me expectantly, drumming the table with his palms. “Go Baby Swan, go! What will she choose? Will she continue with the nautical theme? Will she change it up, maybe switch to beloved Chicago landmarks? Baseball or food? Will she invent a variety of pizza even more despicable than pineapple?”

“Hm.” I flipped to a fresh notebook page, scratched my temple with the eraser end of the pencil, then quickly sketched a picture for Ben. “Okay, I’m ready.” I showed the drawing to Ben while everyone else covered their eyes.

Ben shook his head, scowling. “You’ll have to try again. I have no idea what that is.”

“Really?!” I checked the picture again. Okay, it definitely didn’t belong in the Louvre or anything, but it was lifelike enough to be decipherable. “You don’t recognize it? At all?”

“No,” Ben replied flatly.

From behind his shielded eyes, Rami scanned through the images in Ben’s mind. He dropped his hands onto the table. “SpongeBob?!”

“Who...?” Ben ventured.

Everyone else looked too. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely SpongeBob,” Joe said, then chuckled. “Aww, Baby Swan, you even remembered his little necktie!”

“It’s so cute!” Lucy trilled.

Ben just stared at the picture, blinking, completely lost, increasingly morose. And now there was a new guest at the table; or maybe not a new one, maybe just a quiet one, something that perched on the ledge of every conversation and field of vision just waiting to tap its claws against the wall and make its presence known: that interminable reminder of Ben’s unconventional past life, of how incomparable his vampiric upbringing was to those of the rest of the Lee kids.

“Benny Boy, you’ve never seen SpongeBob?” Joe inquired gently. “No problem. We’ll have a marathon tonight. I have the entire series on DVD. Also several Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy action figures.”

Scarlett snorted. “This is why you’ve been single since Hoover was president.”

“I wasn’t single the whole time,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, really?” Not that I’m interested, my voice suggested. I was a total liar. I was super interested. Thank the great deity that Rami and Ben couldn’t read me like a restaurant menu. Today’s specials are Being In Love With Someone Wildly Inappropriate for $15.99, and also Lamenting My Own Lack Of Sexual Experience for $11.99. Oh, and clam chowder.

“He had a couple of...what would you call them?” Scarlett combed her elegant fingers through her voluminous blonde hair. “What’s the modern vernacular? Fuck buddies? Booty calls? Netflix and chill partners?”

My stomach lurched; I nonchalantly buried my fork in a mountain of guacamole and left it there. I kept my lips turned up into a smile like a mask. Of course he’s loved other people. Duh. He’s hot and immortal. Get over it. But that didn’t calm my pounding heartbeat at all, didn’t soothe that sudden and irrational melancholy.

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay, you’re making it sound way worse than it was,” Joe protested, glancing at me nervously.

Scarlett continued: “It wasn’t serious, whatever it was. None of them would have cared about your action figure collection or obsession with a city you haven’t lived in for fifty years. It wasn’t your personality they wanted. Thank god.”

Oh this is bad, I thought helplessly. How am I ever going to be able to compete with the memory of countless gorgeous vampire girlfriends?

“Uh, ScarJo, you’re single too.” And Joe’s nickname for her was strangely apt; Scarlett could pass for Scarlett Johansson’s younger, blonder, much hotter sister. And Scarlett Johansson, in case you’re somehow unaware, is already pretty fucking hot.

Scarlett flashed a grin. “Entirely by choice.”

“And much to Mercy’s eternal and profound concern,” Lucy told me. “She stages an intervention at least twice a month. Did I overhear one last week, Scarlett?”

“Oh jesus, yeah. I was like, ‘Mom, what the hell do I need a husband for? I have my own money. I can fix household appliances. I have a vibrator. I’m good to go.’”

Joe rocked back in his chair, howling. “You did not tell Mom that!”

“I did. She was so distraught. She just kind of pinched her eyes shut and shuddered and then went out back to feed the alpacas.”

“Scarlett, babe,” Rami managed between gales of laughter. “A vibrator isn’t going to keep you company for all of eternity. It’s not a suitable substitute for a life partner.”

“You’re right. It’s even better. It’ll never abandon or disappoint me. Assuming I keep the batteries fresh, of course.”

“Oh my god,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“She’s not wrong,” I said, shrugging, sipping my Diet Coke.  

And Joe peered over at me, surprised, intrigued, slowly raising his thin dark eyebrows. I winked back. Yeah, okay, I’ve never slept with someone. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never had an orgasm.

“Ah, loud thoughts! Loud thoughts! Joe, please!” Rami moaned, pressing his balled fists to his forehead.

Ben smirked. “There’s a color I’ve never seen from you before, Joe.”

“This family is the worst!” Joe exploded.

“I like that girl,” Scarlett decided, signaling to me with glossy maroon fingernails. “She can stay.”

Joe sighed, flustered, then shook it off as he turned to me. “You coming over tonight?”

“I can’t spend every night at your house petting alpacas, mob guy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling, draping his arm around the back of my chair. “Why not?”

“Well, my tonight-specific reason is that I’m visiting a friend.”

“Cool. Your friends are my friends. Can I visit too?”

“You’re aware that you’re a legit stalker, right?” But actually, Archer was dying to meet Joe: the loud Lee, the approachable Lee, the Lee who I definitely liked more than a Tinder swipe could ever convey. This could work. “Offer to buy dinner and you can come.”

“I’m a walking Visa, baby.”

