#knowing i have no siblings and my mom is a single parent who's working most of the time

[sage-nebula]

Thinking about how important it is that Wendy is a part of the Pines family. (Because she is, as much as Soos is. It's why she's in the family photos, such as the one representing Ford's happiness at the end of The Book of Bill.)

We don't know too much about Wendy's home / family life. Unfortunately, we don't a single Wendy-focused episode, and we don't get to learn too much about her outside of how she interacts with the main characters. But here is what we do know:

Wendy is the oldest of four siblings, with three little brothers. Wendy herself is 15. We are never given ages for her brothers, but given the photo that she shows Dipper of her younger self in "Double Dipper", I'm guesstimating that the youngest Corduroy brother (Gus) is about 6 in the present day. This is because young!Wendy was wearing braces and also noted to be "freakishly tall" for her age, and Gus was wearing a diaper in the photo (but standing on his own). Braces can take two to three years to be removed, and Wendy doesn't have them in the present day, meaning she was probably around 11 or 12 in the photo. Meanwhile, Gus was in a diaper but able to stand, meaning he was probably a toddler, likely around 2. So in the present day, Wendy is 15, Gus is around 6 (depending on if Wendy was 11 or 12 in the photo), and Marcus and Kevin (the middle brothers) are between 14 and 7.

Wendy's mother died when she was young. Given the age of Gus in the photo, we can estimate that Wendy's mother died when Wendy was, at youngest, 11 or 12 -- so, three or four years pre-canon. (Because any earlier than that and Gus couldn't have been born.)

Wendy's father is Manly Dan, who shouts just about every line of dialogue he has and routinely breaks things, including in his own house, albeit sometimes by accident. He also spends most of his time in a biker bar, though we do know that he does love his children. (e.g. is seen with the boys on both family fishing day and Summerween, is seen taking Wendy out for breakfast in "Dipper vs. Manliness").

Dan is the reason why Wendy has a summer job. As she says in "Gideon Rises", "If I can't work at the Shack, my dad's gonna force me to work at my cousin's logging camp up north." This implies that Wendy has to work somewhere, per a rule of Dan's.

In "Into the Bunker", Wendy has this to say when she comments on how she's excited to be going on an adventure with Dipper and Mabel: "It beats cleaning up after my dad at home." She says this with a frown, in a grousing tone. We're then treated to a clip of Dan breaking apart the cabin as mentioned above.

In "Society of the Blind Eye", before she's about to have her memories erased, Wendy confesses thus: "I'm stressed like 24/7. Have you MET my family?"

Wendy dreams about her mother every night. The glimpse of her dream that we're shown depicts her receiving a comforting hug from her mother.

The conclusions that I draw from the above are thus: prior to her mother's death, Wendy had what amounts to a normal family life in Gravity Falls. The Corduroys were a two parent household, her mother was there to help balance Dan out and raise the kids (Wendy included), and Wendy could, well . . . be a kid. It's possible, even, that some of Dan's more worrying traits (such as spending the majority of his time at a bar) didn't exist when Wendy's mom is alive. It's pure speculation on my part, but it's possible that Dan feels compelled to go to a bar to be aggressive (and drink, even if we don't see it because it's a kid's show) because that's how he processes his grief over his wife's death, away from his children's eyes and ears. He's trying to be a responsible father and not hurt his kids, while at the same time still not handling things in the most healthy way.

But back to Wendy. Once Wendy's mother died, the dynamic in the Corduroy household shifted. Dan was hit by the tidal wave of grief that comes with losing a spouse, as well as the sudden onslaught of being a single father to four children, one of whom was very possibly still in diapers. And if my speculation is correct and that he took to going to the bar to deal with his grief, then who is left to change Gus' diapers and get him potty trained? To operate the stove or oven or microwave to make sure that the boys (who would all be under age 10 at this point) got fed, and to make sure she got fed herself? To, in her own words, "clean up [her] dad's messes" when he was at home to make them by breaking apart the house with his own head?

Wendy.

Wendy was a child herself when her mother died, but she was the oldest child, potentially freshly into middle school while the boys were still in elementary, and the oldest daughter to boot. The girl, expected to know how to do "girl things" like cook and clean. I'm not saying that Dan told her to do these things, but we know from Wendy's personality that she is protective of those who need it (e.g. Dipper and Mabel) and, more importantly, that's her home and her family, and she does love them (she makes this clear in the Weirdmageddon episodes numerous times). She wouldn't let her little brothers starve, wouldn't let her youngest sit in a filthy diaper, would try to pick up the house if her dad and brothers wouldn't. Wendy would step up to do it out of necessity, even if she hated it and felt stressed out about it, especially while also feeling the crushing grief that comes with having lost her mother.

So Wendy, having lost her mother at a young age, probably had to step up into a pseudo-parental role in her own house, trying her best to fill the void that was left by her mother's passing even though she was only a child herself. And this is why she's "stressed, like, 24/7." Because not only are her father and brothers loud and chaotic (especially with Dan raising the boys into miniature versions of him), but because it's her responsibility (spoken or no) to keep the house in as much order as she can. It's little wonder that, outside of the movie that she and Dipper are watching in the beginning of "Into the Bunker", Wendy seems to spend as little time as possible in her own home.

So, how does this fit into it being important for Wendy to be part of the Pines family? Or, worded in a better way, why it's so important that she has the Pines as a second family, and the Mystery Shack as a second home?

As I said above, once Wendy's mother died, her ability to be a child in her own home effectively ended. Again, to make it clear, Wendy doesn't hate her family. In fact, it's the opposite; the Weirdmageddon episodes make it clear that she still loves her father and her brothers very much. But "Society of the Blind Eye" also makes it clear that they stress her out. She has a lot of complicated feelings, something that's understandable given her complicated situation.

But because she has to help keep the house together when she's at home, that means she can only really be a kid (or teenager, as the case may be) when she's outside of it. She has a lot of fun doing this with her friends, but sometimes a teen does need a home to relax in. And for Wendy, that home is the Mystery Shack -- and yes, that includes when she's on the clock.

Now, I know what you may be thinking: it's stated that Stan is a terrible boss, that he barks orders, that he yells -- how is that any different from her father? Well, I'll tell you how: the only time we actually see this is in "Boss Mabel", in which Stan being a boss who yells and barks orders at his employees is a plot point meant to create the conflict for the episode. Otherwise, we never really see Stan being an awful boss, and in particular we never see him being hard on Wendy. In fact, I would argue we see the opposite.

Here are things we know about Wendy's behavior at work, and Stan's response to her behavior at work:

Wendy constantly reads magazines while working the cash register, often right in front of Stan. Stan never tells her to put the magazine away.

Wendy often puts her feet up on the counter. Stan never tells her to take her feet off the counter.

Wendy goes up to the roof "all the time, every day" to the point where she has a chair and cooler up there. ("The Inconveniencing"). We don't know if Stan knows about this or not, but it's hard to believe he wouldn't if Wendy goes up there as much as she says she does.

When Stan told her to hang signs up out in the woods, she said, "I would, but I can't . . . reach . . ." while making no effort to get up to get the sign, and not removing her eyes from the magazine or her feet from the counter. Stan simply said, "I'd fire [. . .] you if I could." i.e. she got away with it 100%. ("Tourist Trapped")

When Stan double checks with Wendy and Soos that they'll wash the bathrooms while he's gone, Wendy says, "absolutely not" with a salute. Stan laughs and then says to stay out of trouble, not caring at all. ("The Inconveniencing")

Wendy was supposed to work the ticket stand all night at the party. She quit about ten minutes in and blatantly joined the party. Stan had to have seen her. He did nothing. ("Double Dipper")

Wendy claims in "Boss Mabel" that Stan doesn't let her have friends at work. In contrast, we see Robbie visit her at work all the time throughout their relationship (e.g. "Fight Fighters", "Boyz Crazy"), and Stan even comments on "is that the guy that's always making googly eyes at Wendy?" but otherwise has no problem with it. So again, it was a conflict invented for "Boss Mabel" that otherwise doesn't exist.

And that is just off the top of my head. The point is, Wendy is perhaps treated the easiest of the staff at the Mystery Shack. She's blatantly lazy and snarky and the most Stan ever does is grouse that he would "fire [her] if he could."

And this is a good thing.

The Mystery Shack, even if when she's on the clock, is clearly a place where Wendy can relax. It's somewhere she feels comfortable, rather than stressed. Yes, she's working -- but she's putting in the barest minimum effort because the stakes are the lowest they could possibly be. Because even though Stan grouses and complains about how little she cares, he won't fire her. He says he can't, but let's be honest, he could. One could argue that he'd be out a cashier, but he already is when the school year starts and Wendy has to go back to school. The Shack doesn't close down then, so it wouldn't close now if he fired Wendy.

But he won't fire her, because he knows that if he did, she'd be sent up north to her cousin's logging camp, a job she would hate and that would add on to the stress she already has from her home life. Stan has been in Gravity Falls for 30 years; he's been there since before Wendy was born. He knew her mother. He remembers when her mother died a few years ago. He probably saw how Dan's personality changed, how Wendy's personality changed from a more carefree little girl to a little girl who had to act more carefree than she actually was because she won't ever dare let anyone know she's anything but tough as nails, kinda like the guy he sees when he looks in the mirror. So he'll grouse at her about her laziness, and she'll complain about how much she hates having to work, but he'll also never hire another cashier even during the school year when the Shack maybe could use the extra help, and she knows that he both has an orthopedic back pillow and where it's kept, and that's as much as either of them will say about it. (Source for the orthopedic back pillow: "Soos and the Real Girl").

Wendy spends time at the Shack that would otherwise be spent at her home. When she decides to leave Tambry's party early, she goes to hang out at the Shack and watch movies with Stan, before the twins or Soos arrive ("Summerween"). She's likewise hanging out with the Pines and Soos watching television despite work clearly being over in the beginning of "Dreamscaperers". Wendy can relax at the Shack, can be in a home environment where she has no responsibilities, where she can simply be a teenager without also having to be a pseudo-parent. She can be a big sister figure to Dipper and Mabel without the added responsibilities of having to make sure they're fed and brought up right. She can be snarky with Stan, and he'll be snarky back, and there are no risks or consequences at all.

It's important that Wendy is a member of the Pines family, because here there are no complications for her. She loves her original family, but things got difficult when her mother died, and they won't ever stop being difficult. But things aren't difficult with the Pines. In a way, being with the Pines is as comfortable as the hugs she gets from her mother in her dreams every night. Being with the Pines feels right. It feels safe.

