venice

reblog account

[lacedrbbon]

UNDER A LILAC TREE

VENICE! also know as delicatelullaby reblog account. my main account started to get a little bit too messy for my liking so i’m moving all of the posts i reblog onto this account with specific tags so it’s more organized!

©delicatelullaby2025

[delicatelullaby]

COCKY AS FUCK, BITCH, YOU KNOW I'M CONCEITED

VENICE BAUDELAIRE. born on september sixteenth, two-thousand-two (2002) she became the sixth-ever woman to drive professionally on the formula one track and the first black woman to drive in all of formula one history. she started off like most drivers in go karting before moving into f4, where she was scouted at age fifteen by ERIC BOUILLER before he resigned.

In 2019, she had her rookie debut under MCLAREN as the number 26. her fellow rookies of that year were GEORGE RUSSELL, LEON KENNEDY, ALEXANDER ALBON, and LANDO NORRIS. in her first year, she won her very first championship with the MCLAREN team. when interviewed after the historical accomplishment, she was asked about the sport influences she has been quoted as saying:

`` — y'know there aren't many racing influences in america, especially where i come from. but i can say i am heavily inspired by the late-- and amazing-- Maria Teresa de Filippis. she paved the way for racers like me to even have a chance in this sport. so i would like to thank her for this championship. i would also like to say i was inspired by Ricky Bobby— yes, the one from the comedy movie, that’s why i chose the number twenty—six while i was a rookie. when I seen talladega nights i jus' knew i could be great like Ricky bobby. to quote Ricky: "If you ain't first, you're last!" ``

her time with MCLAREN was short, as she left the team in 2021 with two back-to-back (2019 && 2020) championships under her belt to start her 2022 season with FERRARI. Surprisingly, she was able to acquire her third championship. VENICE then stayed with the red team, where she had an extremely intense battle with her co-rookie LEON who acquired his second championship as he won by a mere two points against her. at the start of the 2024 season venice was exchanged for LEWIS HAMILTON, where she started to race for MERCADES. working with TOTO WOLFF, she was able to get her most recent ( and fourth) championship win. the rivalry with KENNEDY and her being so strong that year, too, that there were multiple times that the two racers had almost driven each other into the barriers.

although the two drivers have had multiple spats on the track over the past seven years they seem to somewhat close friends off the track. this can shown through solo interviews VENICE has done. a popular one being a ZIWE interview form early 2026 where venice is playfully asked about who she would date on the current formula one grid. venice immediately responds with saying leon.

`` oh easy, leon scotty kennedy. we may have a lot of issues on track but off track everything is pretty good—i think. `` she then giggled before continuing. `` leon is also the only single person on the grid to my knowledge, everyone else is either married, dating someone- which i dont wanna be a home wrecker— or just too young for me. ``

LEON and VENICE also have been seen on multiple occasions hanging out during their breaks. in 2025 leon had spent a week of his f1 summer break with venice at a beach in San Fransisco. with fans taking sneaky photos of the two out and hanging out. the two formula one drivers have never made any comments about the rumors of them dating, in fact they like to tease each other about it.

[easyboyrecliner]

a VENNIE THIS IS SOONSO COOL

[lacedrbbon]

TYYYYY !!!!

[mariablogz]

things to script : kpop idol dr ✧

✦ your stamina is naturally high. practices, performances & tours never leave you exhausted.

✦ you learn choreography quickly and accurately.

✦ cameras naturally capture your best angles.

✦ you are confident during performances, interviews & livestreams.

✦ your stage presence is strong and captivating.

✦ your voice remains healthy despite frequent singing.

✦ your group has a healthy and supportive relationship.

✦ fan interactions are always positive and respectful.

✦ you maintain a healthy work-life balance.

✦ you always feel comfortable and confident in your outfits.

✦ your schedules are organized and manageable.

✦ your hard work is recognized and appreciated.

✦ you continue improving without feeling pressured.

✦ your performances are enjoyable and memorable.

[bluejji]

_things to script ﹫vocalist edition

O1⎯ you always hit your notes right

O2⎯ you have perfect breath control

O3⎯ you can sing any song effortlessly

O4⎯ you never get that nervous before getting on stage/singing in front of people

O5⎯ your voice sounds better live

O6⎯ you can sing while dancing easily without struggling

O7⎯ your voice never cracks while singing

O8⎯ you don’t need many takes to record

O9⎯ your voice sound good even if your sick

1O⎯ you can hit whistle notes easily

11⎯ you can control your voice really well

12⎯ even haters admitted liking your voice

13⎯ your voice suits every genre

14⎯ your voice is really recognizable (ex: miyeon from i-dle)

15⎯ your throat never gets sore from singing

[hesperiaaan]

︵ things to script : godly domains ♡

🌿 nature : oceans, rivers, lakes, rain, storms, lightning, thunder, wind, mountains, volcanoes, forests, animals, jungles, deserts, ice, snow, seasons, earthquakes, wildfires, plants, flowers, trees, insects, birds, predators...

🌿 celestial : sun, moon, stars, constellations, planets, comets, eclipses, dawn, dusk, day, night, space, gravity, time, fate, cosmic order...

🌿 life & death : life, birth, fertility, pregnancy, childhood, growth, aging, death, rebirth, souls, spirits, ancestors, funeral rites, resurrection, healing, disease, medicine...

🌿 civilization : cities, kingdoms, government, law, war, battle, strategy, victory, protection, justice, diplomacy, trade, roads, architecture, agriculture, livestock, harvests, markets, currency, exploration...

🌿 knowledge : knowledge, wisdom, education, science, mathematics, language, writing, memory, history, invention, technology, craftsmanship, engineering, philosophy...

🌿 arts : music, dance, poetry, painting, sculpture, theater, storytelling, fashion, beauty, festivals, entertainment...

🌿 human experience : love, hate, friendship, family, marriage, desire, passion, happiness, hope, courage, fear, anger, grief, mercy, compassion, loyalty...

🌿 economy : wealth, gold, gems, mining, banking, prosperity, poverty, crafts, industry...

🌿 travel : travel, navigation, journeys, messengers, sailors, migration, transportation...

🌿 supernatural : magic, divination, prophecy, curses, blessings, spells, witchcraft, illusions, necromancy, dreams, luck, misfortune.

🌿 social : freedom, order, chaos, equality, unity, rebellion, tradition, change, hospitality, community...

🌿 abstract : time, space, matter, life, death, energy, creation, destruction, existence, reality, fate, probability, entropy, order, chaos.

[hesperiaaan]

︵ things to script : supermodel reality ♡

📷 you are 100% photogenic from every single angle. you never look awkward in photos. you never blink mid-shot.

📷 your skin is permanently clear, glowing, and radiant. you always wake up looking camera-ready. you never experience bloating, or have dark circles.

📷 high heels are incredibly comfortable and easy to walk in. you are completely immune to tripping, slipping, or rolling your ankles on the runway. clothes always fit your body perfectly.

📷 you can eat whatever food, dessert, or snack you want while naturally maintaining your exact desired physique.

📷 your runway walk is iconic, recognizable, and mesmerizes the entire fashion world. designers fight to have you open or close their shows.

📷 you are the global ambassador for the world's most elite luxury fashion, jewelry, and beauty houses. your billboard campaigns look breathtaking in every city.

