#and that's bittersweet for El too

[athalantan]

Every day I think about the implied rich lore behind El's family / Athalantar and how we'll never get it

[bnnysweets]

APPLE CIDER

loser!ellie x ditzy!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. they’re inspired by cat and robbie in victorious bc i saw this edit and i couldn’t just don’t do nothing. ellie is just so mf in love with you omg.

warnings: ellie is IN LOVE, truly. reader is clueless. mention of marriage. reader is going out with a girl (booo🍅🍅) and she’s a asshole, ellie comforts you. fluff!

ellie is DELIRIOUS ’bout you, you share the same friend group so everyone knows she’s in love with you, but everyone also knows they can’t tell you because they already tried, but you didn’t believed, always excused it.

once, julien tried to tell you: “i’m telling you, she fucking loves you!” you laughed, “i knows she loves me, i love her too.” you said smiling and julien rolled her eyes, “i mean she wants you! like a girlfriend!” “yeah! we’re totally girlfriends!” you answered genuinely, “lord help me…ellie is in love with you. she wants to kiss you, with tongue. she draw you naked on her sketchbook, she writes songs about you, she gave your name to her favorite star.” you looked at her for a moment, without saying anything, just analyzing. “you know i don’t understand irony.” you said and julien gave up, changing the subject.

little did you know it’s aaaalll true, ellie’s big motivation to go the college everyday is to one day she have a great job and earn a lot of money to spoil you with all the expensive makeup you like and a pretty ring that you deserve. one page on her sketchbook has you in a wedding dress and veil, with your name + williams wrote on it. nobody else has ever saw it, it’s too precious to her.

so imagine her state when you started seeing a new girl, rachel. she was miserable, thinking you would never look at her the same way, but in one radom thursday you sat at the cafeteria table with a pout and sad eyes, ellie was experiencing a bittersweet feeling: at the same time time you looked so cute and sweet with that face, she was mad someone or something had made you sad. “rachel told me she liked me more when she didn’t really know me.” you announced to your friends, almost crying but before anyone could say anything ellie let a loud scoff, “are you fucking serious? this girl is insane?” she said and everybody was shocked, no one had ever seen ellie so mad and speaking so loudly, you just looked at her, speechless, batting you eyelashes at her, she swore you were trying to hypnotize her. “anyone who says they don’t like your personality is fucking insane, anyone should be fucking proud to get to know you. to know the pretty person you’re, inside and out, to know your kind heart and your bright mind. i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say how rachel it’s just a difficult person when in reality she’s just a asshole, she’s a damn prick. she doesn’t deserve you, and you don’t see this! you don’t see how she talks ‘bout you when you’re not around, you don’t see because you trust her and it is the saddest and yet the prettiest thing ‘bout you, you believe her besides everything. but you need to wake up, she doesn’t like you! she likes to have you by her side, to show you off, to kiss you and show everyone how she has a pretty girl by her side. but she doesn’t truly like you, she likes how you make her feel, because she fucking knows how much you like her.” when ellie finished your face was all wet with tears, and ellie was out of breath, looking at you, fearing your reaction.

you got up and went to hug ellie, who was on the other side of the table. she embraced your body, smoothing your back while you cried and tightly hugged her body. when you calmed down you took your head out of her shoulder and looked at her, “thanks for the cold shower els, i needed it.” you said and waved goodbye to the group. you head to the rachel’s dorm to end everything right after this. maybe ellie has a chance after all.

[falesten-iw]

There’s a bittersweet joy in witnessing the struggles of the Syrian people bear moments of hope, but it feels like a fleeting spark, a fragile light overshadowed by deeper, relentless forces. Can we call this freedom? Or is it just a brief pause in a cycle of pain that has gripped us for far too long?

For decades, the Middle East has been scarred by war, division, and unimaginable suffering. These aren’t random tragedies, they are deliberate, calculated acts meant to maintain control. As long as Zionism continues to reshape the region, inching closer to the goal of a Greater Israel, true freedom for any of us will remain a distant dream.

But freedom isn’t just about removing one dictator or another. Real freedom requires dismantling the entire system that keeps us in chains. It’s about a shift in power, a dismantling of structures that oppress us all. Until Palestine is free, until the people who are suffering are allowed to breathe, none of us can say we’re free.

This isn’t just a political issue for me, it’s personal. My family in Gaza is living through an unthinkable reality: genocide, freezing cold nights without shelter, hunger, and prices so high that survival is a struggle each day. They’re stuck in a nightmare that keeps getting worse, and their suffering is not just a faraway tragedy, it’s a pain that echoes through me.

And yet, despite the immense pain, I hold on to hope. Because I know that change is possible. Every small donation, every act of solidarity, can ripple outward and transform lives. This isn’t just charity, it’s resistance. It’s standing together to defy those who profit from our suffering. You have the power to be part of this change. Stand with Gaza. Stand for freedom. Stand for humanity.

This campaign is for 26 lives hanging by a thread, including two orphaned children and a family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. She urgently needs surgery to replace infected plates in her body. The situation is dire, and every day is a battle. The video showing the injured family member was shared earlier in this post: Link.

Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.

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[gloomwitchwrites]

Hola dulce!! Me encanta lo que escribes, por eso pensé en enviarte este video donde las chicas latinas responden “you too, papi” a sus novios/esposos.

Me detuve a pensar cómo reaccionarían los chicos de COD.

Disculpa el español!! Gracias por leer, espero no molestarte. 🩷

Hola chica! I know you sent this in a while back (and I'm so sorry for the wait). I did play around with the prompt a little bit, expanded it slightly beyond just boyfriend/husband, and kept the "you too, papi" both literally and in spirit. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! <3

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Latina!Fem!Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, flirting, banter, brief alcohol use, suggestive themes, pregnancy mention, established relationship

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John smooths the front of his suit jacket. It’s a formal occasion, and it’s clear that he’s completely uncomfortable. This isn’t his sort of scene.

You turn your body toward him, replacing his hands with yours, smoothing out the wrinkles and adjusting the lapels. John sighs, his brow softening as his gaze focuses on you. Your wedding ring sparkles under the light, shimmering with each movement.

“You look dashing,” you murmur.

John chuckles, and takes your hand, bringing it up to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “Behave yourself tonight.”

“I always behave,” you say with as much innocence as you can muster.

This time, John cracks a genuine smile.

“I mean it,” he whispers. “Be good.”

“I will,” you insist. “And you be good too, papi.”

John groans. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Call me papi. Not here. You know how it makes me.”

That’s you, always on your worst behavior.

“Whatever you say,” you murmur. Then, after a beat, “papi.”

“Bloody hell, woman,” he growls under his breath. “One more time and I’m finding the nearest broom closet.”

Just to be a tease, just to cause a little stir, you playfully push off from his chest. “Papi,” you mouth silently, winking.

John "Soap" MacTavish

A hazy smoke lingers overhead. The air is thick with humidity. Music blares from speakers.

Tonight is a night for celebration, of dancing and drinking and flirting, of going home with someone. But you’re parked behind the bar, serving shots and watching from afar.

Los Vaqueros.

They’re out tonight, celebrating. Those faces you recognize, but you don’t know who the quartet are sitting next to their leader, Alejandro Vargas. They’re a mystery.

Until one of them approaches.

“Have anything other than tequila?”

His accent is thick. British—no. Scottish. He’s cute. Has a charm about him.

“Course we do, papi,” you grin, leaning on the bar, and forcing your breasts a bit higher.

His eyes immediately fall there before quickly snapping up.

“Papi?” he repeats, and you laugh.

Instead of whiskey, you present this stranger a few other options. “Whisky? Vodka?”

He licks his lips. “Whiskey. Please.”

You wink, and pour him the whiskey. “On the house, papi.”

Those cheeks of his darken into a lovely shade of pink. As if catching himself, he coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you.” He glances around. “Enjoy yourself.”

You raise your hand, and wiggle your fingers as he backs up. “You too, papi.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Leaving is always bittersweet.

Simon drops his packed duffle bag next to the front door. He’s dressed, ready to head to work to prepare for another mission. He hasn’t been briefed yet, and Price didn’t say much over the phone. He only said to come.

“Come here,” he murmurs, reaching out to you.

You melt into his arms, resting your chin against his chest, looking up at him. Simon takes this moment to admire you, to remember your features, to lean in for a few gentle kisses.

“Love you,” he says.

“Love you,” you reply.

Simon grins, going in for one last kiss.

“Be good,” he chuckles. “No misbehaving.”

“You behave too, papi,” you croon, head titling in invitation.

Simon accepts, leaving you momentarily breathless.

“Say that again. I liked it.”

“What?” you ask innocently.

Shifting his arm downward, Simon grasps a portion of your upper thigh and the curve of your ass.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

You lick your lips. “Papi.”

“Again,” he growls.

You do, and Simon hooks is arm at your waist, pressing you against the wall.

“One more.”

“Papi.”

Groaning, Simon looks at his watch, and shrugs. “Price won’t mind if I’m a little late.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“No. No.”

Kyle places a hand against the wall, leaning against it as he stares you down. You blatantly ignore him, remaining on the steep stool.

“You don’t need to do this,” he says.

“Dios mío!” You shake your head, the hammer poised to come down on the nail in the wall. “I told you to hang the picture!”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “I said I would do it.”

“That means now.”

“And here I am,” he replies. His tone is calm, but you hear the strain in it. You’re always testing his patience.

“I can do it myself.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why?” you snap. “Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re pregnant,” he says, deadpan.

The two of you stare each other down. Kyle cocks his head and then nods at your rounded belly that touches the wall.

Without speaking, you descend and offer up the hammer. Kyle takes it.

“I love you,” he says. “But sometimes you make my heartrate spike.”

“Back at you, papi,” you mutter under your breath.

Though your back is to him, you hear the exasperated sigh. “Go have a snack.” Kyle brings the hammer down on the nail. “Or maybe a nap.”

[livwritesstuff]

Today was a bittersweet day – the last day of the three-month parental leave Steve had taken when their daughter Robbie was born before he headed back to his counseling job.

Eddie knows that Steve is feeling torn a few different ways about going back to work.

On the one hand, Steve loves his job, and he’d worked his ass off earning his doctorate so he could be a trauma therapist just like he’d planned. Kids had also been a part of his plan, obviously, but as more of an in addition to type of way, rather than instead of when it came to his career. Eddie knows this, and he knows that Steve is excited to go back, to reconnect with his patients after three months apart.

Eddie also knows that their kids are everything to Steve in a way his job will never be (duh), and Eddie had seen the way Steve refused to ignore the gravity of today – the last day he doesn’t have to share his time with anything other than their daughters.

Steve had been emotional about going back to work in a similar way the first time around with Moe, and he’d called home about eight or nine times during his first day back in the office, asking how things were going and if he’d missed anything. Now, Moe is two-and-a-half (and some change, if they’re being technical), and Robbie just hit the three-month mark a few days ago. This time, Steve had done his best to split his time between their two daughters, and it’s not all that different from their normal day-to-day, honestly, just…something heavier in the air, maybe.

