#He was still working in the/a museum by the time she was born so it's likely that it was pre-code purple

[nat-without-a-g]

Sooooooooooooooo do y'all think Birdie's full name is Birdie'Ly Oak-Garcia or Birdie'Ry Oak-Garcia?

[eideticmemory]

LATE NIGHT TALKING | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

The best man and maid of honor hooking up? How cliche!!

Word Count: 8k

Warning/Includes: Ridiculous amounts of flirting. Very “omg just fuck him and get it over with” vibes. The wedding of a fictional couple that I got way too invested in! Smut! Named after this song because I was listening to it when I got the request lmao.

Shout out to Matthew for literally being in someone’s wedding while I was writing this. I love you, baby ❤️

Hattie Welsh is a city girl. She was born and raised downtown where she would walk herself to school during the week and had a route for maximum weekend shopping. An only child to two parents, a dad who stayed home when it was Not the norm, she got anything and everything she ever wanted. Her dad would meet her on the front porch with her bike after school and they'd cruise around the neighborhood. On weekends, all three of them would take the 10 minute drive to the local park where they'd bike the same 8 miles every Saturday. At the end of the trail was an ice cream shop. Birthday cake was her favorite. She'd get three scoops in a cone but her dad would always end up finishing the last scoop for her.

It was memories like these that inspired Hattie to use her business degree to open an outdoor supply company. She named it after her parents. Alan & Eva's Co-op. It started very local. But Hattie was always good with promotion. She had an excellent marketing team and connections formed around the state. A year into business and Alan & Eva had three locations.

With this sudden growth, Hattie had to seek out more intensive financial advisement and she requested the services of LF Corporation - financial consultants of companies like North Face and REI.

This is how she met Cole Briggs.

Cole was sent to meet with Alan & Eva's CEO. He knew her name, he knew her qualifications, he knew the context of their meeting. He did not know how gorgeous she was so he was immediately caught off guard. His palms were sweaty by the time they shook hands.

"Oh, wow!" he remarked as he saw the bike mounted on her wall. "A Schwinn? I had the same one as a kid but in green!"

"Oh my gosh, yes! That's actually my childhood bike!" she beamed. She leaned over her desk with a bright smile. "I've kinda outgrown it."

He laughed, "I grew up in Pullen Park neighborhood so my friends and I would ride the trail at-"

"Warren park?" she gasped. "My parents and I used to go every weekend, still do!"

"No way! Where-where are your parents?"

"Downtown, near the natural science museum."

"Ah, yeah, yeah. We didn't get downtown often but we would occasionally have family dinner nights at Kaleidoscope."

"Oh, we love kaleidoscope. The lobster-"

'Mac and cheese! Are you kidding? I can inhale it in one bite. Sometimes my dad would pick it up for me on the way home.”

She cackled. She looked at him lovesick. "How have we never met?"

"What high school did you go to?"

"Hollis. You?"

"Ah, okay. I went to the Day School."

"Ooh, fancy pants."

Blush crept over his face and flustered, he set out his briefcase and took a deep breath. "So you're looking into financial assistance for all three locations?"

She stared at him for a moment, "That's right."

And that was it.

Immediately after Cole left the room, she called you. Her best friend, her confidant, her person. You had your hands busy at work so you tucked the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?"

"[y /n]! Hi, you busy?"

"Uh, a little. But I can chat. What's up?"

"I think I just met my husband."

You paused. "Okay, I'm not busy."

Cole proposed while they were on a hike. A week before, he had asked for your blessing. He said, "You'll be the first one she calls so I just didn't want you to be surprised."

Though, when she facetimed you to show you the diamond rock, you still pretended to be surprised.

A formal ask to be her maid of honor was completely unnecessary. You were born to do it. Who else would it be? Still, she made you the cutest basket, filled with perfume, a travel mug, some candles, some candy. You happily accepted.

And happily planned her engagement party and bridal shower and bachelorette party. You got the dress she wanted you to wear. And when the weekend finally arrived, you traveled nearly an hour into the country to get to the wedding venue.

10 acres of privately owned land sequestered down a dirt road. The ceremony site was a simple platform with an arbor placed in front of rows of benches. Surrounded by trees. Hiding right beside it is a wooden home designated for the newlyweds. The reception site is about a mile away, covered by a tent. There is a garden of roses and daisies. Further down the property is a large barn with rows of tents. It is absolutely everything Cole and Hattie wanted. It is so them.

You help set up for the rehearsal dinner. The parents of the bride and groom have arrived. Your friends and fellow bridesmaids are mingling with the groomsmen. Hattie would be so much more stressed without Opal. Opal is a an older woman, short but strong and a prolific wedding planner. She ushers the men around like pieces on a chess board and directs the caterers without so much as a glance.

As you chat with the happy couple, she calls, "Cole." It's not exactly friendly. She marches up and takes a firm hold of his arm.

"Yes, ma'am?" Cole shakes and Hattie glances over at you with a small smirk. You have to contain your laughter.

"Where is the best man? We are way behind schedule and losing daylight."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. He had to fly in but last I heard he was on the road from the airport."

"Okay, can I get an ETA on that?"

"I, uh...I don't... have one."

"Babe!" Hattie whines.

"Hey, I'm sorry! Look," he glances at all three of you, intimidated by your pressed faces. "T'll give him a call."

"Wonderful idea," Opal watches closely as he steps away, his phone in his hand, quickly pressed to his ear. She turns away from Hattie, mumbling,

"You update me on that, okay?"

"Yes, Opal," she nods and turns to you with a huff.

You giggle, "Are you sure this guy's real?"

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Okay, well," you throw your hands up in a shrug, "Can't we just start without him? It's hot and we're supposed to be eating already."

"No, we can't. It throws off the flow of the ceremony. Plus, Cole really wants him here."

"Mhm and where is this guy coming from again?"

"Matthew."

"Huh?"

"His name is Matthew."

"Okay. Where is Matthew coming from?"

"New York. I told you he's an actor."

"Yes, yes," you roll your eyes. "Surprised he could find time in his busy schedule to come to his friend's wedding."

"He loves Cole. Cole loves him. More than me, I think. They've known each other forever."

'Mhm. Quick question, does Matthew know Cole's getting married tomorrow?"

She shakes her head and laughs, beaming at Cole as he walks back over. "Hi, baby. Did you talk to him?"

"Uh...no..." he feels bad saying it. "But! I'm sure he'll be here any second."

"Cole!" it's a shriek from the distance that instantly silences the crowd. The crunching of leaves under hurried feet, rustling through the trees, "Cole! I'm here! I'm here!"

"See?" Cole says to Hattie with the brightest smile. "I told you, I told you! Matthew!" he waves.

And out of the trees comes what you can only describe as a colorful slenderman. He's tall and dressed in a sage suit, in accordance with the dress code. He nearly trips coming down the steps but he catches himself, just in time, stumbling over on the tip of his toes. The center of attention, pulling all eyes towards his entrance, which you think would annoy the bride and groom. But no, you look at them and they're just delighted. Grinning ear to ear, Cole's arms outstretched to catch Matthew in a great, big hug.

"Oh, man!" Matthew huffs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. My flight got delayed and then I couldn't get a rental and then I got lost, I'm so sorry!" he instantly releases Cole to give Hattie a kiss on the cheek and a hug, "I'm so sorry, please don't kick me out of your wedding."

Hattie cackles, “Oh, we could never!”

You watch as his expression transfers from guilt to a sweet smile. You watch him rub your best friend's back and give her one final squeeze before his eyes cut up and accidentally meet your gaze. He couldn't help but wonder where the pretty sandals and pretty dress would lead, but once he sees your face, he can't look away. He stands up tall and takes a small step around Hattie just to get to you. "Hi," he holds out his hand.

"Hi," you smile and your hand fits in his like a glove. You only take a second to memorize the features of his face, the tip of his nose, the stubble on his chin, the light in his eyes. But it feels like an eternity.

Behind him, Hattie and Cole watch the spark catch flame. She nudges his arm and they look at each other with knowing smiles. Cole nods, "Uh, Matthew, this is Hattie's best friend and maid of honor, [y/n]. [y/n], this is my best friend and best man, Matthew."

"ly/n]." Matthew says breathlessly. "Hi."

"Matthew. Hello, nice to meet you."

"Now," he slyly puts his hand over yours to keep it in place. "That is maid of honor, right? Not matron?"

You giggle, "Yes. I'm completely and totally unwed."

"Good, good. Excellent. Love to hear it."

You giggle, again, and it's the most ridiculous sound. Cole and Hattie could not enjoy the show any more. "You two will actually be walking down the aisle together," Hattie says.

"Oh, wow," Matthew exclaims. "Had I known that, I would've been here way sooner."

"So not funny, dude," Cole shakes his head but you think it's hilarious.

"You're laughing?" Opal's voice cuts the laughter short. "The sun is setting, the food is getting cold and you're laughing?"

"Sorry, Opal," Cole frowns. "This is Matthew, the-"

"Matthew, [y/n], I need you two right here," she interrupts and with a hand on Matthew's shoulder, she gently pushes him to the side. She pushes him directly into you and it's almost instinct for his hands to take hold of your waist. Just as much so for your palms to fall on his chest.

"Oh no," he whispers. "This is... terrible."

You laugh and take a step back but he holds onto to your wrist, places your hand around his bicep as he faces forward.

"You feel at home being directed all over the place?" you ask, anxiously straightening out your dress.

"Um, actually I prefer to do the directing."

"Oh, have you considered wedding planning?"

"I offered to plan for these guys but they turned me down. I mean, what the fuck?"

"Well, I think that would've required you to be on time. Early even."

"Oh, then I'm out."

You cackle, a lot louder than you mean to, and once again here's Opal. "You two need to switch sides."

"Hm?"

"Switch."

"Oh."

You feel Matthew's hand linger on your back as you step around him, your hand instantly latching onto his opposite arm.

"We're so good at this," you shrug.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, right? Right? You'd think she'd cut us some slack."

Despite all the fuss leading up to it, the ceremony rehearsal itself is only 10 minutes at most. You and Matthew are the last to make your entrance and it is an odd feeling to separate. He stands on the opposite side of the arbor and as the flower girl practices her walk, he catches your eyes and mouths: miss you.

"Wonderful!" Opal cheers. It's the first time you've seen her smile all night. Once Cole and Hattie have finally taken their places right in the center. "Absolutely wonderful. Now, if everyone will head over to the reception hall for dinner. There is a lukewarm meal awaiting you all," and she cuts her eyes at Matthew.

"Again, Opal, so sorry about that," he shakes his head. You seem to be the only one who finds it funny.

Hattie gives Cole one big kiss and turns to you, "How weird was that? Me walking down the aisle? Did I look stupid?"

You take her hands in yours, shaking your head, "You looked beautiful. It's gonna be beautiful."

She shrieks, a long "eeeek!" of excitement that ripples amongst you and your friends. The group steps down from the platform, followed closely by the groom and his party. Matthew takes the opportunity to grab Cole's arm and whisper, "How long have you known [y/n]?”

"Uh, pretty much as long as I've known my fiancée." he laughs.

"And you were... what? Just hiding her from me? Not cool."

"You were hardly in the proper condition for someone like [y/n]. She's, uh, how do I say? Very grown up. Very focused, like her best friend.”

"And now? What condition am I in now?"

"The kind of condition where...I literally had no choice but to let you meet her?"

"Fuck off," Matthew shoves him and Cole stumbles with a cocky laugh.

"Sooooo," Hattie says as she interlocks your arms. She notices you looking back and she knows exactly who you're looking for. "Little lady?"

"Yes, little miss?"

"What do you think of Matthew?"

Your stomach flips at the sound of his name. "What do you mean?"

"Don't do that."

"What? What are you talking about?"

“This was you the whole rehearsal.." she sticks her finger between her teeth and mocks your giggle, "Tee-hee. Oh, tee-hee-hee-hee.”

"I was not!"

"Oh, but you were. You're quite smitten."

"I am not!"

"He's smitten with you, too."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. But after a brief pause, you ask, "You think so?"

Clink-clink-clink.

You watch as Hattie rises from her seat, her doting fiancé standing beside her, to give a toast. You look up at her and it's not until this moment that you realize she's getting married. Not when she tried on her dress, not when she did a practice run down the aisle. Here. Now. With Cole's arm around her waist.

"Thank you all so much for being here. We're so grateful to have all our closest friends and family by our sides through this crazy weekend. I know some of you traveled very far and some of you are probably wondering when this whole thing will just be over but," she laughs along with the crowd. "Soon. Very soon. Thank you all for being readers in our little fairytale. Particularly these people sitting up here beside us, I know my friends have gotten an earful about Cole over the years."

"What did she say?" Cole interrupts, jokingly cutting his head towards all of you which earns him a burst of laughter.

"Seriously. Thank you all. Tomorrow wouldn't be possible without you and we can't imagine any other way. So…" she raises her glass glass and, because she's the bride and everyone must obey, everyone raises theirs as well. She looks Cole right in the eye and gives him that same lovesick smile she gave them the day they met. You glance away for only a moment and Matthew is looking at you the same way.

You tilt your head at him, furrow your eyebrows.

"To you," Hattie says. "To me. To us. Cheers."

"Cheers!" you toast, looking directly at Matthew who raises his glass to you, you alone, before taking a sip.