It's good that Wendy has them. It's important that Wendy has them. And fortunately, she always will.

[maryleclerc]

𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞* — charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x model!reader

face claim: gigi hadid

summary: in which y/n and charles leclerc has been dated for several years, but they broke up and y/n find out she was pregnant but charles leclerc never it was his child.

warning: pregnancy, single mother, this is an social media au!, it’s just an imagination so please don’t take it seriously. before you read it, charles in this will be an arse so if you don’t like it you don’t have to read. i CHANGE alexandra username, just use as face-claim

i don’t own any of these images, also does not have any pregnancy experience

haven’t decide who will reader end up with so you can recom whoever reader should end up with OR maybe just like the title name, single mom. also don’t know which gender baby should be so im open up to you guys opinion!! 🤍 also please let me know what you think after read this au!. thank you!!

yournameupdates

1,033,891 Likes

yournameupdates Y/n Y/l/n reportedly reveals to Glamour Magazine that she will take a break from Model Industry after this week fashion runway with Versace Winter Collection. In the interview, she quote “It’s a little too overwhelming for me, and after 8 long years working in the modeling industry, I think maybe this is the right time for me to get little rest and spend time with my parents, siblings and loves one.” she also quote “I’ll come back next year, so don’t forget who I am”

Also don’t forget to watch “Y/N Y/L/N Answers The Web Most Searched Question!”

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y/nthegurl It’s just too much for her, so many things happen this year from the break up with Charles 3 months ago to everything that lead to this, she deserve someone better than him!!! Just 3 months he already move on

loverfory/n We will wait for you!!

yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55, arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername at mama papa !! 🧸🤍

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georgiaorlandoo Haven’t seen you since the broke up between you with Charles. But anyway, how are you?

⤷ yourusername I’m doing great!!! 🤍

⤷ henrypatinston_ @georgiaorlando Why did they broke up?

⤷ georgiaorlando Out of love, oviously ☹️

forevercharlesandy/n I will wait for you to come back!!

charles_leclerc

Liked by pierregasly, megansaintmleux and 3,451,902 others

charles_leclerc LA with my beloved @megansaintmleux

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y/nsgoddess Do you get déjà vu when she's with you?

ginnag_ People say whatever they want but i know he’s happy with his new partner

spilltheteahere I miss Y/n and Charles era 😩 i cannot believe it’s GONE!!

deuxmoi

1,751,822 likes

deuxmoi The first pictures of Y/n after her announce of taking a “break”. Congratulation Y/n Y/l/n!!

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lannister122 What? she PREGNANT?

babessbos I’m not surprise, know this will happen, just sooner or later

jessicawreen I wonder if Charles knows anything? @ihavethebesst

⤷ ihavethebesst Idek, like he’s already move on so i don’t even want to talk about it

[ to be continue ]

[macfrog]

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

[bad268]

kimi x toto wolffs daughter like fluff of their families and how they reacted and how they treat kimi

+ can you do a kimi antonelli oneshot where the reader is Toto and Susie's daughter and its when Kimi came to watch Jack's race (if you know what I mean) and him and reader are already together but it's just all adorable.

thank you!!

I've Never Lost (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Wolff! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I combined these two, hope yall don't mind)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1191

Summary: What started as a family outing has turned into a bet, and Kimi doesn't lose.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Ever since you were teenagers, it was a tradition to go out karting with your family. It was standard procedure to go karting during the off-season or non-race weekends. Granted, you were never a driver, but once you started dating Kimi, he said he would drive you around the tracks. Before you and Kimi started dating, you would just watch Jack and your parents race, but now, you were finally able to join in the fun.

It was the middle of summer break, and Kimi was leading the F2 championship and ready to sign a contract with Mercedes for 2026. It was time for your regularly scheduled karting competition. 

This was the first time Kimi was going to be joining. You had told him before that you wanted to race with your family, so he made sure he would be able to go out with you and get to know your family as your family and not his boss. 

“I’m gonna win,” Jack boasted as he led the way into the karting track. Your mom and dad laughed, following hand-in-hand behind him. You and Kimi were just behind Jack, chasing him toward the entrance of the track. “I’m gonna bet you and Kimi and Papa and Mama because I’m the best.”

“I bet you are, Jacky,” You laughed as you caught up behind him and threw him over your shoulder. Kimi fell back a little as he chuckled at your antics with your brother. He knew this was what you two were like, but it was always funny seeing it in person. It only happened a few times around the paddock since you two were more conscious of your images in front of so many cameras, but in the track in the middle of nowhere, you two were free to be as rambunctious as you wanted.

Jack and your parents never complained. You didn’t have the most normal childhood with growing up surrounded by fast cars that could kill you. You had nothing holding you back out here, and Jack loved to mess around with his older sibling.

“You better not go easy,” Toto chucked as he and Susie walked passed Kimi who had stopped and watched you spin Jack around upside down from your shoulders. How he got in that position, nobody knows. Kimi’s attention snapped over to Toto at that moment in confusion at first before he continued his advice. “They’ll both be mad if they find out you went easy. They’re both extremely competitive. And this is Y/n’s first time in a kart after some time, so you should make it memorable.”

“You won’t be mad if we win?” Kimi countered with a smirk. He had grown up around Toto and Susie enough to view them as second parents, but he also had to remember they were his bosses. However, right now is a family outing, not a work event. It was everyone for themselves.

“You say that like your double seater is going to beat three single seaters,” Susie laughed when she came back into the conversation with passes for everyone to get on the track. “But go ahead and think you still stand a chance.”

“Oh bring it on,” Kimi challenged as he held his hand out for her to shake, “Why don’t we place a bet? Loser buys dessert?”

“Just you and me or if any of us beat you two?” Susie teased before agreeing.

“I’ll take my chances with all three of you,” Kimi replied with a smirk since he couldn’t keep a straight face. He gestured down to his outstretched hand again, “So, do we have a deal?”

“Consider it made,” Susie responded as she shook his hand before handing him the two passes for you and him to get the kart. Kimi turned around to see you and Jack still messing about, so he went over to tell you what was going on.

“Jack, come over here,” Toto called, causing you to almost drop him, but you gently set him down on his back on the asphalt. Jack jumped up and ran over to Toto, thinking something was wrong. “We need to strategize.” Toto and Susie then took Jack down to the track and started planning for how they were going to win.

“Did we do something wrong?” You asked as you walked in step with Kimi and took your pass to show the marshals.

“No, but I made a bet with your parents, so they need to strategize,” Kimi explained as he threw an arm around your shoulder while you sat trackside until the session before you were finished. 

“You? Made a bet? With my parents? Your bosses? Willingly? Who are you?” You joked as you placed the back of your hand on his forehead, checking for a temperature. “You don’t have a temperature. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” He chuckled, pushing your hand away from his forehead and instead held it against his cheek. “You always say to let loose around them more. I’m just taking your advice.”

“You’re learning, I’m impressed,” You teased, moving your finger to tap his nose. “Next, you’ll be rough-housing with Jack and me.”

“I think I’ll stick with things that don’t hurt me,” Kimi scoffed with a smile as he pulled you closer into his chest while you watched the karts go around.

“Oh, and bets don’t hurt your pockets? I see how it is, rich man,” You joked as you leaned your entire body weight into him. “Do I at least get to know what the bet is before the race?”

“Loser buys dessert after,” Kimi chuckled.

“We’re in a double seater, dummy!” You exclaimed in shock. “They’re gonna be so much quicker than us! You made a bet you know you’d lose!”

“One, you underestimate my driving ability. Two, you think that wasn’t the point? Think how much harder Jack will try to win knowing there’s something at stake,” Kimi explained, and your jaw dropped. This reverse psychology was going to win your brother over in a heartbeat. “Plus, I know Jack and your parents are insanely competitive. I know you. They’re gonna do anything and everything to win, and it’ll be a real race.”

“You are crazy, but I love it,” You whispered as you left a kiss on his cheek before standing up and moving to the karts. You two put on your helmets and everyone took their places in their karts. Jack looked back at you and Kimi and signaled that he was going to catch you. Right as you sat down, you looked up at Kimi, who was still adjusting his helmet. “We’re not going easy on them though, right?”

“No never,” Kimi answered quickly as he took his seat in the driver’s seat. He fiddled with the seat and wheel for a second before the look in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking. “This is technically a championship, and I’ve never lost. Buckle up because you’re not breaking my streak.”

You tightened your belts and braced yourself. This was the best (and only) way to get back onto the track.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[juanarc-thethird]

If interested please DM him

Nora: How was your Valentine's Day?

Jaune: Um... Normal.

Nora: You didn't ask a girl out?

Jaune: No...

Nora: Why not?

Jaune: Because no one is interested in me?

Nora: What?! How is that possible?!

Jaune: Trust me, it is possible.

Nora: Not on my watch! *Leaves*

Jaune: Hey! Where are you going?! *Sighs* Whatever, it's not my problem.

The next day....

Jaune: *Reading a book*

*Ting!*

Jaune: Huh? *Checks his phone* An unknown message?

*Ting!* *Ting!* *Ting!*

Jaune: More?

*Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!Ting!*

Jaune: What the?

*TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!TING!*

Jaune: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!!

Momentas later

JNPR's Room

Nora: *Playing games on her phone while lying in bed*

Jaune: *Shows up* *Angry* What did you do?!

Nora: Do what?

Jaune: You know very well what I mean. What did you do?!

Nora: I seriously don't know what you're talking about.

Jaune: I'm talking about this!

Jaune shows his phone, still being bombarded by messages from unknown numbers.

Jaune: Why do I have a bunch of strangers asking me on a date?!

Nora: *Excited* Really?! That means that my post worked!

Jaune: *Confuse* What post?

Nora: This one!

She selects something on her phone and shows it to Jaune.

"Do you want a Man that has abs? Do you want a man that can cook? Do you want a man that is literally the dream house husband?! Well look no further.

Jaune Arc, the only son of the Arc Family.

Let's talk about features: - Power: No - Money: No - A car: No - Great confidence: Nope... but he has a humongous dick that makes up for everything else.

Let me tell you a story. One day I entered the bathroom without checking to see if anyone was there using it. And when I did it, he poked my eye. "With what?" you might ask. I think we both already know answer to that.