📷 you effortlessly land on the front cover of international fashion magazines (like vogue, harper's bazaar, and numéro).

📷 you are always on the exclusive, high-tier guest list for the met gala. your custom-designed outfits are always named "best dressed" by critics and the internet.

📷 you travel the world in private jets and first-class suites for fashion weeks and campaign shoots. you never get jet lag or travel fatigue.

📷 luxury brands constantly send you their newest, unreleased collections, bags, and shoes as gifts. you have unlimited access to fashion archives for any event.

📷 the hair and makeup teams love working with you because of your personality.

📷 your modeling agency and manager are protective of you. they negotiate massive multi-million dollar contracts, respect your boundaries, and never overwork you.

📷 you are completely immune to internet hate, cancel culture, or rumors. the public and your fans adore you and respect your private life.

📷 the paparazzi always keep a distance and never cross your boundaries.

[hopelessghostr]

This was so hot what the fuck

[lacedrbbon]

@easyboyrecliner your man keeps coming up on my dash 😭😭

[ohsxxnta]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ calm luh script i made for my twinskis cortis dr!! @thecloverrpatch

using @sillygirlsalad's old cortis script as a base <3 luv u

[lacedrbbon]

IT LOOKS SO COOL

[hesperiaaan]

︵ things to script : s/o stuff ♡

🍁 you don't have exhausting, petty fights or misunderstandings.

🍁 you never run out of things to talk about. silent moments together also do not feel awkward.

🍁 you share the exact same sense of humor. you can easily make each other laugh and have plenty of inside jokes.

🍁 there is no jealousy, insecurity, or loyalty issues in your relationship. you trust each other.

🍁 cuddling, hugging, and holding hands doesn't feel sticky or too hot.

🍁 you naturally know how the other person likes to be comforted when they are sad, stressed, or tired.

🍁 you feel 100% comfortable and relaxed around them. you don't feel like you have to look "beautiful" in front of them in an unhealthy way, and vice versa.

🍁 being in their presence instantly calms your anxiety and makes you feel safe.

🍁 you share several hobbies and activities that you both love doing together.

🍁 your friends and family genuinely love your partner and think you are perfect together.

🍁 no outside people (like exes or toxic people) ever try to interfere with or cause drama in your relationship.

🍁 they know exactly how to please you, and vice versa.

🍁 you are immune to your relationship ever becoming toxic or unhealthy.

🍁 you love each other unconditionally.

🍁 they see you as attractive, and vice versa.

[sireneptune]

#WHATSINMYBAG. —FAMEDR?! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

💼:; Givenchy bambi bag gifted by jess !(⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

🔓:;

① makeup bag with my eyeliner, mascara, lip liner, lipstick and lipgloss

② dragibus candy bag...(⁠^⁠～⁠^⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ

③ cherry cola can yum

④ hand cream

⑤ perfume (also the same i have in my CR :3)

⑥ monchichi ring and a little bunny trinket that are hanging out.. together in the bag. lazy. i fear i am like this in all of my realities.

⑦ flowers I pick on my walk to uni/alone walks, so i can give them to my loves.

⑧ wallet with the pictures of jess n oscar in it (notice how they're both wearing sunglasses)

⑨ beautiful calligraphy pen that oscar gifted me, also hanging out in the bag.

⑩ macbook w case and sticker

⑪ childhood camera (CR one!) that i scripted still works and will always work. I take pictures of everything and anything.

⑫ tissues and hand sanitizer

⑬ gum

⑭ little betty page pouch for additional stuff, so happy i found it!!

🪷; @easyboyrecliner @crackbaby999 @grrrlsgogames @emotionallyderanged @jigssawed @dizzydotcom @igorshiftz @reipiter @ananaloghorrorgirl @ipodcord @elyssshft

[lacedrbbon]

BANGER ELLIE

[bunni4koo]

‘Contradictory’ things I’ve scripted about myself in my fame DR

1. Scripting that people perceive me as mysterious but I go live playing video, cooking, or ranting about films or random facts, posting almost everyday on insta and I also vlog my life

2. Having 2 jobs, being a full-time college student and student athlete and I’m somehow still chronically online and I get at least 9 hours of sleep

3. Being mature for my age but still loving kid media and having some childish tendencies

4. Being vulgar in a funny non-obnoxious way and people still viewing me as sweet and innocent. (People find it cute/funny when I cuss or when I’m mean).

5. Having anxiety that makes me think of the worst case scenario while also being optimistic

6. Being sex positive but also feeling ashamed talking about my sex life(this is mostly because I’m an ex- Disney star and also ex-religious)

7. Me being emotionally mature but I also ignore my boyfriend when he pmo

8. I’m a patient person but my siblings know how to irritate the hell out of me and ragebait me (especially my brothers they can irritate me fast asf).

Are all of these contradictions? Nah, but I wanted to post also can you tell I want people to view me as nice 🫣👀

[emotionallyderanged]

euphoria what's in melody's bag?

the bag itself was a gift for my sixteenth birthday!

the items!

- my phone

- my earbuds

- my lip stuff; chapstick & lipstick

- sunnies

- wallet

- extra loose cash

- lil baggie of um you know..

- and finally, my cart and juul

taggies; @elyssshft @unidentified-divinity @easyboyrecliner @delicatelullaby @sireneptune

[mystra-midnight]

The Weight of Small Things

summary: every instinct he had—every hardwired response shaped by years of survival—told him to treat this like a threat assessment. to anticipate. to prepare. to expect the worst before it had the chance to happen. but she wasn’t something he could outfight. she wasn’t something he could plan around or contain..

warnings: fluff. no smut. leon pov. unnamed female character referred to as she/her/wife.

words: 3.2k

notes: real talk. leon kennedy = absolute girl dad + best dad = overprotective dad. i've been asked why i don't write more fluff. please know, my happy triad is smut, fluff, angst. so enjoy this teeth rotting montage of leon leaning fatherhood. timeline wise, i'd say this is somewhere after re4:remake.

Leon learned fatherhood in pieces.

Not in chaos, not in blood-slick corridors, or the weight of a gun in his hand, not even in the big moments—the ones people took pictures of, the ones that made it into baby books. He learned it in quieter moments that felt, somehow, more dangerous. Moments where there was nothing to aim at. Nothing to fight. Just a small, fragile life placed into his arms, and the terrifying understanding that this—this mattered more than anything he had ever survived.

He learned fatherhood the way he'd learned survival—instinct first, understanding later.

Leon Scott Kennedy had faced bioweapons, cults, and governments that lied as easily as they breathed. But none of it prepared him for the first time his daughter wrapped her fingers around his thumb and refused to let go.

She was born on a rainy night.

Leon remembered the sound of it more than anything—the steady drum of rain against the hospital windows, constant, like a clock counting down toward something inevitable. It had filled the room, settled into the spaces between each breath, each passing second.

He stood beside the bed, awkward in a way that felt unfamiliar, his shoulders tense in a way no battlefield had ever managed. His hands hovered, uncertain, before settling at his sides, like he wasn't sure where they belonged. His gaze fixed on her—his wife—on the slow rise and fall of her chest, on the exhaustion etched into her features.