At the end of the night, the bride and groom are meant to retire to their respective areas. Cole and his groomsmen have a cabin on the other side of the property. Hattie and the girls have reign of the barn and an array of tents just in case they're feeling particularly outdoorsy. Yet, when the time comes, you and your friends sit on the barn's porch and watch Hattie and Cole embrace each other for a long time.

"I change my mind," she tells him. "We should just spend the night together. Let's go to our tree house."

He giggles and gives her a gentle kiss, "Ah, you just wanna get in my pants."

"So?"

A cackle now, "Goodnight, future wife. I love you."

"Noooo!"

"I love you!"

"I love you!"

Hattie waits until he's out of sight, and even then, she stands there and wishes for him to come back.

"H! Come on, honey," your friend calls to her. "It's late. Big day tomorrow!"

So she reluctantly walks up the stairs and begins the process of unwinding. It's not easy. Every second something pops into her mind and she hops up, ready to spring into action. It's a group effort to reel her in. Eventually, it's just you and her, lying in a cozy bed and she can barely keep her eyes open. She's trying though.

"Okay," you sigh. "I should probably get going. You gonna be alright?"

She nods, "I'm getting married..."

You grin, "Yes, ma'am. You are. So you need to get some rest," you kiss her forehead and rise out of bed, groaning as you straighten yourself up. "You need anything?”

"Mm-mm," she shakes her head. "I'm okay. See you in the morning."

"See you in the morning."

You're one of the few who chose to rough it in a tent for the night. There's a small heater and a platform bed. It's not a whole lot but the bedding is comfortable. You snuggle in and despite all your exhaustion, you spend the next chunk of time scrolling on your phone. When you hear a faint knock on the scaffolding of your tent, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you're in the middle of the woods. Alone. Quite a distance between you and the next tent. You sit up slowly, unsure if your mind is playing tricks on you. You take timid steps towards the opening and flinch as a shadow passes by.

You hesitantly pull down the zipper and when you see Matthew wondering around, you breathe a sigh of relief. “Fuck, dude. You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm so sorry," he instantly returns and lowers himself down to your level. "I didn't mean to."

"Um..you do know this is the bridal side of the property, right?"

"Mhm. I was looking for you."

"Me?"

"Mhm. Wanna go for a walk?"

"A walk?"

"Yeah, with me?"

"With you?"

"Okay, just assume I mean everything I say from now on."

You giggle, "I just met you a few hours ago...you want me to walk some random trail with you in the middle of the night?"

"All true, yes."

You tilt your head at him, "Fine. Okay."

"Don't sound too excited."

You turn around briefly to grab a hoodie. You throw it on and step out of the opening, taking Matthew's hand as you step off the platform. He takes your hand and he doesn't let go. He'd hate to lose you in the dark.

“So,” he says as you start down the trail. Your face is gently illuminated by the lights along the pathway and he can’t stop staring. “How do you know Hattie?”

“Technically high school, but I think we were separated at birth.”

He chuckles, “Best friends, huh?”

“Oh, best friends. Went to college together, too. Lived together for a while, didn’t kill each other.”

“That’s rare.”

“I know. I don’t see her nearly as often as I’d like but that’s my girl. How do you know Cole?”

“Drama camp.”

You stop in your tracks, stop both of you in your tracks. Still, Matthew doesn’t let go of your hand. “Drama camp?”

“Yes? You didn’t know Cole was a theater kid?”

You continue walking but your face is absolutely flabbergasted. “Cole? Finance bro Cole? A theatre kid? You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I am not. He was quite good actually,” he laughs. “He could’ve been a star.”

“Wow…” you shake your head. “Wow. You think you know someone.”

“And then you find out he was in a summer production of Fiddler on the Roof.”

You stop again. You feel like you could fall to your knees. “Matthew. Please. Please tell me there are pictures.”

“My mom recorded the whole thing, there’s a cassette tape somewhere.”

“Oh my god!” you cackle. “You’ll have to show me.”

“Fly out to Vegas with me at the end of the weekend. I’ll show you all the good stuff.”

“Oh. You’re planning on taking me to your hometown already? To meet your mom and everything?”

“You can meet my mom, you can meet my dad, you can meet my stepparents, you can meet my sister, my brother, her husband, his wife, my nephews.”

“Woah!”

“Oh, they’d love you.”

“I just wanna see Fiddler on the Roof!”

You’re not sure how long you stay out with him. The trail lights make it seem like no time has passed at all. You fill the air with so much chatter that it’s a shock when you loop around to the barn. As you near your tent, Matthew’s steps grow smaller. Slower, following close behind you with your hand still tight in his.

“Well,” he sighs. “Thank you for accompanying me. I was scared to walk alone.”

“Oh, is that why you invited me?”

“I just thought I’d get lost by myself. Needed backup.”

“Mhm,” you nod. “You do seem quite helpless.”

“You have no idea.”

You giggle and as you step up to your tent, you’re not ready to go inside just yet. So you turn to him and he is dangerously close to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

“Well, I had a nice time,” you smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to happen. You raise yourself on your toes. He takes a firm hold of your forearms. His nose touches yours. Then you hear the sharp sound of a zipper slashing open. You both flinch and look over to see your friend, poking her head of wild hair out the opening of her tent.

You bashfully step away from Matthew, crossing your arms. “Hi, Gina.”

Gina squints, yawning, “[y/n]?” She rubs her tired eyes and looks at you. Then at Matthew. Then you. Then Matthew. “Uh…what the hell are you two doing?” she smirks.

“Nothing,” you tell her. “Go back to sleep.”

She looks at you. Then Matthew. Then you. You. And she ducks her head back in.

You chuckle shyly and shake your head. Moment’s gone but he still looks pretty under the moonlight.

“It’s late,” you whisper. “I need my beauty sleep.”

He scoffs, “To get even more beautiful?” he shakes his head jokingly as he backs away. “[y/n], that’s just greedy.”

You laugh, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yes. You will,” he waves as he walks away. Blowing you a kiss, “Goodnight, [y/n].”

You wait until he's out of sight, and even then, you stand there and wish for him to come back.

“Ahhhh!” Hattie screams once you rise in the morning. You step into the barn, groggy and sluggish, but when you see her rushing towards you, you can’t help but smile. “Hi! Good morning!”

“Good morning, beautiful bride!” you give her a tight hug.

“We’re having a little breakfast. Here’s your mimosa.”

You glance down at the glass, taking it from her hesitantly, “It’s eight in the morning?”

“Hey, everyone has to do what I say today!”

“Okay, okay,” you take a quick sip and she beams, sitting down beside you at the table.

You fill your plate with food and seamlessly fall in conversation. None of it about the wedding, ironically. You have the rest of the day for that. Right now, in this moment, it’s gossip. It’s silly. It’s so relaxing that you don’t even realized you’ve finished your mimosa.

“I thought it was pretty cozy,” Gina shrugs. “Not sure what [y/n] thinks but then again she was out with Matthew all night.”

There is an immediate halt. Forks hitting the plate, a stunned silence falling over the room and all eyes on you.

“You were?” Hattie gasps.

You stutter, “It…wasn’t…all night. We-we just went for a walk.”

“Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?” a friend chimes in.

“We went for an actual walk!” you exclaim. “It was nothing.”

“Ohhhh, yeah,” Gina laughs. “It sure looked like nothing when I caught you two making out.”

Instant gasps.

“We did not make out!” you insist. “We didn’t even kiss!”

“H, how do u feel about making this wedding a joint thing?”

You look down, picking at your food as your face burns red and Hattie is just grinning at you.

Across the way, Cole receives a text from his bride, saying: Ask your friend wtf he was doing last night

Cole raises his eyebrows and spots Matthew shaving in the bathroom mirror. He slyly walks in and crosses his arms. He tries his best to be nonchalant, leaning back against the wall, eyeing Matthew in the mirror, “So. You have a good night?”

Matthew furrows his brows at him, “Yeah? Bed was comfortable.”

“Mhm. And…you didn’t…didn’t sneak off anywhere?”

Matthew completely turns his body around, “You and the wife talking about me?”

“My wife and her wife are talking about you, I think.”

He can’t help but smile to himself, “Well…cool…”

Cole laughs, “What’s the plan here, dude?”

“The plan is…to see [y/n] again as soon as humanly possible.”

Cole shakes his head, breaking a smile, “You do know that this is my wedding, right?”

Matthew laughs as he pats his face clean, “Yeah but…I don’t know, I was kinda thinking we could make it a joint thing?”

Once everyone’s hair and makeup is done, it’s silly to you that you have to pretend to do it all for photos. The makeup artist holds her brush to your full glam face just so the photographer can take a shot and it takes everything in you not to laugh. But it’s what the bride wants. You and the girls get into your dresses. You twirl and giggle like a game of dress up. Until Opal announces Hattie’s entrance. Then suddenly it’s very real.

Hattie walks downstairs in her gown, a ballgown specifically. Poofy, but not too big, a corset holding up her breasts, a diamond necklace on her chest to match her earrings. Her hair is put up and curled. Her makeup is done to perfection.

Oh. She is just perfect.

It moves everyone to a fit of squeals but you clasp your hands over your mouth and just stare at her. You go to wipe the tears from your eyes but remember your makeup so you fan your face. She laughs as she walks directly to you and takes you a tight hug. The photographer captures your sobbing face in all it’s glory. Hattie will frame that one for sure.

When Hattie’s dad comes around to escort her to the ceremony site, you take her hands in yours.

“It’s not too late,” you tell her. “We can still run.”

She laughs. “You know…I thought I might for a second there but…nah, I don’t wanna. I wanna marry him.”

You have to shake your head to keep from crying, “Okay. Okay, then let’s get you fucking hitched.”

Guest have arrived. Each chair is full and the forest around them is positively buzzing with excitement. The florals accentuate the atmosphere beautifully and now all that’s missing is the blushing bride.

You walk down the pathway with your friends, each of you holding up your dresses to protect them from the dirt. Your dress is by far the shiniest. Though all of yours are a variation of green patterns, yours is solid and laced with golden glitter tulle. The maid of honor must stand out. Matthew catches sight of you immediately but not just because you’re the maid of honor, not just because you’re shiny. But because it’s you.

And you look amazing.

It’s like everyone and everything around you fades away. Like he’s watching you walk towards him in slow motion. Your hair flowing in the wind, your lips stretching out into a smile just for him. When you step up to him, he has to take a moment because you just smell so good.

“Wowww,” he breathes out. “Look at you.”

You blush, “Look at me? Look at you!” you don’t even think about it, you just touch his clean shaven face. Run your knuckles over the smooth skin and he revels in it, closing his eyes for just a second. “You clean up nice.”

“Thank you. I only do it when absolutely necessary.”

You laugh and lean into him a bit, totally fixated until you notice the other bridesmaids watching you both from the sidelines. You cut your eyes at them and take a step back. You’re grateful when Opal comes in with her iron fist, arranging you all in order and demanding you stay there.

The music starts, you take a deep breath. You gave Matthew’s arm a squeeze, “You remember anything from rehearsal?”

“Nope, not at all. Just winging it.”

There is not much to say about the ceremony itself except that everyone - everyone - is in tears by the end. It is only thirty minutes but after it all, Cole and Hattie are married and nothing has ever felt so right.

Matthew links your arms as you make your exit behind the newlyweds and you can help but laugh at the tears staining his cheeks. You grin as you wipe them away with your thumb.

Pictures.

So many fucking pictures. So many poses. So many arrangements. So many beautiful backdrops to stand in front of and smile and live in awe of the bride and groom. Eventually, Cole and Hattie go off to take their own portraits and unsurprisingly, you wind up eating a plate of hors d'oeuvres with Matthew.

“You know her?” he asks you, nodding his head towards a guest who stays seated, fanning herself with her wedding program.

“Yeah, that’s Mia. We went to college with her.”

“It’s, like, not that hot out here, right? Am I crazy?”

“Asshole,” you swat his arm. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh…oh. Oh, she is?”

“Yes!” you giggle. “You just can’t tell because she chose the poofiest dress to wear today.”

“Oopsie,” he cringes. “Hey, is that something you might consider?”

“Hm?”

“Getting pregnant?”

You nearly choke on your bite of food but promptly clear your throat, “What the fuck? Is that a threat?”

“No. No, it’s an offer,” he grins.

You shake your head at him, ducking your hesd down so he can’t see your heated face. Your smile. “You have your speech prepared?" you ask him.

"Speech?"

"Uh, yeah. Your best man speech?"

"I was supposed to write a speech?" he exclaims.

Your jaw drops in shock and horror and you're dangerously close to scolding him until you see a smirk form on his face.

'That's not funny!"

"Of course I have a speech. You think I'm nuts?"

"Yes!"

"I have a speech prepared that is going to bring absolutely everyone in attendance to tears. They might as well go ahead and pass out the tissues now."

"Oh, real confident there, huh?"

"My speech is gonna kick your speech's ass."

You cackle, "It's not a contest, you freak. We're declaring our love for our best friends and their new spouse!"

"Sounds like you're nervous. Sounds like you can't take the heat."

"What heat? You know what? I'm not doing this with you. I'm gonna deliver my speech and as long as Hattie loves it, I'm content."

He nods, “…bawk-bawk-bawk-bawk."

"Stop it!"

"[y/n]!” you hear from behind you and you whip your head around. Hattie is running up to you, dress lifted, feet fast. "[y/n]!"