You can present him to your parents, to your sibling who never stops bothering you that you are single and alone, to your weird creepy uncles, to your gossiping fat aunts, to your racist grandmother who no one dares to tell her to stop saying rude things, because for some reason everyone is afraid of her. And I can assure you that all of them will change their ways when they see what a good boy this man is. God damn it! Everyone will want to protect this golden retriever of a person!

Good boy Approved!!

Things this man is old enough to do: - Vote: Yes - Consent to Sex: Yes - Becoming Huntsmen: HE IS ALREADY A HUNTSMEN!

This man has history. He's seen some shit. He has done "things" for his friends. He has killed for his friends. He will not judge you like other people.

Interesting facts: - He is a good boy on the outside, but he is a beast on the inside~ *Wink* *Wink* - He is an Arc, so he is designed for breeding. - He holds the record for most boxes of cereal consumed in one day!

What more can you ask for?!

Look...

Let's face the facts. He may not be the most beautiful person in the world, but you aren't either (I mean that's why you're still single). So stop lying to yourself and stop lying to your mom about that "guy" you met at the supermarket. (We both know that's a lie). He may be too good for you, but he's really desperate. So send him a message and try your luck.

Jaune Arc 206-XXX-XXXX"

Nora: What do you think? Very cool, right?

Jaune:...

Jaune: Am I a joke to you?

[neo404]

can you do dad!nick x male reader? i don't care what is it, anything will do!

Stay at home dad! Nick.

Summary: stay at home shenanigans of Nick.

Once your baby entered your lives, they made a 360 degree turn. Nick had to plan ahead for meetings and videos, which wasn’t that easy but was way easier than having a job where you aren’t your boss. So, the both of you decided that Nick would stay at home taking care of your baby while you work the 9 to 5 from Monday to Friday.

Nick is a good dad, a dad that did all the research on internet about how to take care of a baby before they arrived. A dad that made long facetimes with his mom with a notebook and pen besides him to annotate every single tip and trick she gave him. A dad that will call his brothers for help because he can’t find the control remote of the tv, give the baby a bath and cook dinner at the same time. A dad that watches the baby sleep on the couch worried that he might turn on his sleep. A dad that tries not to cry when looking at his baby for too long.

He is a good dad, and he is a great husband too. When you arrive home dinner is always on its way (most of the time is delivery, but at least it’s your favorite). He will greet you with a kiss on the lips, helping you take out your coat and putting it on the rag.

‘’How are you, honey?’’

‘’Exhausted!’’

‘’Really? Tell me about your day.’’

‘’You won’t believe it. Our little angel decided to wake up right after you left and…’’

Nick is the type of dad that holds back his tears when he sees you and your baby sleeping on the couch, one hand on the babies back while they lay on your chest, your shirt stained with her saliva. He instead takes a picture with his phone and sits besides you playing with your hair.

Nick is the type of dad who will go to talks for ‘new parents’ and be nervous to see the room full of mothers and their babies. Nick is the type of dad who talks to these moms proudly about his husband and his pretty girl.

Nick is the type of dad to buy lots of clothes for the baby. A lot of dresses, shirts, onesies, hats, socks. Every item of clothing the baby has it, she might have more clothes than bot of you. He loves the type of clothe with silly prints of them (like animals or dinosaurs, also loves the ones with Disney or Bluey characters).

He will try to deny it, but he loves the ‘best dad’ kind of gifts. It can be a shirt or a mug, this man will roll his eyes when he sees the gift and say its corny but he will use the item 24/7.

Nick loves to read stories to his baby, also loves to sing to her. Is very shy when he sees that you are leaning on the doorframe looking at them with a smile on your face.

Nick is the type of dad to be very protective of his baby, when she starts walking and being more curious, he will have at least 5 heart attacks per day. And don’t even get me started on going out to the park, Nick would be behind the baby at every moment making sure she doesn’t fall or trip.

Nick is the type of dad who has a folder filled with photos of his baby and husband on his phone, but also has an album of instant pictures on the living room.

‘’Yes?’’

‘’My handsome husband.’’

‘’What did you do?’’

‘’I can’t call you now that you assume I need something? How rude, more film, I need more film for the camera haha. I love you, I will cook your favorite tonight, thank you, bye.’’

Sigh

Nick is the type of that adopts a dog so the baby and the doggy can grow up together.

Nick loves the weekends because you don’t have to work, so the three of you snuggle on the couch while watching a movie. Or the three of you cook together, of clean the house together, or sleep together. Anything, the weekends are always time for the three of you, one baby on the hip and one loving husband on the other arm.

Also, Nick will beg you to have another kid when the baby is no longer baby and is a toddler. ‘’She needs a sibling; she will feel alone. Believe me, I don’t know what I will do without the stupid crazy bitches of my brothers.’’ And who can say no to his pout and pleading eyes? So, the adoption process of the next member of the family starts.

[ask-artsy-oncie]

The children of Laios and Kabru! My first drawing of them was as very young children but I always find it much easier and more fulfilling to design more grown versions of characters because they have more developed personalities that can show through! In this case they're all fully grown here, with the eldest being 20 and the youngest being 16. (I'm also a dumbass and meant to put "first queen regent", not simply "first queen")

Some more about them under the cut

The name "Kilala" came up when I was looking for names related to "Ambrosia", because I think Laios would hear that Marcille's staff is named something that means "food of the gods" and fall in love with the concept and want that name for his kid, to the chagrin of everyone in his immediate vicinity. I imagine Kabru would attempt to compromise by looking into names with similar meanings.

They all inherited monster features from Laios, mostly subtle things like heightened senses and fangs and claws, but then Cassius was born with a tail (resembling one of the two Laios had in his monster form). He'll grab onto it as a nervous tick but for the most part I don't think he actually likes having a tail. It singles him out, since his sisters all have much subtler features than he does, and he's not the kind of person who likes being the center of attention. Sometimes he hides his tail in one of his pant legs so he doesn't have to think about it.

Laios and Kabru planned on having three kids because Laios is vehemently against the idea of adhering to the tradition of "first born son has to be the successor". He lived that, and he hated having that loom over him. So if he has to have kids, and one of them has to succeed him, he'd rather it be whichever kid ends up wanting it, rather than having it be decided for them. Ergo, multiple kids leaves more chances that one of the kids actually wants to be the next monarch. Three sounded reasonable so that's what they planned for, but then the third "child" turned out to be twins.

And yeah, as it states above, Cassius did not want to be king. Luckily for him, Kilala was more than willing to follow in her dad's footsteps.

They call Laios "dad" and Kabru "papa".

I don't actually know if Kabru would be able to pass down the gene for his blue eyes or the gene for his family's brown eyes, since his eye color is a genetic mutation. Gave the kids a mix of both for variety more than anything.

Kilala's hair is on the redder side due to Laios's mother's red hair. Meanwhile, Pamina looks more like Kabru's mom.

Melora is often in work clothes and wears her hair short because she's working with metal so often, but she does have moments when she wears fancier clothing, she's not opposed to it by any means. She just takes care of her nicer clothing, unlike Pamina, who will only really do as much as roll up her skirt and/or sleeves to protect her dresses.

Pamina is immensely comforted by the smell of gardenias (and as a kid even wistfully thought of having her name changed to Gardenia) and carries around a vial of perfume of it. She also, maybe paradoxically, loves the smell of dogs. I imagine the castle has plenty of dogs living in it by the time the kids are born, and she can often be found with her face pressed up against one.

Pamina and Cassius are the only ones of the four who end up having kids of their own.

Kilala is a horrible liar and would regularly get herself and her siblings in trouble by virtue of not being able to hide their troublemaking. Kabru insists that being an honest ruler is a strength she can utilize rather than focusing on her inability to convincingly lie.

When Kilala and Cassius were young children, like shortly after the twins were born, Kabru would try to get them to mask their autistic traits. Eye contact and "fidgeting" was a big problem for the both of them. The first major fight Laios and Kabru had as parents had to do with this, because Laios did not want to pressure his kids to be "normal" the way he and Falin were, while Kabru specifically wanted his kids to be prepared and protected against being ostracized like he was. They both wanted to protect their kids, but had completely opposing ways to go about this. Ultimately, I think, the kids ended up being taught how to mask but aren't outright pressured to do so.

[joanofexys]

jo i need to know more abt angel's trauma

Angel angst!!! This boy is so packed full of trauma and I'll dig it all up

tws for pretty much everything in AFTG ever

At four years old Angel's mother goes missing and he starts becoming the target of his fathers abuse. His father's treatment leaves him scared and confused. He's beyond spoiled once his mother goes missing. Suddenly his father bringing home gifts nearly daily. But every time he makes a mess, he's too loud, he cries, he complains he's being hit. If his father comes home and seems to be having a bad night he could be being given a new toy and in the same breath receiving 10 new bruises.

CPS was contacted for the first time when he was five years old by his kindergarten teacher. She had seen bruises, he was a lot quieter than other kids, flinched at things no one else did. When he got scraped up on the playground he wouldn't even cry. But when they show up at the door they meet a very charming, but tired, father, mourning his missing wife. He welcomed them in to a slightly messy, but still well kept, house with his quiet son who hid behind his legs. They asked to speak with Angel alone and sat down with him at the kitchen table.

"Did you find my mommy?"

There's silence for a few minutes. Because how do you tell a little kid that his mom's probably not coming home? That you're not here about his mom but because they have to ask if his other parent is hurting him? And when they do ask all Angel does is deny, deny, deny.

"Are you gonnna take away my daddy too?"

They leave. Nothing happens. And if Angel doesn't get hit that night for doing a good job, well, nobody but him knows.

CPS gets called a few more times throughout the years. Angel gets good at lying. His father has father has perfected the grieving widow, single dad act. By age eight it escalates from just getting hit. Things are thrown, he explains away the visible cuts as accidents on the playground. He dropped a plate while his dad was at work and tried to clean it up by himself. The cuts lead to nasty scarring under his shirt, they all keloid, and even when they heal they still hurt.

Sometimes he'll get a week or two where his father's hand is light. Where nothing gets thrown. Maybe a few days where he doesn't get hit at all. Of course he doesn't know it then but it was always following one of his father's murders.

And then he's 10 years old. Alone in a hospital bed with a cut up face and more broken bones than he's ever had. And everything hurts. And he wants his mom and he hates his dad. When the strangers step into the room he's old enough he knows no one will ever come with news about his mom and he's angry enough that he won't lie about his dad. And he's ten and all he wants is to never see his dad again. He doesn't care about any of the charges they're talking to him about, about them pressing him to confess that this had been happening for years, and he especially has zero interest in sitting in a court room and having to look his father in the eye.