Ben stood, hauled on his backpack, gathered up his trash to throw away. “I need a smoke break before Chem. See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget!” Joe called after him. “SpongeBob marathon starts at 8! I’ll bring the Milk Duds!”

And when Ben disappeared through the doors, a solemn hush descended over the table.

“Poor guy,” Lucy said softly. The other Lees nodded.

And again, I recalled what Joe had told me in Gwil’s office, what he had said when I asked how Ben came to join the Lee family. He was assigned to us, to be the liaison to our coven. And Gwil saw something in him. Potential, suffering, unrealized decency, I don’t know. But Gwil worked on him for years, trying to convince Ben to leave the Draghi when his contract was up and come live with us. To give a peaceful life a try. And to be honest, Ben never seemed interested. But something must have resonated with him, because we opened the front door on October 15th, 2016 and he was sitting on the steps of our porch with a single suitcase, puffing on that fucking vape pen and watching the storm clouds roll in off the Pacific Ocean.

But why would they just let him leave? I had asked, tracing my fingertips over the uncanny and magnificent faces in that painting. Why would they let him live?

Because they know how valuable he is. And because they think they can get him back.

“I think he’s a good person,” I said, breaking the silence. “You know. Underneath the whole being raised to be a killing machine thing.”

“Yeah,” Rami replied, frowning thoughtfully. “Just try not to spend too much time alone with him.”

Car Jacks And Sneak Attacks

“Joe, this is Archer James Foxchild, my first-ever best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Joe said, shaking Archer’s oil-stained hand. “I understand you are really good at making mud pies and poking dead animals with sticks.”

Archer chuckled. “It’s true. We found a shark tooth down at La Push one time and I convinced Baby Swan here that it was from a sea monster. She had nightmares for months. Charlie called my dad over it and I got my Game Boy taken away.”

“No!” Joe gasped in horror. “Were you a Pokémon guy?”

“For sure.”

“Ruby or Sapphire?”

“Emerald.”

Joe grinned. “This dude knows what’s up.”

“And to think, my grandpa tried to tell me that you guys were freaks,” Archer replied.

“Well,” Joe conceded. “Not all of us.”  

“Maybe you two should start dating,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit in my Honda and eat my Taco Bell cheese quesadillas and Cinnamon Twists and try not to interrupt all the sex.”

“Yes, you brought Taco Bell,” Archer sighed euphorically. “Give me five minutes, I just gotta finish rotating these tires real quick.” He jogged to the other end of the garage, knelt beside a Ford Mustang that was propped up on a jack, and starting twisting off lug nuts with a tire iron.

“You have a nice place here,” Joe observed, strolling around the small garage with his hands in the front pocket of his U Chicago hoodie, eyeing the fractures in the concrete floor and the spidering cracks in the windows. “You have any investors?”

“Are you kidding?!” Archer replied from the Mustang. “No, man, it’s just me. I rent for now, but at some point I’ll buy my own shop. Once I’ve saved up enough. A great big one with shiny new equipment and no mice squeaking behind the walls.”

“What’s your cash flow like?”

“I’m netting around three grand a month after taxes.”

“Not bad!” Joe noted admiringly.

“Yeah. It’s a hustle, but I love it.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’d be interested—and absolutely no pressure if you’re not, really—but I do a lot of work with start-ups and I’d love to help you get into your own shop. By this Christmas, preferably. If we can work out a deal.”

“Really?!” Archer peeked incredulously over the hood of the Mustang.

“Absolutely.”

Archer beamed at me. “This guy is willing to drop serious cash to look good in front of you. You should probably marry him. No prenup though.”

I held my pinky out towards Joe, grinning. “No more sad prenups.”

He laughed and hooked my pinky with his. “Bankrupt me, bitch.”

I heard the metallic clang of a lug nut hitting the concrete floor and rolling under the Mustang. “Come back here, you bastard,” Archer muttered, then dropped to his stomach and crawled beneath the car.

“Hey, kid, be careful,” I fretted, crossing my arms across my chest and taking a step closer.

“Relax, Baby Swan, I am a professional, changing a tire for me is like feeding a fish for you, so just chill and keep fantasizing about those Cinnamon Twists—”

There was a squeal of metal as the car jack collapsed and the Mustang came crashing down. In a fraction of a second—faster than I could see him moving, faster than I could loose a scream—Joe had soared across the garage, yanked Archer out from beneath the falling Mustang, and dragged him to the center of the room.

“Oh fuck,” Archer wheezed, his dark eyes huge and fascinated and horrified. “Grandpa was right.”

I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

We rolled up to the Lee house in my 1999 Honda Accord just as I polished off the last of my Cinnamon Twists and Archer chewed, tentatively and dazedly, on a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The sun was beginning to set in a clouded sky that perpetually threatened rain.

He asked Joe for the fifth time from the back seat: “But wait, seriously, no one is going to eat me, right? Because I’m too young to die. I haven’t taken enough vacations yet. I can’t die without seeing Hawaii. I want to swim with the sea turtles.”

“No, none of us have ever eaten people. Well, almost none of us. Maybe stay away from Ben.”

“I would like a little more exposition,” Archer replied, blanching.

“Hey, if you stay until 8, you guys can join us for the SpongeBob marathon!”