You run right to her, catching her in your arms as you collide, "What? What is it? What's wrong? What are you doing? You're supposed to be getting ready for your grand entrance!"

She huffs, catching her breath, "I know. I will. I am, whew..." she catches her breath. "I just had to tell you," she pants. "I just got fucked in my wedding dress!"

"Oh!" you cover your mouth to conceal your burst of laughter. "Oh my god! I thought this was a classy party!"

"Well, we wrote it into the schedule. We even finished with three minutes to spare. Both of us!"

"Oh my god!" you repeat, hunching over in laughter as she runs off.

You and Matthew hadn’t prepared anything especially elaborate for your reception entrance. But the DJ makes the best man and maid of honor sound like such a big deal that you have to do something. Anything. And utimately, he just ends up twirling you around in front of him. Your dress flows through the air, this wide smile on your face and he so casually wraps his arms around you to prevent you from tripping in your heels.

Seriously. Could you two make it any more obvious?

Cole and Hattie are greeted with an uproar of applause and cheers, the photographer right in their faces, an outpour of love coming from all around them. You clap your hands incessantly and right in your ear is Matthew cheering, his hands on your waist, your back against his chest like it’s no big deal.

You sit down to eat with your friends and it’s one big round table of alcohol, gushing, yelling and laughter. Matthew’s called up to give his speech and he makes sure to walk by you on his way up. “Watch and learn,” he whispers.

You shake your head, roll your eyes, but you’re watching him. You’re watching the way he instantly takes control of the room and radiates this light under the night sky. You’ve got to give it to him. It’s a good speech. From beginning to end, it’s captivating. The emotional cadence in his voice ripples across the room and there is actually, literally a box of tissues being passed around.

He’s applauded by every guest and he immediately runs up to Cole and Hattie to give them a tight hug. He walks over to you and holds the microphone out for you, “Beat that.”

You eye him as he walks off and the giddy smile on your face quickly disappears when you make eye contact with Gina. She pinches her fingers and knocks her hands together, puckering her lips and making kissing sounds.

“Stop it,” you whisper.

You’re not as used to the spotlight as Matthew so when you stand up in front of everyone, you freeze for a moment. You struggle to get the words out. It’s not a contest, but you’re already losing. So you look at Hattie, the one person you are doing all of this for. It makes it a lot easier to just, speak your truth, “Hi. I’m [y/n] and Hattie is my very best friend.”

Hattie’s a mess instantly.

That’s the fun part about being the bride’s best friend. You know all the best parts of her relationship. You also know all the worst parts but those don’t need to be spoken today. You know how it’s made her happier, stronger, glow in a way she never thought possible. You know better than anyone that this is where she’s meant to be and who she’s meant to be here with.

She can hardly wait one second after you finish to run up to you and give you a big hug. She squeezes you so tightly that you think she’ll never, ever let you go. You escort her back to the sweethearts table and throw a smug look towards Matthew’s way. He puts his hands up in surrender. You win.

After a while, when the grandparents and kids have left and the hour for the fun adults has arrived, you’re just buzzed enough to dance. And you do. You let Hattie shake her ass on you a bit and for a while, you’re just girls again. No one’s wife, no one’s employee. Just girls. It wears you. You take a seat just to down the rest of your wine and catch your breath.

“You all danced out?” Matthew asks as he approaches you. He holds out his hand, “Or you got one more left in you?”

You tilt your head, drunkenly smirking at him, “I think I can squeeze you in.”

“Yeah?” he pulls you to your feet and into his arms. “Squeeze me into where?”

You giggle. You shamelessly fall into his chest, “Take me to the dancefloor.”

He does, he lead you right to the center. He puts his hands on the small of your back and cradles your hand against his chest. He breathes in the scent of your hair and sighs.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do once I have to part from you tomorrow.”

“Just put me in your pocket,” you whisper. “Take me to the big city.”

He chuckles, pulls you closer, putting your bodies flush together. “I will, in a heartbeat. Just say the word.”

You grin. You stare into those beautiful eyes of his and inhale the center of his chest and exhale with a soft hum, “The word.”

He smiles. You smile. You take a look around and then you two make your exit.

Off to the side, the bride and groom are slow dancing. The rest of the world has faded away. Though their feet are a bit uncoordinated, everything feels properly in place.

“Sooo,” Hattie puts her nose to his. “You’re thinking the same thing I am, right?”

“Thaaaat we have three more minutes of fun time? You wanna go now?”

She cackles, “No! About Matthew and [y/n].”

“Ohhh, right. Them. You were right. I owe you five bucks.”

“Mhm. For the rest of your life.”

He smiles softly, rubbing her back. He looks around the area and furrows his eyebrows, “Where…are Matthew and [y/n]?”

Hattie giggles, singing, “I know where they are.”

“No…” Cole gasps. “No…you think?”

She shakes her head at him. Sweet, dumb Cole. “Oh you are just so cute!” she kisses his nose.

In the solitude of your tent, Matthew stands behind you and slowly unzips your dress. He plants soft kisses on each spot of your skin as it’s revealed and you hum under your breath at the gentle contact. His hands latch onto the thin straps and pull them over your shoulders. He kisses your neck and runs his hands over your chest as he pushes the dress down your body. All that’s left of you is a strapless bra and seamless panties that he sticks his hands in. You step out of them and turn to face him.

You touch his face and look at him with these hooded eyes, smiling softly as you push his jacket off of his shoulders. You undo the buttons on his shirt and touch all over his exposed chest. He nuzzles his nose into yours as you take off his pants and he falls back on the tiny bed, letting you pull them off his legs.

He stretches out his legs but his feet hang off the edge so he bends his knees, “I don’t think I fit,” he chuckles.

You grin as you casually straddle his lap, running your hands over his arms. “We’ll just have to make you fit,” you whisper.

He gives you the faintest little whimper, leaning in to you with his mouth open. And just like you had meant to last night, finally, you kiss him. You kiss him. You touch his tongue to yours and place your hand on his throat, engulfing his entire mouth in yours. Both of you release these deep, guttural moans and Matthew gasps as you roll your hips on him.

He grips onto your waist, readjusts to get the right angle and you can feel him getting hard between your legs. It's almost juvenile, the way you both get so hot from dry humping. The way your mouths are so hungry that there's no coordination.

There's moments where you go in for his lips and catch his cheek instead and he pushes his face into yours so quickly that he only catches your bottom lip. He goes to grab your hair to keep you in place but he doesn't want to mess it up so he holds the back of your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, take a tight grip of his hair and lean your entire body on his. There, the friction is perfect and you moan directly into his mouth.

Matthew shifts his focus to your jaw, gently nibbling on the skin from your ear to your neck as he unhooks your bra. You whine quietly, rocking your hips against him and leaning your head back to expose your throat. He wants to fucking bite you. He has the quickest impulse to sink his teeth into you but he doesn’t want to leave a mark so his hands land harshly on your ass as he groans in your ear. You gasp, your back arching and you think: fuck this.

You put your hand on his chest and push him back on the bed. He lets you but he whimpers. He wants to be kissing you. Needs to be kissing you. He looks up at you with wide eyes, his jaw dropping when you free his cock from his briefs. He licks his lips, nodding, begging, “Mm…mhm, mhm, mhm, mhm.”

You giggle at him, but that giggle is cut quickly by the ease in which his cock slides into you. You both gasp and he catches you as you fall into his arms. You feel just as good as he thought you would. Better. Even better. You watch his eyes roll to the back of his head and you try to kiss but your mouth are wide open. It’s mainly just heaving breathing and teeth on teeth.

He takes full advantage of the angle in his knees, keeps his hands on your ass to spread you open and push all the way into you. He likes the sound you make so he does it again. Again. Pulling all the way, pushing all the way in. Again, a little deeper. Again, a little harder. Harder and harder until you’re squeaking against each other’s lips uncontrollably, the one thing that’s louder than the sound of his skin slapping into yours.

He looks into your hooded eyes and begs, “Kiss me.”

So you do. You kiss him with a sloppy mouth and once again, there’s no coordination. You’re rocking around the tiny bed so carelessly that it might break. But even then, you wouldn’t stop. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to think. You just push yourself back on his cock, meeting him at just the right time that you’re entire body twitches violently.

“N-not…fuck…” you stutter against his lips. “Not…gonna…last…long…like this…mm, fuck.”

And he grins, delighted at the thought of getting you off. So quickly, so easily. Still, he pleads, “Oh…” he bucks his hips up into you. “Can’t we just…m-make it last forever? P-please…please, please, please…”

You shut him up with another kiss. You grab onto his hair and grind on him eagerly, chasing your high for what feels exactly like forever. The way the tension builds first in your thighs and then your belly and radiates throughout your entire body, you can hardly comprehend it. You tighten your grip on his hair and breathe out, “Matthew.”

“[y/n],” he breathes out and it sounds so helpless that you can only reply with a whimper. You increase your speed, your rhythm becomes sloppy but Matthew is rock solid. He cups your face in his hands and repeats, “[y/n].”

“O-oh, fuck. Oh…god…” you latch onto his wrists. You can’t take it anymore, “Mm…” and you come on his cock with a loud and visceral moan straight from the back of your throat. The way your pussy tightens around him has him matching your volume and the kiss you give him is so dirty that he will taste it for weeks.

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it until your body is all but convulsing. He only stops to prevent himself from coming inside of you, instead raising your hips to shoot his load all over his stomach. His knees tense up and tighten against you as the weakest groans escape his lips. You hum softly to yourself and you lower yourself down the mattress, licking the mess off his stomach as you make your way back to his lips. He’s stunned but rewards you with a kiss. He wishes the kiss could last forever. He tries his best to make it so.

But you crash on his chest, panting loudly and allowing your body to finally relax. Your head rises and falls with every heavy breath he takes.

“Let’s get married,” he huffs and you laugh, sitting up to look at him. “No?”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head.

“Ugh…worth a shot.”

It’s so peaceful. A calm after a storm - a hurricane. Until your phone illuminates the dark space and you reach over his body to check the text. It’s from Hattie -

As soon as youre both done, my husband and i would like to make our outro! :)

“Oh, shit!” you exclaim and that’s all Matthew needs to hear.

You both hop up at lightening speed. You somehow get dressed even quicker. You rush out of the tent, nearly tripping over your feet, hand in hand.

“Wait,” Matthew says and when you pause to look at him, he fixes the clip in your hair and then he gives you a kiss. You look back at him with a smile as you run back to the reception.

You catch Hattie and Cole just in time. They are already lined up and ready to go when you two reappear. Matthew grabs Cole’s shoulder and laments, “Sorry about that, dude. I-I got caught up. Sorry.”

“Oh yeah,” Cole smirks as he keeps walking. “I can tell. Your jacket’s on inside out.”

After Matthew remedies that, you two casually clap and cheer as the newlyweds walk through the crowd of excitement. They promptly load themselves up on a golf cart and you watch them disappear into the night.

Matthew sighs, turning to you, “So…I guess our jobs are done for the night.”

You sigh in return, shrugging, “I guess so.”

“You gonna be lonely in that tent tonight?”

“God...” you shake your head. “I hope not.”

And that night, you are far, far from lonely in that tent.

You wake up together. Matthew made himself fit in that bed once again. You get dressed together. You both clean up the tent and step out together. And once again, there’s Gina, catching you in the act. She doesn’t say anything. But when she walks past you two, the tiny smile on her face says it all.

Back at the reception site, Hattie and Cole serve a light breakfast and deliver a toast that is short and sweet. Blah blah blah, thank you all for coming. Blah blah blah, we love you so much. Blah blah blah, we have a plane to Cabo to catch. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!

They go around to say their goodbyes and while Cole is distracted, Hattie intentionally saves you for last. She gives you a long hug, “Missed you last night.”

“Yeah, uh…” you blush. “I am so sorry about that.”

“Oh no, don’t be,” she gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “It all went according to plan.”

“To-“ you stutter. “Hattie Jane Welsh…”

“Aht-aht!” she grins as she walks away from you to join her husband. She flashes her rings, “Hattie Jane Briggs. I already changed it on instagram and facebook!”

You jaw is dropped in absolute shock and you can’t pick it up. In fact, your mouth is still wide open when Matthew approaches you.

“So, pretty lady, what are you doing after this?” he asks.

“Got a train to catch back home.”

“Oh, a train? How far is the drive?”

“About an hour.”

“I have an hour…” he says. “And a rental car.”

A sweet smile spreads across your face. He mirrors it right back to you. You take hold of your suitcase, step over to him, stand straight up and wrap your hand around his bicep. You’ve had a lot of practice.

“Okay,” you nod. “Let’s go.”

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ hidden deep inside ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ percy jackson x mortal reader ୨୧ is it foolish to think that greek mythology is real and that your boyfriend is a part of it? find part one: i know all your secrets a/n: (1.4k words) finally part two is here! sorry it took so long x 🩷

A month. You had a month until your lovely boyfriend Percy Jackson had his birthday.

You'd walked through almost every store in your city eight times before realizing you had no idea what to get him.

As horrible as it sounded it was true. What kind of a girlfriend couldn't think of a good gift?

You'd quickly given up trying to find clothes he'd like. Which shade of blue would he like best in his shirts? Was it too easy to give him clothes in his favourite colour? What if you'd overdone it and he no longer likes blue?