Now, Moe’s all fresh and clean from her bath, her bangs slicked back with the rest of her damp hair (Steve had put on a whole show of planting kisses all over her forehead and saying, “is this where you’ve been hiding your brilliant brain from us?” which always sends Moe into giggling hysterics), and Steve’s got her all bundled up in a big fluffy towel, snuggling her close with one arm as he balances Robbie on his chest with the other, all of them piled into a rocking chair while Eddie sits stretched out on Robbie’s rug.

“I’m probably not gonna be home when you wake up tomorrow morning,” Steve tells Moe, and it’s not the first time he’s brought up this particular subject today, but, y’know…toddlers. Really gotta nail in the point sometimes with toddlers, “‘Cause I’m going back to work, so I have to leave early to drive into Boston.”

“Why do you hafta drive to Boston?” Moe asked.

“Because that’s where my office is. Remember a few weeks ago when we visited my office?”

“Yeah and they met Robbie.”

“That’s right,” Steve nodded, “Everyone I work with met Robbie. I got to take a break from work when Robbie was born, and now it’s time for me to go back.”

Moe’s eyebrows are furrowed.

“But…I don’t want you to go.”

“I know, bug,” he tells her, “I miss you and Robbie and Daddy like crazy when I’m not home with you.”

“So why don’t you take more break?”

“I sorta took all the break I’m allowed to, sweet pea. It’s time for me to go back to work.”

Eddie looks at Moe, sees the cogs turning in her little brain as she tries to figure out a way to convince her dad to stay home with her.

“But what if you just don’t work anymore?”

It’s a good question, Eddie knows, and she’s not the only one asking it.

Not too long after Robbie’s arrival, when Max and El had come to visit and meet the new baby, Max had privately asked Eddie if he thought Steve might throw in the towel on the whole career thing this time around. Again, it’s a fair question for anybody who really knows Steve, anybody who sees how much he loves their kids and how much he loves being a dad, even if Eddie knows the answer is no. Still, it’s a close no.

Steve hums sympathetically, “Maybe someday, but I like my job. I get to help people, and I worked hard in school to be able to do that. Someday you might decide you want to have a job where you do more school and get special degrees.”

“Like what kinds of jobs?”

“Like a doctor or a lawyer, or maybe you want to work in a lab and do research on something. It’s a big world, Moe, and you can do whatever you set your mind to."

"I want to be an astronaut," Moe tells them.

"Well, there you go."

"Or I wanna be a cookie."

"Oh-" Steve's eyebrows furrow as Eddie starts to laugh. "Alright..."

"That's my girl," Eddie says, "Astronaut or pastry. I like it."

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Eight - The Real Story

Summary: Vecna shows you his plan, and it leads you to wonder why he targeted you in the first place. You knew he must have done it for a reason.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, blood, weapons, death, kidnappings, angst, war

Word Count: 5k

Note: One more chapter to go! It’s so crazy, I can’t believe this series is coming to an end (at least until season five comes out). I’ve had a blast rewriting this series and I’m so happy many of you have been enjoying it! If you want, leave some requests in my inbox about some one shots you would like to see with Star and Steve, or even the other characters. The ideas will definitely help me write!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Yasmin gently tied a cloth around Hopper’s forearm, securing the final knot. He watched her, his expression softer than usual. Across the room, Murray and Dmitri worked to get information out of the remaining Russian guards, trying to find a way out of the facility. Joyce sat nearby, occasionally chiming in with Yasmin and Hopper’s conversation, before quietly stepping away with a knowing smile, leaving the two of them alone.

“Guess you got my message, huh?” Hopper said as Yasmin leaned back into her chair.

She rolled her eyes. “No, I just always dreamed of visiting the Soviet Union. With Joyce. And Murray.”

He chuckled. “You and him getting along?”

Yasmin glanced across the room at Murray. “He’s definitely…something,” she said with a laugh. “Thank God Joyce is here to keep me sane.”

Hopper’s smile faded into something softer, more bittersweet. “I thought you were dead,” he said quietly. “Thought I lost you.”

Yasmin’s breath hitched. She looked at him, her eyes soft. “We did lose you. For eight months. We had a funeral.”

He let out a half-laugh. “Anybody show?”

Her brows furrowed. “Are you kidding? You’re the hero of Hawkins.” Hopper shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe any of this. Yasmin placed a hand on his arm. “It’s true, Hop.”

He gave a faint smile. “Yeah, well…I always felt I’d be easier to like when I was dead.” She rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue. He looked at her again, more serious now. “How about El and Y/N? They okay?”

“They’re doing good,” Yasmin said quietly, picturing her daughters. “They miss their dad. We all do.”

Hopper’s eyes went glassy, and he looked away. “I think I finally get how Y/N must’ve felt. Locked in that place for years.” He glanced back at Yasmin. “And now here you are. Still the one saving everyone.”

Before she could respond, Murray’s voice broke the moment. “Uh, I hate to interrupt, but apparently…they can climb too.”

They all turned to the monitor. On the prison yard security feed, a demogorgon was climbing the wall fast. The Russian guards began to fire, but it barely slowed down the creature. When they ran out of bullets, the monster lunged at them one by one, tearing them apart.

Then suddenly came a loud bang from the nearby room. Everyone froze in terror.

“The hell is that?” Dmitri asked.

“Please tell me they don’t have another one of those things,” Murray exclaimed.

Yasmin instinctively reached for her gun and stepped forward. Murray did the same, only for Hopper to snatch the weapon from his hands and move to the front of the group. A Russian scientist began shouting in panic, warning them not to enter the room. None of them listened.

The group crept up the stairs quietly. Hopper slowly turned the handle and pushed it open. Inside, a demogorgon was chained to a table, and it shrieked and thrashed, desperate to break free. Hopper didn’t hesitate as he stepped forward and fired directly into its open mouth. The beast went limp, blood splattering across the room.

Behind another door, Hopper led them into a larger chamber, and what they saw made them all stop in their tracks. There were many tanks and inside them, more demogorgons floated, suspended in some kind of fluid. They were here to be used as weapons.

Yasmin’s heart pounded as she stepped forward, eyes moving from one creature to the next. She knew the Russians were always planning something. The Cold War paranoia had led to cruel programs, even the one that turned her daughter into a weapon. But this was something else. They had brought these things, the monsters from Hawkins, across the world and locked them in glass cages.

At the far end of the room, they found a larger tank. Through the thick glass, they saw dark particles swirling violently, like a tornado. The fragments of the Mind Flayer were still pulsing with energy, being kept alive in this place.

Brenner set the machine down, gently wiping Henry’s wrist. “All done,” he said. “Not so bad, was it? See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Is there, Y/N?”

Your body locked up. You couldn’t move. Your eyes widened as Brenner slowly turned his head to look at you, his voice deepening.

“Do you understand now?” He asked. “Do you see how similar we are? How we were taken and used against our will?” You staggered back, your breath catching in your throat. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

You turned and ran, bolting into the hallway as the lights flickered violently above you. Somewhere behind you, a high-pitched screech echoed. You turned a corner and found dead bodies sprawled across the floor. You stumbled back in horror, then sprinted in the opposite direction, your lungs burning.

In the real world, Steve grabbed your face, panic overtaking him as your eyes rolled back. “Y/N? Stay with me! Stay with me, okay?!”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, blaming himself for your situation. If he hadn’t gotten dragged underwater, you still would’ve had your music on. He looked up into the opening and shouted at the others who were scrambling to find music for you.

“Whatever you guys are doing, hurry up!” He held your face gently, trying to get you back. “Please wake up! I can’t lose you,” he cried, forehead pressed against yours, tears finally falling.

You reached a dead end. A heavy door blocked your path, sealed with wooden planks. You dug your fingers under one board and pulled with everything you had, grunting in effort.

“Y/N.” You froze. Vecna approached from behind, his tone calm. “What are you doing? It’s not time for you to leave.”

You turned back and yanked harder, ripping plank after plank away. You could feel him getting closer.

“Now that you’ve seen where I’ve been…” He paused. “I’d like to show you where I’m going.”

Tears streamed down your face as you tore off the final board and flung open the door, only to stop again. Inside was a small room, identical to the one where you were first taken. Brenner stood waiting for you.

“Take a seat, Y/N.”

The lights shut off. You turned to run, but something yanked you backward. Vines coiling around your arms and legs and dragging you into the chair. You tried to move, but it was no use. The lights flickered back on.

Flashbacks crashed into your mind, all the memories you buried, moments you tried to forget. Tears spilled freely now. Ahead of you, Vecna walked forward. He stopped in front of the chair and leaned down, placing both hands on either side, caging you in.

“I’m not taking you now,” he said. “Your time isn’t over yet.”

You were frozen in place, lips trembling. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even cry out. Vecna leaned closer.

“You have so much potential, Y/N.” You shook your head slowly, shutting your eyes, until you felt his cold finger brush your cheek. “You and I…we could be so powerful together,” he whispered. “Like I said, we are the same.”

“No!” You cried, sobbing harder.

Vecna’s eyes darkened. He pulled his hand back with a low grunt. “Fine,” he said coldly. “Then tell Eleven.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what he meant.

“I want you to tell her everything you see.” His hand hovered over your face. And then you saw all of the visions that were poured into your mind. You saw red cracks tearing through Hawkins, splitting the earth apart. You heard four chimes of the grandfather clock.

You screamed. “No!”

“Tell her…”

“No!” You cried, shaking your head violently.

“…Everything.”

The images kept coming. All the deaths and destruction. You saw your mom, Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, the kids. All of them…dead. You sobbed, louder now, trying to fight it, trying to break free.

“Your time isn’t over yet,” Vecna said. “But I will have you. Sooner or later.”

You gasped awake, eyes wide as your body collapsed backward. Steve caught you instantly, cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, hey–whoa, whoa, whoa.” He brushed your hair back, breathing hard. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even process what just happened. Tears poured from your eyes as you looked up at him, only to realize he was crying, too. Steve held you tighter, his voice trembling.

“I’m here. I’m right here, honey.” He cupped your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He pulled you into his chest, holding you like he’d never let go again as you broke down in the arms of the man who loved you more than life itself.

You eventually calmed down enough for you and Steve to climb the rope and pull yourselves back into the real world. But the visions still clung to you, haunting your mind. Once on the other side, you all went to Max’s trailer, knowing that it wasn’t safe to stay at Eddie’s place. After going inside, you sat numbly on the couch. Your limbs felt heavy and your mind was spiraling. The others hovered nearby, concern etched into their faces.

Nancy sat beside you, her hand moving gently up and down your back. You focused on the motion, trying to match your breath to it. Max handed you a glass of water and you nodded gratefully before downing it in one go, the coolness burning down your dry throat.

You leaned into Nancy, letting your eyes close. But the moment you did, the images returned. The red lightning, screams, blood, the sound of that clock. You flinched. Nancy tightened her hold around you, reminding you of her presence.

The others kept their distance, giving you space, but you could feel their eyes. You cracked one eye open and caught them staring. The moment they noticed, they all awkwardly looked away, suddenly busy with anything but you.

You slowly lifted your head from Nancy’s shoulder. She hesitated, but when you gave her a soft nod, she released you. You stood up, legs shaky but steady enough. You cleared your throat. Everyone turned toward you. Dustin was the first to speak.