He meets his first foster family before he's even discharged from the hospital. He was quiet when they first met him. They knew he was in rough shape but thought he would be easy enough. They're nice. A white picket fence type of family. Angel hated them. They were the polar opposite of what he was used to and he thought that was what he wanted. But when realized it was something he missed out on for the past ten years, something people just got while he had to be taken out of his home to get it, he was just so mad. Seven months. Seven months of therapy, of being taken out of classes to see counselors, of family vacations. Seven months of yelling that they weren't his family, of slammed doors, of fights on the blacktop. He left his "siblings" alone for the most part. Preferred to ignore them. Kept his fights to other students at school. But the last month he started yelling at them too. Never tried to hit them or physically hurt them but he certainly intended to be mean. The behavioral issues became too much for them and that family decided to let him go.

He doesn't care much for his other foster families. He knows he won't be staying with them for long. That he causes too much trouble. His next one has a dog. A chocolate lab. He likes the dog. His foster brother in his next family has a cool guitar. He tries to teach Angel before the two of them split up and move to different homes. There's the little girl when he's 12 who's even angrier than him. He likes that she's angry. He hopes she'll do something with it. One of his foster siblings gets the head torn off their teddy bear by their foster family's son. They leave it in the backyard. Angel steals some of the mom's sewing supplies and messily stitches it back on. The head is crooked and doesn't have enough stuffing. But when he puts on their bed their face still lights up. He's in detention near constantly. He ignores the look on foster parents faces every time one of them has to pick him up. There's the house that says a prayer before every meal. The house that always has fresh flowers on the counter. The house with the broken grandfather clock that chimed at random times. The house that fed the stray cats. Little things that differentiated every foster home, things that were unimportant when he was only with them so shortly, but things he remembered regardless.

Then he was 14. Two months in with a new family when the police showed up at the door. He's sure some kid got fed up with the fights and their parents decided to press charges or something. Instead they start asking about his dad. No elaboration on what it's about at first. And he's 14 and he's scared and he's being pressed to talk about a man who he hasn't seen in the past 4 years who nearly ended his life. And then they bring up his mom. He's 14 and he's angry at the world and he puts on that stupid tough guy act all the time, but he's never really stopped wanting his mom. They found her. She's dead. His father's confessed to her murder and the murders of 12 other women who resembled her. Does he know anything about it? They don't get far. He's sobbing, hyperventilating, begging for his mom. They offer to let him testify. He doesn't want to. He doesn't show up for the trial at all. The news mentions that Matteo Di Fiore, convicted of murdering his wife, Sofia Di Fiore, and 12 other women has a son. No name is ever given. He's a minor and he's already been in the system for years.

He gets home from the police station at 3 in the morning, following 7 hours of questioning, and promptly wrecks his room. Destroys books and toys and any other sentimental item he held onto from former families. He breaks two vases, cuts up his hands bad. They scar. Within the week he's placed somewhere else.

And like the flip of a switch he's that quiet kid again. Like his concerningly quiet 5 year old self. The eldest daughter in his new foster family, going into her senior year, decided that teaching him to play Exy was a good chance for bonding and could get him out of his shell. He had no reason to say no. He makes the high school team as a backliner and they play through that school year together. He's with that family for 5 months before one of the parents has a job opportunity and they have to move out of state for it. They offer to start adoption process, take him with them, but he doesn't want to leave.

He meets Harper Shaw later that year. Second semester, biology, they're 15 years old. She sits in front of him, they become lab partners, and study partners after that. He thinks she's a genius. Part of the cheer team and top of her class. She knows nothing about him, about who he was. It was a relief. He asked her prom, she said yes.

8 months together and then they find out she's pregnant. And it's terrifying. Harper wants to keep the baby. Angel isn't going to tell her to do otherwise. They're together for a little while before they realize it's just not gonna work that way and they decide to co-parent. A little while later and they're welcoming Phoebe Sofia Shaw into the world. Angel has never been more scared in his life. He thinks he's gonna be a terrible dad, he's determined to be a halfway decent one.

They get through high school. Angel's still flitting through foster homes, but he's half moved into the Shaw's place. It's overwhelming for them both. They try not to fight about it. He tries to remember how to breath when Phoebe cries. Tries to remember that he can always call Harper's parents to take Phoebe for a bit if he ever needs a moment. Harper gets accepted to college, Angel never bothered to apply to any. She'll make the move to PSU, he'll go with her and start working full time to support them.

Then he's called into his coaches office and David Wymack is sitting there. He knows the foxes. How could he not? One of their star players was in the news for his connections to the mafia. They had, by some miracle, won finals. He asks for some time and with Harper's encouragement he, stupidly (in his opinion), signs the dotted line.

Starting college is so much worse than he imagined. Andrew fucking Minyard put together who he was and why he fit the bill for the foxes before he even moved in for the summer. He has no clue what he wants to study or what classes to even take. Phoebe is entering the nightmare toddler stage where her favorite word is no and nothing seems to make her happy. Wyamck and Abby and even Bee seem more than happy to help out with her when Harper can't take her and he's stressed beyond belief but that only does so much.

He spends most of his time pacing in the court building or fox tower's hallways on the verge of tears, silently begging Phoebe to just go to sleep. People are assholes about him being a teen dad, people are worse to Harper. It brings back some of his temper. He might not be with her anymore but she's still his best friend. His work load is worse than he expected, yet nowhere near what Harper has on his plate, and keeping his grades up is a struggle. Surprisingly, it's Kevin who proves to be the most help with that. He loses a lot of sleep and ends up spending most nights at either Wymack or Abby's place because there's only so much, being woken up in the middle of the night by a screaming toddler, that most college students can take. He seriously considers dropping out multiple times in that year alone.

And this is hella long now so we're gonna wrap it up there, but I promise Angel doesn't drop out and he really loves his daughter and he loves the foxes too and it all works out.

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Marie Presley, interview for Rolling Stone Magazine, 1997, introducing her film TLC: The Presley Way

A Sarge & lil Mama blurb, 2nd generation: Marie. word count 2k, PG rating, mentions of divorce

Marie: “You know, I’m used to being asked how it impacted me being the child with the least ‘parental involvement.’ But I really don’t get it, not even when my siblings joke that Elvis was more like Santa to me than dad, a merry-making stranger who showed up once in a blue moon to spread love and cheer before rushing back to the workshop to make more goodies the rest of the year.

“Maybe there’s some truth in that but how was I to know? I didn’t know anything differently than what I had, just like lots of kids you don’t know what else you could’ve had, just like I didn’t know anything different from being very privileged, um, just as my dad didn’t know any different from being very poor.

“But what I do know is that I was very loved, I have been my whole life, and what I have are a treasure trove of memories, extensive amounts of time spent with him at all ages. I look at it this way, we wouldn’t say someone is fatherless just because their dad is gone every day of their life from seven in the morning to six in the evening, that’s a whole lotta time to be gone.

“Whereas I had months on end where I saw Dad from sunup to sundown, slept in my parents bed, ate and played and read with them. Spent time on homework and perhaps most personally impactful, I had my own interests nurtured by them. Dad spoiled me, there’s no question about it, but it wasn’t in the way of rich men giving their kids toys and telling them to then run along, leave them alone.

“Dad engaged with me on everything and anything interesting to me, anything that interested my siblings he would spend hours on it, not even the fun part of say -photography. But the boring details, too. If there was a new camera he would get it for me and together we could figure out how to make it work, how to develop the film, how to get the perfect exposure.

“We’d pour over artists' work and do our best to mimic them. It was play but it was always constructive, and when I think back on those late Vegas afternoons that were his mornings, that he would spend tirelessly engaged with me and my siblings, only to then have to go out and perform multiple times into the night, the adult in me is exhausted and grateful that he took the time. That he did it all so cheerfully that I had no idea how worn out he was.

“The divorce years were hard, I was an eight year old and definitely attuned to the different dynamics in my family. I was very close with my sister Ella who was extremely unhappy at the time, maybe more so than most of my siblings. So her discontent rubbed off on me a little, confused me. But for the most part I didn’t notice a big change, mom and daddy really tried to keep it under wraps, multiple times they insisted there wasn’t a team to pick, and maybe that was too nuanced for the older kids but I got it, I chose not to pick teams.

And before it had lasted very long, we were all back together again.

“Daddy didn’t have a tour, what with Colonel Parker being under investigation, and he stayed home because of Danny, and Daisy and then they got remarried. It was a blip for me really. I got to live with Ella, I got to travel around with Jesse and dad, I got to visit Rosalee out at college. It seemed more like a vacation bouncing than banishment. I was really fine with it, maybe I’m just built that way, it wasn’t as devastating as it might’ve been for another child.

“I do remember my ninth birthday being the single bummer of it all. Or at least, the day started off going decidedly down hill.

“I was the baby who made it after the tragedy of them losing Jo, and you beat believe dad always made a huge deal of my birthday. He’d always tickle the Angel kisses on the back of my neck and remind everyone how Jo and Gladys sent me, mama would recount the story of my birth and my siblings would recall how they laid hands on mama’s belly and prayed I’d come out safe every day for eight months before I was born.

So after nine years of this, when I came downstairs in ‘77 to find that the earth and divorce proceedings hadn’t screeched to a stop just to celebrate me, I was pretty miffed.

I remember just feeling like the vibes were really off at the house, even though dad had come back to celebrate, it was obvious he was very upset with mom. I remember Jesse took me riding on his bike that day, we got out of the house and had fun and I remember when he put me on it, mom and dad were in a deep discussion on the porch, apparently about the fact that I was having a meltdown over not being treated special enough. I've already admitted I was very spoiled, OK folks?

“But the real big thing for me was that by the time I came back from that ride and opened my presents and we ate dinner, things seemed perfectly fine, normal and natural. That night we went through our usual routine and I climbed in the bed with mom and dad like old times. Now that I think about it, that was probably the first time in months that they slept together, and they did that for me. And they did it so naturally and it was really a happy evening, even for them, I think.