No clothes then.

You'd look at jewelry, you knew he prefers silver over gold. but he didn't like things that jangled and made noise. A ring then. But as you looked at the prices of the few you thought he'd like. Your heart broke as each one rose higher than the last.

No rings then.

You'd thought about cologne, none of the stores had the specific one he liked most. 

Then you saw a store that sold skateboards but you knew his friend, Annabeth, was getting him one. she'd thankfully told you before she bought it what she was getting him so you knew not to get it.

You briefly passed a bookstore before remembering how Percy made clear how he had difficulty reading. 

Everything you'd thought of it just didn't feel right. It didn't feel enough. Percy always put thought into the gift he showers you in, and while you try to reciprocate that, his birthday was different. 

This had to be the gift.

He had mentioned a restaurant he'd found, one that served all his favourites and you'd tried to get a reservation but they were all booked out.

He'd told you stories about how his mother used to give him blue candy from the store she used to work at but when you talked to her on the phone she mentioned how she was gifting it to him once again.

He'd tell you of the times he'd go to montonk with his mother but you had no idea how to get him there without him noticing. 

Perhaps you should just tell him. Tell him you didn't have any surprises but you still wanted to spend time with him. You could make his favourite food and do whatever he wanted. You could stargaze and he could relax, he could tell you more stories and have a peaceful day.

Stories. Percy loved stories! Of course, if you couldn't buy him a present you could just make him one. He couldn't read English well, but you knew he could read Greek, ancient greek. 

You'd been on a date at a museum and there was a statue holding a slab of writing. Offhandedly you said that you wished you knew what it said, Percy automatically read it out. He'd quickly brushed it off that he was joking but you knew better than that.

Over the year you two had been together and the year prior you both were friends for, you knew to take notice of the odd little slip up he has. 

When he's asleep and mumbles something in another language, one you'd bet was ancient greek. 

When you both visit the beach and his tanned shoulders and back over various scars. the odd white streak in his hair that he never has to dye to stay there, and from the baby photos sally showed you, he wasn't born with it. 

And finally there was his father. You'd never met the man but Percy often talks about him, and the strange family business at sea he works for.

You were researching and trying to learn greek, modern greek so at least you might have a headstart on the ancient language next. Planning to write the story, his story in a language he could understand.

But the more Greek mythology you read the more foolish you thought you were becoming.

A part of you, the part who loved a good fantasy story enjoyed the idea of it all. Stories of tragedy, love and war. Of heroes and gods alike. It all seemed far fetched of course but a nagging part of you wanted to believe it to be true.

Which was ridiculous. How could both science and mythology be true at the same time? 

Could the Earth rotating on its axis be the reason for the sun rising or could it be Apollo and his chariot? 

The reason for thunder and lightning is that Zeus was having a bad day or that there's a buildup of electric charges in storm clouds? 

Do you dream because your brain still thinks it's awake while you sleep or because Morpheus blessed you with a dream?

Is it possible for both to happen at once? That the sun is both at once? That the lightning is both together? That dreams have reasons?

Surely not... that would be absurd.

However it would make more sense about the weird horse that follows Percy everywhere, seriously that horse has strange vibes. Like he can understand your questing gaze, not to mention if you looked at him close enough you're sure you can see wings.

Or the time you briefly met Percy's brother on the way to work. You were running late and Tyson, you later learned his name was, knocked on the front door looking for Percy. 

They had something to do at work together and had come to pick him up. You were in such a rush to not be later than you already were, it wasn't until later when you thought back on it. 

You were sure Tyson only had one eye, but it was blurry like one second he was fine then next his eyes shifted into one in the middle of his face, before quickly disappearing again. You just assumed it was because of the busy morning you had.

The more you remembered the more that deep nagging feeling in you got stronger. To the point of it almost hurting.

Nevertheless you kept learning and kept writing, it wasn't completely accurate (not by a long shot), you just hoped it was somewhat understandable.

By the time you were finished the entire book percy had almost spoiled the surprise for himself three times. You could tell he was becoming more and more suspicious especially when you would continue to brush his questions off.

But it would be worth it. Hopefully.

His birthday couldn't have come any quicker. You both promised Sally to visit and have dinner with them but you got him all to yourself in the morning.

Everything was going to plan.

You'd made him his favourite breakfast without any error. 

You'd both gone on a morning walk around the city just like he said he wanted to, all without any incidents. 

You'd both bought lunch to take back home where you two watched a movie he got to pick.

After all of that, you finally worked up the courage to give him his gift. You'd left to grab it where you'd hidden it away. 

You looked over the birthday wrapping paper double checking everything was still perfect before running back into the living room where percy patiently sat.

"I really hope you like it, Happy Birthday love" You mumbled nervously as you handed the wrapped gift to his waiting hands.

"I know I will, beauty" His easy smile soothed your worries.

He carefully unwrapped his present, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion before he flipped the book over. His eyes followed the greek letters on the handbound cover.

The Tales of Perseus Jackson.

A modern day hero.

Written by his love sick poet.

He delicately opened the cover to read the dedication page.

For Percy,

Whether love is a chemical reaction or a arrow shot by Eros

I love you more than words, although the muses can try.

Happy birthday my love.

He looked up at you, tears threatening to fall past his waterline. He looked at you like you'd just hung the stars in the night sky, suddenly you felt a little silly. Why were you ever worried?

He raced up to tightly hug you, his head buried in your shoulder. His whispers of 'I love you's and thank you’s' melted your heart. 

It was all worth it. The late nights, the travelling to libraries, the endless studying.

You realized you'd do just about anything to see that wide smile on his face.

[dontforgetukraine]

This month, Olena Vladymyrets, a Holodomor witness from the Vinnytsia region,celebrated her 95th birthday. Ms Olena was born on November 4,1929. She is the only one of 3 daughters of Oleksandr and Marta Tsvylyk who survived the Holodomor. Photo from Nina Vladymyrets' Fb page. "We lived in Tomashpil village in the Khmilnytskyi district, Vinnytsia region.There were 3 of us: the eldest, Larysa, born in 1927; me, in 1929; the youngest, Mariyka, in 1932. Both of my sisters didn’t survive. Mariyka was only 5 months old," she told our museum staff in an interview. During the Holodomor, she was very young, but she heard from her parents that before collectivization, people lived decently. "Those who worked, they lived..." But then, all their bread was taken away. "You know, as they used to say: 'Lenin told Stalin to take away the 'surpluses' but Stalin thought: take everything to the last crumb!' And so they did. My mother managed to earn a small amount of grain and put it in a pot to cook. She placed the pot in the oven, covering it with cauldron of water as if she were only heating the water. Activists broke in, poured out the water, removed the small pot of grain, and dumped it into their bag. Neither tears nor pleas helped. They took everything from everyone, and that is how the famine began." In 1946-1947, Olena Oleksandrivna experienced yet another man-made famine. "Mother and five of us, children, (four were born after the Holodomor) were already without a father (he died in the war). In the winter of 1947, Mother travelled to Western Ukraine seven times to trade some household goods for food." Ms Olena recalls. "She took all the essential items we had at home, including linens, towels, and various other things. It was a hard journey; they travelled in boxcars,got caught,and were forced off. And I, at 16, stayed home alone with the children. When Mum returned from the West, she brought a bit of grain. We kept a little for ourselves,then took the rest to the market in Bykiv, 8–10 km away. There, Mum sold the grain and bought clothes—jackets, skirts, dresses, scarves to go back to the West, as we had already sold out everything we had. I looked at those clothes and wanted a dress or a skirt so badly; after all, I was a girl! But what could I say to my mother? There were still younger children at home who were asking for food…" Today, Ms Olena, along with all of Ukraine, is going through another hardship—the war unleashed by Russia. Despite her age, she helps her daughter Nina make trench candles for Ukrainian soldiers. In addition, throughout the summer, the women made homemade treats for the soldiers they grew themselves: pastila, adjika, pickled cucumbers, tomatoes, fruits, vegetables, and berries! Although our birthday celebrant needs a walker to move, she actively contributes to volunteer work. She rolls cardboard for candles, peels fruits and vegetables, and assists her daughter as much as she can. Her daughter has also sent five drones to the front lines and provided medications, tourniquets and other essential items requested by the soldiers. We wish Ms Olena health,a long life,and a speedy Victory,which she dreams of more than anything else! May her dream come true! —Holodomor Museum

[wonderjanga]

C.C. and Diana

Anyways, this is just me wondering if the two ever met. Probably not, but hey, let me imagine. So for this to work, this is gonna have to be WW2 Wonder Woman who stayed for about a year after the war, working as a museum curator. She could’ve met a C.C. who apparently also was a museum curator. (see the photo at the end) Now, this could’ve been before Billy and Mary were born, but I like to think C.C. and Marilyn were childhood sweethearts because I want them to be super in love.

WW: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr.Batson.”

C.C.: “Likewise, Ms.Prince.”

*They shake hands and then proceed to talk about whatever museum curators talk about for a couple hours. They then part ways and proceed to never meet again. Until they do. Sort of.*

Marvel: “It’s nice to meet you, Ms.Wonder Woman.”

WW: “Likewise, Captain.” *thinks Marvel is familiar*

*They also shake hands*

WW: “Say, do you have a liking for archeology?”

Marvel: “Ah. Yes, how’d you know?” (Billy got into it as a way to feel closer to his parents)

WW: “No reason.” (She’s not about to out the man’s “identity”)

*she corners him later in the Watchtower*

WW: “You know, I nearly forgot about you. How are you even alive still? I thought mortals aged quickly.”

Marvel: “Sorry, what?”

WW: “I thought mortals could only age to about one hundred before death.”

Marvel: “Uh… Yeah? I guess that’s true.” *nods head confused*

WW: *raises eyebrow* “Were you even a mortal at the time we met?”

Marvel: “No?” *wondering if she’s referring to earlier that day when Billy met her for the first time, or if she’s talking about something else*

WW: “I see.” *wondering if they met by coincidence or not*

Marvel: “Sorry, I’m a little confused. We’ve met before?”

WW: “Yes? In 46. After the Second World War.”

Marvel: “Oh. Huh. I don’t remember that.” (He wasn’t even born) *shakes head*

WW: “Really?” *thinking she confused Marvel with some random mortal* “My apologies then. I must’ve confused you for someone else.”

Marvel: “No, no, no! It’s fine. Promise.” *doesn’t want her to apologize*

Also after seeing C.C. in this panel… wow. The man is an archeologist, yet also built like a damn tank. This is also my first actual time seeing C.C. in a comic book panel so there’s that too. I mean, I knew Billy was supposed to be a copy of his dad, but I mean… my mind wasn’t connecting the fact that he was a copy copy of him.

[nipuni]

My dad died yesterday, he was 63

I would like to share a little about him and our story if anyone wants to read, this is not a happy story

My parents divorced when I was three and I went to live with my mom so I saw my dad's life in snapshots, once a week at first and then once a year when he moved abroad and I would spend the summers with him. Every time I would catch up with him he would have a different partner or apartment.

My time with him was always fun, he was laid back, adventurous and open, he would let me do all kinds of crazy stuff while my mom was the strict one. He was a genius to me, he taught me how to program my own games when I was nine, he would make me take computers and appliances apart and reassemble them to teach me how they worked, he made me love science, the outdoors and travelling. He was great at teaching and cooking and driving. He worked on tours for famous musicians as a sound tech, he made 3D films for museums and theme parks when it was all very new, he was a photographer, a programmer, electrician, mechanic, artist and could play many instruments and write poetry!!

The first crack between us was when there was a huge split between my mom's side of the family and his over money and a lot of ugly truths stared coming to light. I realized that when it came to money he was willing to put himself before me and the fights between him and my mom were awful. But in the end once the dust settled we both pretended it never happened.

One weekend I went to visit him and realized his current girlfriend would stick around at last and she had a daughter almost my age!! I now had a little sister and I loved it.

A year later the country fell apart and he fled abroad along with them and even though I missed them I would visit for months at a time every year. I saw him start his life over, he started his own company and I was so proud of him!!

Everything was great for eight years, until one day he told me that my step mom and sister left him and he would sell everything and come back to the country. This was the last time I would ever hear of them, they vanished, I mourned my step sister for years. This was also when his life fell apart.

At 17 adulthood came with a lot of revelations. My mom told me that my dad had been an addict since he was very young, before I was born, my whole life, cocaine and alcohol amongst other things, and everyone around him had been putting up with it and helping him but couldn't take it anymore. He had cheated on her when they had me and had cheated on my step mom too. He would lie to get what he wanted and trusting him was getting increasingly harder.

All of my memories of him were now seen through a different lens. I felt betrayed. I could now tell every time he had been high, and knew where the money he asked of me when to, I was aware of every little lie. I was angry and frustrated at him for the pain he caused my mom and everyone around him. And for squandering the potential I knew he had, for always making the wrong decisions, one mistake after another. And I hated feeling this way the most.

After he came back to the country alone he could never recover, he would relapse, overdose, refuse rehab or any medical help. He would escape psychiatrics facilities and hospitals in the middle of the night, he was a menace!! lmao.

Our relationship was still good despite all this, different but still standing, he had always been my friend even if he wasn't the best at being a dad or partner, I would always scold him and tell him of different job opportunities I came up with for him to try out but now there was this distance between us. I became the parent of the relationship in a way and he didn't like being told what to do. I saw him spiral and I was scared for him.