“What happened?” He asked, eyes wide. “And how did you escape?”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to tell them the entire truth about Vecna.

“He showed me things that haven’t happened yet. The most awful things,” you said, your voice hoarse from not speaking for so long. You sat down in the chair Max pulled out for you. “I saw a dark cloud spreading over Hawkins. Downtown on fire. Dead soldiers. And this…giant creature with…a gaping mouth.”

The room stilled around you. Everyone exchanged worried glances as they settled into place, waiting for you to continue.

“And this creature wasn’t alone,” you continued, your voice breaking. “There were so many monsters. An army. And they were coming into Hawkins. Into our neighborhoods. Our homes.” You looked down at your hands, your breath shaking. “And then…he showed me my mom. And Mike. And Lucas. And Dustin. They were all…” The tears came before you could finish.

Steve leaned forward. “Okay, but…he’s just trying to scare you, Y/N. Right? I mean…it’s not real.”

“Not yet,” you said quietly, eyes locking with his. “But there…there was something else.” You paused, steadying yourself. “He showed me gates, four of them, ripping open across town. They looked like the one at Eddie’s trailer, except they kept growing. And this wasn’t the Upside Down Hawkins. It was our Hawkins.”

“Four chimes,” Max whispered. All eyes turned to her. “Vecna’s clock. It always chimes four times. Four exactly.”

“I heard them too,” you said, the memory flashing again. You remembered what Vecna told you, that your time wasn’t over. He didn’t want to kill you. Everyone froze in realization.

“He’s been telling us his plan this whole time,” Max breathed.

“Four kills. Four gates,” Lucas said, looking at Max. “End of the world.”

“If that’s true…he’s only one kill away,” Dustin added grimly.

“I don’t get it,” Erica said. “Why did Y/N have all those symptoms if Vecna wasn’t going to take her?”

“He said…he said it wasn’t my time yet,” you replied. “He wanted to show me his plan. That he was preparing me for the worst.”

“Oh Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered under his breath.

“Try ‘em again. Try ‘em again,” Steve urged, nodding at Max to call your house in California. Max picked up the phone and dialed. After several rings, she slammed the receiver down.

“Anything?” Dustin asked, though the silence was already an answer.

“No,” Max said. “Rang a few times, then went to a busy signal.”

“Maybe you punched it wrong,” Steve suggested. “Try again.”

“I didn’t punch it in wrong,” Max snapped.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Dude, I think she knows how to use a phone,” Dustin said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just saying, she could’ve typed it in wrong.”

Max tried again, and still got the same result. “Same shit.”

Your stomach twisted tighter with worry. You had no idea what was happening in California, you had no clue where Eleven, Jonathan, Will, Mike, or even Joyce were. The thought of something bad happening to them sent your heart pounding.

“How is that possible?” Lucas asked, hands on his hips.

“I told you. Joyce has this telemarketer job. Always on the phone,” Dustin explained. “Mike won’t stop whining about it.”

“Yeah, but this phone’s been busy for, what, three days now?” Max said. “That’s not Joyce. No way. Something’s wrong.”

“She’s right,” Nancy agreed, walking to the window. “It can’t be just a coincidence. Whatever’s happening in Lenora is connected to all of this. I’m sure of it.” She stared outside, thinking about Jonathan, Mike, and Will. “But Vecna can’t hurt them. Not if he’s dead.”

“You’re right.” You stood up. “We have to go back in there. Back to the Upside Down.”

“Whoa, no, no, no. What?” Steve stood too, walking towards you. “Let’s think this through.”

“What is there to think through, Steve?” You said, exasperated.

“We barely made it out of there in one piece!”

“Yes, and that’s because we weren’t prepared,” you argued. “But we will be this time. We’ll have weapons and protection. And then we’ll go through the gate, find his lair, and finally kill him.”

“Or he’ll kill us,” Steve countered. “The only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us.”

“And for good reason,” Robin added, getting to her feet. “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry. One.” She frowned. “Sorry, what are we calling him now?”

“One,” Dustin said.

“Vecna,” Erica argued.

“Henry,” Nancy added.

“Right. We’ve learned something new about Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One. He’s a number like Eleven, only a sick, evil, child-murdering version with really bad skin. But my…my point is, he’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with a snap. It’s not a fair fight.”

“So then why fight fair?” Dustin asked. “You’re right, he’s like Eleven. But that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths. And weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses?” Erica asked skeptically.

“When El remote-travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like-state,” Dustin explained. “I bet the same is true of Vecna.”

“That would explain what he was doing in that attic,” Lucas added.

“Exactly. When he attacks his next victim, I’ll bet you he’s back in that attic. Physical body defenseless,” Dustin said.

“Defenseless? What about the army of bats?” Steve asked, pointing to the red mark around his neck.

“Right. True. We’ll have to find a way past them,” Dustin admitted. “Distract them somehow.”

“And, uh, how do we do that, exactly?” Eddie asked, beginning to stand up.

“No idea.” Dustin shrugged, and Eddie sat back down. “But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance. It’ll be like slaying Dracula in his coffin.”

“That all sounds good in theory, but there’s no pattern to Vecna’s killings,” Robin said. “At least not one I can decipher. We don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don’t even know who he’s going to attack.”

“Yeah, we do,” Max said. Every eye turned to her again. “I can still feel him. I’m still marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me.”

“No.” You stepped forward, pointing a finger at her. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you go as bait.” You met her eyes. “If he’s going to attack someone, let it be me.”

Steve grabbed your shoulders. “What are you saying? You’re not doing that!”

“I thought you weren’t one of the people Vecna wanted to kill?” Nancy asked. “It wouldn’t work, right?”

You shook your head as Steve dropped his hands. “No, but…”

“But what?” Steve pressed.

“He said that my time isn’t over. Yet,” you murmured. “He said he’ll have me sooner or later.”

“What?!” Steve exploded.

“What does that even mean?” Lucas asked, staring at you.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “But he wouldn’t have done all that just to scare me. It was all for a reason.”

Max shook her head. “I still think it should be me.”

You sucked in a breath, your pulse pounding. “Max–”

“You have actual skills that could be put to good use. I don’t.”

“Max is right,” Dustin said quickly, turning to her. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But we need you, Y/N. You can help us defeat Vecna.”

You crossed your arms, looking away. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“Well, too bad, because I’m going to do it,” Max said, meeting your eyes.

“Max,” Lucas said softly. “You can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“I survived before,” Max said. “I can survive again.” She lowered her eyes. “I just need to keep him busy long enough for you guys to get into that attic. Then you can chop his head off. Stab him. Blow him up with some explosive Dustin cooks up. I don’t care how. Just…whatever it is…whatever you do…try not to miss.”

The room fell silent. You clenched your jaw, fury burning quietly beneath your skin. Steve was still watching you, but you didn’t say a word. You didn’t want her to do this. She’s just a kid. You knew it should be you instead, but you also knew they all needed your help to defeat Vecna. You wanted to scream, to grab Max and shake her, tell her that she shouldn’t do this. You wanted it to be you. Because if something went wrong, you didn’t think you’d ever forgive yourself.

After a few moments, everyone gathered around the table, Eddie slapping down a newspaper. “Check this out. The War Zone. I’ve been there once. It’s huge. They got everything you need for, uh…well, killing things, basically.”

“You think fake Rambo has enough guns?” Robin asked, then pointed at a picture. “Is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?”

“Lucky for us it is,” Eddie replied. “This place is just far enough outside of Hawkins. As long as we steer clear of main roads, we ought to be able to avoid cops and, uh, angry hicks.”

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone,” Erica muttered.

“Normally, I’d agree,” you said, crossing your arms. “But we need the weapons. So I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Me too,” Lucas said.

“It’s definitely our best option,” Nancy agreed.

“But is it worth the time?” Dustin asked. “It’ll take all day to bike there and back.”

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie grinned.

“You got some car we don’t know about?” Steve asked.

“It’s not exactly a car, Steve,” Eddie replied, standing up straight. You furrowed your brows, looking between your ex and the metalhead. “And it’s not exactly mine but, uh, it’ll do.” He turned to Max. “Hey, Red, uh, you got a ski mask or bandanna, something like that?”

Max nodded and left, returning with a Michael Myers mask. Eddie slipped it on and gestured for you to follow. You all left the trailer, weaving behind another. The owners of another trailer sat outside, completely unaware. Eddie rushed behind and found an unlocked window before climbing in. One by one, you all followed. Eddie then yanked the mask off and jumped into the driver’s seat, hot-wiring the vehicle. Steve, Robin, and Eddie had their own little chat before the vehicle roared to life.

“What the hell? Hey! Open this door!” One of the owners shouted from outside.

Eddie scrambled out of the seat and Steve slid in. You jumped into the passenger seat, your heart racing as everyone situated themselves in the RV.

“Everybody, hang on to something!” Steve shouted.

“Drive, Steve! Drive!” Dustin screamed.

“Go, go, go!” Everyone shouted at him from the back.

With that, Steve pressed the gas, speeding off with the trailer as the owners began to chase you. “Shit, they look pissed,” Dustin muttered.

“It’s not every day you lose your house and car in one fell swoop,” Robin yelled, holding on for dear life.

Steve made it to the road, the ride a little bumpy. “Hold on! Hold on!”

You glanced back, seeing the owners yelling behind you. Your chest heaved. “Oh my God,” you breathed. You could see the owners fuming with rage, and a wave of guilt hit you hard. You hated what you’d just done, but in your defense, there really hadn’t been another option. Your car was still near Skull Rock and you had no other car. As the adrenaline began to wear off, your breath caught in your throat, lips parting slightly in disbelief at what had just happened.

As Steve kept driving, you sat quietly, the noise of the engine filling the silence. Every now and then, your eyes drifted toward Steve. You weren’t sure if he noticed, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“How’s it handle?” You asked at last, your voice breaking the quiet.

“Not half bad,” Steve replied with a small chuckle. “Considering that this is a…house.”

You let out a laugh, your lips curling into a grin. “Yeah, I could imagine.”

Steve glanced at you briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching before he turned back to the road. “Yeah, it’s…it’s silly,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now. “But I…I’ve actually…I always had this dream that I’d have this really…really big family.” You turned toward him, brows arching in curiosity. “I’m talking, like, a full brood of Harringtons. Like, five, six kids.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, brows pulling together. You and Steve never really had the talk about kids before. You were both still young, and the topic had never come up. This was completely new to you. “I’m sorry. Six? Are you trying to start a basketball team or a small army?”

Steve laughed at your reaction, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys. And…and every summer, I figured all of us Harringtons, we would pack into something like this and…just see the country.” His gaze met yours again, lingering this time. “You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. End up in some beachside town in California. Spend a week parked in the sand. Learn how to surf or something.”

You gave him a small, thoughtful smile, the image he painted lingering in your mind. It sounded kind of perfect. Except for the kids part.

“That sounds…nice,” you said softly.

“Yeah?” He asked, grinning.

“Yeah.” You met his eyes again. It lingered for a moment too long, until you finally looked forward again, shaking your head. “Um, except the six-kid part, though. Maybe knock it down to, like…two kids. Six kids sounds like a total nightmare.”

Steve laughed, then looked over his shoulder. “If only I had some practice.”