“It’s funny how professional you can get at getting along when you’ve had to endure so much like they had, one night of harmony in the middle of a divorce wasn’t a big hurdle for them. There was so much love still there and so much practice, just a lotta confusion. You can see why I wasn’t very surprised when Mama showed up with a baby and a wedding band back on her finger. It might sound bizarre to outsiders, and it’s certainly been portrayed like that by some of our closest friends, but in this film I’d like to set the record straight. It’s what I saw lived out.

Love can be very chaotic sometimes, complex and bizarre but it tries its best. It seeks the good of others. It’s the catalyst for great things and produces generous hearts. And my family certainly did just that.”

Thanks for letting me bug ya with a blurb, and slowly but surely I’m putting faces to the kids, and their stories too. So much thanks goes to my girlies who hash this out with my for hours on end in the chats. The chats are the new trenches, ok? It’s where ya make your Bestest buddies.

@paradsol000

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[blacklegsanjiii]

This is genuinely over a single line in another ask you answered about warlord!ichiji where you offhandedly mentioned he might dress like Hancock but my mind went and ran with it .

You have Sanji, who as he grew up, figured out he likes to wear suits the most often. They make him look elegant and feel clean. It ends up being kind of his signature look. And then you have Ichiji, who grew up much the same and also ended up with a sort of signature look, except he settles for long skirts and fancy tops, much more influenced by their mom and less by their dads. Overall, Ichiji and Sanji actually end up with a similar vibe to their outfits , which makes them feel like the twins they are, but they’re also distinct and unique looks for both of them that set them apart. They like looking like a matching set.

The more they grow up the more their parents comment on the similarity , and I like to think they throw it back in their faces all the time. After all , these were people that were surprised to hear they were twins when they first got adopted due to their size difference. It’s funny to mess with them that way.

- Wine

First of all, good to see you again, Wine!

Second of all, how dare you be funnier than me? I am ruined by this. I figured the suit was Baratie uniform but nope! It has to be Crocodile and Mihawk's doing. It has to be. They probably have some event as Warlords coming up where attendance is mandatory lest their bounties be unfrozen so they take the twins shopping. Sanji is looking at suit pieces and Ichiji is following Hancock around to look at skirts and tops. Crocodile picks out the pieces that will fit together for Sanji's suit but Mihawk is the one who puts in the aesthetic work. Jimbei and Doffy are watching and giving them opinions. The twins match aesthetically but they are their own person and you can see it in the way they dress themselves. Sanji probably has issues with skin showing which is why he wears suits, the dungeon and the bugs and everything, where as Ichiji like the movement of the skirts and tops he wears. Unstifled by royal clothes and training outfits. They're probably like eleven when this is happening. At the event everyone calls them adorable and such and doesn't believe their twins until their parents say they can't believe it either. Ichiji and Sanji share looks every time this is said.

As the years go by you can definitely tell they're twins. They look so similar and have almost the same mannerisms, despite their differing fashion choices they still look very much alike and they match, the patterns, the accents, the colors. Everyone is supportive of them and mentions their similarities and the twins throw it back in their faces that, outside of Mihawk - who still had his doubts, that they didn't believe they're twins. Like it's a whole thing and they do throw it back in their parents faces all the time. Especially when they're older and before Sanji sets off.

It'd also be hilarious if after years of not seeing each other they're still dressed in their style, having not really ever differed from it, which shocks the crew. They see the brothers, and they know they have other siblings, everyone does, Mihawk said it when he brought them to the first meeting. Hancock is of course cooing over her boys and Luffy. Luffy is annoyed because he's dating Sanji, or the East Blue Polycule is a thing and Zoro and Nami are being jealous and being touchy and Usopp using this as an excuse to keep an arm around his boyfriend. Ichiji and Sanji probably switch clothes at some point, for funsies. Ichiji's clothes are too big for Sanji and Sanji's too small for Ichiji, but they planned for this and did buy clothes for each other at some point to do this. Because they would because it would be funny and drive their parents up the wall. So they walk out to see everyone and Hancock chokes on her drink and Mihawk pinches the bridge of his nose. Jimbei is laughing so hard as Usopp is biting a wrench and Nami has snapped her quill as Robin lets out a wolf whistle at them.

"Did you two plan this?" Crocodile asks with amusement.

"Do you believe we're twins now?" They ask in tandem which makes Crocodile switch to anger quickly and Jimbei lose it even more.

"Have we not made it clear that we believe you? The first meeting I brought you both I said you were the dead princes of Germa." MIhawk groans.

"Our children are menaces." Hancock sighs.

"We were raised by pirates." Ichiji points out.

"Can either of you even fight?" Mihawk asks and then regrets it as Sanji leaps into a sky walk and Ichiji starts firing lasers at his younger brother.

"Menaces." Crocodile seethes as the brothers continue to fight in their own way.

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

First off, don't watch the Ahsoka show and even if you do, it's immensely anti-Jedi so none of it should be considered worthwhile content in figuring out how relationships work between the Jedi normally, especially since Ahsoka herself doesn't consider herself OR Sabine Jedi (she doesn't even WANT Sabine to be a Jedi). The only other Master/Padawan relationship in the Ahsoka show is Baylan and Shin who also don't consider themselves to be Jedi.

Here's the thing with "found family" as a concept. A lot of people like putting people into certain labels and going for a basic nuclear family mom/dad/kids kind of set up. But it does not HAVE to be that way. A "found family" can be a bunch of people who consider each other friends, with no familial feelings at all. It can be literally anything.

Rebels does go for more of a sort-of mom/dad/kids deal, particularly with Kanan, Hera, Sabine, and Ezra. Zeb however lives in a somewhat more nebulous gray area where you COULD see him as a fellow "child" in the dynamic, but he doesn't really care for being considered a child during the episode where he and the other Lasat find Lira San and he's clearly older and more experienced than either Ezra or Sabine, so he could just as easily be considered an "uncle" of sorts if you wanted to, or an older cousin or something maybe.

The other thing to consider with Rebels is that, while the group does include two Jedi, none of these relationships would necessarily be typical representations of how Prequels Jedi relationships would have looked or how they would've thought of each other. Kanan and Ezra's relationships to the rest of Ghost crew is impacted by that difference, especially since Ezra specifically did not grow up in the Temple among other Jedi and spent most of his childhood and early teens in a very different situation. And Kanan, by Rebels, would've spent more time WITHOUT any relationships with other Jedi than he would've had WITH them.

So with all of that in mind, I think that the Jedi's relationships aren't NEARLY as clear cut as people seem to want them to be. They're a family, yes, but they're a family that is 10,000 strong at least. I don't know about you, but I have a hard time keeping like less than 50 members of my family straight, what their names are and who they're related to, much less ten thousand people. I think it's very likely that all Jedi would feel a kinship to fellow Jedi, but that they probably don't personally know every single Jedi. In TCW, Ahsoka seems to need to be introduced to Tera Sinube for the first time when she's 14 years old. So while she might see someone like Plo Koon as a closer parental figure, she's not going to feel the same way about Tera Sinube who she barely knows.

I think any Master/Padawan relationship is going to sort-of vary depending on the individuals involved. Some of them might be quite close, some might be more professional. Some might be pretty close in age and so their dynamic leans closer to friends and siblings than it would parent and child. Others might have a larger age gap and so the dynamic could lead closer to parent/child or even grandparent/grandchild. Some of them might shift over time, too, or have layers of more than one of these dynamics. For example, Anakin calls Obi-Wan "the closest thing he's ever had to a father" in AOTC, but Obi-Wan calls him a brother twice in ROTS. So their relationship may have had shades of both dynamics given the age difference, the relationship dynamic could have shifted over time from a more parent/child relationship to a more sibling relationship, or they each may have seen the relationship slightly differently with Anakin looking more for a parental dynamic while Obi-Wan is perhaps going more for a relationship of equals (at least by ROTS). It could be any of these three things combined, too.

There's a comic where Obi-Wan is asked whether Anakin is his son and Obi-Wan responds that no, Anakin is his Padawan, his student. While this isn't strictly canon, I think it fits quite nicely into my interpretation that the Master/Padawan relationship is its own specific kind of dynamic and while it can be SIMILAR to other kinds of relationships, it is very much its own thing. It's not a static relationship, it's not just the Jedi version of parents and children, it is a distinct relationship that changes and grows with the individuals. There is no 1:1 comparison for all Master/Padawan relationships.

As for Ezra and Jacen, you could apply a similar concept. Kanan, much like Obi-Wan with Anakin, fills a parental role for Ezra, but he's also growing and developing ALONGSIDE Ezra and could be considered a younger brother of sorts, too. Jacen is family to Ezra, but I don't think you HAVE to place a particular label on what that dynamic is, whether they'd consider each other like brothers or whether Ezra would be more of an uncle. And it doesn't even have to specifically be defined by their respective relationships to KANAN, either. Jacen and Ezra might come up with their own dynamic that has nothing to do with how they each feel about Kanan and is specific to their own relationship. I don't think you have to be super specific about saying that because Kanan was Ezra's Master, this automatically makes Ezra basically his son and so Ezra and Jacen should consider themselves like brothers and never have an uncle/nephew dynamic. I think Ezra and Jacen can be whatever you want them to be to each other.

[thelastspeecher]

Anyways I've been thinking about my Olympian Falls AU a lot lately and sat down and wrote some stuff up recently. Here it is. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              Shermie stared at the wall covered in medals, trophies, and ribbons.

              “I knew you were good at boxing, but I didn’t know you went pro,” he said quietly.  Stan, who was digging through a large, sturdy, wooden chest, paused to look over.

              “Yeah, for a bit.  Helps when your dad is the god of boxing.”

              “I thought that was Apollo, not Hermes,” Shermie murmured.  Stan shrugged.

              “Things get a bit muddled over centuries.  Sometimes gods take turns doing stuff.  I mean, how many official Olympian cupbearers have there been?” Stan said, rolling his eyes.  Shermie smiled.

              It’s still astounding how much he knows about Greek mythology.  Before all this, I would have thought he knew a few gods, at best.   Then again, when you yourself are a part of the Greek mythos…  Even after a year, Shermie still found it difficult to comprehend that his younger brothers were in fact his half-brothers, as Filbrick wasn’t their father.  Rather, the Greek god Hermes was.  As he himself had twin children with the goddess Athena, he had taken the initial news better than he would have otherwise, but it had been an adjustment nonetheless.