He'd been shot before. Stabbed. Thrown through glass hard enough to feel it for days after. He knew pain—how to meet it, how to endure it, how to push through it until it stopped mattering. None of it came close to this.

Standing there, waiting, held in place by something he couldn't force his way through. The helplessness of it settled deep in his bones, unwelcome. This was not a fight he could step into for her. Not something he could take onto himself, no matter how much he wanted to.

When the crying finally came—sharp, furious, alive—it hit him harder than any explosion ever had.

A nurse pressed the tiny bundle into his arms.

And he froze.

"Support her head," someone said, gentle but firm.

Right. Head. Important.

His hands, so steady with a firearm, felt clumsy now. Too big. Too rough for something so small. He adjusted, carefully—so fucking carefully—and then she was there. Her weight settling into his arms, warm and fragile, in a way that felt frighteningly certain. Like something inevitable. Like gravity.

She was small.

God, she was so small.

Her face was scrunched, red, furious at the world she'd just entered. A thin, indignant wail left her, and Leon—Leon, who had talked down infected villagers and negotiated with armed men—panicked.

"Hey—hey, it's okay," he said, his voice gentler than ever. "I've got you. I've got you, kid."

Kid. That word hit like a brick to the chest, lingering long after the blow.

Her crying wavered. Hitched once. Then paused. Slowly—unbelievably slowly—the sound faded into the quiet. Her tiny hand lifted, searching without aim until it brushed his chest. Her fingers closed in the fabric of his shirt, small and stubborn, and held on.

Something shifted in him that day. Something permanent.

The first moment that broke him open wasn't dramatic.

It wasn't her birth. It wasn't her first cry. It wasn't even the first time he held her.

It was three days later.

He had been sitting on the couch, exhausted in a way that had little to do with lack of sleep. The house was quiet in the fragile way places sometimes were, like any sudden noise might shatter it. She was tucked against his chest, tiny and warm, her breath soft and steady where it brushed the fabric of his shirt.

Leon had been afraid to move. Afraid to breathe too deeply. Afraid to exist too loudly.

Then she made a sound—a small, content sigh—and curled her fingers into his shirt.

Not gripping. Not searching. Just holding.

He didn't make a sound. He didn't move. He just sat there, staring at the wall, feeling the weight of her—impossibly light, impossibly important—settle into him. And somewhere in that quiet, it became clear.

He would burn the world down before he let anything touch her.

The first time she laughed, he almost missed it.

He'd been sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, exhaustion pulling at him like gravity, settling into his bones like something ancient. She lay on a blanket beside him, kicking her feet and waving her arms in chaotic little bursts that never quite found a rhythm. Restless. Alive.

He wasn't doing anything special—just gently tapping her nose, over and over, because it made her eyes widen. But then she let out a small, startled giggle.

Leon froze.

Then she did it again.

And something inside him—something he hadn't known was still capable of warmth—lit up.

He smiled down at her. He didn't laugh with her. He didn't dare. He only watched, quiet and a little stunned, as if the moment might slip away if he touched it too directly.

It was such a small thing. But after everything he had seen and the horrors he had survived, it felt like a miracle.

He wasn't good at the quiet parts.

He could clear a building in under two minutes. He could field-strip a handgun blindfolded. He could talk down a panicked civilian with a calm that didn't belong to someone who'd seen what he'd seen.

But rocking a baby to sleep?

That was a battlefield he had no map for.

Some nights she slept fine. Others, she wailed like the world was ending. Leon would pace the hallway with her pressed against his shoulder, murmuring nonsense, trying to keep his voice steady.

"You're okay," he'd whisper, even when he wasn't sure he believed it. "I've got you."

Sometimes she'd settle. Sometimes she wouldn't.

But every time, without fail, he stayed.

Leon didn't sleep much.

Not because of missions. Not because of nightmares. But because she breathed. Or rather, sometimes, he was convinced she didn't.

He would sit beside her cot at night, listening, the silence stretching too long between each soft inhale. Waiting. Counting. Until he leaned in just enough to see the faint rise of her chest in the low light, to feel it in himself. Only then would he settle again. Not fully. Never fully.

She caught him once—his wife.

"You're going to burn yourself out," she said, her voice groggy from sleep.

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You've checked on her six times in ten minutes."

"She could've stopped breathing."

"She didn't."

Leon paused. Then softly added, "but she could."

His wife studied him for a moment, something soft and knowing settling in her gaze.

"She's not one of your missions, Leon."

He didn't answer. Because that was the problem.

Every instinct he had—every hardwired response shaped by years of survival—told him to treat this like a threat assessment. To anticipate. To prepare. To expect the worst before it has the chance to happen. But she wasn't something he could outfight. She wasn't something he could plan around or contain.

She was something he could lose.

And that was so much worse.

She grew, as children do. But it felt too fast, almost in the blink of an eye.

One day, she fit perfectly into the crook of his arm, small enough that he could hold her without thinking. And then the next, she was on the move—crawling across the floor with a fierce, reckless determination, knocking into anything that stood in her way.

Leon learned quickly that baby-proofing a home wasn't really about safety. It was about damage control.

"Where did she even learn that?" he'd muttered one afternoon, watching as she somehow managed to pull open a drawer he could have sworn he'd locked. His wife only smiled at him, a quiet curve of her mouth, one brow lifting in a way that said she wasn't surprised.

"She's your daughter."

"I don't break into drawers."

"You broke into a high-security compound in Spain."

"That was. . . different."

And as she grew, so did the fear.

Not the sharp, immediate kind that he was used to. Not the kind that came with gunfire, with the clear snap of a trap understood a moment too late. Not the kind that he could name and meet head-on.

This was slower. Heavier. A constant hum beneath his ribs.

She waddled toward the corner of a coffee table, and his heart froze. She stumbled on a rug, and he almost leapt to catch her. She put something in her mouth, and he felt like he had aged ten years.

"You're wound too tight," his wife told him once, watching as he hovered close while she tried to climb onto the couch.

"She's going to fall."

"She's learning."

"She's going to fall," he repeated, quieter this time.

She softened, her voice gentle as she looked at him. "And you'll be there."

As she grew, there were moments when she clung to him with a kind of desperation that tightened his throat. Like the night a thunderstorm rolled in—loud, sudden, its sound cracking through the walls, rattling the glass windows. She woke with a cry, scrambling out of bed, small feet unsteady as she ran down the hall.

Leon met her halfway, dropping to his knees just in time for her to collide with him, her weight hitting his chest hard for someone so small. She buried her face in his shirt, shaking, crying.

"It's okay," he murmured, lifting her easily. "I've got you."

He carried her to the couch, settling with her curled against his chest. Each thunderclap made her flinch, and with every flash of lightning, she grasped him more tightly. He held her through all of it.

Not because he knew how to soothe her. But because she believed he could.

And her belief—that blind, absolute trust she placed in him—was something he guarded more fiercely than anything else in his life.

Leon taught her things. Not the way he'd been taught—harsh, unforgiving, survival at any cost. He softened it where he could, filed down the sharper edges, and reshaped it into something softer. Something she could hold without getting cut.

"Okay," he said one evening, kneeling in front of her, holding his hands out. He took her wrist, his fingers curling around it—not tight, just enough to show her. "If someone grabs your wrist, like this," he said, "what do you do?"