Following his line of sight, your smile returned at the sight of the teens in the back. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You turned to find him already watching you.

He gave you a gentle smile before shifting his attention back to the road again. Your grin faded slowly, and you let out a quiet breath, thinking over his words.

You all arrived at the War Zone, but only you, Nancy, Robin, Erica, Max, and Steve headed inside to gather weapons. The moment you stepped through the doors, you were hit with the sound of chatter. You weren’t the only ones stocking up.

“So much for avoiding angry hicks,” Robin muttered, eyeing the other customers as she glanced at you and Nancy.

“Let’s be fast,” Nancy said, already scanning the aisles.

“Yeah, the quicker the better,” you agreed.

“Yep.”

“Definitely.”

Everyone split up to search for their own gear. You made your way to the counter, asking the guy behind it for a shotgun and extra bullets. Once it was in your hands, you gave it a brief examination, making sure it was in good shape.

You wandered through the aisles in search of anything else useful when something caught your eye, a black leather jacket hanging on a rack. You slid it on without hesitation, sighing quietly when you finally found something to cover you.

Turning the corner, you spotted Robin and Steve a few aisles down. Steve hadn’t seen you yet, so you hung back, watching as Robin’s attention was locked on something…or someone. You followed her gaze and saw a couple making out near the end of the aisle. A second later, Robin spun around, bumping right into you before quickly rushing off.

Steve finally noticed you standing there, and you raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Uh…she’s just a little jumpy,” he said, clearly making up something fast. “First time in a store full of weapons and all.” He gave you a sheepish look, then darted after Robin. You glanced back at the couple, eyes widening in realization, then turned and continued browsing without comment.

Something caught your eye in one of the displays. It was a sword, the blade long and sharp. You lifted it carefully, running your fingers along the smooth silver edge. You were definitely taking this. After paying for your weapons, you were gathering your things at the register when a hand grabbed your shoulder. You flinched slightly and turned to see Nancy, her eyes wide with alarm.

“We have to go. Now,” she said, voice urgent.

“What? Why?” You asked.

Nancy subtly nodded toward the far end of the store. Your gaze followed and landed on a familiar face. It was one of the basketball boys you’ve seen at Lucas’ game. Your stomach dropped.

Grabbing your bags, you turned on your heel and rushed out with the others. You sprinted toward the RV, throwing open the door and climbing in as the group who stayed back started asking questions.

“We gotta go,” Steve said, already sliding into the driver’s seat. You dropped into the passenger side, setting your bags down.

“Your old friends are here,” Erica said, throwing a look out the window. Everyone began to panic.

“Shit!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m going! I’m going! Sit down!” Steve shouted, slamming his foot on the gas. He drove until he found a secluded area, deep into an empty field with no houses nearby. One by one, everyone filed out of the RV to prep the weapons and get ready for what was coming.

You slung your shotgun over your shoulder and carried the sword in your other hand as you walked out with Nancy and Max. The three of you sat on the grass, and Nancy pulled out a hacksaw, placing her shotgun across a metal bin.

You raised an eyebrow as she started sawing the barrel down. “What are you doing?”

Nancy glanced at you, then gave a small shrug and smile. “Jason said something to me in the store. Gave me an idea.”

“Interesting,” you smirked, watching her work. Max held the end of Nancy’s gun steady. You listened to her own advice, grabbing your own shotgun and started sawing as well.

Max looked between the two of you. “Is this even legal?”

Nancy exhaled, eyes still on her work. “Technically? It’s a felony.”

You tilted your head and gave a half-smile. “I’m basically a walking felony anyway. What’s one more?”

Max laughed under her breath. “Right.”

“But at least it guarantees one thing,” Nancy said, meeting your gaze.

“We won’t miss,” you finished, sawing down the barrel completely as it fell on the grass.

You all climbed back into the RV after changing and gearing up. Your weapons were secured and plans were in place. Steve took the wheel again, driving you toward the Creel House. It was beginning to dawn on you that this was it.

As the RV slowed to a stop, you stood and turned to Max. Without a word, you took her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight.

“Finish him,” Max whispered into your ear.

Your stomach twisted at her words. You gripped her tighter, like maybe you could protect her if you just held her for a second longer.

“I will,” you murmured back, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

You reluctantly let her go and watched as Max, Lucas, and Erica stepped off the RV, standing in front of the house. You returned to the passenger seat beside Steve, trying to shake the unease creeping in. The feeling lingered as Steve drove off. You stared out the window, the blur of trees passing you. Your gut clenched with every second, telling you that something was coming. You didn’t know what but your intuition kept warning you that something was going to go wrong. Still, you held onto that bit of hope. Even if your heart told you it wasn’t enough.

[universefcb]

↬❥ Pats and popcorn

Hector Fort x Fem!Reader

sy: Le das una palmadita en el trasero y él te corresponde.

a/n: This is one of the cutest requests I've ever received! And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.

warnings: Cute, butt pats!

SORRY ABOUT THE TIME, I SPENT THE DAY SLEEPING TO REST!

You and Hector hadn't seen each other in three weeks. He was busy with the team and you were busy with college. The calls became shorter and fewer, Hector would tell you how his day had been and you would do the same. Sometimes you would just stay silent on the phone, listening to each other's tired breathing. But now he was there, in your kitchen making popcorn for both of you to eat while watching a romantic movie.

“I love it when you cook for me.” She hugged him from behind, inhaling his bittersweet taste, and smiled, letting her cheek press against his back.

“And I love it when you hug me like this,” he said calmly, taking her hand and giving her a kiss. “Let’s see what I was like before you.

“Not again. We watched that movie last week,” he grumbled. As he waited for the popcorn to finish popping, he felt her small hand slowly caressing his stomach.

“But we didn’t watch it, you kissed me every minute of the movie” she laughed, still clinging to him.

“I can’t stay away from your mouth, sweetie.” He muttered thinly, feeling offended.

“Okay.” She released him, stepping away.

Hector Fort stood distracted, facing the stove waiting for the popcorn to finish. When he felt the first soft slap on his buttocks. He turned around with a start, only to see his girlfriend run away laughing, her eyes shining with mischief.

“Oh, is that so?” he asked, narrowing his eyes with a smile.

She was already in the living room, on the other side of the couch, ready to run away again. But Hector wasn't going to let it go. With a swift leap, he set off in pursuit, their laughter filling the house.

“Come here, you little minx!” he exclaimed, pretending to be indignant but unable to hide the amusement in his eyes.

face. “I’m going to turn your ass all purple!

"I doubt!"

She dodged, running in circles around the room, but soon felt his arms wrap around her in a tight hug. Hector spun her around, leaving her laughing and breathless, before giving her much-deserved revenge—a light but affectionate pat.

“Now we’re even!” Hector declared, leaning his forehead against hers, his heart still racing from the chase.

She smiled, lacing her fingers with his.

“I think I prefer it when you pat me like this…” she stood on her tiptoes, to leave a kiss on his lips.

“I love patting your ass, you naughty child.” Hector chuckled, grabbing his girlfriend’s waist, squeezing lightly.

“I love you!” She felt kisses being placed on her cheek.

“I love you too, my flower.” He left a kiss on her forehead and left for the kitchen, returning seconds later with the huge bowl of popcorn. And you sank into it, filling your hand and taking it all to your mouth.

And then, without further escape, they stayed there, together, laughing at something funny in the movie, eating popcorn, enjoying that love made of jokes, soft touches and a lot of complicity.

Your like is important and helps me a lot. Don't be a ghost reader!

[soleilpinto]

DRS = Defining Relationship Status?: Pit Stop to Something Real °‧🫐𐙚⭒

“Defining Relationship Status Zone” 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖🎐

Synopsis: Motorsport fan and model, Y/n, and her thirst-filled tweets about Franco catch his attention, sparking a hilarious online banter that goes viral. As their playful exchanges become real connections, fans and media can’t get enough—will their chemistry survive offline?

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Slowburn, (Slight) Angst

AU: Social Media AU!

Pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Unserious behavior, (some) inaccuracies bc lets face it, even if you are an F1 fan you still get things wrong (😭)

Note: I’m loving this series so far, so I’m really happy for the positive responses from you all! As always don’t forget to like + reblog as a form of support to me and other writers!

DRS Masterlist. (PREV./NEXT.)

liked by francolapinto, elenavalor and others.

ynbardot peep the last slide bc i won 🙌

alex_albon you only won bc franco kept defending in front of me as if his entire life depended on it

— ynbardot lilymhe PLEASE COLLECT HIM

— lilymhe 😭

francolapinto got your first win and i got to be on the podium with you 😋

— ynbardot defending me with your life is crazy work but i appreciate it

liked by ynbardot, williamsracing and others.

francolapinto Finde muy duro pero contento con el trabajo en equipo, gracias @.williamsracing por seguir dándolo todo!

a seguir así y los puntos van a llegar solos. buena carrera, al lado de los puntos en una de las carreras más duras del año para nosotros..

Cosas por seguir puliendo pero vamos por buen camino 🤝🏼🤠🇦🇷

williamsracing Vamos, Franco 👏

ynbardot plot twist: the real reason franco's so fast on track is because he’s racing home to me 😋

— francolapinto 😉

@racevibes GUYS CHECK Y/N'S STORY ??? ARE SHE AND FRANCO GOING TO AUSTIN TOGETHER ???

@apexchaser yup they're definitely dating 100%

—

The cabin lights dim as the plane levels out, the soft hum of the engines lulling most passengers into quiet murmurs or peaceful slumber. You, however, are glued to your phone, scrolling through the latest flood of notifications.

“‘Imagine sitting next to Franco Colapinto on a flight. I’d develop a fear of landing,’” you read aloud, snorting as you nudge Franco with your elbow.

He glances over from his spot next to you, raising an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know what that means?”

“It means,” you reply with a grin, holding up the phone and shaking it from side to side for him to see, “that the fans have no chill. None at all.”

He shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “You’re way too entertained by this.”

“Can you blame me? They’re hilarious.” You scroll further, giggling at another comment. “‘She’s living the dream. I’d give my left kidney for that seat.’ No pressure, right?”

Franco smirks, leaning back in his seat. “At least they’re creative. I’ll give them that.”

As you laugh, though, a different notification catches your eye. It’s a post from Daniel Ricciardo’s fan account, a clip from his last race. The caption reads, “The end of an era. Thank you for everything, Daniel.” The humor drains from your face, replaced by a familiar ache in your chest.

You're suddenly hit with a wave of emotions, reminded of your favorite driver, who's always felt like an older brother to you. 'Austin, he loved it so much there. It's too bad that he left me questioning that night, even though we all knew it was coming,' you thought sadly.

Franco notices the shift immediately. “What is it?” he asks, his tone softening.

You sigh, setting your phone down. “It’s Daniel. I know it’s been a few days, but it still feels… wrong. Like, how is it his last race? How does that chapter just end?”

Franco leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks at you. “You two are close, right?”

You nod, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. He’s been like an older brother to me. Always checking in, always making me laugh—even when I didn’t want to. He’s one of the reasons I love this sport so much. I can’t imagine being in Austin without him.”

Franco watches you for a moment before speaking. “I get it. He’s one of the good ones. It’s hard to let go of someone like that—on or off the track.”