I've always heard all these stories about addicts finding purpose and fighting for their loved ones, so every time he would jokingly talk to me about how high he was and seemed to enjoy it despite my warnings and pleading it made me feel like I was not enough of a reason to get better, as self centered as it may be I was a teen and I felt powerless to stop him, insignificant. People could get better for their children, but not for me.

I knew this way of thinking was flawed and selfish and he was the one struggling, I knew he was a victim. I spent the last of my teenage years and early twenties trying to fight back this feeling so I could preserve our relationship, we always kept in contact but over time he changed and was no longer the person I knew.

He became a stranger, often times incoherent and delusional, his views changed, he was paranoid, his addiction got worse and worse and now all I could feel was pity and guilt, our once good relationship was now reduced to a few interactions where he would ask me for money, I knew I was possibly funding his self destruction and he was likely lying to me but he also needed to pay for medication and so I couldn't refuse him.

I had my own life now, a husband and plans for the future. When I decided to move abroad a few years ago I knew our hug goodbye could be the last, he was broke and unstable but I thought once I was settled and had a job and a citizenship I could have enough money to get him tickets to visit and show him the life I had made for myself like he had done in my childhood.

But then Covid happened, and he would never agree to make calls. Soon after he was diagnosed with cancer, I would ask about his health and he would say he was fine. He wasn't fine, he was smoking 4 packs a day. He got the cancer removed but refused further treatment, he said he didn't have any purpose left in life and no reasons to keep living, he had a stroke and couldn't feel half his body when he was forcibly hospitalized, his cancer had spread and he hadn't been eating for a long time, he hid all this from me, I first heard it from my aunt in tears over the phone yesterday, he tried to escape the hospital in the night and had to be tied up and sedated, he never woke up.

He died alone, all that is left of his family is me and my aunt and we both live in different countries. There is nobody there to even bury him. I feel like I abandoned him. I've always known I would feel this way when this day came, in a way I've been mourning him for many years and have carried this guilt for even longer.

I had the coolest dad, cocaine took him away. I wish this had a better and uplifting message. I just wanted to get this off my chest. He taught me a lot and made me who I am, and I have a lot of great memories with him. He struggled all of his life with his mental health and despite it all he was still amazing and deserved so much better.

He always said that when he was a ghost he would follow me around, I hope he isl!! so I can live for both of us, I love you dad!! and I'm so sorry 🕯️

[eileenwdj]

my spidersonas! their names are Hong Zhizhu/Red Spider (real name Hong Huiran) and Zhizhu Dajun/Lord Spider (real name Xu Xia). they are connected with each other!

backstories, doodles, and other versions under the cut

their backstories:

Zhizhu Dajun (蜘蛛大君) / Lord Spider

Real name: Xu Xia (徐侠)

Born from a poor, commoner family, Xu Xia works in a wealthy noble family's home as a servant to the young master (his version of Harry Osborne probably ?) who allows him to tag along and shadow him during his studies

A god/immortal (whom we shall not name bc I can't think) messed around and accidentally cursed a bunch of animals. Some of these animals became monsters, some physically merged with unsuspecting humans, and some others granted powers to creatures they come across, like the spider that bit Xu Xia

Bro became this world's one and only Spiderman (yayy!!!) and lived the rest of his life fighting crime and protecting the innocent (wahoo!!)

A lot of people thought of him as a god or a powerful immortal due to his powers and started to build temples for him and worship him (he's not god, he's just some guy who happened to get bit by a spider)

He inevitably died during a great battle against a powerful enemy. Before he died, he vowed to not rest in peace until he finds a worthy successor to serve as protector and defeat the enemy (that is presumably immortal and can strike again at anytime) and he transfered his consciousness? soul? ghost self? idk tbh? to one of his spiders

Unfortunately bro is So Tired™️ that it took him several thousand years to wake up

Hong Zhizhu (红蜘蛛) / Red Spider

Real name: Hong Huiran (洪惠然)

She's a science & engineering geek but also a History major. She originally wanted to major in STEM but ended up with History because STEM majors are expensive as hell

The mysterious and reclusive Zhizhu Dajun is her thesis topic and she frequently visits the museum to look at his statues and displays

One of the displays is a taxidermed spider

It is also the exact same spider that Xu Xia transfered himself into when he died

Xu Xia has only recently managed to wake up but is still barely able to move his new body (I imagine it must be hard to move if your body is filled with cotton, RIP)

He was intrigued by Huiran when he noticed her visiting multiple times. He deems her worthy to be his successor and with the sheer power of (god and anime on his side) will, he escaped his display and bit her

Huiran becomes her world's (and her time's) one and only Spiderwoman (yayy!!) and lives life fighting crime and protecting the innocent (wahoo!!!)

But you see, the way the spiderbite works is that now Xu Xia is technically in Huiran's body... so... so..... it's like,, Asa and Yoru.........

Several thousand-year-old stoic ancient ghost man becomes mentor and father figure to reluctant 22-year-old history student with a science obsession running on 12 cups of coffee and zero sleep

Shenanigans ensue

another version of Zhizhu Dajun’s design:

these were his original colors before he broke. red seemed too happy a color for his path. he then permanently changed to white, forever mourning the lives he couldn't save. Huiran chose to adopt these colors instead of the white.

extra doodles:

[lisenberry]

We drift in and out

Chapter 3: Did I find you, or you find me?

E/NSFW/MDNI

CW: Consensual Somno, Light Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst

6k (I know, I went nuts)

10k COMPLETE!

This whole fic started with one picture of a man with hairy arms holding a baby. Everything that came after was a fever dream.

Ch. 1 , Ch. 2, AO3

You had one last night together.  Eighteen short hours before a black Land Rover would pick him up and take him away.  Off to catch a plane to some forward operating base in a remote, foreign place.

He’d been home with you for four months, by far his longest leave yet.  With each day, you’d gotten more comfortable, wondering if maybe he’d become permanent.  That instead of just playing house, you were living something real.  Building something special together.

That your plans could change, and you could let the fearful part of you rest.  That doubtful voice that kept you always prepared.  Always on.  The survival mode that kept you moving forward but also stopped you from slowing down long enough to breathe.  To enjoy.

It was a skill that benefited you in your work.  The single-minded attention to detail and success.  And when you’d learned you were pregnant, it had kept you from giving into the panic of the unknown.  But once she was born, you didn’t have a choice, but to sit with it all.  The joy, and the exhaustion.  Slow, blissful days had become your routine.    

Now you were facing the plan again.  The one he wasn’t in.  You’d survive, of course, but the bleakness of it cut like a wound.  You should’ve known nothing so perfect could last forever.  Maybe you did know, deep down.  Maybe he did, too, and that’s why you kept each other just a bit out of reach. 

But you still had a little more time.  A few more memories to make before it came to an uncertain end.

You popped out to Marks & Sparks for supplies to make dinner.  It had become a little holiday for you in the last few months.  He’d stay home with the baby, and you’d put on real clothes and do your hair and escape for a few hours to squeeze the fruits and smell the cheeses.  Go aisle by aisle and daydream about new recipes to try.

Not this time.  This time you hurried through as fast as you could.  Wasted not a minute as you snatched up everything on your list and rushed to get back to them.

They weren’t in your apartment when got home, so you crossed the hall and knocked on the door to his. 

“It’s open!”  His voice rang from inside, as you tried the knob and walked in.

He had the baby’s highchair in the kitchen, and the dining room table set with fine china and candles.  Music crooned from some hidden speaker, something classical you’d never heard before.

“What’s all this?”  You asked, as you set down the bags of groceries on his counter. 

“I thought we could eat out tonight.  Something different.”  He stood with his hands at his hips, and a burp cloth strung over his shoulder.  A scheming smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.  They didn’t crinkle at the edges the same way you’d gotten used to.

“You’re okay with me making a mess of your kitchen?”  You teased.  “You know I’ll use every pan and utensil at my disposal.”

Your place was lovely, but his side of the building had twice the space, and a balcony that overlooked Hyde Park.  During the few times you visited, it had felt like stepping into a different world.  Like a fancy hotel suite in a far-off country, in the way that it had visitors but never really felt lived in.  Sanitized into a blank slate, adaptable to anyone who crossed the threshold in search of an escape from their mundane reality.

Or like a museum, it was a place that existed outside of time. 

“You cook, I’ll clean up.”   He leaned his hips back against the granite and opened his arms to it welcomingly. 

It made sense that he’d want to spend his last night in his own home.  His own bed. 

“Suit yourself,” you plopped a smacking kiss on the baby’s downy head as she sat contentedly in her chair, chewing on a colorful toy.

When you turned your attention back to him, he waited patiently for his greeting.   The longing with which he first looked at you and your daughter the day you’d come home was back again.  It had seemed like the start of something then.

This time it felt like the end, as you pulled up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.  Short and sweet.  If you hooked your arms around his neck and buried your face in his neck, like every corner of your soul was aching to do, you’d never let go.

The food would rot on the counter and the hard things would never get done. 

So, you settled back down and unpacked the bags in front of you. 

“Will you pick the wine?  I’m making your favorite.” 

In lifetimes past, you would’ve dressed up and gone to The Midland in King’s Cross for dinner.  Fed each other oysters and champagne.  Danced until the early hours of the morning and crashed wildly into bed.  Shared a cigar afterwards, naked but for the shelter of each other’s arms.

This time, you made roast beef with fingerling potatoes, minty peas, and glazed carrots.  Topped with gravy and with a side of Yorkshire pudding to sop it all up.

It’d be some time before the baby could join in on the feast, but she flailed with enthusiasm at the smells and the excitement with which the two of you ate.  Oblivious to how much her lukewarm cereal and the bottle that she could now almost hold on her own paled in comparison.

In place of a West End show, there were airplane spoons and milky sneezes to keep you laughing.  Something to focus on besides the future.  Besides each other. 

The chasm that was too deep and too far to cross, let alone name.

As if on cue, with the last sip of wine, she started to fuss.  Fisted her eyes and arched her back in surrender as John rose to soothe her.  You’d have many more nights to put her to bed, but who knew what awaited him.  You gave him the time alone as you collected the place settings and started the cleaning that he’d promised you.

The little one sighed so heavily against his chest as she curled into him, burying her fingers in his shirt.  You knew the feeling, ached for it as you silently cursed your ability to dirty so many dishes making a meal. 

He was gone long enough for you to handwash the china and fill the dishwasher, and you wondered if she fought sleep, or if he simply lingered a little longer.  Did he tell her a story, or share some secret that was just between them? 

The polished wood floorboards creaked under his weight when he finally returned to the kitchen.  There was a stiffness to his towering form, as if he was flexing under an invisible weight.

“Just in time.  Everything’s already done,” you chided, gently, as you dried your hands on a towel.    

“I set her up in the portable crib with the monitor.  In the bedroom next to mine.”

“Her first sleepover.”  You still couldn’t look at him.  You hadn’t yet, had you?  Not really.  Not since he got the call earlier that day.

Since you’d told him he was never meant to be a part of your life.  That you could live without him.

A lie that he’d surely seen through, but you needed to keep for yourself as you busied your hands and kept your back to him.

But he wouldn’t let you hide, as he stepped behind you and pulled you in. 

“Don’t pull away.  Please.  Not yet.”  He tucked his grizzled chin into the curve of your neck. 

“I’m trying.”  You let your head fall back against him, vaguely aware that the music was still playing.  Something sad and slow as you swayed to the beat of it.

His hands rested on your hips as he spun you around to face him.  If a kiss could fix everything, you gave it to him then.  Did your best as you fisted his hair and pulled him down to you, while his palms roamed lower to cup your ass and lift you onto the counter.

Like meat and wine, you savored his lips and his tongue as he delved even deeper.  Splitting you open and demanding more.  Demanding everything. 

Your shirt was over your head and his roughened fingers scratched along the skin of your back, massaging and kneading the sides of your spine while he unhooked your bra.  The same muscles you’d kept rigid all day he coaxed into pliancy with each stroke as a weak moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s a girl.  Be soft and sweet for me, will you?”  He started off slow at the tip of your ear, trailing light, tickling kisses down the shell and to where the lobe met your neck.    

It sent shivers down your arms, and your naked breasts budded to peaks as they grazed against the cool smoothness of his shirt.  You didn’t want cool, or smooth, just heat and texture as you pulled it off his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He groaned at the contact, a fierce and hungry sound as he took one of your hands and slotted it between you.  Pressed your palm against the bulge in his pants and grinded against it, letting you feel the way it grew and hardened at your touch.

“Tell me you’ll miss me.  Fucking lie to me, just say it,” he grated out, against your collarbone.  Miss him?  Lie to him?  It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t.  “I need to hear you to say it.” 

“I miss you already,” you whined, as you slid your hands from his groin to his ass and anchored him closer to the dampening heat at your core.

“I’m right here.” 

“Then take me to bed.  And show me how much you’ll miss me.”  It was your turn to grind against him, rubbing the bud of your arousal greedily along the lip of his fly through your thin linen pants as your tits bobbed wantonly against his furry chest.

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that, love,” he growled, lifting you up again and carrying you down the hallway.  “I’d rather take my time.”

And he did, starting with his fingers, then his mouth.  Drawing out each sensation like he was mapping the stars.   Exploring the far reaches of your body and forging new paths until you were shaking and spent. 