Gwil and Mercy were waiting on the front porch, thanks to Joe’s ‘hey I accidentally exposed myself as a paranormal being and now we have a new friend, plz don’t be mad okay love you see you soon!1!!’ text.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” Mercy fussed, enfolding Archer into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Honda. “Would you like some hummingbird cake? I just baked it this morning. And maybe some sweet tea too. And some peanut butter cookies. And banana pudding.”

“Sure,” he responded, bewildered. This lady does not seem like a bloodsucking demon, that voice said. And he was absolutely right.

“I’ll fix you up a tray,” Mercy promised, and hurried into the house.

“We’re so very happy to have you, Mr. Foxchild.” Gwil shook Archer’s hand firmly. “We don’t get many visitors around here. I’m sure you understand why.”

“My grandpa always insisted that there was something off about you guys. Especially you, Dr. Lee. Said you shouldn’t still be around.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been disconcerting for him. He must have remembered us from the 1940s...that’s the last time we settled down in Forks. It’s not often that someone recognizes us after so long, but it happens. It was just Mercy and me and Rami and Joe back then. And look how far we’ve come.” Gwil beamed warmly, then turned to Joe. “But really, son, you’re going to have to stop telling humans about us.”

“Hold up, I was not responsible for her!” Joe exclaimed, waving at me. “Take it up with Ben!”

The garage door rumbled open and Scarlett sauntered out, wiping her filthy hands with a rag. She halted abruptly, stood there in her high-waisted vintage jeans and black crop top and bare feet with maroon-colored toenails, tilted her head and pondered Archer with an innocent sort of curiosity that I hadn’t seen from her before.

“Wait,” Archer said, gaping. “Is that...is that an Aston Martin Vantage in there?!”

“You bet,” Scarlett replied. “You want to learn how to work on it?”

“Uh, hell to the yeah!” He trotted over and they vanished into the garage together.

“Huh,” Joe muttered, watching them. “She was nice to him. Very weird.” He whirled back to me. “Anyway, come on. I promised you an education in classic rock music. And I shall deliver.”

Joe’s bedroom was a chaotic jumble of economics textbooks and Chicago Cubs paraphernalia and U Chicago apparel and action figures and comic books and classic rock posters. There was a massive Italian flag tacked to the wall above his bed. But what caught my attention immediately was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben lurking in the corner by a bookshelf full of cassette tapes.

“How is there any possible logical explanation for that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh, that! That was a joke. When Ben first showed up, he pretty much lived in his room and never came out. Gwil was worried. Mercy was heartbroken. So I made a cardboard cutout of him and would bring it to family activities and do this really deep and seductive Ben voice when I pretended to have conversations with him. It gave the whole situation some levity...and I think Ben secretly liked that we missed him enough to make an artificial version to fill the void.”

“So this bitchy, brooding, blood-craving Ben I met is actually a drastic improvement?”

“Oh, Baby Swan,” Joe confided, almost sadly. “You have no idea what he was like four years ago.”

“I’m glad he has you. All of you. That he has a chance to get better.”

“I think you might be good for him too. Seeing a human as a real person instead of a walking, talking Hi-C juice box. And you care about him, don’t you? Despite everything.”

“Of course. It’s not his fault they taught him to be a monster.”  

Joe just looked at me for a while, and then he cradled my face with one hand and grazed a thumb across my cheek “You’re never going to stop saying things that knock me into next week, are you?”

“Joe...” I hesitated, laying my hand over his. His skin was smooth and yielding yet strong, cool yet not unnaturally so. Refreshing. Safe. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh noooooo. “Are we a thing?”

“Why? Do you want to be a thing?”

“Oh, uh, no, I was just wondering if we were.”

He stepped away, teasing me with a crooked smirk. “...So you don’t want to be a thing?”

“What would that entail?”

“Well...we’d be an official thing, you and me.” He shot finger guns at me, and then towards himself. “Which means you can’t be a thing with anyone else. And neither can I.”

“Ahhh, I see. So this thing is an exclusive thing.”

“Will you shut up and just admit that you’d totally be thrilled to be a thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. We’re a thing.”

“Nice.” He high-fived me.

“This is the most romantic moment of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He went to the bookshelf, browsed through his cassette tape collection, found the one he wanted and popped it into a boombox that was probably older than I was. The frantic opening piano notes of I’d Do Anything For Love poured out.

“Meat Loaf,” I said in disbelief. “Really. This is the product of your superior taste in music. This is the culmination of over a century of musical experience. Meat Loaf.”

“The man is a genius!”

“This is all an elaborate joke about my vegetarianism, isn’t it?”

“No,” Joe mused. “But now that you mention it, I have yet another reason to force you to appreciate this song.” He took my hand in his, spun me around like a ballerina in a slow and careful circle, sang along—with extreme and dramatic enthusiasm—to the music.

“And I would do anything for love

I'd run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I'd never lie to you and that's a fact...”

“I don’t dance,” I cautioned him, laying a palm against his chest to catch my balance. That brisk, comforting scent of pine and snow and peppermint was everywhere. It feels like I can’t stand to be away from him. Like I’ll never get close enough. “I am terribly uncoordinated. I will step all over your feet. And I’m really not sure if I can trust you. You didn’t even know the plural form of octopus until like eighteen hours ago. You’re kind of a disaster. A, you know, uh, unexpectedly charming, unconventionally super cute, kind of bizarrely enchanting disaster.”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered, smiling, tilting up my chin, leaning in to kiss me. “I like you too.”