“Exactly,” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “He deserved a better send-off. Not like this.”

Franco hesitates for a moment, then reaches out, his hand brushing yours. “You know what he’d say if he were here, right?”

“What?” you ask, glancing at him.

“He’d tell you to stop sulking, grab a taco, and drink a stupidly overpriced coffee in his honor,” Franco says with a small grin. “Because that’s what legends do—they leave behind memories that make you smile, even when it hurts.”

You can’t help but laugh at the thought, wiping away a stray tear. “That does sound like something he’d say.”

Franco leans back, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. “So, when we land, tacos on me. For Daniel.”

You grin. “For Daniel. But only if you let me pick the place.”

“Deal,” he replies, giving you a mock-serious nod. “Anything for the plot.”

You laugh again, the ache in your chest easing just a little. Franco glances at you, a soft smile on his lips. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, you know.”

You glance out the window, the clouds glowing faintly in the moonlight. “I’m lucky to have him, too.”

And as the plane carries you closer to Austin, you make a silent promise: tacos, overpriced coffee, and memories—because Daniel wouldn’t have it any other way.

@paddockpower franco and y/n fake dating for “clout” but looking like they’re on their honeymoon in the paddock. i’m losing it.

@racingheartsxx every time i think i've processed y/n and franco, a new picture drops and i spiral all over again. they’re SO 😭😭😭

@feederfrenzy they’re literally living in my delusions rent-free. FRANCO AND Y/N, YOU WILL PAY FOR MY THERAPY.

—

The Texas sun beams down on the paddock as the crowd buzzes with energy. The air hums with excitement, the kind that only comes with a Grand Prix weekend. You adjust your sunglasses, trying to blend into the chaos around you, but walking next to Franco makes that borderline impossible.

Photographers start snapping photos of you, but with Franco beside you, you momentarily forget that you are also someone people recognize. “Are they looking at me, or are they just trying to figure out who you are?” Franco jokes, his easy smirk firmly in place as he fixes his hair so it's out of his face.

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. “They know exactly who you are. Don’t act like you’re not eating this up.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, as a group of fans catches sight of you both. One of them—a girl holding a sign with Franco’s name scrawled across it—gasps audibly, nudging her friend.

“Oh my god, it’s him!” she whispers, not-so-quietly.

Franco notices and slows his pace, glancing at you. “Should we go say hi?”

“You’re the star,” you reply with a grin. “Lead the way, Mr. Colapinto.”

As the two of you approach, the small group erupts into giggles and nervous chatter. “Hi,” Franco says, flashing them his signature smile. “You guys enjoying the day so far?”

“Yes! And we’re so glad to see you here!” one of the girls blurts out before her gaze shifts to you. Her eyes widen. “Wait… Y/N?”

You freeze for half a second, then smile. “Hi! Nice to meet you.”

“You’re so pretty in real life!” she says, her enthusiasm spilling over. “And are you guys… together-together? Or is it just, you know… the internet talking?”

Franco raises an eyebrow at you, his smirk teasing, while you internally curse the universe for putting you in this situation. “Oh, we’re just keeping things casual,” you say smoothly, tilting your head with a practiced smile. “But thanks for the compliment!”

“Casual?” the girl echoes, her tone laced with curiosity as her eyes dart between the two of you.

Franco leans in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. “She’s being modest.” He winks, earning a chorus of giggles from the group.

You shoot him a look but decide to play along, shrugging. “You know how it is. Race weekends are busy.”

Another fan gasps softly. “Wait, are you guys official? Or is it just, like… new?”

Franco chuckles, glancing at you as if waiting for you to answer. You cross your arms and roll your eyes playfully. “Let’s just say… we’re figuring it out.”

The group erupts into muffled squeals, clearly eating up the act. “Can we get a photo with both of you?” one of them asks shyly.

“Of course,” Franco replies, stepping closer to you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand lightly brushes against yours, the casual intimacy of it catching you slightly off guard, but you keep your composure as you smile for the cameras.

“Say ‘power couple!’” Franco quips, making everyone laugh as the phones click.

As you walk away, your shoulders brush for a moment before you instinctively pull back, glancing at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Who, me?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I’m just committing to the role.”

“Sure you are,” you mutter, though a small laugh escapes you despite yourself. “You better hope these photos don’t end up all over the internet.”

“Hope?” he teases, flashing you a grin. “I’m counting on it.”

Another group of fans notices the two of you, and Franco turns toward you, his grin widening. “Round two?”

You sigh dramatically but can’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I’m upping my acting fee.”

“Deal,” he says, holding out his hand as though to seal it. You roll your eyes but shake it anyway, and together, you head toward the next group, stepping perfectly in sync like a couple that has nothing to hide—and everything to sell.

liked by danielricciardo, heidiberger_ and others.

ynbardot keeping it casual in austin

francolapinto the caption is very interesting

— ynbardot only a joke between an exclusive group of people

danielricciardo miss you champ

— ynbardot miss you more dr3 !! texas will always be yours

heidiberger_ enchanté pop up and we'll be expecting you!

— ynbardot WILL BE THERE !!

@kindajealoustbh y/n, sweetie, i love you, but respectfully… MOVE. franco belongs to the fans. we’re suffering over here.

@boxboxbutton y/n pretending she doesn’t know she’s living all our dreams??? girl, GIVE ME THE DETAILS. i need a 10-step guide to manifest Franco

@rearwingromance franco and y/n are so flirty it hurts. i want to hate her, but honestly… she’s kind of iconic for pulling this off.

@overtake_obsessed if this “casual” thing turns into them actually dating, I’m throwing my phone into the ocean. like… LET US BREATHE.

The restaurant buzzes with the lively chatter of drivers unwinding after a long day. You sit across from Franco, flanked by Charles and Pierre, who are in the middle of a heated debate about pizza toppings. Next to Franco, Oscar chuckles quietly, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic comment to stoke the fire. Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, adds fuel to the fire with her own strong opinions.

Next to you, Kika giggles as Lando and Alex dramatically defend why just cheese on pizza is not a good mix. “You’re outnumbered, Charles,” Lily teases, holding her hand up for a high-five with Lando. “Pepperoni is the best topping.”

“I expected betrayal from Lando, but not from you,” Charles replies with mock indignation, causing another round of laughter. Alexandra, Rebecca, and Carlos join in on the laughter.

You shake your head, grinning, and nudge Franco under the table. “Look at this chaos. Are you going to save Charles or throw him under the bus?”

Franco smirks, leaning back in his chair as all eyes turn to him. “I feel like pepperoni pizza is more of a genius idea. Obviously.”

“Traitor!” Charles groans, throwing a napkin in Franco’s direction.

Lily and Lando cheer in triumph while you laugh, leaning closer to Franco as if to conspire. “Didn’t know you had such strong food opinions. I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“I like to keep you on your toes,” he replies casually, but his stomach does a weird flip when you smile at him.

The conversation shifts, plates of food and drinks passing around the table as laughter fills the air. But Franco’s focus keeps drifting back to you. Every time you speak, his attention locks onto you like it’s magnetic—the way you gesture animatedly, the soft laugh you share with Rebecca and Kika, the quick wit you use to tease Alex or George when they say a corny joke.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Alex notes, leaning slightly toward Franco. “Everything good?” Franco blinks, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, just taking it all in.” Alex gives him a knowing look but doesn’t push, returning to his conversation with Lily.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask softly, catching Franco’s eye from across the table. Your tone is light, but there’s a hint of genuine concern in your gaze.

Franco clears his throat, trying to play it off. “Yeah, of course. Just… thinking about dessert.”

“Thinking about dessert?” Kika interjects, her tone playful. “You’ve been staring at Y/N for half the night, Franco. Is she on the menu?”

Your eyes widen, and Franco’s ears burn as laughter erupts around the table. “Kika!” you exclaim, covering your face with your hands, though you’re laughing.

Franco fights the urge to bury his face in his own hands. “Can we order something to distract everyone, please?”

Lily, ever the peacemaker, jumps in. “Alright, let’s get dessert before Franco melts into a puddle.”

By the time dessert arrives, Franco’s discomfort has faded, replaced by something else entirely. Watching you interact with everyone—your warmth, your humor, the way you instinctively refill his water glass without a second thought—makes something click in his chest.

He’s in trouble.

As Charles launches into a passionate defense of tiramisu, Franco leans slightly toward Oscar. “Can you pass the sugar?”

Oscar doesn’t move, just raises an eyebrow. “It’s right in front of you.”

Franco mutters a quiet thanks, and Oscar smirks knowingly, his eyes flicking between you and Franco.

“Good luck with that,” Oscar whispers.

“What are you talking about?” Franco whispers back, feigning confusion. Oscar doesn’t answer, just shakes his head with a small laugh.

When you glance at Franco again, he feels like he’s caught red-handed. “You sure you’re okay?” you ask softly, leaning closer so only he can hear.

Franco hesitates, his pulse quickening. “I’m just… realizing something,” he admits, his voice low and almost teasing.

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “Care to share?” Before he can respond, Lando interjects with another joke that has everyone laughing, pulling your attention away.

Franco leans back in his chair, watching you laugh, your shoulders shaking as Kika leans against you for support. The noise of the restaurant fades, and for the first time, he understands what people mean when they say someone can light up a room.

He’s falling for you. Judging by the way you glance back at him when no one’s looking, he wonders if you feel it too.

© soleilpinto 24’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[monarchberrysblog]

✓ el perdedor.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ till death do us part

miguel o’hara x fem! reader ✓

summary: Here's to the fools who dream.

content warning: bittersweet content, a “what-if” is questioned

word count: >1.0k words

author’s note: augh, the last fic I wrote was a major flop 😭 (tbh, I was expecting it because I wrote it as a joke, but some people didn't get the notice 😭) but here you go, something new and not weird 😭

♡ NOT PROOFREAD!! ♡

The knots in his stomach continued intertwining into a heap, and he could not find where they started or ended. It was enough to make him throw up. The sensation didn't make him anxious; rather, the events unfolding before him terrified him. Time slipped through his fingers like silky hair in between his fingers.

The FaceTime call was fresh in his mind. He could even recall the events he did beforehand.

It was out of nowhere, quiet literally.

He lay in bed alone, the right side empty, hoping for someone to use that side one day. But for now, the unused pillows would be his companions. The low vibrations of the mobile device buzzed obnoxiously loud, with your picture flashing on the screen.

He taps on the green button with squinted eyes. The light from the device aches his eyes as he adjusts to the dark contrast. The video call loads and the sight on his screen sink into the pits of his stomach—a shining diamond ring. “What is this?” It’s the only question that escapes his mouth. “Oh my God, Miguel! I'm engaged! He asked me!” The obnoxious, cheery tone filled the space.

Your cheery tone contrasted the sense of dread in Miguel’s gut. He never knew that your now-fiance had the nerve to pop the big question. But seeing the glistening diamond before him answered all of his doubts. “Oh wow, that’s crazy…” He mindlessly mumbles and rubs his eyes, the strain aching. His mind plagued him as you continued to ramble on and on about the date before your partner asked the question. It was too soon to happen, way too soon.