              Right now, they were in the study of the home Stan shared with his wife Angie, who was apparently a demigod as well, though Shermie didn’t know her Olympian parentage.  Last year, Stan gave Shermie the rundown on what to expect raising two demigods.  But Shermie was back for more advice after a close call with a snake in Mabel’s crib.  After Shermie explained what had happened, Stan and Angie insisted on giving him some weaponry to protect himself and his children.  Regular weapons, like the knives Shermie had stocked up on after learning about monsters, wouldn’t work against the threats that Mabel and Mason would face one day.

              “Anyways, if Apollo is the god of boxing, he didn’t give that to any of his kids at camp,” Stan continued.  “I was the best boxer there.”

              “Why did you stop?” Shermie asked, as he had noticed the most recent medal was from a few years ago.

              “Angie fell in love with this ugly mug.  I didn’t wanna mess it up.”  There was a brief pause.  “And…demigods are more durable than regular humans, but we still get hurt.  I didn’t wanna take too many knocks to the head and turn into someone else, y’know?”

              “Yes,” Shermie said softly.  Their mom had pitched a fit over Stan and Ford learning how to box as children, because of the danger it posed to them.  He frowned at a gold medal for track and field.  “Are you a runner?”  Stan laughed.

              “Have you seen my legs?”  He resumed going through the chest.  “I could beat you in a foot race, but not any of my godly half-siblings.  I’d even lose to other demigods, like Angie.  Ford, though, he’s pretty quick on his feet.”

              “But your father…”

              “Is basically the god of being fast, yeah.  Not every demigod gets every single one of their parent’s powers or whatever.”  Stan pulled a bronze dagger out of the chest and frowned at it.  “What is- oh, this is Angie’s.  Better hold onto it.”  He went back to searching.  “Some demigods are more powerful than others.  I already told you I’m more powerful than Ford.  And Angie, whew!  She got a lot of gifts.  Some of her half-siblings, though, only got one or two.”  Stan pulled out a bronze sword.  “Aha!  Here’s what I was looking for.”

              “So if the track and field medal isn’t yours,” Shermie said softly, “is it Angie’s?”

              “Oh, yeah.  There’s a lot of non-boxing stuff over there that isn’t mine.”  Now that Shermie had been told, he could see the various other awards intermixed with Stan’s.  Stan put the dagger back in the chest, closed the lid, and stood up.  “She’s crazy competitive.  When she gets stressed and needs to blow off steam, she signs up for a competition.”  Stan grinned.  “Actually, I should show you her latest medal.”

              “I thought you were going to show me how to wield a sword,” Shermie said, trying to put his ADHD-afflicted brother back on track.  Stan looked at the sword in his hand like he’d forgotten it was there.

              “Right.  Eh, we can do that after.  Come on.”  Stan exited the study.  Shermie followed, but paused to look at the bookcase on the wall opposite the trophies and medals.  He’d been so distracted, he hadn’t noticed it there.  The vast majority of the books weren’t in English.  They were in Greek.  Likely Ancient Greek, given what Stan had said about demigod brains being hardwired for the language.  A few looked like they could have been in a Gaelic language, but Shermie didn’t know which one.  “Sherm, you can look at Angie’s nerdy book collection later,” Stan said, coming back to the study doorway.  “Trust me, you’re gonna wanna see what Angie did last month.”

              “Last month?” Shermie asked, following Stan back to the living room, where Angie was watching Mabel and Mason.  Her and Stan’s three children were napping in their rooms, as Shermie had dropped by unannounced.  Angie’s head shot up.

              “Oh, no, Stan, don’t show him,” she moaned.  “I’m so embarrassed by it.”  Mason, who she was holding in her arms, babbled happily.  Mabel was asleep in her carrier.

              “If she’s embarrassed, I don’t want to-” Shermie started.  Stan shook his head.

              “Nah, she just doesn’t like recognition.  Which is weird for a demigod.  And especially weird with her parentage,” Stan shot at his wife.  Angie rolled her eyes.

              “I don’t compete fer attention or glory, I do it fer the thrill of winnin’.  That’s perfectly Greek,” she drawled in her thick southern accent.  Stan snickered.  He walked across the living room and stood in front of a mostly bare wall.  The only thing on the wall was a picture of Angie and some people Shermie didn’t recognize, as well as a case containing multiple gold medals.  Shermie frowned at the people in the photo.  Something about their outfits seemed familiar.  His gaze dropped to the medals below the photo.  He began to read aloud the inscription on the medals.

              “XXVII, so, 27…”  Shermie felt the blood drain from his face.  “Olympiad, Sydney, 2000.”  He looked at the photo again.  Angie and the others in the photo were wearing the uniforms that the USA athletes had worn to the Olympic Games the previous month.  Shermie’s head whipped around to stare at his sister-in-law.  His Olympic athlete sister-in-law.  Angie smiled sheepishly.  “You- you won multiple gold medals at the Olympics?” he croaked.

              “In my defense, I didn’t mean to go that far,” Angie said.  Shermie’s jaw dropped.

              “Are you saying you accidentally competed at the Olympics?  How does one accidentally win an Olympic gold medal?” he asked, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

              “Like I said, I like competin’,” Angie mumbled.  “I kept goin’ and kept goin’ and ‘fore I knew it the folks handin’ me a medal were sayin’ I won a spot on the Olympic team.  And when I got to the Olympics, well, it ain’t like I weren’t goin’ to give it my all.”

              “But- but-”  Shermie looked at the photo and medals again.  “Why did I not hear about this?  What did you even compete in?”

              “Ah, well, that’s the reason ya didn’t hear ‘bout it,” Angie said.  “I weren’t swimmin’ or runnin’.”

              “I still think you shoulda done the javelin,” Stan muttered.  “It’s hot and you’re scary good at it.”  Angie frowned at him.

              “I don’t go higher ‘n state level fer track ‘n field.  It’s too high-profile.”

              “Uh-huh, and how many of your half-siblings were in the Olympic Village with you?” Stan said.  “They don’t have any problem with it!”  Angie rolled her eyes.  She turned her attention back to Shermie.

              “I did shootin’.”

              “Shooting,” Shermie repeated.  He frowned.  “They- they have that at the Olympics?”  Angie nodded.  “I didn’t know.”

              “That’s why I was fine bein’ on the team,” Angie said.  She shrugged.  “Even bringin’ home a gold medal or two-”  Shermie glanced at the gold medals, of which there were certainly more than two “-I won’t get recognized at the grocery store.  Which is what I want.”  Stan shook his head.

              “Your dad would be ashamed of how afraid you are of the spotlight,” he said.  Angie stuck her tongue out at him, making him laugh.  Shermie frowned.

              “But you could have made the Olympic team in track and field?” he asked.  Angie shrugged again.

              “Sure.  I would’ve had to train fer it a bit, unlike the shootin’, but I think it ain’t out the realm of possibility.”

              “You’re athletic,” Shermie said flatly.  Stan placed a hand on Shermie’s shoulder.

              “Word of advice, Sherm.  Every single demigod is gonna be more athletic than a regular human.”  He grinned.  “But yeah, Angie’s more athletic than most.  She buries her nose in science so much, people don’t realize it.”

              “Remind me why I married ya, Stanley Pines?” Angie sighed.

              “‘Cause I pickpocketed your heart, babe,” Stan replied.  Angie giggled.  Shermie didn’t pay attention to the flirting.  Instead, his mind was racing, trying to figure out Angie’s godly parent.

              More athletic than most.  A knack for shooting.  What else is Angie good at?  She works in infectious disease research.  She plays more musical instruments than I can name.  She’s eerily good at guessing who will win the football game each Thanksgiving.  Her godly parent is her father…  Shermie stared at his sister-in-law.  Her skin was the kind of sun-kissed that tanning salons could only dream of, nearly the same gold as her hair.  Angie cocked her head curiously, watching Shermie with eyes the color of a clear summer sky.

              “Apollo,” Shermie croaked.  Angie smiled.  “Your- your father is Apollo.”

              “Yes.”  Angie frowned at Stan.  “And despite what Stan says, he’s very proud of me.  He sent me a sign after the Olympics and everything.”  Shermie frowned himself.

              “It is odd that you would shy away from the limelight with him as your father,” he remarked.  Stan snickered.  Angie huffed.  “But- if your father is Apollo, and Stan’s father is Hermes…”  Shermie grimaced.  “Your fathers are half-siblings.  That makes you-”

              “Oh, we didn’t get into the whole ‘your godly parentage doesn’t count unless you’ve got the hots for one of your half-siblings’ yet?” Stan asked.  “Because it doesn’t.”

              “Why?”

              “It’s best not to ask that question,” Angie said gently.  She placed Mason, who was now fast asleep, back into his carrier.  “And it’s far from the first question you should avoid askin’, Sherman.”

              “You have a twin brother, correct?” Shermie asked. 

              “Lute’s not a half-blood,” Stan supplied.  Shermie looked at him, then back at his sister-in-law.

              “How?” he asked.  Angie’s face hardened.  “I take it that’s another question I shouldn’t ask.”

              “Yes.”  Angie stood up.  “My partic’lar arrival in my fam’ly is a touchy subject.  One I would ask ya to not bring up next time ya interact with ‘em.”  Angie’s eyes bore into Stan.  “And one I’d like Stanley to keep to himself.  Fer now, at least.”  Stan held up his hands.

              “I didn’t wanna get into it anyways.  But, Ang, his kids are from Athena, so-”

              “Don’t matter,” Angie said firmly.  Fussing sounded from the baby monitor on the coffee table.  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go check the lil ones.”  She walked upstairs to the second floor and disappeared into the nursery.  Stan turned to Shermie.

              “By the way, you do know how you wound up with kids even though you didn’t actually sleep with their mom, right?” Stan asked.

              “No.”

              “Huh.  Well, I can explain that to you.”  Stan’s trademark mischievous grin, one that Shermie wondered if he inherited from his trickster god father, appeared.  “During your first swordfighting lesson!”

              “Not in the house!” Angie’s voice called.

              “Your first swordfighting lesson outside!” Stan amended.  He handed the sword he was still carrying to Shermie.  Shermie stared down at it.  He could see his reflection in the polished bronze blade.  “Don’t worry, I’m gonna go easy on you.”

              “Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me.”

              “Relax.  If I do chop off a finger or limb or something, Angie’s pretty good at first aid.”

              “What about Mabel and Mason?” Shermie asked.  Stan looked over at the couch as though he had forgotten about his niece and nephew.

              “Oh, right, them.”  The grin was back.  “They can watch!  It’ll be educational.”