She looked up at him, her expression serious and unblinking, like children do when they think they've got the right answer. Her head tilted a little, and a soft wave of blonde curls fell across her forehead as she thought about it.

"Bite them?"

Leon blinked, caught by her answer.

"That's— actually, yeah. That works. But let's try this first."

He guided her through it, slow and patient in a way no one had ever been with him. Showing her how to twist free, how to pull back, how to put space between herself and whatever held her.

And always—how to run.

"Why?" she asked, her small brow furrowing.

"Because getting away is more important than winning," he answered quietly.

She considered that for a moment.

Then nodded and smiled.

"Okay!"

Later that evening, when their daughter was asleep, his wife found him sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at his hands. His gaze was distant. A thousand yards.

"You're teaching her to fight," she said gently.

For a moment, he wasn't there with her. Flashing lights flickered. Police sirens pierced the air. The wet sound of footsteps followed him. The smell of decay, thick and clinging, hung in the air. Shouts and screams echoed around him. It pressed in, close and immediate.

Then he blinked and lifted his head, as if surfacing from beneath the haunt of his memories, almost as if he had just noticed her standing there.

"I'm teaching her to survive."

"She's a child, Leon."

His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking once beneath the strain.

"I know."

The words came out strained, like something pulled too tight.

"I know," he repeated, softer. "That's why I have to."

She called him Dad for the first time on an ordinary Tuesday. There was no build-up. No big moment. He was awake early, as always—before the sun, the house quiet around him. Halfway through making coffee, moving on autopilot more than thought, her small voice carried through the quiet.

"Dad?"

He stilled, then slowly turned.

She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, blonde hair a tangle of knots around her face, rubbing sleep from her eyes, still clutching her stuffed bear in one hand.

"Dad," she said again, reaching up with both hands. "Up."

He looked at her for a moment, as if the gap between them needed to be crossed twice. Then, silently, he moved forward—closing the distance quickly—and lifted her into his arms, holding her close, perhaps a bit too tightly.

"Yeah, baby", he murmured into her hair. "I've got you."

She yawned, small and sleepy. Then she rested her head against his shoulder, the weight of it settling easily. And just like that, it became the most important word he had ever been given.

As she grew older, her curiosity deepened, and she started asking questions. Not dangerous ones, at least at the beginning. Just simple, curious questions that reflected her growing wonder about the world around her.

"Why do you check the doors so much?" "Why do you wake up before the sun?" "Why do you look tired even when you sleep?"

He never had good answers. Not ones he could give her anyway.

He didn't want to tell her the truth—that he checked the doors because he had seen what happened when people didn't, that he woke early because nightmares didn't keep to any kind of schedule, that sleep didn't always mean rest.

So he softened it where he could, gave her the gentlest versions instead.

"Because I want to keep you safe." "Because mornings are quiet." "Because I'm still learning how to rest."

She accepted every answer without hesitation.

No suspicion. No second glance. She took his words as they were, small hands wrapped around something she trusted without question. There was no weight to it for her. No doubt.

And somehow, that made it harder.

The first time she realised what he did for a living, it didn't go well. He had wanted her to be older than she was—much older. But she had overheard something she shouldn't have and repeated it, as children do, without understanding the consequences.

"You fight. . . monsters?" she asked, whispering it like a secret meant for night alone. She even cupped her small hands around her mouth, as though that might contain the sound.

Leon hesitated.

There it was. The question he had been trying to avoid.

"Sometimes."

He watched her eyes widen, not with fear, but awe. And his heart dropped into his stomach.

"That's so cool!"

"No," he said immediately, sharper than he meant to, the panic in it enough to make her flinch. "No, it's not cool."

"But you save people. Like a hero."

His chest tightened at that, something heavy settling behind his ribs. She looked at him and saw a hero. He looked at himself and saw something else entirely—someone who had been broken, worn down in ways that did not show on the surface. Damaged in places no one could fix.

"It's. . . it's complicated, baby."

She tilted her head with that easy innocence children carried, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of it. She studied him with the same unnervingly perceptive look her mother wore—the kind that seemed to see more than it should.

"Do you. . . get hurt?"

Leon blinked. Opened his mouth. Then closed it.

"Sometimes."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she reached out, her small hand pressing against his cheek, right over a scar he had long since stopped noticing. He had forgotten where it came from. Spain, maybe. Or before that. Raccoon City. They blurred together after a while—the blood, the injuries, the years between them.

"That's not okay," she said firmly.

He let out a quiet breath, something fragile slipping through the cracks. Part of him wanted to laugh. Another part wanted to cry. Both feelings sat heavily in his chest.

 "Yeah, baby," he agreed. "I know."

The worst nights never truly stopped; they only changed shape. Instead of sitting beside a crib counting each breath, he found himself standing in doorways, watching her sleep from a distance. Making sure she was still there. Still safe.

Sometimes she would wake and catch him there.

"Dad?"

"Go back to sleep, baby."

She never did. Not immediately, at least.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Leon hesitated. He still did not know how to explain it—how to put shape to the fear that lived in his bones. The way his stomach seemed to fall out from under him whenever he imagined her hurt, frightened, taken from him. How every instinct in him demanded he protect her, no matter the cost. He would have burned the world to ash to make certain she never doubted she was safe. Loved.

"Something like that. . ."

And every time, she would shift beneath the blankets, lifting the edge and patting the space beside her like she was sneaking the dog into bed after being told not to.

"C'mere," she'd mumble, voice thick with sleep.

And every time, he would.

He would cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, and she would curl into him without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because to her, it was.

"You're okay," she murmured one night, already drifting again. "I've got you."

She said it so simply. So certain of it. One small hand curled into his shirt, her cheek warm against his side like she could not imagine a world where he wasn't there.

Or one where she would not reach for him when he hurt.

His throat tightened with tears. He smoothed a hand over her hair and swallowed against the ache rising in his chest.

"Yeah, baby," he whispered after a long moment. "I know."

He still carried scars. He still carried weapons. Still carried the weight of a world that never seemed to tire of breaking him. He still took missions he could not refuse. Still walked into places most people never came back from. Still shouldered burdens simply so no one else would.

But now, when he came home—bruised, exhausted, carrying the scent of smoke and adrenaline—she ran to him with open arms and absolute trust, never hesitating, never questioning whether he would catch her.

Now there was always something pulling him home.

Not duty. Not obligation.

A small hand gripping his shirt. A small voice calling him Dad. A life that did not care about the man he had been before, only the man who kept showing up.

And now, every time he stepped into the dark, every time the world tried to drag him back toward that place of self-loathing and old wounds, Leon held onto that.

Held onto her.

Because now survival wasn't enough.

[unidentified-divinity]

𝚿 “Hey Saiki who’s the new kid, and what’s up with his hair?”

…good grief 

!! BEST VIEWED IN DARK MODE !!

ƇӇƖƛƘƠ ƲƇӇƲƲ the weirdo American transfer student at PK Academy, whose entire life goal is convincing everyone in his school that his childhood friend Kusuo Saiki is an alien. Fun fact, Saiki is uh, not an alien.