“But you better RSVP for the wedding!” He snaps awake from his clouded mind and mindlessly nods. “Yeah, of course.” He mumbles, combing back his messy, wavy hair. The call abruptly ends, and the silence weighs down on Miguel’s shoulders.

What if he pursued you like his gut told him to? Or what if he decided to homewreck the happy relationship?

He shakes his head at the idea and could never see himself getting in that sticky situation, with the high possibility of breaking your friendship and trust you had in him.

The bride reveal. This is a new tradition Miguel didn't want to be a part of but decided to play along because you really wanted him to partake in it.

Miguel is greeted by the sight of you in a lavish wedding dress. He turns around to see you smiling and bouncing on the balls of your feet. “What do you think?” you gleam, showing the ecstatic energy coursing through your veins. “You look amazing.”

More words wanted to pour into a waterfall full of exemplary words, but then words would barely get a sliver to describe your glowing features. “Really?” You pry before you squeal in excitement. “This day feels so surreal.” You beam.

He forces a chuckle before his hands adjust the veil. “I bet it does.” He pushes the words out of his lips. He sighs softly and covers your pretty face with the veil, adjusting the dainty fabric. “There we go…” He mumbles. He playfully flicks the tip of your nose, earning him an exclaim from you. A question escapes past his lips while placing a gentle finger on your nose to soothe the slight sting.

“Are you having cold feet?”

In his selfish yearning, he wanted you to say yes, to run away together, get married in Vegas, and elope. But your shaking your head confirmed that the yearning will never happen—not in this lifetime. He nods and pats your head. “Make him happy, okay?” He exhales.

You nod eagerly before you are called over to your father’s side, ready to walk down the aisle.

He looks on, seeing you hurry along to attend the service you were going to celebrate with your soon-to-be husband. You glance over your shoulder once more, giving him a smile. He returns the smile, hiding the sliver of pain in his glistening eyes.

The midnight blue sky paints the horizon as Miguel stumbles back into his penthouse. The bed left unmade, except the right side, covered in unwanted pillows.

The night ends with the right side of his bed staying cold as you become his sister-in-law by the end of the service and wedding venue that only served weak champagne that could barely muffle out the aching pain in his chest.

[acrosstheujiverse]

Last Night

⚠️ trigger warning: this story contains themes of grief, death, emotional trauma, and psychological distress. reader discretion is advised.

【📂】 summary: jeonghan’s chance encounter with you on a dance floor sparks memories of a childhood friendship—and a first love. caught between blurred lines of reality and longing, he clings to fleeting moments of joy and dance, even as the truth quietly begins to surface. 【🖇️】 pairing: delusionaljeonghan x ephemeral!reader. 【💿】 genre: angst, soft tragedy, psychological. 【🧺】 tags: first love; childhood friends; memories; missed chances; bar scenes; dancing; drinking; unreliable narrator; nostalgic delusion; grief in disguise; death. 【📦】 w/c: 2.4k+

📬 — author’s note ！yes, this is the same jeonghan from about last night…

unedited. (“(y/n)” from the previous story is replaced with vernon to avoid confusion.). this story was inspired by the song “ang huling el bimbo” by eraserheads—a nostalgic and bittersweet anthem about love, memory, and loss.

dedicated to those who still dance with ghosts, carry the weight of words left unsaid, loved someone who slipped away before they could say goodbye. this is for you.

« this time (SOON) | main masterlist | (SOON) »

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saved by cupid (me)🍻: you’re even worse than me when it comes to having a crush. saved by cupid (me)🍻: you’re so down bad 🤣 jeonghan: stfu.

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jeonghan saw you on the dance floor.

not like some cheesy love-at-first-sight movie. not like the world actually slowed down.

but it felt like it did.

you moved with your whole body—loose, free, laughing into the colored lights like nothing could hurt you. like joy belonged to you.

and for some reason, jeonghan couldn’t look away.

“oh no,” seungcheol muttered beside him, catching the way jeonghan’s gaze locked in place. “jeonghan. no. don’t do this.” jeonghan barely heard him. his drink forgotten. his heartbeat doing something stupid.

“you’re already down bad,” seungcheol groaned, sipping his beer. “i can see it happening. you have that dumb look.”

jeonghan didn’t respond. he was too busy watching you.

you spun in place, arms above your head, smile too bright for the room. someone bumped into you and you just laughed it off, like gravity didn’t apply. like you were meant to be exactly where you were.

and then—like fate had a sense of timing—you turned.

jeonghan’s eyes met yours.

a flicker passed between you.

jeonghan blinked. you blinked.

and just like that, the whole room disappeared.

“don’t,” seungcheol warned again, elbowing jeonghan. “don’t fall in love with a stranger at a bar. we just got here.”

“they’re not a stranger,” jeonghan whispered.

seungcheol frowned. “what?”

“i’ve met them before,” jeonghan said, even though he couldn’t remember when. even though he didn’t know your name yet. even though he was sure this was the first time your paths had crossed.

but it didn’t feel like it.

it felt like remembering.

like the beginning of something he’d already lost.

seungcheol squinted. “…have you been pregaming without me?”

jeonghan ignored him. he was already walking.

toward you. toward the music. toward something that felt bigger than the room around him.

you watched him approach, a curious smile tugging at your lips.

“hi,” jeonghan said, breathless. “i’m jeonghan.”

you tilted your head, like you were trying to place him.

and then—so softly it made jeonghan’s ribs hurt—you said, “i know.”

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they danced again the following night.

not at a bar this time—in someone’s living room, the kind where the furniture had been pushed back to make space, where a bluetooth speaker sat on the floor and buzzed like it could barely hold the bass.

it wasn’t special.

but you made it feel like it was.

you were barefoot again, spinning in loose circles, sleeves rolled and cheeks flushed.

the room blurred, but not you.

you moved like you knew the floor by heart—like music poured through you instead of out of the speaker.

jeonghan was already buzzing, but it wasn’t from the drink.

“come on,” you called, grinning, tugging jeonghan’s sleeve. “don’t just stand there. dance with me.”

“i don’t know this song.”

“that’s never stopped you before.”

and it hadn’t.

not with you.

jeonghan followed—clumsy, half-beat behind, but trying.

always trying.

you turned, caught him, swayed closer, your laughter so easy it almost hurt.

this was how it always was with you.

dancing like it was a secret drug only the two of you shared.

a rush, a high, a hit of something sweet and dizzying.

something that left jeonghan aching when the night ended.

dancing with you was his addiction.

the warmth of your palm in his.

the way you’d twirl without warning.

the way you looked at him like the room wasn’t crowded.

like it was just the two of you.

he didn’t need to drink when you were around.

he was already drunk.

and the worst part?

he liked it.

he liked the light-headedness.

the way his body remembered yours even in silence.

the way the beat sunk into his bones and made him feel alive.

when you stepped in again, guiding his hand to your waist, jeonghan laughed—breathless, weightless—and leaned in, forehead nearly grazing yours.

“this should be illegal,” he mumbled.

you tilted your head. “what?”

“you. making me feel like this.”

your smile faltered. softened.

but then you spun again, tugging jeonghan along, refusing to let him get too serious.

“shut up and dance, romantic boy.”

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seungcheol clinked their bottles together, eyes crinkling with mischief.

jeonghan laughed, lightheaded from alcohol and something far stronger.

and maybe it was the lights, or the music, or the way the beat mimicked a heartbeat—but suddenly, it came rushing back.

a different night.

a different light.

back then, the cassette clicked before the music started.

then came the static.

a pause.

a breath.

and finally, “ang huling el bimbo.”

he was in your living room, the floor smooth from years of wear, sunlight slanting through half-closed blinds.

your mother was still at work.

the TV was off.

no sound except the warbled melody curling out of the old speaker like smoke.

“left foot, han,” you said, patient but amused. “you keep starting with your right.”

jeonghan sighed, biting his cheek, cheeks hot with embarrassment. “they’re both left when you’re watching.”

“you’re overthinking it.”

“you’re too good at this.”

you just smiled—not smug, not teasing, just soft. understanding. the kind of smile that made jeonghan feel like it was okay to be awkward.

you took his hands again. “let’s do it slow.”

you moved through the steps together, your voice counting under your breath, your grip steady, your thumbs brushing against his knuckles.

the first time he got it right—even halfway right—you lit up.

“yes! see? you got it!”

jeonghan grinned without meaning to, heart hammering like it was the beat itself.

“i only got it because you didn’t let go.”

you looked at him then, eyes unreadable for half a second. then you smiled—shy this time—and said, “maybe i didn’t want to.”

the room didn’t feel like a living room anymore. it felt like a secret stage. it felt like breath held in the dark.

jeonghan didn’t say anything. he just stepped back into your arms. you kept dancing. again and again.

until the tape rewound on its own,

until the sunlight was almost gone,

until jeonghan could follow every step without thinking.

even years later, he’d remember it not just as a dance lesson, but as something else entirely—the first time someone held his hand and didn’t let go.

and the moment he realized he didn’t want them to.

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at the next hangout, jeonghan laughed at something vernon said, but his eyes kept flickering to the door like a moth to a distant flame.

there—just at the edge of his vision—he thought he caught your familiar movement.

he blinked.

empty air.

“jeonghan?” vernon nudged him. “earth to jeonghan~”

he forced a smile. “just spaced out.”

but his heart clenched, chasing the ghost one more time.

later, music pulsed through the bar, and someone cracked a joke.

jeonghan’s chest tightened when he heard a laugh—not yours, but impossibly close.

…(y/n)’s laugh…

he turned sharply, searching.

the bar was just a blur of faces.

no one.

seungcheol clapped a hand on his shoulder. “you okay?”

jeonghan nodded, swallowing the lump. “yeah. just… thought i heard something.”

on the walk home, the rain had just stopped, and the street smelled of wet concrete and jasmine.

jeonghan froze.

that scent—delicate and sweet—it was yours.

he closed his eyes, breathing it in, heart skipping.

but the street was empty.

when he opened his eyes, he was alone.

the world was quiet, except for the distant hum of a car engine.

he whispered, “(y/n)?”

no answer. only the night.

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jeonghan always showed up to hangouts with vernon and seungcheol, even when he wasn’t feeling it.

he craved the moments where you might appear—even for a second.

one evening at the café, seungcheol teased, “you coming to the bar again?”

jeonghan nodded. “i have to.”

seungcheol laughed. “you’re obsessed, man.”

jeonghan shrugged, eyes distant. “it’s… the only time i feel close to (y/n). even if it’s just for a little while.”

vernon smiled softly and squeezed jeonghan’s hand. “we’re here for you.”

jeonghan held onto that, chasing the warmth of their company like a lifeline.

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alone, jeonghan stared at his phone’s empty gallery.

he imagined you beside him, laughing at something silly.

“you’re really gone, huh?” he whispered.

his mind filled with imagined replies—your voice soft and teasing: “i’m not going anywhere~~”

but the silence was thick.

jeonghan let out a shaky breath. “i wish you could say that for real.”

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jeonghan’s footsteps echoed softly down the cracked sidewalk, the familiar shapes of his old neighborhood blurring through the thickening dusk.

he didn’t know why he was here, but his feet wouldn’t stop.

the rusted gate swung open under his hand, creaking like an old song he couldn’t forget.

the garden was wild—tangled weeds clutching the fence, wind chimes silent in the still air.

he lifted his hand and knocked. once. twice.

the door creaked open, revealing a woman with tired eyes that seemed to hold too many winters.