Cato

He came out of the oak trees like a ghost, pushing aside massive chandeliers of Spanish moss that blotted out the dusk sun, his expensive shoes sloshing in the marshy water that flooded the rice field. He was wearing a full suit, but no top hat; his hair was black and chin-length and wild around his face. And at first I thought he was a hallucination, a dream conjured by heat sickness or those first dreaded signs of malaria. He was unnervingly, uncommonly beautiful; beautiful like a hurricane, beautiful like lightning or an eclipse. But he was real. I straightened up as I watched him approach, my back aching in protest, a basket full of seedlings slung over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cato.”

His voice, clear and beckoning and twisted by an accent I’d never heard before, rang in my skull like church bells. He called me mister. This white man called me mister.

“Yes sir?” And I almost added: You want to be careful there, sir. The water moccasins like to hide among the tree roots, especially when the sun starts going down. But I had an inexplicable feeling that this man wasn’t afraid of things like snakes. Maybe the snakes should be afraid of him.

“Mr. Cato,” he said again, this time to himself, very quietly, tasting it.

I kept trying to look away, to disentangle my gaze from him like a hook out of a sturgeon’s mouth, because staring piercingly and astonished at a white man like that in the rice swamps of South Carolina in 1851 could get me beaten or the lash, could get my teeth pried right out of my jaw. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He grinned, hugely, all-knowingly, under prehistoric golden eyes like an alligator’s. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was proud.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked, almost hissed, still grinning from the tree line.

What kind of question was that? Did a sandpiper want to fly? Did a coyote want dirt under its paws and flesh disappearing down its throat? But that wasn’t something you ever confessed aloud, not if you wanted your feet on the ground instead of swinging ten inches above it. But this man wasn’t a master, wasn’t an overseer. He wasn’t from the South. He didn’t carry a whip or a club to remind you of the rules of the world. He stood there tall and radiant in the shadows of the fading daylight like he was the one who wrote the rules to begin with; which meant that maybe he could change them. “Yes sir.”

“I can only take you,” the man warned. “No others. No family. No friends.”

“No trouble, sir,” I told him. “They sold my family. They hanged my friends.”

The man’s grin stretched wider under glinting eyes. His canine teeth were sharp, I realized: like a coyote’s, like a snake’s fangs. He held out his hand. “We are going to get along very well, you and I.”

I let the basket fall from my shoulder. I slogged through the mud and rows of wispy verdant rice plants to meet him in the shade of the oak trees. And there, for the first time in forever, a man with skin the color of bones looked me dead in the eye and shook my scarred hand.

“Welcome, Cato,” he whispered; and I was home.

He took my face in his cool palms, gingerly, reverently, like a lover. He touched his teeth to my throat. And every nerve ending in my body flooded with wildfire as he dragged me, screaming, into the depths of the forest.

[daddy-ul]

5, 7, 10 xx :-)

5. favourite song in your native language?

NGHHHHHHHH, this is hard. Well, shit, I gotta say... to sing my heart out, while violently dancing in a car with my friends? Italian cartoon openings are THE BEST. We have crazy good dubbing actors and especially for cartoons we have dedicated artists to create openings.... and let me tell you, it’s quite amazing how they do them? Bc italian openings are basically poetry presentation for the cartoon/anime (so a kid, only listening to the song, can get the plot and watch whatever episode it’s airing) but at the same time they got to be catchy and represent the ‘mood’ of the anime/cartoon. I’m not kidding but some of those musicians are doing CONCERTS TO THIS DAY in which they play those openings for crowds whose age vary from 10-35 years old!

Okay, serious answer now: Il testamento di Tito by Fabrizio De Andrè. No explanation bc I can’t do justice to him or to the song.

7. three words from your native language that you like the most?

.... these asks are more difficult than I thought, shit. I study italian literature. I will go with something that has no direct translation: bho, vabbè, pucciare.

(The last one is not italian italian, it’s italianized dialect from my region but TO THIS DAY, i’m really upset that it’s not an italian word???? How do i express pucciare without saying pucciare? It’s not intingere, that you do with a brush, and it’s not the same of inzuppare or bagnare, bc it highlights the wetness!)

I am unraveling, leave me alone.

9. which of your neighbouring countries would you like to visit most/know best?

Well, that’s two different questions! The country that I’d like to visit the most atm? France... or Scotland (bc one of my dearest friend is there and I cant wait to explore it with her). Ah, I’m too much of an european, so to me every european country it’s a a neighbouring country.

The country that I know best... well, from a historical point of view, seeing our schooling system, i know shit ton abt UK. But if you talk about first hand experience, I gotta say Spain. I spent 3 weeks traveling in the south with my parents when I was 14, I was so happy to see Cervantes’ statue (bc I learned spanish in middle school and we read Don Quijote de la Mancha, I still have a tshirt with the first page of the book written on it in spanish, and my pencil case has Picasso’s paiting of Don Quijote on it) + for my viaggio di maturità (too long to explain and i dont think many here care abt it dajhdsa sorry, another italian thing) I spent 10 days in Barcelona with one of my best friend. Spain is a really culturally rich country and damn, I wish I could go back!! It’s stunning, choke full of good art everywhere! Which, for my italian ass? An absolute requirement.