Often recognized as the weird guy with crazy tinfoil hat conspiracy theories,  making up stories about outsmarting an Alien captain who led a force similar to the Dark Reunion — it’s no wonder he’s often spotted with Shun Kaidou. But when he’s not lying about alien encounters and telling people the green in his hair is a mark from one of said alien encounters, he’s actually one of the smartest in the group. Uchuu always places in the top 15 during exam season, so why does he play dumb? For entertainment. He likes the attention, and rage baiting his friends is funnier than any comedy show.

Besides his bromance with Kaidou, Uchuu is also apart of the PK psychics! With his ability of Emotional Resonance, he can get “in tune” with peoples intent & emotions within their words & actions. This is mostly shown in his relationship with Kokomi Teruhashi, someone he cannot stand. Because his power allows him to feel that her perfect girl persona is mostly curated, but who knows why she doesn’t trust him, maybe aliens infiltrated her….

Uchuu is easily spotted within the halls of PK Academy, bright blue hair with some green streaks and his uniform always worn incorrectly— never wears his blazer, the top buttons of his shirt never actually buttoned, headphones around his neck, studded belts with keychains & trinkets hanging at the waist, pants so long the hem is worn out, tie occasionally swapped for a longer version, and that damn bag covered with pins and patches — none of this falls within the dress code. But he gets away because he’s (somehow) a model student and he gets brushed off as a unaware American…despite being born and raised in Japan.

(╹ -╹)? xtra things I scripted; This dr actually starts in the first year of hs (not the 2nd yr when the show takes place), Teruhashis brother isn’t a overprotective creep, Im immune to her goddess aura, Saiko isn’t a complete rich asshole, Auira has more melanin + gyaru-ness, the time loop is not as many years

(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) luvs Arcades & DDR, Shopping with Aiura Mikoto, creative spaces, eating out with friends, beach vacations, soft serve, upbeat music, melon soda, sci-fi novels, my pets, warm days, dinners with my family, sightseeing

(¬_¬") dislikes Hall monitors, bland food, unoriginality, fake people, romcoms, coffee, uncleanliness / messiness, sticklers for rules, history class, Reita Tortisuka asking if the girls who talk to him have romantic intention (they never do)

fellow PK classmates

@easyboyrecliner // @l1ttlejellyf1shy // @delicatelullaby // @elyssshft // @tadaffied // @ipodcord // @sireneptune // @emotionallyderanged // @ohsxxnta

!! I’m not a race changer I jus want a Japanese name💔 #texan4ever

[lacedrbbon]

my favorite alien conspiracist everrrrrrrrr !!!!!!

[jovashiftz]

CORTIS DR

my lines in “color outside the lines” EP

(i only have one line in lullaby so i didn’t add that in)

[elyssshft]

a day in the life as a member of the straw hat pirates (one piece dr)

on a day where we find a new island

(really short post bcuz i didn’t know what to do next…)

I'm typically the first straw hat to wake up--since I'm a mermaid, I sleep in the aquarium...everyone wakes up a few hours later

early morning - sanji prepares breakfast for the crew! we usually chit-chat abt various different things whilst eating

after breakfast - a new island is spotted in the distance, we begin to sail towards it (& hope we don't run into trouble...esp after the events of the last island we visited)

arrival @ island - we finally arrive at the island...but things look weird, like scary weird. usopp refuses to get off the ship ("can't go on that island" disease...). i also refuse to go...so we end up being the first two crew members off the ship (we both drew the shortest sticks 💔)

things go wrong- when usopp & i don't return...the rest of the crew realizes they HIGHKEY made a mistake so they all leave the ship (truth is, we got lost bcuz ofc we had to stumble upon some sort of creepy maze island...like this is the type of stuff that ONLY happens to us.

So like, fortunately for us…there was no big bad villain or anything. We just had TERRIBLE luck.

( special tags -> @unidentified-divinity , @dizzydotcom , @ipodcord )

[easyboyrecliner]

⅋̳. 𝒊 am the bringer of s𝑇⍶𝓇͟ˢ , the bringer of light & death , a 𝑓⍶l𝔰ⲉ 𝒶𝖓gə͟l

2018 : // 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒lıʌǝp 𓍝 𝕯R ⋮ ❛ ȶɦɛʀe 𝙞̲ˢ ˢφ 𝘮̲uch 𝕾tubbφrnⲉss 𝙞̲n 𝑇hⲉ h𝓊𝖒⍶𝖓 ‘ ⲏⲉ⍶R𝑇 ❜ 𓋹𓃠𓋹𓃠𓋹 . #GODDESS&WAITRESS , a shooting star ⅋ false angel

❛ she was like a hurricane , wild and free. but as elegant as a star in the sky. ❜

۪ ݁ 𝙾̲𝑫𝑬𝑇𝑇𝑬 : 𝒮𝒯𝓔ℛN ݁ ۪ ୧ , . . . a duty bound waittress who inspired more chaos than fear: as odette , a name she chose to hide her identity , is no ordinary waitress working in the halls of 𝒃𝖎̲sȶ𝓇͟ᵒ h𝓊𝔡𝔡𝒚. the loving bistro that has too much drama, santa fae chickens, and a certain group of lawyers that frequent the premises.

t𝖍̲ⲉ𝓇͟ⲉ'ˢ ⍶ s𝑇⍶𝓇͟ m̲a𝖓   ✶₊]   ฬ⍶iting 𝖎̲𝖓̲ t͟𝖍̲ⲉ 𝒮𝐊̲𝑦

ˢʷᵃⁿ ˡᵃᵏᵉ　𝖔𝖕.²⁰　//　　ACT IV.. ⁿᵒ.²⁹　( 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚎! )

her true identity is that of a 𝖌𝘰𝒅𝒅ⲉ𝖘𝖘 : one hailing from another planet, tugged far , far, away in the galaxy. the planet is called 𝔩̲𝔩̲𝖎̲u𝔯̲𝖓𝖎̲⍶ : called paradise on the 𝔩̲𝔩̲𝖎̲u𝔯̲𝖓𝖎̲⍶n tongue. it is small, but the population is larger than anticipated. immortal and mortal walk alongside another. 𝔩̲𝔩̲𝖎̲u𝔯̲𝖓𝖎̲⍶n people reside in the underground, living in temples crafting by their own hands. it is a planet shrouded in fog which carry countless of stars, illuminating the otherwise dark planet : as no sun is able to shine through the tunnels that lead to the underground cities. it is notoriously known to be a planet that is shrouded in secrecy, and it is best intended to keep it that way. the 𝔩̲𝔩̲𝖎̲u𝔯̲𝖓𝖎̲⍶n's fought hard to be hidden from the prying eyes of others, but whatever for?