“jeonghan?” she said, voice surprised but gentle.

“hi, mrs. lee,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “is… is (y/n) home?”

she hesitated, then shook her head slowly.

“my baby’s dead, jeonghan.”

the words hung in the air, heavier than the humid night.

“…you didn’t know?” she asked softly.

jeonghan shook his head. “no. i thought i saw them. last weekend, maybe.”

her eyes glistened with something like old sorrow. “(y/n)’s been gone a while. it’s not easy to say.”

jeonghan’s hands trembled as he pulled out his phone. he scrolled, hoping to find some trace—a message, a photo, a sign. but his gallery was empty.

no pictures from that night.

no evidence you were ever there.

he pressed play on a voicemail he left on a whim, heart pounding. the robotic voice answered cold and final: “the number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

he swallowed hard.

a familiar voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts—seungcheol’s, teasing but edged with concern.

“jeonghan, man, you keep talking about them like they’re still here. maybe it’s time to let go.”

jeonghan looked up, caught between anger and confusion.

“let go?” he whispered. “how do i do that?”

seungcheol shrugged, eyes softening. “i don’t know. but you’re chasing ghosts.”

jeonghan’s gaze drifted back to the empty dance floor photo he took—an image of absence.

no (y/n). no light. just shadows.

he folded his phone, breath shaky, the quiet truth settling over him like a slow, cold wave.

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years ago, jeonghan first noticed you in the cracked classroom, under flickering lights and the wheeze of a cassette player struggling through a scratchy “ang huling el bimbo.”

everyone else shuffled, stumbled, tried too hard.

but not you.

you moved like the music lived in your spine.

like you were born for it.

someone beside jeonghan whispered, “terpsichore.”

he didn’t know what that meant then.

but now he thought… yeah. that was exactly it.

you glowed.

you made him want to dance too—not because he liked dancing, but because he liked being near you.

you were just kids. but even then, you were unforgettable. after school, jeonghan would end up in your living room—barefoot, limbs tangled, music looping again and again.

you played “ang huling el bimbo” over and over until jeonghan got the steps right. or at least close enough.

“you’re hopeless,” you laughed, tugging him back into position.

“i’m improving,” he argued.

“you just like holding my hand,” you teased.

jeonghan froze once.

you noticed.

you didn’t push.

you just smiled and said, “i’m kidding… unless i’m not~”

his heart never quite recovered from that.

still, he never told you.

never said how his chest ached whenever you smiled.

never said how you were his favorite part of the day.

instead, he memorized the way your fingers curled when you laughed.

the soft skip in your voice when you got excited.

how your eyes fluttered shut when the music swelled.

he thought there was time.

but time is a liar.

it all changed so fast.

you missed one practice, then another.

“family stuff,” you said, always brushing it off.

and then—one day—you were just gone.

no goodbye. no explanation. just silence.

jeonghan waited. messaged. called. nothing.

he told himself you’d come back.

but you didn’t.

years passed. the music stopped.

and jeonghan kept that part of himself hidden in a drawer—right next to old photos, tangled earphones, and the cassette you once gave him.

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then last night, he was outside a bar with vernon. lights buzzing, bass too loud. they were laughing about something stupid when vernon suddenly went quiet.

“you remember (y/n)?” vernon asked.

your name was just like that. like it was still alive in the air.

jeonghan looked up. “of course,” he said, his throat already tight.

vernon looked away when he told jeonghan the news.

you had been working late. walking home.

hit by a car in some alley.

too dark. too fast.

too soon.

you were gone.

just like that.

jeonghan didn’t cry right away. he couldn’t.

it felt fake, like it couldn’t be real.

you weren’t supposed to die.

not like that.

not alone.

not without jeonghan telling you—he loved you.

he went home and played “ang huling el bimbo” on loop until sunrise.

the tape warbled, tired, as if it remembered you too.

he closed his eyes and tried to picture your hands, your laugh, the way you swayed like the whole world was music.

“one last time?”

he imagined you saying.

he held out his hand in the dark.

but it was too late.

🎶 lahat ng pangarap ko’y bigla lang natunaw sa panaginip na lang pala kita maisasayaw. [translated from tagalog] all my dreams suddenly melted away, and now, it seems i can only dance with you in my dreams. 🎶

you taught jeonghan how to dance.

but he never learned how to say goodbye.

he should’ve said something.

he should’ve followed you.

he should’ve held your hand and never let go.

but he didn’t.

so now, all he has is this:

your name on his lips.

your ghost on the dance floor.

your song, still playing.

and jeonghan, wishing for a rewind button.

- fin.

[gayofthefae]

Eleven is not gonna die, know how I know?

She has yet to live publicly. She has one thing she's always dreamed of and she has yet to truly achieve it. She sort of did for a bit in season 4 but it was more akin to witness protection where she still loved in fear of the government finding her.

She was imprisoned. Then she was in hiding with Mike. Then she was in isolation with Hopper. Then she was able to leave in controlled places and times to avoid witnesses. Then she allowed to go to school and back and around town, but only as Jane, and not back to Hawkins.

She wants to be free and she has yet to be. "Dies a hero" is not closure for her because she still does have goals unmet. She wanted to live out of isolation, as herself, safely and freely, maybe even in her hometown.

She has yet to do that. She will obviously be in hiding for the duration of season 5. She will not die before she gets the chance to live out of it.

Eleven will end as a normal girl able to explore the world freely. They've all signed NDAs many times before - she won't reveal her powers and will likely only go by El, but she will be living as freely as Will or any of the other kids with bound secrets of their own.

She will not die because she has yet to actually be the "normal girl" she dreamed of as herself. Had she had all of it in season 4, I might say differently, but that was essentially witness protection. Were she to be living publicly in season 5, I would say differently, but the government plot is not resolved. She will integrate and she will live.

Their whole thing with hero's deaths is the bittersweetness that in death, a character still achieved their goal - when a characters' life's goal was to be a hero (Bob, Eddie, even Billy). HERS IS NOT. She is one, but that is different. She has in fact already sacrificed her life for Will's too, so that would be empty as an arc payoff we had in season 1. She isn't fighting to save the day. If she were, she would be willing to die saving it. She's fighting to lay down her load.

She could die if, like some past characters, she were fighting to win - to be a winner, but she's not. She's fighting to see the other side.

She isn't the type of person to fight to win and she never has been. She is the type of person to win the fight so that she can stop fighting. Dying for a cause does not give her that, it robs her of it. That is not the closure every interview on the finale has described.

She is not dead. Because she would be dying still in her gilded cage. She is not dead. She is free.

[sleepy-grav3]

Glitching issue

So I was getting distracted again. I heard Masochism Tango and Stalker's Tango, wanted a yandere playlist with intense ballroom songs, that types of thing.

And then I thought of another story idea for my current hyperfixation: DCxDP

One of my favorite ships in that fandom is Dead Tired/Brain Dead, cause I love them... so much...

Anyway-

With the context of the yandere ballroom playlist, you should know where I'm going. And I read a few fics/prompts/whatever else you'd call them where it portrays a normally pretty toxic relationship but they're actually in a really healthy relationship.

There was one about mutual stalking, another with kidnapping shenanigans, one that mentioned attempted deprogramming- you get it. (don't ask me for them, I don't know what they're called and there's too much to sift through to find them, very sorry, do feel free to reblog/comment the authors of them or ones that hold some relevance)

But yeah, now I'm making a fic with a playlist as storyline inspiration. Idk the layout yet.

1 Long Chapter : 1 Song

or

Story Arc (probably short) : 1 Song

Always a 1:1 ratio, maybe a special 2 songs here and there? Not sure.

But so far!!! I have the usual: Masochism Tango and Stalker's Tango.

Got the Cell Block Tango ready. El Tango de Roxanne will be there too. I got some waltzes and looking into other types of rhythms like them. Tango, Waltz, thinking about Salsa and Swing, got a few others too

Looking into some less yandere themed songs since I can't solely do it on yandere themes. I want it to be drama filled but with some healthy doses of attraction, y'know?

Yeah, that whole thing is going on a headcannon and an idea.

Ghosts feel things more strongly, so some unhealthy things to humans are meh or minimum level things to ghosts. Because of this, Danny's a bit unhealthy in what he considers love (his vigilante life didn't help with that, especially with Vlad), but his human side keeps it more on the downlow

There's a different species of beings that are immortal in a way: The Undying. Life loves them or they're obsessed with Life. Tim is one of the only true Undying. They're as rare as true Halfas.

So... yeah. Love this little idea. Been working on it for a few hours now. And I need help. Song recommendations mostly, storyline ideas are welcome.

I'll be posting a playlist once I get it all sorted out, chronologically, and the outline of the story put up. The summary will be a genuine summary and not just some background info or a quick sentence like I usually do.

But I want a happy ending. No bittersweet, no hurt/barely any or no comfort, no fully angst-

I need some kind of betrayal for someone to go to jail TvT

Will it be Tim or Danny? Who fits best as a viewer for Cell Block Tango, just casually listening to people talk about killing (and that one framed murder).

Who's the one that lives off the thrill of getting hurt (I'm thinking more of the bdsm way, but also the "I'll only let you hurt me" type of way too? Doesn't have to be physical or verbal or even intentional... I'm making this sound worse-)

I got this one part for the Roxanne one

The yandere is "cheating", no idea if it's fake or a previous relationship, or whatever. still under planning for that.

And the "victim" is the one who's begging the yandere to not deceive them. Maybe they've been lied to a bunch of times, maybe they really don't want false hope, maybe they're fine with an open relationship as long as the yandere doesn't leave- idk, but the "victim" is the one who's pulling the strings during then.

I'm trying to think of who's the other person, the yandere, and the "victim". Who's who? Not sure. And how does it fit with the rest of the songs too... Ugh, I really should just do oneshots T^T But I can't at the moment, not with the ideas-

So yeah

Ideas? Song recommendations? Character ideas? Scene prompts????

Please?

Oh, and this post is named glitching because it broke my fucking computer. I don't have a mouse anymore. Luckily, it's touchscreen and the keyboard still works. Still annoying though

[thewisewill80sbyers]

these days I'm thinking they could really kill Holly, since we know she's being paralleled to Will so much and targeted by Vecna, killing her could be a parallel to Will dying in S1 but this time they are too late and can't save her ( we even have Mike always being late ) and maybe that's also why they need Hopper to have flashbacks of his daughter, maybe he's talking to Mike about when he lost his own little girl in his family and thinks about her... Idk... I would find it really fucked up to kill her since that's just a baby but it would make sense why they would have focused so much on her... I mean, to me that's not "bittersweet" as an ending though, that's just sad AF... But they often describe the seasons randomly before they come out IMO so who knows! I think it's a possibility, but personally I hope not

I think the most likely to die at this point would be

Nancy, Jonathan, El, Holly

I really don't see the use in killing Ted tbh, they could because he's useless but it's just such a cowardly death to write in just to not actually kill a main character so idk I hope they write a better story than that... Even killing Karen would be better than Ted 💀

[makeila04]

I just finished the Cold War campaign… again… it’s… difficult… that bittersweet ending… How does Adler go from telling you, "We don’t wait for the best to happen, we make the best happen," to saying in the next scene, "Nothing personal," and shooting Bell?