#one day im gonna shut up #but CLEARLY not today #wanna? #ask #you choose some hard question dude!!! ahshsusis i love it #tysm :)))) #jinn out

[agendabymooner]

london bridge ! daniel r. x måneskin member!ofc (wedding special - 1)

"drinks start pourin' and my speech start slurrin'."

summary: the alessandro-ricciardo wedding week begins when most of the grid travels to a remote island in italy. OR the stag/hen do had done a full 180 when the party turned wild.

content warning: use of explicit language, lando norris finding new besties (aka måneskin members), a wild sebastian vettel in a frat party /j, the drivers shaming each other's late night performances (lewis, carlos, george), reference to lewis' previous relationship (nothing personal)

note: i've been saving a lot of photos and occupying too much storage because of it. it's only right to post this now. enjoy xx

masterlist

landonorris posted a story !

danielricciardo and loressandro posted a story !

ykaaar posted a story !

landonorris posted a story

pierregasly posted a story !

tagged danielricciardo, loressandro, fernandoalo_oficial

liked by thetrishalonso, lewishamilton, estebanocon

the comments have been limited

thetrishalonso so that's where nando went after reading the kids their bedtime story?

alexalbon yes ma'am.

thetrishalonso so you guys are responsible for the awful gruffalo voicing tonight?🧐

georgerussell63 yes ma'am. i take full responsibility to such crime and i will be making it up for fernando. 🙂

lewishamilton your performance of m.i.a was really good last night bro 🔥🥶

georgerussell63 thanks lad. maybe you should do a pussycat doll next time 🧐🤠

landonorris georgerussell63 😟 girl...

carlossainzjr live fast die young bad girls do it well 🥵😈

georgerussell63 didn't you argue with lester in spanish?

carlossainzjr i was drunk and she was speaking italian 😭

landonorris carlossainzjr nah lad, you really took an L last night.

carlossainzjr landonorris i will take the fresh salmon from the sushi bar and throw it to you.

tagged loressandro, danielricciardo, lance_stroll, lewishamilton and 15 others

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, yukitsunoda0511, mickschumacher

comments have been limited

user1 where's the poor groom lad 😭

user2 IS THAT SEBASTIAN VETTEL????

pierregasly we literally said "hey lando, daniel needs to go the front he needs to be in the centre of the picture"

mickschumacher lando, lewis was married last valentine's. this is daniel's week

alexalbon you're the flower boy too. smh. can't even fulfill your role.

charles_leclerc i can't see the groom

maxverstappen1 did you lose a sense of direction after your long island iced tea?

estebanocon where's daniel

carlossainzjr when you can see lando and not the groom. the levels 💀

lando.jpg STOP COMING AFTER ME WE WERE ALL PISS DRUNK 🤡

#formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #formula one imagine #formula one x oc #formula one smau #red bull racing imagine #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x ofc #f1 imagine #f1 fic #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x oc #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #formula one fluff #formula one x reader #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo au #f1 ig au #formula one instagram au #formula one ig au

[freykitten]

Tag Game

My baby @chachkisalpaca tagged me to do this and I love her, so of course I will (I also love rambling, so here’s that). Thank you, Zyanny 

Name: Frey is fine

Nickname: Frey, Freyln (but only if you’re Mac), Noodle (but only to my mum), whatever nickname Zyan is trying to establish at the moment

Zodiac sign: Now, I may not remember it all correctly, but Pisces moon, Leo sun, and Libra rising. So basically I’m a creative and highly emotional softie that will go over the moon to make the people I care about feel loved

Nationality: Polish, which causes a lot of frustrations, but politics aside - I really love my language and culture

Languages spoken: English, Spanish... kinda, German, but not really, and supposedly Italian, but don’t let it decieve you

What time is it: 14.43, so 2.43 for the ones of you that use the invalid 12 hour clock

Celebrity crush: I’ve never had one. I don’t really get crushes, can someone come and explain me how it works? I’m super curious

Favorite fictional character(s): Sansa Stark, Anne Shirley (the book one, the Netflix version doesn’t speak to me), Hercules Poirot, and... there are SO MANY

Favorite musician: Taco Hemingway, which is absurd, since I don’t like rap music in general, but he’s so good. And Faouzia. Her voice makes me swoon

Favorite sports team: Uhm. I’m not really into sports, and if I am, I like individual athletes. But maybe Polish ski jumpers? They’re adorable

Favorite season: Hands down spring. I love it. So green and flowers everywhere. Very pretty

Favorite flower: Lilac, which is not a surprise if you’ve seen my licac reblogging spree a week or so ago. And May means lilac blooming, so catch me on cloud nine

Favorite scent: Besides my current favourite perfumes, I guess lilac as well. Or cake/cookies baking? 

Favorite animal(s): Cats. Cats are my numer one. But for some reason ducks make me so feral

Favorite food: My dad’s spaghetti bolognese. It’s the tastiest thing in the world. And recently he found a decent replacement for meat, so now I’m getting a delicious vegetarian version

Dream car: Something pretty and fast. The kind that purrs when you speed up

Dream trip: Well, I’m the happiest in Portugal, but Bali

Instruments: None, unfortunately. I’d love to play the piano or violin

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: Tea. Preferably rooibos or green tea, but let it be known I make the best hot chocolate

Dog or cat person: Cat, but I love dogs too, and since I’m allergic to cats, it’s dogs. Or hamsters

Following: 280, and it’s probably 70% drag race, 15% animals, and 15% a mix of aesthetic, poetry, home decor, royal families, and One Direction, because NOSTALGIA