You marked him in return.  Staked a claim on the meat of his pec with a dark red love bite as he came hard and hot inside your pulsating quim.  Filled you up with a contented smile on his face, as if there was no better feeling in the world.  No place he’d rather be.

“Be back before it fades, okay?”  You nuzzled the hair around the spot with your nose as you drifted off beside him, his fingers lazily circling your hole to push the leaky drops of his seed back in. 

Did he have hopes that it would take? 

Did you?

Later, a strangled sound, like a wounded animal woke you from a fitful sleep.  At some point, you must’ve turned to your side and faced away from him because he was behind you.  Pulling at your hips and burying his head between your shoulder blades.

“John?  What is it?”

“Just a dream.  A bad dream.” 

You felt the swell of his cock as he sought out the smooth shelter between your thighs.  Arching against him instinctively, you curved onto your back and parted your legs as he absently rutted around to find your opening.  Still brimming with the sticky spend from your last bout.

He’d always been a giver, but this one was just for him as he worked out his nightmare on your flesh, your insides, your soul.  It felt like a battle.  A whole damn war as he smothered you with his heavy, dead-weight body and took ground, pounding away at your sensitive, stimulated cunt.

You wondered if he was even awake, or if he was still in the dream, as he fucked into you roughly and muttered far away words.  Bit back his own tears as they mixed with the sweat on your skin.

“Mine...Fucking mine...Not letting you go...Not to anyone else...”

Deprived of oxygen from his bulk on your chest, you almost blacked out with the force of your climax, caught by surprise at the way the mound of hair at his base aroused your clit into bloom with each thrust.  A tenderness amidst the brutal onslaught.  A divine mercy. 

If you had air, you’d have screamed at the intensity of it.  Spotty flashes of light broke the darkness as you felt the last of your spurting aftershocks flutter around him, soaking you both and easing the incinerating friction from the stretch of him. 

You could only clench your teeth and your walls as he shuddered with the strength of his own fresh release.  With his face buried in your shoulder, you knew he didn’t smile this time.  The sorrow of it hit you like a blow to your heart as you felt him stiffen with awareness, the fog of sleep clearing from his consciousness.

“I’m yours.  There’s no one else, John,” you panted, begged, as he eased up onto to his elbows to give you enough space to take a breath.  “Only you.”

********

Before you knew it, the black Land Rover was waiting like a harbinger along the street below.

“Here’s the keys to the truck, and to my place.  Just in case.”  He tossed a set into the bowl you kept on the sideboard.  “I know how much you’re dying to go spying in my cupboards.”  He raised a amused eyebrow to match the gentle hitch in his mustache.

“I wouldn’t do that.”  Except you totally would.  At the first opportunity.

“Afraid of what you’ll find?”

“An expired box of Earl Grey in the kitchen, perfectly sorted socks in the bedroom.  Stinky smelling beard oil in the bathroom.”  You flashed a cheeky grin at the last, in an effort to keep the tone light. 

If he could be strong, so could you.  You wouldn’t be the one to break.  No matter what you felt like on the inside.  You’d save it for when he was gone.

“Beard oil?  This is all natural.”  As if you’d insulted his manhood, he smoothed his mustache down with two hands, in a way you’d seen him do a thousand times.  He’d trained any willfulness from his facial hair with nothing but nose grease and perseverance.  Molded by time and patience, like marble cliffs and silt-shined creek beds.

“But I was right about the socks though, wasn’t I?”

“And the tea.”  He hitched his mouth into a smile and turned his focus to the gurgling baby perched on his hip, yapping and cooing like she was in on the conversation.

The way he looked at her gave you hope that he’d call it all off.  He’d sit back down on the couch and turn on the football.  Put his heavy feet up on your table and let his flight leave without him.

“I’m sure we can find some priceless antiques in there she can teeth on.”  They would start coming in soon.  Another change he’d miss.

“Look, you don’t have to wait.”  He paused to clear the words he was looking for from his throat.  “I understand if you—”

“I just got you, John,” you cut him off, saving him from the self-sacrificing speech, and looked down at her chubby fist wrapped in a white-knuckle grip around his finger.  “You’re not getting rid of us yet.”

Don’t let go, sweetheart.  Don’t let him go.  You willed it into her with your own thoughts.

Your world had gotten so small since she was born.  You’d gone from having a job that needed you, coworkers and clients with a network of responsibilities, down to having just one job. 

One person who needed you.

But it would’ve been a lot smaller without him.  How lonely would you have been without someone to share it all with?  How much of him had seeped into your life, and your heart?

“Be nice to your mum,” he whispered against her soft head, as he kissed her cheek and passed her back to you quickly.  Looking everywhere but at you.  “You have Kate’s number?  In case you need anything?”

You pulled him closer with your free hand to his waist, forcing him to see you.  Eyes wide and blue, he looked scared.  For the first time.

Anything more than a kiss to the forehead would have broken you both.  You’d already said your goodbyes the night before, and again that morning.  So, you simply tilted your head up to him, your own eyes kind and trusting, and felt his beard graze your skin one last time.

And then you watched him go.

********

By the third week, nothing in your apartment smelled like him anymore.  Everything had been washed, and the windows had been left open too long to let in the cool fall breeze.  Looking around, you realized that nothing in your home was his.

He’d come through your life with a force and left no trace behind, as if he was never even there.  It wasn’t right.  You wished with renewed clarity that you’d taken more pictures of him.  That you’d recorded every moment. 

Something to show your daughter, someday, if she ever questioned whether or not she was loved.  Something you could show yourself, when your mind tricked you into believing it was just a dream.

It was the need to seek out that connection, that comfort, that had you unlocking the door to his flat and letting yourself inside.  It was dark, and too quiet.  Cold and cavernous, like he was the one who heated it and gave it light. 

With the baby bouncing on your hip, you explored from room to room.  Three bedrooms and four bathrooms.  And still, you couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere there either.

His sheets had been washed since you’d spent the night.  His bathroom scrubbed of any lingering soap by the cleaning company that came once a month to keep it free of dust and spiders while he was away.

Trapped in time until the next visitor passed through.

Your grief and frustration sprung anew as you moved into his office.  Surely it would have something.  The indent of his body in a leather seat, or the half-burnt end of a forgotten cigar.

But his chair was too firm to leave a crease, and his ashtray was clean.   

There were no medals or honors hung along the walls, and the top of his desk was empty, except for one framed photo.  It was exactly what you were looking for, but at the same time, something you never expected.

It was from four years before, when he’d talked you into running a marathon together for a charity for wounded veterans.  You remembered the day clearly but never knew someone had taken a picture.  It must’ve been at the end, because you were both dewy-faced and soaked in sweat, smiling like mad.

His arm was around your shoulder and yours was at his waist.  You looked like a couple.  Like you were in love.  Was that how you always looked when you were together? 

Was this what you’d been missing out on all this time?

Surely, there were others.  You’d open a drawer and find photos of him with other people.  His parents, his friends.  Other women.

But as you pulled them apart one by one, you only found files of old bank statements and tax forms.  Until you got to the bottom.  A lone manila envelope, padded and thick.

With your name written in the wonky, hurried strokes of his hand.

Your own hands shook as you turned it over to find it sealed.  He must’ve wanted you to see what was inside, or else it wouldn’t have your name on it.

Right?

It felt like paper, documents of some kind, but with something else to give it bulk.  You shouldn’t have seen it, shouldn’t have gone digging through his stuff.  But he’d known you were going to snoop.  Had practically dared you to, didn’t he?

You tucked it back in where you’d found it.  Whatever it was, he could give it to you when he came back.  You’d promised him that you’d wait, and you would.

However long it took.

Just as you shut the drawer, your phone began to buzz in your pocket, jolting you guiltily as if you’d been caught.  You took it out, expecting it to be just another spam call, but paused in immediate horror at the name across the screen. 

(John’s) Kate

He’d saved the contact in your phone in case you needed to get in touch with him.  You couldn’t think of a situation where you’d be justified in pulling his attention away from a job, but you could only think of one reason she’d be calling you.

“Hello,” you answered.

*******

Two hours later, your apartment was full.  Well, there were only four guests gathered around your coffee table and perched with varying degrees of curiosity and tension along your couch and side chairs, but it felt overcrowded considering their size.

Three men that you’d never seen before, and then there was Kate.  Somehow, she took up just as much space as they did.  She carried herself with an air of authority that made your spine straighten reflexively. 

“He didn’t tell us he had a family.”  The clean cut one in the ball cap, who’d introduced himself as Kyle, spoke first as you poured him a cup of tea.  “We all wanted to express our support in person.”

“There wasn’t much to tell until recently,” you smiled, slightly, trying to be a good hostess despite the circumstances.

“You’ve been his emergency contact for the last five years,” Kate added as she declined your offer of milk and sugar.

“I didn’t know that.”  That was as long as you’d known each other.  Did he really not have anyone else? 

“He’s a very private man.”  She did you the favor of talking about him as if he wasn’t gone.  As if there was still hope.

“How did you know about it?”  MacTavish, the stocky Scot with the close-cut mohawk intoned back to her, with a bristling hostility you couldn’t miss.

“I’m CIA.  It’s my job to know everyone’s secrets.” 

You thought maybe she was trying to make a joke, but her face was dead serious. 

“We never would have let him—” He looked regretfully from you to your baby as the blond one with the black surgical mask cut him off with a supportive hand to his knee.

“Have any of you ever successfully talked him out of something once he’d put his mind to it?”  You looked around at the faces of the men staring back at you.  The people he spent all his time with when he wasn’t with you.  “I’m sure that’s why he didn’t tell you.  Afraid you’d treat him differently if he was a real person.”

Perhaps for the same reason he’d never told you how he felt.  Afraid to make it something real.  Something it would hurt to lose.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, please,” you continued, bracing for the worst.

“A massive fuck up from the beginning, is what it was—”  Kyle interjected, heatedly, before he was interrupted by a pointed look from Kate.

“It’s mostly classified, of course.  So, we can’t go into details.  But John requested an indefinite leave of absence about four months ago.  In the interim, his team was assigned to assist another task force in a sensitive operation.”  She spoke evenly as if reciting a sequence of events before a committee.

And you listened, all the while searching for the bits she left unsaid.  The parts that she hid behind her narrative. 

Phrases like, ‘severe loss of life’, ‘pinned down in hostile territory’, and ‘unable to ascertain status’, were cold, calculated ways of saying something went horribly wrong.

You weren’t a naïve civilian who devoured sound bites at face value.  You worked with government contracts all the time.  American, British.  They were all the same.  ‘Cover your ass,’ was their collective motto.

When she finished, you had more questions than answers.  But one thing stood out in your mind.  He hadn’t been home for so long by accident.  He’d chosen to stay.  He’d given up his team, indefinitely, to be with you. 

“So, if I understand correctly, it was a massive fuck up.  You him called away, despite his clear wishes to be left alone, to save your ass and theirs.”  You turned your attention from Kate over to the team.  “And he got you out.  And you left him behind?” 

He’d quit for you.  But he’d gone back for them. 

“Not willingly.”  The one in the mask, Lieutenant Riley, spoke up for the first time.  His eerily dark eyes shot daggers at Kate, as if the fault was hers.

“He knew what he was doing.  We needed to reassess the objective and regroup.  And I’m available to discuss it at length with you another time, Lieutenant.”

“We know he’s alive.”  MacTavish reassured you.  “If he was dead, they’d be broadcasting his body and celebrating all over the dark web.” 

Oh, what a relief.  The visual turned up bile your throat.

“And if he’s been taken prisoner or something?”

“He’s an exceptionally valuable hostage.  We’ll have a few weeks at least, while they interrogate him, before he’s ransomed.”

Tortured, she meant.  The bile turned to acid, and you forced yourself not to be sick. 

“So, what now?”  You were in a daze.  Kate’s firm, rational, voice grounded you and kept you present when all you wanted to do was breakdown.  To scream and cry and pound your fists against their chests to get back out there and find him.

Her position demanded it, you imagined.  Judging by the tension flowing between the team, they ached to do just that.  It was as if they were held back by some invisible muzzle.  Reined in by years of service.  One strong woman was all that kept them from charging off to take matters into their own hands.

“We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have news,” Kate answered, softer than before.  Perhaps aware that her words alone held little comfort.  That they were as grim as hollow condolences.  “But here, standard protocol.  We had it stripped of anything sensitive.  There’s only a few pictures and text messages left.  It’s unlocked.” 

She handed you his battered old phone.  The screen was scratched up, and the case was cracked enough to be useless protection.  You didn’t think they even supported this model anymore.  You couldn’t help but smile when you saw it. 

‘It’s busted to bloody hell, but still hanging on’, he’d said about it once with a proud laugh.  You prayed that he was the same, wherever he was.

“Thank you.  It was nice to meet you all,” you replied, politely, suddenly anxious to be alone.  To fall apart in peace.  “I wish it was under better circumstances.  Maybe next time we can have a drink and a proper laugh.  When he’s home.” 

“We’ll get him back, Mrs. Price.”  It was Kyle who pulled you into a hug, as if you were family.  “I promise.”

It was the first time anyone had called you that, and you didn’t correct him.  In the moment, it was a comfort.  A universal truth that you longed to hear from someone else’s lips. 