I had been preparing myself for that ending from the very beginning. I already knew it, I knew the story from front to back and vice versa, but… I can never shake off that bitter and grayish taste it leaves in my mouth…

I don’t know, but my mind automatically jumped to Black Ops 6, set in 1991, ten years after Cold War.

He’s still there after Cold War, in 1991, after the disaster in Panama in 1989, after Hudson’s death that same year, after Bell’s death in 1981… after all that, even so… he keeps moving forward.

I can’t help but think that Bell’s death was somewhat in vain. I mean, yeah, it only made sense for Adler to kill him because he regained his memories, realized the deception, and Bell was a danger if left alive. But on the other hand, the other half of why Bell’s death was in vain is because he was used to get to Perseus.

And… Russell Adler had been chasing Perseus since Vietnam. By 1981, 13 years had passed, all for… us to later find out through Warzone that Adler never managed to catch or kill Perseus because… he had already died a few years prior—either in 1982 or 1983. Adler found out about this in 1984 or 1985 when Stitch told him, right before Adler killed him—probably out of rage or because he was the only thing left even remotely connected to Perseus.

I just wonder… How did he cope with all of that by 1991, when he was 54 years old? A whole decade had passed since Cold War…

And… I don’t want to say it, but… it was… pretty much in vain.

Not the events themselves, because in the middle of it all, multiple global catastrophes were prevented—like everything that happens in the Call of Duty: Cold War campaign—but… the ultimate goal Adler pursued, which was to kill Perseus… never happened.

On top of that, in the mid-'80s, as shown in Warzone, Adler was captured and subjected to MK-Ultra, committing a series of bombings and attacks to frame both him and the CIA, like in Verdansk—when he wasn’t even conscious. Even though Mason, Woods, and Hudson rescued him—probably in 1985—and Mason managed to remove the numbers, the brainwashing, and everything else…

Adler still seems ashamed and regretful for everything he did, even though his friends reassure him that it wasn’t really him and that he wasn’t in his right mind. But again, all of this happened because of his pursuit of Perseus—something that, in the end… never came to fruition.

And to top it all off… Adler, facing Stitch, understands that the one he was chasing was a man but that Perseus was always an idea and he doesn't understand it until it's too late…

I kind of feel bad for Adler in that sense, because I know what it’s like to dedicate so many years of your life to something, only for it to not work out or lead nowhere… but… life doesn’t come with guarantees.

If anything, Adler doesn’t seem too bad in 1991 at 54 years old. Aside from the comments he makes referencing Bell or Hudson in Zombies mode… but it seems like he already has too many personal crises due to his age to keep adding fuel to the fire…

Acabo de terminar la campaña de cold war, otra vez…es…difícil…ese final tan agridulce… como pasa Adler de decirte "no esperamos a que lo mejor suceda, hacemos que lo mejor suceda" a decirte en la siguiente escena "nada de esto fue personal" y disparar a Bell.

Me vine preparando desde el primer momento para ese final. Ya lo conocía, ya sabía la historia de adelante hacía atrás y viceversa pero…jamás me puedo quitar ese sabor amargo y…grisáceo que me deja en la boca…

No sé, pero automáticamente mi mente saltó a black ops 6 ambientada en 1991, 10 años después de cold war.

Aun él después de cold war, ambientado en 1991, después del desastre de Panamá en 1989, después de la muerte de Hudson en ese año, la muerte de Bell en 1981, después de todo eso, aún así… él sigue adelante...

No puedo evitar pensar en que fue bastante en vano la muerte de Bell, o sea si, solo tuvo sentido que Adler lo matara porque recobro sus recuerdos y se dio cuenta del engaño y era un peligro que este suelto por ahí. Pero por el otro lado, la otra mitad de por qué fue en vano la muerte de Bell es porque lo utilizaron para llegar hasta Perseus.

Y… Russell Adler venía persiguiendo a Persues desde Vietnam, hasta 1981 pasaron 13 años, todo para que… luego, por medio de Warzone, nos enteremos de que Adler jamás pudo atrapar o matar a Perseus porque…él ya había muerto hace un par de años, creo que en 1982 o 1982 y Adler se entera de esto en 1984 o 1985 por medio de Stich quien se lo dice antes de que Adler lo mate, supongo que por rabia o porque era lo único que le quedaba más o menos relacionado a Perseus.

Solo me pregunto…¿Cómo sobrellevó todo eso para 1991 cuando tiene 54 años? Pasó 1 década desde cold war…

Y…no quiero decirlo pero…fue…bastante en vano. Y para rematar... Adler, frente a Stich, entiende que a quien perseguía era un hombre pero que Perseus siempre fue una idea y no lo entiende hasta que es demasiado tarde...

No el hecho en si porque en medio se evitaron varias catástrofes mundiales, como todo lo que sucede en la campaña de call of duty cold war, pero…el fin al que recurría Adler que era matar a Perseus…nunca se concretó…

Sumado a que en medio, en mitad de los 80s, como se ve en warzone, capturan a Adler y lo someten al MK-ultra cometiendo un par de atentados y desastres con bombas para inculcarlo a él y a la cia como en Verdansk, cuando él no estaba consciente. Aun cuando Mason, Woods y Hudson lo rescatan, creo en 1985, y Mason le logra quitar los números, el lavado de cerebro, y demás.

Aún se lo ve avergonzado y arrepentido a Adler de todo lo que hizo en medio aunque sus amigos lo consuelan de que no era él mismo ni estaba en sus cabales. Pero repito, todo esto fue a causa de perseguir a Perseus, cosa que al final…jamás se concretó…

Me da algo de pena Adler en ese sentido, porque sé lo que es dedicarle tantos años de tu vida a algo para que al final…no funcione o no llegue a nada… pero…en la vida no hay garantías…

Si acaso, a Adler no se lo ve tan mal en 1991 con 54 años. Más allá de los comentarios que hace en referencia a Bell o Hudson en el modo zombies… pero parece que ya tiene demasiadas crisis personales por su edad como para seguir echándole leña al fuego…

[frownyalfred]

I can’t bring myself to read your pennywaynes and also new El fic bc like the whole “look at them being in love, they have no idea they’re about to die horribly and change the universe forever” thing is too much for me and makes me way too sad but like. I love hearing you talk about them so very much and it makes me happy every time you write more of them. I’m glad u are having very much fun with the parents

That’s totally fair. Even the happy fics are colored by this veil of grief that isn’t quite grief yet. You know their fate, and it hurts, because they don’t. Not yet, at least. So even the calm or sexy or sweet moments are bittersweet.

Jor-El and Lara were so hopeful. I did actually get a little choked up writing the end to their smut here, which is silly in hindsight but. They were hopeful. They wanted to make a baby! Aghhh.

[isavulpix]

DeBI TIRAR MaS FotoS

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, angst? Angst, Reader is Latina, but not explicitly(? mentioned. English isn't my first language, so there will be errors.

I couldn't stop thinking of many things because of this song and TikTok didn't help (made me realize how many of my fav characters are dead). I haven’t made a songfic ever so I'm sorry if it doesn’t make sense, is not written right, or is too short.

Also if anyone knows how to change the color of the song background I will be highly grateful.

isavulpix masterlist

Otro sunset bonito que veo en San Juan

Disfrutando de todas esas cosas que extrañan los que se van (van, van)

Disfrutando de noche' de esas que ya no se dan (dan, dan)

Que ya no se dan (dan)

The blue sea crashed against the red and orange sky while you sat on the sand. The wind carried thoughts that you never imagined would turn into memories. Even at this hour, people were around, something normal compared to other places. You could hear the laughter of families making you smile, making the mental note of visiting your family soon. Focusing back on the sunset you let out a sigh, moving your sweater closer the wind was turning cold as you watched a couple in the sea.

Pero queriendo volver a la última vez

Y a los ojos te miré

Y contarte las cosas que no te conté (te parece' a mi crush, jaja)

Y tirarte la' foto' que no te tiré (acho, jura'o te ves bien linda, déjame tirarte una foto)

Bittersweet memories now flooded your mind, seeing in front of you the happy moments you could no longer revive. You cursed your past self for not taking more photos, your memories being the only evidence left of those times. The things you would do to be able to turn back time. To touch him, feel him, see him, and remember his smell. The shirt you had robbed from him had already lost his scent, just like you’re starting to forget what he looks like. Every memory gets foggier as a year passes.

Ey, tengo el pecho pela'o, me dio una matá'

El corazón dándome patá'

Dime, baby, ¿dónde tú está'?

What if things were different? Would you be here? Would you have made the same life choices? Would you be able to save him? Stop him from going? Or being there with him? Have you had your last time on earth together? Would the hole in your chest be filled if that night didn’t happen? Would your heart stop feeling like it was ripped and only barely functioning?

Yo veo tu nombre y me salen suspiro'

No sé si son petardo' o si son tiro'

Yo estoy en PR, tranquilo, pero

The wind moved some sand away from you, with a finger you doodle Jason with a small bird below it. You chuckled as you remembered the first solo patrol you two had, how the thugs scrambled to the floor when they heard the fireworks Jason had thrown to scare them. You look up at the sun touching the sea with a heavy heart as the wind erases the doodle.

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando te tuve

Debí darte más beso' y abrazo' las vece' que pude

Y si hoy me emborracho, pues que me ayuden

You place a can where the doodle was and take a sip of the one in your hand. The cold drink left a strange burn sensation as it ran down your throat. People really used this to cheer up? It states like shit. Looking at the can you think of the robbed moments. Would Jason like this? Laughed at me? Or maybe agreed and would convince me to swim for a bit? How can you miss moments that haven’t and won't happen?

Ey, hoy voy a estar con abuelo to'l día, jugando dominó

Si me pregunta si aún pienso en ti, yo le digo que no

Que mi estadía cerquita de ti ya se terminó

Ya se terminó

For the past 5 years life has been awful without him. Your family still this day worrying about you not overcoming Jason's absence. maybe Grandma has made some coquito in hopes of you showing signs of being alive. She knew the heartbreak of death, hours talking on the plastic chairs in her garden were easier than talking with Dinah.

 You look up confused when you feel raindrops on your face. Weird…the sky is clear…

Hoy yo quiero beber, beber, beber

Y hablar mierda hasta que me expulsen

Even with the horrible taste of the beer you drink what’s left in your can and took the one beside you. Thinking if it was a good idea to drink it, maybe if you get drunk you can finally have a dreamless sleep. You could hear the whispers of the people close to where you sat commenting about you, it was weird for them. Only gringos from the big screen cry in a beach.

Vamo' a disfrutar, que nunca se sabe si nos queda poco

Debí tirar más f—

Cleaning the raindrops with the back of your hand, you feel a presence beside you. As you look, you see a man close to where you are sitting, who looks to be of your age. Why does your gut flutter? Is it what I drank?

The man notices my gaze on him and with his familiar blue and greenish with mines.

“Take a picture, it will last longer”