Followers: 481, but a lot of those are porn bots. Oh, don’t we love them

Other blogs: None. I could never deal with more than one

Blog established: I literally have no idea. 2016? 2017? I started using it for real a year and a half ago, though

Do you have a tumblr crush: Again with this. I don’t like not understanding things, can someone please come and explain me how crushes work? From neurobiologic point of view it seems pointless, but it still happens and it’s common. Why does it happen? Is it nice? Is it. like, exclusive? Does it affect other relationships? Please tell me

Edit: @barbieggirl is a babe, so she explained it to me, and turns out that yes, I do happen to have those. And quite a lot of them, so it would make this post way too long if listed all of them

Do you get asks: Rarely, but when I do they’re super lovely. My tumblr app loves eating notifications, so I opened the computer version to write this and only then noticed I got a few of those sweet asks for being nice AND THAT’S SO KIND OF YOU, THANK YOU SO MUCH

What are you wearing right now: Grey leggins and my uni’s t-shirt, but it’s way too hot, so I think I’m going to change into a loose dress soon

Drink(s) of choice: Water, honestly. I don’t like sodas that much. Maybe juices too, especially freshly squeezed. When it comes to alcohol, medium dry white wine is always the best choice. And I love white rum in drinks, my favourite one is malibu + amaretto + pineapple juice. The mix of coconut and almond is *chef’s kiss* Oh, and Malibu Sunrise. Like Tequila Sunrise, but with malibu, because tequila is asking for trouble

Number of blankets you sleep with: Two in winter, but currently one. I love blankets, and no matter how hot I am under the duvet in the summer, I will never give up on blankets

Average sleep hours: Now it’s even up to 8. But generally I’m good with 6

Random fact: I can’t ride a bike. I can’t. I tried to learn, but I started panicking so much my dad gave up. Don’t really regret it

Now, I have literally no idea who’s already done this (I never know), but I’m keeping my promises, so @a-tresia, and also @momsthetic, @opalescent-cheetah, and @icametoseethecat, if you want to xx

#frey rambles #the crush thing has been bugging me FOR SO LONG #do i get it fully? #nah #do i get it enough for now? #yes #am i still curious? #hell yes #but it's a big discovery and i'm excited

[isitstraightvodka]

rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people! 

ok one more tonight! tagged by the amazing @emotionally-imbruised, love you, ken!

nicknames: liv, livs, livvy, via, olive and abella; that's drunk me lmao, courtesy of my friends.

zodiac sign: libra. 

height: 5'5''.

hogwarts house: a proud slytherin 🐍

last thing i googled: how to unblock an ear.

favourite musicians: anything from queen to harry, from lorde to taylor swift, from the jonas brothers to troye sivan, from prince to dua lipa, from lady gaga to adam lambert, from patd to fleetwood mac; my music taste is a mess.

song stuck in my head: only human - jonas brothers.

following: 397.

followers: over 3k, ily all :')

do you get asks: yes!

amount of sleep: i tend to fall asleep between midnight and 2am, so it's either 5 hours or it can be 10.

lucky number: 9.

what are you wearing: an oversized sweater and new panties i bought a couple of weeks ago 🙈

dream job: production designer, and an author.

dream trip: take me to croatia or greece, or anywhere in south america, and i'm a happy girl.

instruments you play: none but i'd love to learn the guitar!

languages you speak: english, dutch, german, french and italian!

favourite song: somebody to love - queen, will forever be my favourite song of all time.

random fact: my name was originally going to be luna or imogen!

dogs or cats: listen i love dogs as much as the next person but i'm a cat mom at heart.

aesthetic: my tumblr one right now if i'm honest. smokey bars as well, dim lights and glitter nail polish, crazy playlists and loud laughter.

i’m too tired to tag 21 people so i’ll tag a few: @sparkly-spade-socks, @queenofindecision, @i-live-for-queen, @missrubylou, @cherries-n-rocknroll, @dynamite-lazerbeam, @greatkinglulu, @talesofstyles, @waitingfortwilight and @fatbottomedboi xx

#tagged #thank you buddy you know i adore you! #feel free to ignore this if you don't want to do it

[sayitaliano]

23, 4, 5, 13, 19 for culture asks

4. Mention a cool fact about your country. L’Italia è tutta straordinariamente bella, da visitare. Si mangia e si beve bene, le persone sono stupende (soprattutto quando si impegnano, collaborano e non litigano tra loro), è un paese ricchissimo di arte, di storia e di panorami mozzafiato di ogni tipo (montagne, laghi, mari, campagne, colline...). Cosa può esserci di più fico di questo???

5. What is a stereotype about your country that you hate? Principalmente quello che ci vede malfattori, in particolare mafiosi. Ma ce ne sarebbero altri (soprattutto stereotipi made in Italy). Però questo è uno di quelli maggiormente portati all’estero anche tramite i film e quindi forse più conosciuto ed usato?!

13. Describe your country in 3 words. Ultimamente direi: lievito, balcone, immuni. Oppure: andrà tutto bene. In generale invece: stivale, tricolore, bellezza.

19. What is currently the most popular TV show? Non saprei, non guardo molto la TV. Mi verrebbe da dire, visto il momento, le dirette del Presidente. Forse qualcosa tipo Grande Fratello o Temptation Island? Live Non è La D’Urso? X Factor? 4 Ristoranti? Italians, ditemi voi!