The others followed suit with their goodbyes, but their warmth and concern were a shallow replacement for the man you were missing.  Kate settled for a stoic handshake before you closed the door on them all and set your back against it for support.

The phone in your hand was heavy as you pulled it up to see his text messages, looking for any possible clue or something to keep hope alive.  There were a few off color jokes between him and his mates.   Notes to you about what was for dinner, and silly photos he’d taken of the baby.

One single text exchange with Kate.  As if he’d deleted them as soon as they came in.  Or perhaps Kate had wiped them as part of her pruning.  It was from four months prior. 

I hope you know what you’re doing.

Never more certain in my life.

Were they talking about you?  Of his choice to leave?  It reminded you of something else he’d left behind.  Something you’d forgotten in the whirlwind of the last few hours.

When you held the envelope again in your hands, you didn’t think twice about ripping through the seal.  Inside was a stack of handwritten letters, all dated and signed with his name.

You focused on the one on top, from the day before he’d left.

Hey love,

If you’re reading this, then something must’ve happened to me.  Or your curious nature got the best of you, and you went snooping around my desk.

I hope it’s the latter because it’s time you knew, and who knows when I’ll get the courage to tell you myself.  But if it’s the former, then I’m sorry.

I can’t say I’m surprised, though.  There’s only so many times I can dare death to find me before it wins.  You just have to know that I did my best, for whatever it’s worth.

I never felt like I could have a family.  I didn’t deserve that sort of peace after the things I’ve done.  I’ve taken too many lives to have any chance at a happy one.  Killed too many sons to be entitled to any of my own.

It’s been my purpose.  What I’m good at.  And I never wanted to bring that burden home to anyone else.

Then I saw you again after I made myself a promise to stay away from you this time.  You were so fearless and calm.  I just wanted to be near you.  Close enough that you might scare away the darkness in me.  

If someone like you, and her, could trust me and see any good in me, then maybe I’m not such a monster after all. 

You made me believe in fate.  In something bigger that was beyond my control.  I just hope that it’s not done with me yet.  That it’s not done with us. 

If this is the end, then I just want to say thank you and leave you with everything.  Everything that I have, and everything that I left unsaid.

These letters are from all the other times I’ve done this.  The other missions that called me away since we met, in the event that I didn’t come back.  You were the only thing worth coming home to, and I’m sorry I didn’t share them sooner. 

If you’re just being nosy, and I’m already warm in our bed with the baby drooling on my chest, I hope I’ve already told you a thousand times how much I love you.  How lucky I am to have known your love in return.

And I hope you’re already wearing one of these rings.  I couldn’t decide which one, so I’ll let you choose.  They’ve been in my family for ages.  All yours now.

All my heart, John.

The pages were flooded with salty tears by the time the jingle at the bottom of the envelope caught your attention.  Five different rings.  Yellow and white gold, glistening diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires.  Old and new.

But not yet.  You didn’t dare to touch them yet.  Didn’t choose.  You believed in fate, too.  He wasn’t gone, and it wasn’t the end. 

*******

The next days passed by in a blur, waiting by the phone.  You were thankful for the baby, as she didn’t let you wallow or crumble the way you wanted to.  There were still diapers to change, and bottles to fill.  Smiles to fake and colic to soothe.

You wondered if she missed him, too.  If she even noticed he was gone.

It was three in the morning when you got the call, and you shot up in bed, sleep quickly forgotten when you answered.  You didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.

“John!”

“Hiya, darling.”  His voice was a faint groan of relief. 

“Where are you?”  You held the phone away from your face just long enough to see the long, foreign number with a country code you couldn’t place.  “Does Kate know where you are?”

“I don’t have a lot of time.  I’m in the blind.  I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You flung off your covers and rushed to your computer.  He was in trouble.    

“I’m here.  Are you hurt?” 

“Not bad.”  You could hear him smiling, the way the words huffed out through pained lips.  It was definitely bad.

You had to keep him talking, to stay on the line long enough for you to work.  The laptop took forever to start up.  You hadn’t used it since you’d left your employment, and it must’ve needed a hundred updates.  But you didn’t have time as your fingers trembled anxiously over the keys.

This was what you did.  This was your job.  You designed software that could find people.  Find targets.  Needles in the giant haystack that was the world.

You set the phone to speaker mode and plugged it in to your program.

“Whose phone is this, John?”  It would be encrypted, you presumed.  You wouldn’t be lucky enough to have its location turned on. 

“An old friend.  I’d put him on, but he’s not with us anymore, I’m afraid.  Poor fellow took a fall.”  Another gurgled laugh.  “But his name was Makarov.  When you talk to Kate, tell her the mission’s complete.”

“You can tell her yourself.  You’re going to be fine.  Just keep talking to me.”

You buzzed through lines of code, searching for the one you needed. 

“How’s the poppet?  Is she being a good girl?”

“She’s sleeping.  She’s okay.  Misses you.  Can’t wait to see you.”

Got it!  You broke through the encryption and pinned his location using satellite GPS.

“It’s not looking good, love.”

“Do you believe in fate, John?”  You asked, as you used your laptop’s connection to call Kate.

There was a reason you’d met each other.  You were certain now that nothing had been by chance.  You were meant to find him.  You were meant to find each other.

“Ah, went pawing through my drawers, did you?  Which ring did you pick?” 

“I’ll show you when you get home,” you promised as the line finally connected.  “Kate!  I know where John is.  You have to hurry.”

You sent her the coordinates to the exact centimeter.  He was deep underground, in some kind of a bunker.  Or an old mineshaft.  To her credit, Kate didn’t argue or ask where you got your intel.

Two hours later, you were still on the phone with him.  The light began to creep slowly through the curtains, bringing with it a brand new day.  But his breath had slowed, and his words came thicker from his throat.

“Just a little longer, okay?”  You didn’t let him sense your fear as you quietly willed your life into him, to keep him hanging on. 

Where the fuck were they?

The line had gone too quiet when you heard the blast. 

“John!  John, what was that?”  You prayed it was the team, and not a fresh wave of enemy combatants come to finish the job.

“In here!”  John’s voice, with a renewed strength. 

“Bravo-7 to Watcher.  Eyes on Bravo-6.  We’ve got him.”  You heard Lieutenant Riley’s unmistakable accent breakthrough as he got closer to the phone.  “Have med-evac waiting topside.  He’s in rough shape.”  He switched from his comms to John.  “Can you walk, Cap?”

“Well, you aren’t fucking carrying me, Ghost.  That’s for bloody sure.”

“Please don’t leave me.”  The tears that you finally let fall were of release.  Of relief.  You didn’t know if he still held the phone, or if it lay forgotten on the ground as they carried him away.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

[thebubblesareevil]

Family grows, it evolves…

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

There was a new exhibit on Ancient Greece at the museum, and as the resident expert Diana was given free range of the exhibit. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue, normally the League doesn’t find a clone of one of its founding members and spend a, frankly, ridiculous amount of time deciding how to proceed.

Diana sighed as she looked at the large room filled with artifacts needing to be catalogued before display. She lamented not having the same speed as the flash for but a moment before getting to work. It was 5:00, if she wanted to get any sleep tonight, she needed to get to work.

She steadily made her way through stacks of paperwork, working with the efficiency that was drilled into her since birth. It had been hours since she began her work, and though she tired, she resolved to head home to get changed for the next day. It wasn’t until she made her way from the basement that she realized something was off. Doris was sitting at reception, though she should have left at 8:00, the sun was still high in the sky, not yet ready to make its decent.

“Calling it an early night, Diana?” Doris asked “Big day tomorrow! Finally setting up the new exhibit. I can’t wait to take the kids, they’re so excited to see it.” She said with a wide smile. Diana surveyed the desk, catching a glance the clock. There in bold numbers and as 7:00pm, she smiled as she replied.

“I finished things up sooner than planned, so I thought I’d head out for the night. I need to get dinner started before my guest arrives.” Doris’ face nearly split in two.

“A guest, is he handsome, oh how could you hold out on me Diana!?” She said excitedly “I need all the details!” Diana laughed.

“Nothing like that, my Grandfather decided to pop in for a surprise visit. I haven’t seen him in quite some time, so it’s a lovely surprise.” Doris nodded along.

“You’re a good grandkid. I miss my grandparents everyday, you never know how much time you’ve got.” She said with a sigh. “Have a good night!”

“All the time in the world.” She said to herself, checking her watch and grinning. It read 4:30 am, she yawned as she left, making her way back to her apartment.

Everything thing was silent when she arrived, though that was to be expected at this point. She wade her way to the kitchen passing by the figure on the couch.

“Would you like some tea? Do you drink at all?” She inquired.

“I am perfectly capable, though I rarely indulge.” He replied in a monotone voice, if she had been anyone else she like would not have caught the edge of sadness clinging to his voice. Diana set the kettle on the stove and made her way over to the couch.

“Something troubles you, something big enough to approach me after all these years.” Clockwork smiled “You’re much sharper than your father ever was” the smile dropped.

“You are aware of the multiverse.” He said, Diana nodded. “As the Master of time, I bear witness to each world, each time line. There exists a world where humans built a bridge to the Infinite Realms, creating a being both born and killed by the infinite.” Diana gave him her upmost attention. “Sometime ago I was tasked with the elimination of this creature, this child, to prevent the tragedy he would bring upon that world.” He smiled “I was never one to listen to orders though, and instead I set the boy on a path that would bring about great change… it had unexpected side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Diana asked, worried.

“He began to cling to me, seeking me out for advice. I even found him asleep in my clock tower more than once. I have admittedly come to see him as my grandson.” Clockwork have a soft smile “He reminded me so much of you when we first met.” He sighed “I am here to ask a favor, young Danny is approaching a crossroads. There are two possible paths his timeline might take, one where he lives of the rest of his years moving between living in dead, his truth hidden from those who wish him harm. However there is another path, one I fear is becoming more and more likely than the last.” Diana had never seen her grandfather look so old, his entire form shifting to match his tone.

“What is it? What is going to happen?” Clockwork looked at her with sad, tired eyes.

“He will be betrayed, from this betrayal he will suffer such agony that the Realms themselves will retaliate. Then he will sleep eternal, bound to the infinite. His world destroyed.” Diana gasped. She placed a hand over his,

“What do you need me to do?” She asked firmly.

“Should the worst come about, I intend to steal him away from that world. Cutting off its connection to the realms permanently. However he is a being of both life and death, he cannot neglect his human half. What I ask of you is this, that you allow this boy to stay here, with you. There is no one else I would trust with such a task.” Diana hesitated.

She was a warrior, trained for battle from birth. She knew nothing of caring for a child. She thought her grandfather intended for her assist him in battle but this…. She looked at her grandfather, his sad eyes resigned, as though he expected her to refuse.

“Very well, on one condition.”

“Anything my dear.” She smiled.

“You must visit more, when last we met I told you I needed time. You gave me that, now I ask once more for time, time spent together.” She nearly jumped as his form shifted to that of a child.

“Nothing would please me more.”

“And grandfather? Should the worst not pass, I would still like to meet tho cousin of mine.” Clockwork froze, before he practically melted.

“Of course.” His form shifted once more to that of a young adult. Diana smiled pulling her grandfather into a hug.

“Thank you.” He whispered and he was gone. The kettle screamed. Diana got ready for a long nights rest.

—————————

A week passed before she heard anything from her grandfather. It was to the night before the opening of her new exhibit and she expected everything to go as planned. Just as she was picking out what she was going to wear to the gala, the sound of cars outside her window stopped.

“What do you think? Red or black?” She asked as she turned around holding the two dresses. Her grandfather stood tall, a stern look on his face. Diana set down the dresses. “It happened, didn’t it?” Clockwork nodded. Making his way towards the living room he stopped by the couch. There, asleep on her couch was a young teen, not much older than some of her teammates protégés. He had pitch black hair and pale skin, with lightning scars crawling up his neck. He chest did not move.

“He’s not breathing!” She turned to her grandfather, but he appeared unbothered. He smiled, watching the boy sleep.

“As I said before, he is a being of both life and death, sometime pieces of one form bleed into the other.” He turned to Diana, “He needs his rest, as for your first question, the blue dress will suit you much better on this occasion.” Diana gave him a soft smile.

“Come, I shall make us some tea while you tell me more about my cousin.” Clockwork nodded, taking a moment to readjust the blanket around the teen, before heading to the kitchen.

——————-

When Danny woke, to the sound of people talking he had a horrid migraine. He did his best to ignore the pain as he tried to remember where he was. The last thing he remembered was a dream of his parents yelling and the GIW knocking down their door. He slowly sat up, looking around the room, every wall was covered in pictures. Danny slowly stood and made his way over to the pictures. They all took place over varied times, ranging from, at the earliest, the 1920s all the way to the 2000s. All of the featured the same woman, she remained unchanged even as those around her grew old.

He listen to the voices, one familiar, one not, as he made his way towards the source of the noise. When he opened the door he was greeted by the familiar face of Clockwork. Next to him was the woman from the photos just as unchanged.

“Good afternoon Danny, did you rest well?” Danny did his best to disguise his flinch at the sound, grinning at the old ghost.

“Just fine thanks, what….what exactly happened? Where are we?” Confusion dripping from his voice.

Clockwork looked Danny in the eye, what he said next nearly broke him.

“I’m so sorry, Danny.”