              “They’re a year old.”

              “You’d be surprised what babies remember,” Stan said seriously.  He walked over to the couch.  Mabel was awake.  She stared up at her uncle with wide gray eyes.  Stan tickled her belly, making her giggle.  “How’s about you and your brother watch your Uncle Stan beat up your dad?”  Mabel babbled happily.  “Bloodthirsty already, huh?”  Stan looked back at Shermie.  “You’re gonna have your hands full with these two gremlins.”

              The stories that his mom and Stan had told him, of near misses with monsters and gods and prophecies, replayed in Shermie’s mind.

              “Yeah,” he said softly.  “I am.”

[cecilebutcher]

〈⛯ℂ𝕪𝕣𝕦𝕤 𝕆𝕝𝕪𝕞𝕡𝕚𝕒⛯〉

Pinterest moodboard

“You are the dancing queen

Young and sweet only 17”

!!Likes do nothing, Reblog instead!!

C.w: cheating. Depression.

Cyrus is part of my twst x Greek mythology oc series. Go check it out!

⊱Bᴀsɪᴄs⊰

Name: Cyrus Olympia

Age:17

Date of birth: June 19

Zodiac sign: Gemini

Hight: 177cm

Dorm: Rosantée (a beautiful dorm made by @midnightmah07 & @viilpstick)

Class: 2B

Place of birth:

Father: Aegaeon Olympia (48)

Mother: Dimitra Titan (42)

Step mother: Eileen Olympia (50)

Brother: Lex Olympia (19)

Brother: Seraphim Olympia(19)

Sister: Daria Olympia (18)

Twin Sister: Cinda Olympia (17)

Brother: Nestor Olympia (16)

Sibling: Aison Olympia (16)

Sister: Xena Olympia (6)

Dominant hand: right

Based off: Apollo(Greek mythology)

Sexuality: Bisexual, poly.

⊱Aᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ⊰

Cyrus is a 177cm guy with tanned skin and freckles scattered all over his body, most noticeable are the ones on his face and shoulders, alongside a Beaty mark next to his mouth. He has blond wavy hair that reaches a bit under his shoulders that has grey strands scattered all around. He has a lean frame and baby soft skin, but is surprisingly strong.

⊱Vᴏɪᴄᴇ Cʟᴀɪᴍ⊰

D4vd (singer)

⊱Cʟᴜʙ⊰

Music club.

⊱Bᴇsᴛ Sᴜʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ⊰

Poison making. Music.

⊱Hᴏʙʙʏ⊰

Any and all things that relate to music. Archery. Camping. Travel. Dancing. Painting. Drawing. Artsy stuff. Poetry. Gardening.

⊱Bᴀᴄᴋsᴛᴏʀʏ⊰

Cyrus was born to a single mom along side his twin sister Cinda. Their mother, Dimitra, had slept with their father without knowing that he was married with children. After they were born all theee of them- him his sister and mom -moved in with their father and his family. Surprisingly, things went smoothly and they even got three more siblings.

Cyrus grew up loving music art and anything that’s artsy and creative. From a young age his parents would buy him instruments of all kinds for him to try, and he would excel in each and every single one they gave him. When he turned 14 he started to upload music he wrote on wetube for the world to see, and he quickly blew up. In only a year he had a large fan base. Now at 17, Cyrus is the biggest indie artists out there.

ᵉʳʳᵒʳ ᵉⁿᵗʳʸ ᶜᵃⁿᵗ ˡᵒᵘᵃᵈ....

⊱Sᴘᴇᴀᴄɪᴀʟ Mᴀɢɪᴄ⊰

-:Helios’ light:-

The ability to create instruments out of thin air that act like light. He can create up to 30 instruments at a time. The instrument he creates can play on their own or he can play them, and he can create a melody that changes a person mood. For example he can create a calming melody, or a sad melody, or an angry melody. No matter what type of music it is, the melody is always what he wants.

⊱Tʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛs Oɴ Cʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs⊰

𝚁𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎: Rosehearts? I think I know him? Though in all honesty I pay no attention to that school.

𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚢: I don’t know. But why is his name just…. Three?

𝙻𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚊: ah prince Kingscholar. In the wise words of my beloved twin sister Cinda, what a fucking bitch.

𝚁𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎: He’s like, Leona’s henchman, right? Poor guy.

𝙺𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚖: Ah Kalim is so cute! I met him when we were kids and he’s always been so shy and adorable~

𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕: He’s too serious in my opinion. And way too overpriced. But I suppose he has his reasons. 

𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚕: who?

𝙹𝚊𝚍𝚎: oh I have some of those! Jade gems are just so pretty you know?

𝚅𝚒𝚕: Vil! Oh I’ve worked with him before and he is so cool!! Words cannot describe Vil Shoenheit. Truly they cannot.

𝚁𝚘𝚘𝚔: Rook Hunt! Ah, such a fun guy. Me my sister and mom go hunting with his family a lot, so much fun. He’s crazy, but definitely fun.

𝙸𝚍𝚒𝚊: my beloved Cousin Idia shroud. Seeing him, I just want to put him under one of those lamps they place plants under so they get light.

𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚞𝚜: the oh so great Mallues Draconia. I have no opinion on him. Though he is pretty hot.

𝙻𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊: idk who that is in all honestly. Next.

𝙽𝚒𝚎𝚐𝚎: I’ve worked with Neige a few times. He’s nice. And has a nice singing voice. I don’t have much of an opinion on him.

⊱Pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ⊰

Positive traits: kind, nice, generous, clever, intelligent, creative, responsible, reliable, brave, confident, independent, loyal, dedicated, cheerful, supportive, helpful, ambitious, caring, loving, easy going, open minded, patient, empathetic, witty, self confident, talented, gifted, truthful, passionate, friendly, sociable, charismatic, charming, warm.

Negative traits:fearful, anxious, argumentative, possessive, jealous, envious, naive, spoilt, unstable, uncontrollable, wild, pushy, petty, emotional, cunning, passive, chaotic, egotistical, prideful.

Neutral traits: energetic, positive, honest, lighthearted, sarcastic, competitive, sentimental, private, soft, talkative, flirtatious, dreamy.

⊱Fᴜɴ Fᴀᴄᴛs⊰

Worked with Vil before and is friends with him.

RSA golden boy.

1000% mamas boy.

Super fucking fun.

Like he doesn’t get angry.

He gets upset and is pretty dramatic but doesn’t get angry.

But if you manage to get him angry.

The only thing you can do is pray.

Super fucking emotional.

Their dad’s favorite son. Not kid, that’s Daria.

Hopeless romantic no1.

Has a new crush every other week.

Spoke 10 lies his whole life.

Bitch. Just. Straight up bitch.

Closest to Nestor and Cinda.

Most famous and biggest indie singer ever.

60% of his songs are love songs

30% are about him mom and sister.

10% about whatever he feels like.

Designated doctor.

Because he is a doctor

Don’t ask how he can be a doctor a singer and a student at the same time.

He’s built different.

Surprisingly strong.

Has a tattoo off a sun flower over a sun on his back.

Top of his class.

Flirt.

Went through a one year long depression where his life was in danger.

Is better now, but still takes anti depressants.

Cried when Cinda said she wouldn’t attend nrc with him.

In her own words “too much guys. No thanks”

Has three swans.

No one likes them except for him.

comments are more than appreciated. but reblogs help the content reach more people so please reblog if you want to like<3 likes do nothing. Seriously, don’t like, reblog.

[jqmalikhsgib]

love of my life

chapter three

note: i did in fact delete a chapter. i thought four babies at a time was like too much…but this will be a big family so be prepared for that!!

going from one baby to two was a hassle! especially because harry had been working a lot more.

since he postponed his second album to be with you and the kids, once delilah was six months he decided to get back to work.

you loved that he enjoyed writing and being able to give his fans what they wanted after a year of taking a break. on top of all that he even got movie deals! harry was pretty busy.

he knew it was hard on you and the girls. he hated leaving the three of you. you always reassured him that everything will be fine, that you can handle it.

it didn’t stop him from feeling bad though. over the last six months he’s also been extra busy with olivia. she’s been blowing up his cellphone every single day.

it annoyed harry the most, especially when he was with you maybelle and delilah. he’s told her constantly when he’s with his family he will not be doing any photo ops with her! this was his moment to spend time with his wife and children.

hoping she’s understand that, being a parent herself, she didn’t listen. it only frustrated you because it frustrated harry.

“babe, it’s okay.”

“it’s not, yn! she knows i don’t get much time with you, may, and lilah. she’s taking that time away from us.”

you would just sigh and rub his shoulders or draw him a bath.

currently harry was cooing at his youngest daughter as she babbles on and smiles at her father. she looks so much like you. maybelle was harrys twin! but delilah had all of your features.

“who’s the prettiest little lilah, huh?!” harry tickles her feet as she giggles.

you were feeding maybelle while watching the scene unfold. harrys such a great father! whenever he wasn’t working he made sure his time was spent with just the three of you. he’d turn his phone off and make sure if anything needed to be done it would be done whenever he’s on the road! everyone else could wait. his family was more important.

harry finally glances at you. he smiles lovingly. marrying you had been the best decision he���s ever made! he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

“what are you thinking about over there, sunflower?”

you blushed at the nickname. harry started calling you that whenever you first started dating. you and your mom loved sunflowers. your backyard was filled with plenty!

he would sometimes catch you out back planting some more or even just watering them.

“just—have you ever thought about having more?”

you pointed to your babies. harry smirks! “all the time! you know i want big family with you. id have a million babies if it meant you’d be there mama.”

“a millions a bit excessive. but really, how many do you want?”

harry thinks. he didn’t really know how to answer that question. he only grew up with one sibling. harry had always wanted more siblings to play with growing up. but when that didn’t happen he promised he’d have a big family himself.

“i don’t know. maybe six?”

“six? really?”

“too much?” harry asked.

you shake your head.

“i grew up with nine siblings harry. six is hardly anything.”

it was true! your mom and dad had children back to back. your house was pretty rowdy growing up, but you enjoyed having a big family. though you wouldn’t want ten kids. you still wanted quite a few.

“why are you asking this, baby?”