23. What is the school system like in your country? Al momento, un casino. Non vorrei soffermarmici troppo. Vi sono vicina raga, mettetecela tutta. Comunque in generale, il sistema scolastico italiano prevede dei sistemi educativi e scuole per l’infanzia (per bambin* dai 3 mesi fino ai 5 anni*), e due cicli di istruzione, quello primario e quello secondario. Il primo è obbligatorio: è fatto da scuola elementare (dura 5 anni, dai 6 agli 11 anni*) e scuola media inferiore (dura 3 anni, dagli 11 ai 13 anni*). Il secondo comprende scuola secondaria (5 anni, in genere dai 14 ai 19 anni*), e percorsi di istruzione e formazione professionale (regionali, della durata di 3 o 4 anni*). A seguire, l’università o istituti superiori ad ordinamento speciale. La scuola secondaria può essere di vario tipo. Avevo già comunque scritto un post (forse anche due) sulla scuola, si trova nel masterpost dedicato alle curiosità (o qui). *Le età che ho scritto tra parentesi sono indicative.

Grazie! ♥ If anyone needs a traslation, just let me know!

#it #italian #text #italiano #italian language #language #langblr #italian culture #lingua italiana #domande asks #giochi games #cultureasks #c'è anche dell'ironia raga #xx settimana della lingua italiana nel mondo #xx Italian language week

[chilly-me-softly]

Brandt meeting his girlfriend’s grandpa without speaking the same language and still finding a way to get along pretty well. xx

Your parents moved to Germany after they got married so you were born there, but they are Italian. And although you speak both languages, Italian and German, there are people in your family who never even wanted to learn the basics of your language. Like your grandfather, who always said that if someone would have wanted to have a chat with him he would surely have found a way.

That's why when you want to introduce Julian to him, things get complicated. Your grandpa doesn't speak German and certainly no matter how hard he tries, your boyfriend can't learn Italian in a few weeks. He knows the basics for the moment and with the promise to stay by his side always, you take him home that day.

You spend a few minutes with them, practically acting as a translator between the two but you need to use the bathroom and apologize looking at Julian because you just can't resist anymore. Anyway, you leave it to your brother to help them communicate for two minutes, not so much to ask right?

And yet when you go back downstairs, you immediately notice your brother in the kitchen stealing something to eat and you immediately run into him by slapping him on the back of the neck. "Ti avevo chiesto due minuti del tuo tempo!" I asked you for two minutes of your time!

"Ma non ce n'era bisogno" he complains, massaging the aching part before pointing to your grandfather and your boyfriend with his head, who are laughing loudly. But there was no need.

You approach curious to know how it happened and notice Julian with the phone in his hand. Translator, of course. And apparently the app didn't understand a word Julian had said, telling one thing for another to the poor old man in front of him.

You smile as you approach the two of them caressing Julian's back while sitting down, you can see that thankfully his face is less red than usual. Your grandfather pats you on the leg and looks at you subtly as he waits for that device to do the work, as if to give you your approval. And you can only be happy about that, counting on taking Julian with you to as many family gatherings as possible.

#thank you anon #julian brandt #julian brandt blurb

[deakyswhitequeen]

🌻 21 question tag 🌻

rules: answer 21 questions and tag 21 people you want to know better

I was tagged by the lovely @sweetgcreature & @its-nxt-living 💗 love you dolls 💗

nicknames: Giu, Giuls, Juliet, Pap

zodiac sign: Leo 🦁

height: 1,63 m

Hogwarts house: Hufflepuff 🦡💛

last thing I googled: Good Omens. Can’t wait to see my bb David Tennant 😍

fave musicians: Queen, The Beatles, Elton John, ABBA, Green Day, blink-182, The Killers, Radnor&Lee, Ed Sheeran, Maroon V, Sam Smith, Halsey, Lady Gaga, Lana Del Rey, Sia, Marco Mengoni, Ermal Meta, Thegiornalisti and oh gosh so many more! I could list you my whole playlist but I’d be here for hours lol

song stuck in your head: “Love Walked In” by Thunder

following: 102

followers: 236

do you get asks: not as much as I’d like to! I’m always open to conversation folks

amount of sleep: WAY less than the right amount. 5-6 on average over the week (just cause on weekends I tend to sleep more) but I have reached the point of sleeping like 7 hours over two nights I’m out of control

lucky number: 8

what are you wearing: purple shirt, grey tracksuit shorts. Comfy at home, folks 🙉

dream job: astrophysicist 🌌

dream trip: Australia or Iceland. The opposites, yeah, I know

instruments: unfortunately, I can’t play any instrument 🙈 but would like to learn to play the piano

languages: Italian and English

favourite songs: honestly, every Queen song, but if I have to choose one I think I’d go with Bohemian Rhapsody. It just sums them up perfectly. I also looooove Shallow from the latest movie A Star Is Born, Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey, literally any song by Radnor and Lee AND I’m currently obsessed with Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley. Gosh, I have so many more I could entertain you for the entire day.

random fact: I recently started doing yoga and I. LOVE. IT.

aesthetic: stars and night sky, endless days in the lab, solving problems, asking questions, books, movies, car rides with friends, loud music from the windshields, road trips, the smell of summer, diving into blue waters, laying on the beach and watch the stars.