𝔩̲𝖎̲𝔯̲𝖎̲ȶ𝖍̲, otherwise known as 𝖔𝒅𝓮tt𝓮, or the ⲉvⲉ𝖓st⍶𝔯̲ of 𝔩̲𝔩̲𝖎̲u𝔯̲𝖓𝖎̲⍶, is a goddess of peace and known trickster sp𝖎̲r𝖎̲t . 𝔩̲𝖎̲𝔯̲𝖎̲ȶ𝖍̲ is also an oracular 𝖌𝘰𝒅𝒅ⲉ𝖘𝖘 , meaning that she is tied to fate and destiny — prophetic dreams haunt her in her nights sleep. they call her the oracle as well, providing prophecies to those who ask. kings, queens, merchants, or anyone who dared venture into her temple had been met with nothing more than a warm welcome. her presence was calm and serene, utmost peaceful. 𝔩̲𝖎̲𝔯̲𝖎̲ȶ𝖍̲ had been regarded as a 𝖌𝘰𝒅𝒅ⲉ𝖘𝖘 of stars and astrology as well — she had been the sole reason as to why stars shine as brightly as they did. but due to her disappearance a light in the ever-lasting-fog had begun to grow dim. the ancient greeks would’ve confused her with the 𝔩̲⍶dy ⍶sȶ𝑒𝔯̲𝖎̲⍶ , someone 𝔩̲𝖎̲𝔯̲𝖎̲ȶ𝖍̲ views as a friend...she is best described as a runaway de𝖎̲ty, who thrives off of the attention of being worshipped, but is in desperate need of a break.

she journeyed far and wide, in searchings of peace and calm, and 𝔩̲𝖎̲r𝖎̲ȶ𝖍̲ had found what she desperately wanted.

the ⍶və͟𝖓g𝑒𝓇͟s , as well as the gu⍶𝔯̲𝔡𝖎̲⍶𝖓s of the g⍶l⍶x𝒚, are looking for her — though she is no threat : just a trickster goddess let loose in new york! but alas no one expect 𝖒⍶tt 𝖒u𝔯̲𝔡𝖔ck, the devil of hell’s kitchen and the vigilante known as “𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒lıʌǝp” , has a slight sense of her identity. though he mistakenly mistook her for an angel. ever since he found out that was not the case, he referred to her as a 𝑓⍶l𝔰ⲉ 𝒶𝖓gə͟l. 𝖔𝒅𝓮tt𝓮 had simply laughed and dismissed him. that sums up their relationship — though they are reluctant allies.

⅋̳. 　𝒎𝒚　　NA · ME —  ᶦˢ`𝗔⠀ ᴷᴵᴸᴸᴵᴺᴳ⠀ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃.

: 𝟿 𝐋𝐈(𝒗)𝐄𝐒 \　　 ᴰ̲ᴿ̲ : set place in the city of NEW YORK. featuring the characters introduced in the show 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒lıʌǝp , as well as the ⍶və͟𝖓g𝑒𝓇͟s , and other 𝒎𝘢r𝒗𝘦l characters.

❛ floating under water , ever changing picture, hours out from land , in tunes with all our dreams ❜

۪ ݁ 𝙾̲𝑫𝑬𝑇𝑇𝑬 & MATT ݁ ۪ ୧ , . . .two fiends that reluctantly act as allies. once having been friends for a brief period, matt broke off their friendship after feeling betrayed by odette. as she was not quite the woman she made him believe her to be. though his fondness for her will be the cause for his eventual downfall, he cannot help but still care for her, despite her lying to him about her identity.

dφ𝖓't h⍶t𝔢 t𝙝𝖊 g𝙞𝙧l   ✶₊]   j𝘶st h⍶te t𝙝𝖊 Շ𝖗i𝖒𝔢

/ /.⠀ 𝑶𝑵 ᴬ͙   𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩:  𝒎𝘰s𝑇 𝑓𝘰𝘶𝔩̲.

the 𝑓⍶l𝔰ⲉ 𝒶𝖓gə͟l , is the 𝒃ane of matt murdock's existence. he deemed odette to be deciteful, if only he knew she was a trickster deity. nothing but humiliation and shame coursed through his veins when he was reminded of the instance. and all she felt was a slight amount of pity, as well as amusement, for matt murdock.

he had wholeheartedly believed that an angel had descended from the heavens to guide him into gods path — after dealing with the problem that was frank castle and his unwillingness to cooperate. he had been angry at everyone, but above all at himself. he felt a twinge of failure, unable to help castle turn to the light. to turn good.

the vigilante had taken his frustrations out on those deserving of his penitence.

and it was one of those nights where he happened to hear the distressed screams of a woman. and it was then he acted on his instincts: to help. he rushed, ran, hurried, to save the woman in danger. there was urgency in the way he ran, as he knew women were unsafe during late hours like these. he wished to help, all he wished was to help

though when daredevil arrived all he could sense was a limp body and a person standing next to the body laying on the floor. it confused him. because for a matter of fact the woman standing did not seem to have much muscle on her, and was presumably of short stature. yet she had saved herself: which filled matt with satisfaction. he could feel her gaze, warm yet hard, on him. for reasons he did not know, it unsettled him — her stare felt questioning, now that he thought about it. as if she'd been judging him, daredevil, to help her. it also unsettled him how much comfort it brought him that the woman had been able to fend for herself.

"are you alright?" he had asked, worry overtaken him. for once he ignored his intuition, for something about her seemed...wrong. matt couldn't quite put his fingers on it. he could smell blood, but matt wasn't sure if it was hers or that of the attacker.

"i am, thank you stranger. i suppose you are the masked vigilante that they refer to as 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝑒lıʌǝp?" she had replied. her voice was warm, featherly light, and cheerful despite almost having been assaulted. there was a slight accent to her voice, pleasant now that he thought about it. but the way she spoke was. . .regal, old. he guessed her to be in her twenties by the sound of her voice, so he thought it odd she spoke so. . .strangely. "i have heard much about you and your deeds for this city. how marvelous that someone like you ought to help those in need! but i am well capable of protecting myself."

matt heard, sensed, that she moved closer to him. the faint sound of her footsteps echoing off the cobblestone beneath them.

"i admire your bravery, stranger. i haven't met many men like you. so brave. why, i must still thank you for the attempt of being my knight in shining armor. i suppose i'll see you around, yes?" by the sound of her voice, she had been smiling at him. calling him a hero. he had been one, but there was slight guilt consuming him for reasons inexplicable to him. "though i have a feeling we will meet another soon again. i am called odette, you'll be in need of the name when we happen to stumble into another once more."

odette, like the swan princess in tchaikovsky's ballet play. beautiful name, for a woman with such a beautiful soul.

"i...thank you?" matt did not quite know what to say. he chuckled, then she snickered as well.

it warmed him slightly knowing she found amusement in this situation as well.

matt felt her walk closer to him. he did not take a step back. being too transfixed on this strange lady and her weird way of talking. and when she pressed her hand against his cheek, wiping away the blood he forgot to rub off, he felt his heart stop.

"were you injured, stranger?" odette had asked, sadness and concern lacing her voice.

her goodness surprised him. that she cared, also surprised him. so far the only people that cared for his well being were froggy, claire, and karen as well.

"yes, but it's n...nothing to worry about." did he just stutter?

she chuckled. clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

"lies. i can smell the blood on you. it’s fresh. by the smell of it." she chuckled. "I know a friend of a friend who'd do a fine job at patching you up, mr. daredevil. but alas. no fighting for this night anymore, you'll tear even more tissue and neither of us want the wound to get infected."

the air shifted slightly as she removed her hand. pressumably pointing to where his other wounds were. not that he was aware of them, he was, but he could not see them. telling her that he was blind would give away a big part of his identity, so he refrained on mentioning it.

what a thoughtful offer though.