“just curious. i guess i was thinking whenever these two get a bit older we can try again.”

harry smiles. “how much older? cause ill have a baby with you right now!”

you laugh. “let’s wait until lilah is at least two harry. there is no rush. we’re still young!”

harry nods. “anything for you darling.” and he meant that one thousand percent.

taglist:

@harryspirate

[incorrectzodiacquotes]

Hey, I know you cringe at this story, but would you be willing to talk about some of the plot ideas or backgrounds/details of the characters of LOTZ that never got to be written in? Like you mentioned that Scorpio and Pisces were childhood friends, and in the 1st chapter hinted at Virgo being from a poor family by having to sell a car. I know that you kinda don’t like your old writings now, but I loved that series a lot when I was younger! I’m just really curious 👀

lol I do cringe when I re-read what I wrote for it, but lotz will forever have a special place in my heart <3 I had to dig deep in the archives to find all my old notes about the characters, since I started it in 2015 and none of those docs had been touched since like 2018. So little of what I planned actually got posted, so it's hard to believe there were genuine fans of the 'series'!

All my old notes for lotz and anything else I had relating to it are under the cut. I hope you enjoy all my teenage ideas lol, if you have any other questions feel free to send them in and I'll do my best to think back and answer them!

Pisces and Scorpio were indeed childhood friends! And as for Virgo, I have no idea what I was thinking with that comment about her having to sell her car to afford rent - I think I just needed a reason why the group didn't have a mode of transportation and she felt like the character most likely to be a minivan mom.

They were actually both placed in the foster system when they were younger and met after getting placed in the same group home. She got bullied/pushed around a fair bit by the other kids and they ended up friends after Scorp stood up for her.

Everything I had planned about everyone's backgrounds: ( warning that there's mentions of parental death/abuse, addiction )

Aries was the child of divorce. She lived with her dad and didn't have a great relationship with her mom. I found a note that she hadn't seen her mom since her high school graduation? Very close to her dad though, he did a great job of being a single parent.

Taurus grew up in a much healthier/stable household. She was raised by two fathers after her "mom" transitioned when she was still pretty young - calls one dad and the other papa/pop.

Gem and Nye had workaholic parents, so they were often left to their own devices. As long as they kept their grades up and didn't get into any legal/major school trouble, their parents couldn't really be bothered to concern themselves with that their kids did.

Cancer's dad was involved in a fatal car crash when she was a kid, afterwards her grandmother came to live with them. Grief took a heavy toll on her mom, so her grandma was primarily in charge of taking care of her (and I think I may have given her some younger sibling/s?). Cancer still deeply loves her mom though, will fight anyone who tries to accuse her of being an absent parent.

Leo came from a typical upper class family with rich parents. His dad ran a big company that I have no specific notes on and I think his mom was supposed to be some kind of socialite/model? He's very Rachel Green coded.

Virgo was actually adopted and raised in a solidly working class family. Her parents couldn't conceive a child themselves and tried hard to make sure she never felt like she was a backup plan or a second choice. Their family never fell into poverty, but still experienced enough economic lows that she learned to be very cautious/smart with her money.

Libra came from an upper class family like Leo, but other than that I literally have no notes on what they did for work or what they were like as parents.

Scorpio's parents both struggled with addiction. His dad was an alcoholic and an abuser who took out his frustrations (often about money problems) on his family. His mom was usually too high to be able to do anything about it. Scorp got placed in foster care after his dad was arrested and his mom got sent to rehab.

Sagittarius' parents traveled around the world a ton for work (what that 'work' was I have no clue). During the summers he'd get to go with them, but during the school year he often stayed with relatives. Fortunately his aunt and uncle were pretty cool, only child himself but he had a couple cousins he grew up around.

Capricorn came from a fairly poor family with parents who consistently struggled with their finances/paying bills. As he got older he learned everything he could related to money and started working as soon as he was old enough. Explains why he's such a scrooge/miser about the group's spending habits and saving his own money.

Aquarius had a great childhood! Raised by two moms, one was a doctor and the other was a scientist of some kind. They always encouraged his curiosity and thirst for knowledge. A little concerned that he never seemed to have many (or at times any) friends growing up, but as long as he was happy they didn't comment on it.

Pisces was my other foster kid. Her mom came from a pretty conservative family, so when she got pregnant at 17/18 she was too scared to tell them until it was too late to get an abortion. Rather than supporting her and the baby they kicked her out. She stayed with the baby daddy for a little while after Pisces was born, but when they broke things off he completely disappeared from their lives. Her mom wasn't a great caregiver and often made Pisces feel guilty for being the 'cause' of all their struggles. She was placed in foster care after her mom was diagnosed with some illness (can't seem to find any mention of a specific name) and medical bills started racking up. She died a year later.

Scorpio and Pisces met after getting placed in the same group home. She got bullied a fair bit by the other kids and they became friends when he stood up for her. I think I was planning that sometime in high school Pisces' uncle (her mom's little brother) finally located her and took her in? Financially supported her and Scorp so they could go to college.

One thing I absolutely cannot find any notes/plans about is the premise for how these 13 characters became close friends and why they're all suddenly moving into new apartments together. Granted, I was 15 when I first started the series and definitely didn't have a good idea of how the real world works beyond what I saw in shows like Friends and New Girl lol. Maybe they were all newly graduated and moving into their first adult apartments away from college?? Your guess is as good as mine!

If I ever made a list of what their jobs were, it's lost to the void. All I have is a list of ideas for their majors from when I was thinking of reworking lotz into a college-au.

Aries - kinesiology

Taurus - culinary arts or finance

Gem - marketing or journalism

Nye - computer science

Cancer - nursing or education

Leo - performing arts/theatre

Virgo - something in nursing or medicine

Libra - undecided, would end up in public relations

Scorpio - criminology or psychology

Sagittarius - anthropology

Capricorn - business/economics

Aquarius - (astro)physics

Pisces - art

And here are some fun little aesthetic boards I made for all of them when I was 16! I hate how some of them look now but I was very proud with how they turned out at the time lol. I had a lotz Pinterest board as well, but it got completely revamped years later when I thought about taking the concept and making it into an urban fantasy(?) story, so it's not really relevant to the original anymore.

Aries and Taurus' boards must have gotten deleted bc I can't find them in my drafts :(

Gem

Nye

Cancer

Leo

Virgo

Libra

Scorpio

Sagittarius

Capricorn

Aquarius

Pisces

[transmasc-advice-blog]

Bathroom Problems

Sorry I just realized after writing this is super tmi but I just really need advice

Help. I'm transmasc but I haven't really started using men's bathrooms yet because I don't pass and I'm honestly kind of scared. However, there are a few things that I think will change that: I'm starting testosterone soon, and I want to buy an stp/packer. So the testosterone I think will probably make me look masculine enough that I can't use the women's restroom anymore without scaring people, and the stp will allow me to use the men's room. But like there are still problems with that. For one thing, they're super expensive! I've been looking on the transguy supply website, and I found one that I like, but it costs 50 dollars, and it also doesn't look like it will fit in the harness (made by the same company, sold separately on the website). I found another one that's small enough for me to pack with (I'm short so I really don't want anything big, I literally pack with a single pair of socks) and that would work with that harness, but it's $75. They have one for $15, but it says in the description that it's not good for packing. Also, I don't particularly want balls. Which is a problem because nearly all of them have balls. The $50 one doesn't, and I like the look of it, but like I said I don't think it will fit to wear it, just based on its shape. There's one on the site that has all the attributes I want (small, discreet, skin tone, no balls, would work as a packer), but it's over $100 and there is no way I'd ever be able to afford it. So I'm probably going to end up with one that doesn't fit the aesthetics I want. Which is fine, but I just really need to find one that's more affordable. Between the packer I want, the harness, and the underwear, it could easily add up to at least $150. I can't ask my parents for help because the first time I brought up packing my mom said she wouldn't buy me one because it "feels like a sex thing" and it makes her uncomfortable. So like if anyone knows where I can buy a cheaper one, that would be much appreciated.

Also, once I get the stp, I still don't know how confident I'll be using it in men's bathrooms. Would it be weird if I went in the stall to pee, at least at first? Do people do that? Would it be wrong for me to use the disabled accessible stall when it's the only stall?

Also, I don't know what to do about people who know me. I'm out as nonbinary, but given the way I dress most people assume I'm a girl, and I think people would get uncomfortable with me suddenly switching bathrooms, especially if I started using the urinals. Plus I occasionally wear dresses, so what bathroom am I supposed to use when I'm wearing a dress and have facial hair? Like that's how I want to look, that's what makes me feel like me, but I feel like that's also what would get me assaulted in a bathroom. I guess I'm starting to realize how my transfem friends feel :/

Sorry for the long ask, if you or anyone has any advice that would really help. Thank you

-🚹🚽🍌�� (emojis so I can find this later)

Lot to unpack here! I don’t have much experience with STPs but i’ll try my best to help :)

First off, you know those STPs that don’t look realistic? (linked one is for $12) they might not be ideal, maybe don’t use it if the urinals are crowded, but it’ll work just fine if it’s just a few people in there! no one’s looking at you. you could keep it in a bag or a nice big pocket, discreetly whip it out to pee, have a lil plastic baggy to put it back into maybe once you’re out of the bathroom… i’m not sure exactly how that one works but i’m sure you’d figure it out eventually. i also found this one and watch the ad! the woman in the video keeps it in her pants and just. pops it out. it can stay in your pants! perfect. $18.

Next thing, can a friend help you out with cost at all? Maybe a sibling? Also, once you get the STP, you probably know this but just making sure. do NOT immediately, right away after getting it, go out in public and use it. you’ve gotta practice at home first. until you’ve got the hang of it.

Nextttt, no it is not weird at all for you to use a stall. I do that all the time. The bathroom might be busy, with all the stalls in use. super awkward waiting there as the urinals free up. but that’s the only problem i can really think of? i just go super fast. in and out. no time for anyone in there to see my face. i’ve never had any problems. a few times i’ve had to go to the women’s. wasn’t great but it was all ok! for the disabled stall thing, id say use it, just be fast.

Onwards, you can let your friends and family know “i’m ready to start using the men’s restroom now so that’s what i’ll be doing just a heads up”. it’s just a bathroom, right? just a place to pee, why should anyone care? for the wearing a dress thing, make sure you’re in a safe area. you might get strange looks, ignore them. if someone tries to talk to you, go into a stall or leave. or, on days when you wear a dress, you could strictly go to places with gender neutral bathrooms. there are apps that can help you find which places have them. i think one of them is bathroom refuge? not sure.

congrats on starting T! good luck, i hope this helps, i am sick rn so this might be nonsensical