Now you know basically everything about me 🌸 

So I’ll tag some people I’d very much like to know better 😊 @littledarlingwellaway  @theappleofmybri  @bohemiandelilah @misshystericalqueen @babygotblueeyes  @radio-ha-ha  @instantezra @bensrhapsody @deakys-chesthair @queensavedmylife @benmeddowstaylor @bohrapbois @sleepydeaky @sevenseasofky @freddiesmercvry @deacydarling @itsjoemozzarella @chuumimi @borhapmusings @redspecialty @stone-cold-crazy-for-queen (you guys are obviously not forced to do it 💕)

🌻Xx

#deakyswhitequeen tag game #deakyswhitequeen #tag game #21 questions

[droomwolkje]

Answer these 21 questions and tag people you want to get to know better.

Got tagged by: @kzymar 

1. Nickname: anyiieeett, ann

2. Zodiac sign: gemini

3. Height: 1.59 m

4. Last thing searched: The Cartoon Saloon (check them out, they make really stunning 2D animations!)

5. Favourite musicians: Kodaline, Walking On Cars, The 1975, London Grammar, The xx, Amber Run, Editors, PVRIS, Tame Impala, Jeremy Zucker, Twenty One Pilots, Gorillaz, Lord Huron, Bastille, Mumford & Sons, NBT, The Neighbourhood, Vance Joy and many more!

6. Song stuck in your head: Lord Huron - “Time to Run” 

7. If you had a time machine, would you go back in time or visit the future? - Back in time

8. Do you get asks? Sometimes, mostly when I just reblog a question list

9. Following: I follow 620 blogs haha

10. Would you rather be rich or famous? Rich

11. Amount of sleep? This week only 4 hours a day.. 😅 But usually 6-8   hours a day

12. Lucky numbers? 7, 9, 15, 19 

13. What are you wearing? A t-shirt with stripes, black skinny jeans and vans

14. Dream job? Animator for a feature film 

15. Dream trip? Scandinavian road trip, Canada, Trip through Asia, Australia/New Zealand   

16. If I were an animal I’d be: A wolf 🐺

17. Favourite food? Italian food, pesto-pasta, pizza with lots of rucola and also fond of french fries, fish and chips, crisps, waffles, American cookies, panini,  tosti’s, chocolate.. ok I’m hungry 

18. Favourite books/films/shows/games? Perks of Being A Wallflower, The Moomins, Calvin and Hobbes, Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, lots of various Netflix series (some of my favorites are The 100, Atypical, OITNB, The Flash) Nintendo switch games! 

19. Do you play any instruments? Yes, guitar and ukulele

20. Languages? Dutch, English and German

21. Describe yourself as aesthetic things:

Coffee - Music - Vans - Jeans - Black - Tech - Art - Soft

Tagging: @yungsunsets @jycsmt @freakoutlittleoldsoul @habernapski & anyone who would like to do this!

[gdrawsthings]

Tag 21, answer 21

Tag 21, answer 21

I already did this many weeks ago but I guess @witchy-goth-unicorn , @plaguehostwiththemost , @anawkwardfool , @7oxic-7rash , @biakela , @halfblooddragonghost and possibly someone else (I can’t remember nor find it in my mentions because I’m too lazy to carefully search for them) want an encore:

1. Nicknames: G, Gi, Gis and a bunch of variations with different vocals after Gis, Jesus

2. Zodiac Sign: Glubglub flapflap 

3. Height: 5’4’’

4. Hogwarts 🏠: Ravenclaw

5. Last Thing I googled: Jack Finney The Woodrow Wilson Dime (wanna read this book so bad but can’t find a printed copy anywhere here)

6. Favourite Musicians: XX century Russian composers are my jam. I’m also apparently the reason why so many Plague doctors love Mother Mother now so yeah Mother Mother

7. Song Stuck in My Head:  Ra Ra Riot - “This time of year”; The Tiny - “Closer”

8. Following Now: 836

9. Followers: 1583 on my main @de-es-ce-ha , 1275 on my sideblog (this one)

10. Do I Get Asks?: Yes!

11. Amount of 💤?: It depends. From 5 to 8 hours

12. Lucky Number: 7

13. What I’m Wearing: red wool shirt, dark green yoga pants, white sneakers with a red scribbles print pattern, glasses for once

14. Dream Job: Archivist, Librarian

15. Dream Trip: It’d be really really nice to visit the Netherlands. Also going back to Kamakura. Nice place to live

16. Favourite Food: Don’t have one, it depends on what I crave at the moment

17. Instruments: Piano. I’m also an opera singer

18. Languages: I’m fluent in Italian (duh), English, Japanese and Spanish. I can still somewhat speak and translate Latin and Korean (only survival Korean rn, I haven’t been studying it for some time). I know how to read and translate Hebrew and how to say a bunch of survival sentences (still don’t have a big vocabulary but I will work on that as soon as I get the time) and how to read and translate Ancient Greek. I started learning Dutch a month ago!! 💚

19. Favourite Song: don’t have one rn. I have a bunch I listen to on repeat but yeah

20. Random Fact: When I go to sleep my first instinct is to slightly cross my legs and to put my blankets all over my body (head included) like a corpse. I’ve been told that from the outside I look like a human sized Toblerone.

21. Aesthetic:

I already tagged the people I wanted last time I did this, or they’re the people who tagged me in the first place, so...

Oh hell I’ll tag @paperheart-girl and @theflamebreath again just because I can

#ask meme #also i’m sorry for being so inactive life is being very stressful these weeks