"i am fine. i do have a friend who can patch me up." claire would not be pleased to see matt show up at her doorstep again. "but it is very sweet of you to ask your friend's friend."

a hum escaped her lips acknowledging his words, but it seemed like she did not quite believe him. matt wished to see her face and her expression. . .for her tone rendered him clueless, and the way she carried herself was unlike anyone he had met. he wanted to get a better grasp on her.

"i don't believe you, mr. daredevil!" odette gave no further explanation and simply grabbed his wrist and dragged him behind her. matt tried getting her to loose her grip on him, but she was surprisingly strong. she stepped over the unconscious guy, who in return let out a grunt, and she then said: "next week again, sweetheart?" the sarcasm was obvious.

matt was left to wonder silently. he did not want to fill out the silence that hovered above them, it felt pleasant. and odette did not seem in the mood to talk. she seemed deep in thought, as she guided him through new york city's streets. he wondered if her lips would be pursed if she was thoughtful. if she cared that she would be seen walking with daredevil, dragging him by the wrist?

surely.

"why are you doing this?" matt found himself asking before he could stop himself.

"because i am kind. i hate seeing people injured. and the smell of blood is obnoxious. the smell would cling on you for days." there was the blood thing again, he did not know what it meant. but before he could ask she answered: "i have a good nose."

"a hero like you should take better care of his body, you know. one day you'll wear a chicago overcoat and no one shall see you ever again." odette replied. a slight tinge of anger laced in her voice.

"chicago overcoat?"

"coffin! my apologies, i read a lot of books from the thirties." she explained. anger had been replaced with joy. but matt sensed it somewhat to be a lie, he did not press. "i watch noir films with my cats. they're very enjoyable! i forced a friend, who is a film geek by the way, to lend me his movies."

and then odette filled the silence with her blabber. he discovered the slang she used was a mixture between decades, matt found himself surprised when odette suddenly used "bodacious" and overuse of "excellent" only pinpointed that she had watched "bill and ted's excellent adventure" one too many times. which he had been right about after he questioned her — the two talked about the movie for a good fifteen minutes before she switched the topic once more. he found it easy to talk to her — something about her radiated gentleness and sereness. matt felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame. they talked from her love to noir movies, to her love for bad movies, to cats, to her dislike of coffee (which turned into a slight argument), and her pure, unadulterated, love for drawing. she offered to draw his daredevil persona, which flattered him.

when she pause, he heard the familiar clatter of keys. had she lead him to her home?

"careful, my dogs love strangers like you."

whatever that meant.

odette pulled him with her inside and closed the door behind her. silence greeted his ears before he heard multiple things rushing down to them. her dogs, presumably. she never let go off his wrist, carefully guiding him around her home. when she pushed him down a chair, he realized how tense he had been. tense, due to the fact he felt people following them. tense, because he worried for her safety more than his. but now he was in the comforts of her home, being taken care of her. . .and being greeted by four large dogs sniffing him. he had not noticed that her hand slipped from his wrist and that her presence, which had steadied him, was gone. she was still in the same room, but tending to other things.

odette was getting the necessary things to clean his wounds with.

matt sat on the chair, weakly raising an arm to patt one of the dogs head. he noted that they were rather fur-y.

"lady! odile! castile! perseus! stop." then she muttered something on a tongue he had never heard before and the dogs seized their relentless attempt on gaining his attention.

"what dog breed is this? their fur feels silky." matt questioned. wincing as a sharp pain at his side shot through him.

"borzoi. don't move, you'll bleed onto the carpe." then she muttered something about it being expensive and how hard blood was to wash off.

odette stepped closer, maneuvering through her dogs and pulling a chair so she could sit next to him. it scrapped the carpet lightly and her perfume hit him like a slap to the face when she sat stood right next to him. he wondered how he hadn't noticed it earlier.

"can you get out of that...shirt? i'll take my dogs out, so you have privacy." and with that she walked away. giving him the privacy he had needed. it made him smile that she respected his privacy so much. it is as if she knew the struggle of hiding herself. it gave him time to think, as he pulled off the shirt. wincing once more at the pain. at the blood he felt gushing through his body.

matt sensed her lurking, watching him once again, after seven minutes.

"you can come in. it's your house after all." matt said.

"well...you are my guest. it is not everyday a masked vigilante enters my home and needs to be patched up." a weak attempt at humor.

odette knew that the mask would stay on, she made no comment when she walked back into the room. she grabbed something and gently took his hand in hers. she handed him a cup, filled with some liquid he was unfamiliar with.

"drink it. it'll help with the pain."

he trusted her and drank it with one gulp.

then odette moved to sit down on the chair again, leaning closely as she carefully investigated his wound. matt took a sharp breath when her finger came to touch the skin near his wound. the drink, whatever it was, did as she promised. it helped the pain. it helped so well he almost blacked out, if it were not for her beginning to disinfect the wounds.

"hold still. you are squeaming around like a fish." she muttered underneath her breath. a small laugh escaped her. "you are used to the pain though. i've seen others. . .handling it not as well as you."

a compliment laced with honeyed poison.

"yeah well. . .i don't want to embarrass myself in front of a beautiful lady."

another laugh. but he was met with no retort: instead he was meet with her humming a tune.

matt noticed how gentle she was while cleaning his wound. and eventually when she stitched it up. she did not scold him — though he had no doubt she'd scold him if he were to open the wound. she was graceful. very much so. he had to think if he had met a person as graceful as her, the only one who came to mind was elektra. but there was just something different in the way that odette seemingly carried herself.

he did not know what.

neither could he shake the feeling off that she was different. not only her personality, he found her strange in the most pleasant of ways, but just...something he couldn't name.

"now. you need plenty of rest, mr. daredevil. that wound is nasty, but i've seen worse." whatever she meant by that. "i'd recommend taking a few days off. the city won't fall apart if you are not there."

with that she touched his cheek, fingers brushing slightly over the cowl and the cold skin exposed to the even colder air. he felt at peace. utterly so. as if something holy had touched him. it was enlightening. had an angel of the lord come down to bless him?

a man only dared dream.

pleasant dreams only last so long.

she was no angel of the lord.

odette was a deceitful demon, or something along those lines. she had fooled him, irequabbly so. it infuriated him that over the course of a month, he had grown so attachted to this woman. but he dug his own grave, had he not? desperately clinging to an idea of her?

when questioned as to what she truly was, odette gave no answer. it was not his buisness, she had told him. but she liked him well enough to keep him around, despite matt being nothing more than angry with her.

ever since he called her an 𝑓⍶l𝔰ⲉ 𝒶𝖓gə͟l.

her predicament had not gotten better when she began to see ℬ𝔢̲𝖓j𝐚m̲i𝖓 𝗣⌖i𝖓𝒅𝙚x𝑇𝙚𝓇͟ , where matt had only been dismissed when he asked her why exactly it had been him she began to see and not someone who was sane. odette teased him with sounding jealous.

⅋̳. 　\\ 𝕿𝖍𝖊̳ 𝒘𝒐𝒎̲𝒂𝒏 : 　 [𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑] 　ᴄʟᴀᴡꜱ͟,

✶` 𝕯̅𝒓 : sink your t̲e̲e̲t̲h̲ , you’re 𝔦𝔫 ʅσʋҽ for one night. a lyric from the song "lust for vampyr" that odette most commonly associates with benjamin poindexter. for no reason at all. if you'd also ask her for another song she'd associate him with: stalker's tango, hopelessly devoted to you, prom queen & an unhealthy obession. don't ask her why!

۪ ݁ 𝙾̲𝑫𝑬𝑇𝑇𝑬 : BENJAMIN ݁ ۪ ୧ , . . . the foes to matt murdock's existence. the couple,, as odd as either of them respectively was, fit well together and made it a slight challenge to bother matt as much as possible. it was for their own amusement, so he thinks. if it was not him they bothered, it would be wilson fisk. the grudge either hold against him, for trying to claim odette's life, was nothing daredevil, nor any other hero, could stop. but as crazy as both odette and benjamin were, they were very much in love.

❝ weird science. magic and technology. voodoo doll’s and chants. electricity. we’re making weird science ❞

𝒎𝒖ꜱ𝑇 𝒃ⲉ ℒ𝓞𝓥𝓔 𝑶𝑵 𝕿𝖍𝖊̳ ℬ𝓇͟⍶𝖎̲𝖓 ✶₊] 𝕿𝖍⍶t's 𝖌𝖔t ᴹ̲ᴱ̲ 𝑓𝓮𝓮𝔩𝙞̲𝖓𝖌 ᴛʜɪꜱ ฬ⍶𝔂

ᵂᴼᵁ̳ᴸ̳ᴰ   𝔂𝘰𝘶   [ 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 ]   ᴹ̲ᴱ̲?̲ /

odette worked at bistro huddy, the place that stole the goddesses heart — and that lead her to have met benjamin poindexter.

the bistro is tugged into some quiet, strangely peaceful for hell's kitchen, corner of new york's rowdiest districts. it was popular due to the staff, the legendary food, but also due to the charming atmosphere. it was perfect.

though some might argue, matt murdock for example, that she did not fit into hells kitchen: being too kind and sweet in the opinions of the residents living there. odette always leans a helping hand if needed, feeds the stray animals living in the streets, and donates food and money to charity. it did not help that odette was quite shy and quite awkward, as if she does not know how to interact with people properly. but despite that she is quite charming, affectionate, and tender. she is known to be kind at all times: which does put her in an opposing disposition in hells kitchen with all the criminals that run around.

odette and bridgette where the quiet ones everyone protected. and coincedentally everyone's favorite waitresses, alongside nicole of course.

and how a socially awkward, stuttering over her own words, mess got a job at bistro huddy might confuse most people. it certainly did confuse new york's crime boss, wilson fisk, when he went to eat at the bistro at the recommendation of wesley.

james wesley may have been a man who was right about many things, but this had been the only time where fisk doubted his former right hand man.

odette had nearly spilled the drink he had ordered on his fine suit — he had stared at her so sternly, she nearly passed out. and on another occasion she had forgotten his order twice, if it were not for nicole she would've completely forgotten. then odette dared lecture him on the food.

he left a hefty tip because he had not been this amused by a waitress in a long time. and he visited the bistro from time to time, frequenting it with wesley, when he had still been alive. because odette had been bad at her job, but in a way that was sweet — she always struck conversations with the guests, talking more instead of serving. and the food was good, all was well. wilson fisk had not been the only one visiting bistro huddy, a certain group of lawyers that wanted nothing more than to see wilson fisk behind bars.

which occurred one day. and the trio went to eat at the bistro before taking off to sallie's.

one thing you should know about odette, she forms attachments. when she found out about the death of wesley, she had been distraught. he was evil, but a gentleman underneath it all. he had been her favorite customer, due to him tolerating her endless blabbering and her questions.

though she was superstitious of wilson fisk, her being all too aware of his evil deeds through her prophetic abilities, she supposed he had his nice qualities. he was easy to anger, yet he never yelled at her for making a mistake. how strange mortal men were.

when wilson fisk had been released from prison, he had only but one request that he voiced aloud to the fbi agents: that'd he'd be brought food from bistro huddy. so fbi agent, ray nadeem, made sure that simple, questionable, wish would come true, sent agent ℬ𝔢̲𝖓j𝐚m̲i𝖓 𝗣⌖i𝖓𝒅𝙚x𝑇𝙚𝓇͟ to retrieve the order fisk had stated.

benjamin, though he tried to argue against that, reluctantly did as he was told. and in heindsight it may have been the best decision he had yet made. while julie, a ghost from the past, being his obsession and north star, haunted his mind with every step he took — he found a new north star.

it all started out innocently.

with odette calmly insulting him for standing in her way. he had not seen her, he had been busy staring at everyone — to make sure there were no potentinal threats — present in the bistro. benjamin leaned against one of the empty table booths while it happened. then his attention snapped to a woman behind him, coughing, and staring him down. a waitress judging by what she wore. her blue eyes skimmed over him, and the slight quip of her lips evident. she seemed displeased.

she was small. brown hair elegantly curled to frame her face. yet her eyes, a cold blue, glared into his soul. if dex would've been able to read her eyes, he would've seen the glimpse of recognition that shot through them, but he did not see that. he only let out a startled sound and moved out of her way. he only saw her take in a deep breath before smiling at him.

"if you'd mind, could you move out of the way? today is a very busy day, and i've already spilled a drink. . ." she sighed. she took another look at him, squinting when she noticed the suit jacket. she licked her lips and tilted her head slightly. "takeaway or are you eating here?"

though before benjamin could reply someone else replied for him:

"takeaway!" amber, was her name amber, shouted from behind him. "for the guy who wore those fancy suits! the one that got imprisoned, you remember?"

"oh? oh! oh my, really?" suddenly she sounded excited.

but why would she sound excited over the fact he was getting food for a convicted criminal? he wondered.

she winked at him and then pushed past him to head into the direction of the kitchen. his gaze followed her for a reason he did not quite know. something about her was odd — though in the sense she was charming. dex replayed the moment in his head. again and again until she came back with the food that wilson fisk had ordered. he smiled at her when he accepted the plastic bag, noting that a sticky note reading: "from odette, much love," was stuck against the box containing the food.

so that was her name. . .

"do greet him from me. i packed something for you in there as well, for your way back."

"that is awfully kind of you, odette. I’m dex." he reached out his hand for her to shake, she gracefully accepted and shook hands with him. her hands were surprisingly warm.

“it’s nice to meet you, dex.” she simply smiled and turned around, walking to a table of customers she seemed familiar with.

and that interaction started benjamin poindexter's obsession with her. and that interaction started odette stern's obsession with him. a match made in hell, matt murdock would say.

tags ! tags ! @respectoughfully , @briiverse , @miainbetween , @deepinthegroves , @dizzydotcom , @sillygirlsalad , @wrensiastic , @tadaffied , @sireneptune , @ethearls , @miiholic , @grrrlsgogames , @lovlyrealities , @crackbaby999 , @yexbarnes , @emotionallyderanged , @fangdol , @unidentified-divinity , @battledovez , @rosebudshifter , @doe-eyed-shifter

[lacedrbbon]

mae creating their amazing, eye catching, aesthetically pleasing dr intro :

[easyboyrecliner]

I’ve crawled out of my lair to appease you

[lacedrbbon]

i have been appeased !!!