Danny’s legs almost gave out under him. “It happened didn’t it? They tried to turn me in, to the GIW. That wasn’t a dream.” The ancient stayed silent, Danny's eyes went wide. "Is Jazz okay!? She... she was upstairs... if they hurt her!" Clockwork stopped him.

"Your sister is fine, they were only there for you." Danny took a deep breath, trying to process everything.

"So what comes next? Where are we?" Clockwork looked at him with a deep sadness.

"We are in a world separate from your own, connected by the Infinite Realms. I saw the possibility of what was to come and made arrangements. Due to the crimes of your world against you, the Observants and myself decided the best course of action would be to remove you from your world, and cut the living off from the Infinite Realms entirely." Danny looked down, resigned to knowledge of what they planned to do to him. "As you know, as a half-ghost you must tend to both sides of your being." Clockwork turned to the woman, "Danny, this is my granddaughter, Princess Diana of Themascyra. She has agreed to have you stay here, with her." Danny frowned.

"Your granddaughter? But she's...uhh" he paused, not sure how to continue. Diana laughed.

"Alive? Yes, I do believe I am. I'm assuming my grandfather has neglected to explain his past life" Danny nodded "How much do you know of the stories Ancient Greece?"

"More than most I think, there are a lot of constellations named after the myths. That and it's hard to visit Pandora and NOT get an hour lecture on Greece" Diana's eyes went wide.

"You know Lady Pandora? How wonderful, I grew up hearing stories of her bravery!” She smiled “That being said, that will make things a bit easier. My mother is Hippolyta, her desire to have a daughter was so great that she molded me from sand, Zeus, king of the gods, used his power to give me life.” Danny blinked once, then twice.

“So…you’re a Demi-god? I don’t understand how that makes you Clockworks granddaughter.” Diana smiled. “I mean, I know Clockwork probably used to be Chronos, Jazz and I had a whole debate about that, but what does that have to do with Zeus?” Diana smiled patiently.

“Danny, Chronos is the primordial god of time, yes?” Danny nodded “Okay, well he is also the primordial form of Kronos, the father of Zeus, my father.” Danny froze, looking over to Clockwork who merely nodded, as though Danny’s brain was currently trying to shut down. After a moment the dots finally seemed to click.

“YOU ATE YOUR KIDS?!?!”

Clockwork sighed, Diana laughed, Danny had a mental breakdown.

It took close to five minutes for Clockwork to fully explain as Diana grinned in the background drinking her tea. Once he calmed down, Clockwork finished continued expaining.

"As for your ghostly half, I will be providing plenty of ectoplasm for you to eat as well as bringing you to the Infinite realms each week until you learn to create portals of your own." Danny nodded.

"What about school? Or hell, anything really. I don't exist in this world, how exactly do I go about doing anything?" Clockwork smiled.

"I called on the power of the ghost writer for any legal documents and I personally filed them in the proper time period to ensure you have what you need. I have given those to Diana" she nodded "as well as giving her legal custody of you. As far as the law is concerned you are her recently orphaned cousin. Son of her estranged Uncle Haiden and Aunt Penelope, who tragically died a few days ago." Clockwork smiled, rising from his seat.

"I'm afraid I have over stayed my welcome, I think it's best I take my leave and allow the two of you time to acquaint yourselves better." Danny stopped Clockwork, giving him a hug he whispered.

"Thank you." Clockwork gently carded his fingers through his hair before stepping back.

"If either of you need anything, just ask." and he was gone. Suddenly there was an influx of noise coming from outside, just enough to tell them that the world outside was moving once more.

Danny stood awkwardly by the chair their grandfather was occupying.

"You know, I don't bite." Diana said, trying to break the ice.

"I do." Danny replied on reflex, before covering his mouth. He looked at Diana, she looked back before they both burst out in peals of laughter.

"This is so weird, what even is my life?" Diana wiped a tear from her eye.

"Well, considering one of my teammates dresses up as a bat and beats up criminals, while another talks to fish, I think it's safe to say neither of our lives can be considered normal." Danny broke out in another fit of laughter.

"No shit?" he asked. Diana lifted a single brow at the term.

"No shit."

"What kind of team are you on exactly? Extreme cosplaying? Underwater battle royale?" Diana smirked.

"How about we get you some food and I tell you all about it?"

Danny smiled "Sounds like a plan."

@a-salty-sal@impulsiveasshole@meira-3919@alcorbearson@cute6troll@samgirl98@skulld3mort-1fan@addie-lover-of-stories@amercurio@chronicallyonline-fandomwh0r3 @heirxofxtime @gin2212 @thegatorsgoose@wanderer-of-worlds@terzatheunderscorerima@bright-shade@satanicrutialspecialist@mur-ururu@birdie-24-05@ascetic-orange@cyber-geist@thatrandomsarahchick

[directdogman]

hi hound, got a question for ya . kind of related to phone sex. Yippee

anyway, so i feel its kind of established in dialtown that being a phone head is equal to being amab, and being a typewriter head is equal to being afab (based on oliver and karens refusal to date types/phones respectively ofc) so i was wondering - what about people born with neither, like karen? would she be considered a form of intersex by society?

followup - how do like. Genetics work? like are they born with specific heads based on their parents (would karen be more likely to have a printer child, for example)?

Appologies for the long and strange questions, your game is rotting me as we speak

anyway, so i feel its kind of established in dialtown that being a phone head is equal to being amab, and being a typewriter head is equal to being afab (based on oliver and karens refusal to date types/phones respectively ofc)

Kiiind of. It's mainly a cultural thing. Basically, the tradition is to assign heads to babies based on the gender assigned at birth. Because of this, someone with a phone head is widely considered by others to be male, and vice versa for typewriters, and this is why many trans people in-universe switch, in the same way as someone might style their hair or change their wardrobe in ours. However, because the heads are modular (and can be changed), it's best to view this correlation as more of a cultural trend rather than a rigid system that everyone follows without exception, one of which I'll explain in the next part of the answer.

what about people born with neither, like karen? would she be considered a form of intersex by society?

Karen actually HAD a typewriter head before she was given the printer. A little bit of background context here: Callum Crown, the inventor of the phone head, invented his first ever cybernetic augmentations (his revolutionary prosthetic limbs) in order to help other disabled people gain mobility and independence. He wanted to give other people the same opportunities that his technology had given him.

When he moved onto the phone head concept, he never forgot about his initial goal of using technology to help people with disabilities. Karen's typewriter head was actually a developmental adaptation. Basically, it allowed a young averbal Karen to produce images, which assisted her in communication before she could learn to speak (and helped her learn to speak sooner than if she had never gotten the upgrade.) While it's quite a modern solution for a disability that wasn't well understood in Crown's time, it's absolutely in line with his philosophies and it's an application he'd be very enthusiastic about, if he was still fully conscious.

Similarly, there are NPCs in-game who have non-standard heads and aren't trans or non-binary, like Rachel at the Dialtown News Network, who has a teleprompter head! In much the same way Karen's head was switched for utility purposes, the same is true for many people who work certain jobs where these heads come in handy. Therefore, I think it's safer to say that someone's head type more or less correlates with their overall identity, with gender, occupation, or any other relevant circumstances factoring into what kind of head they might have.

There's a few NB NPCs in-game and the cultural way many express that is by having hybrid heads, or heads with elements of both phones + typewriters. Take Curie, the curator of the DT Modern Art museum, who has a typewriter head with a phone dial added to it. Gabby (the store clerk who sells phone parts in Uptown Dialtown) also mentions that this practice is common.

followup - how do like. Genetics work? like are they born with specific heads based on their parents (would karen be more likely to have a printer child, for example)?

Genetics don't factor into it outside of the cultural tendency to give phone/typewriter heads based on the gender of the child. Basically, all babies are born with an adapter, and right after birth, the baby is given their new head. Think about how difficult it would be to give birth to someone with a FULL-SIZED typewriter head! There's more than one reason it's set up the way it is, but that's the most important thing to mention. Hope this helps!

[starmieknight]

Stars Align

Headhunters Pt. 1

17 Again AU: After a disastrous first day with the twins, Stan swears to do better as an uncle. But fate loves playing tricks on him and the magic 8-ball in the attic is more than it seems.

Now on top of having a pair of twelve year olds around the house while he tries to finish the portal and bring his brother home, Stan has to deal with being back in his seventeen year old body! Summer has never been weirder in Gravity Falls.

AO3 link

Concept Art

Legend of the Gobblewonker (Art)

Prologue, The Legend of the Gobblewonker (previous), Headhunters Pt. 1, Headhunters Pt. 2, Headhunters Pt. 3, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 1, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 2

It was only with mild surprise that Stan woke up young again. 

Gravity Falls weirdness wass unreliable on any given day.  The state he was in didn't seem to be going away anytime soon. 

So Stan grits his teeth and heads downstairs to make breakfast anyway. This is still fine. He was still fine. 

He can't afford to keep the Shack closed another day, so he improvises his usual look a bit. The jacket stays even if it's a bit big on him and the shoulders aren't as filled out as they normally are. But he doesn't have to shove himself into the girdle and counts that as a win. Beneath the jacket he dons a plain white T-shirt and a pair of old jeans from the back of the closet. 

They might have been Ford's at one time, though they seem kinda small...

Mabel calls his outfit 'hipster-business casual' when she sees him and he has no idea what that means.

Wendy is off work that day, leaving him without a teen-speak translator.

Absent-mindedly, Stan wonders if she'd caught sight of him yesterday at the lake. 

Hopefully, she hadn't and the weirdness will be gone in the morning. 

In all, the day turns out pretty uneventful ― aside from a few tourists giving him extra tips after tours. 

They thought it was adorable that he was so interested in the 'family business' and laughed when he claimed he was well into his fifties. 

Not with that baby face, they'd say.

Fine ― if they wanted to throw more money at him, he wouldn't complain. 

Before long, the day is done and Stan eagerly shucks the blazer and his jeans in favor of boxers and a T-shirt.  

He avoids the mirror, memories of Glass Shard Beach plaguing his every step. 

He swears he can hear his mother on the other side of the wall, schmoozing some schmuck over the phone. Sees his father glaring at him from the corner of his eye. 

Feels the phantom hands of his brothers on the stairs, Shermie's large and powerful on his shoulder while Ford tugs at his sleeve more hesitantly.

Stan shudders and leans against the hallway wall, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories. 

He breathes deep and carries on, planning on joining the twins downstairs when the scent of dust and wax catches his attention.  

A long-forgotten door beckons to him from down the hall, filled with waxy faces of celebrities and fictional characters.

Huh, he'd forgotten all about these guys.

Outside, he can hear Soos and the kids coming and can't resist the set-up for a good prank.

Having to hide in a dark, dusty room for a chance at a jump scare is worth it.

Stan cackles at the twins' screams before bundling them up in a bear hug.

"It's just me!" he crows joyfully. "Your Grunkle Stan!"

They scream once more out of reflex before settling down.

"Grunkle Stan, what is this place?" Mabel asked, flopping over his arm to stare upside down at the displays. 

Dipper wriggles in his grasp, in danger of being dropped, before Stan sets them back on their feet.

"Behold ― the Gravity Falls Wax Museum!" Stan declares, proudly spreading his arms and spinning on his heel. A born showman even as a young man. "It was one of my most popular attractions... before I forgot all about it." 

More like got creeped out by the things and hid them away so he didn't have to look at them anymore. 

Like Ford's old room.  

The loss of wax Abraham Lincoln makes him pout and whine, but Mabel is quick to offer a solution.

It's amazing to watch the kid work through the night, but when she refuses to stop and sleep, Stan puts his foot down.

He manages to get some food in her and gets her to take a nap, but the girl is too much like Ford to stay down for long. She'll be up soon and Stan will have his hands full.

------------------------

The next morning was... interesting.

This time, when Stan woke up as a teenager, he didn't question it and went about his business. Mabel was still passed out on the couch in the living room, fingers sticky with wax and glitter as she took a small break from her work. Stan puts her pancakes in the microwave and eats a quiet breakfast with Dipper, both of them too out of it to form proper conversation.

Stan didn't know if it was a side-effect of being a teenager again, but it was incredibly difficult to wake up before noon. His mind felt like it was running on empty until the sun reached its peak in the sky. On the other hand, it was easier to stay up at night. It'd work out in his favor when he got his hands on Dipper's journal. Whenever he could swing that.

The kid had it hidden well and never left it laying around in the Shack.

Stan could feel that the answers to getting his brother back were closer than ever and the set-back of keeping it secret at the same time was almost too frustrating to bear.

He huffed to himself and slumped down onto the couch outside, half dressed in his usual attire. The summer morning was turning out to be a hot one and he was already sweaty enough. The jacket stayed off, draped over the arm of the couch and in-reach in case a tour bus suddenly appeared. 

A rustling around the side of the porch had him tensing instinctively, too many years on the streets and in nasty situations to let him relax for long. Even using his twin's identity didn't keep him safe from everyone after him. And with this face, it’d be even harder to keep convincing people he was the real Stanford Pines.

Stan slipped his hand into his jeans pocket, fingers sliding into his brass knuckles. Even in this body, they fit like a glove, the only consistent part of his life from the past 40 years. The knuckles had come with him from New Jersey, the one thing he'd ever chanced lifting out of his old man's shop.

The thought of Filbrick finding out that Stan stole from him was still a chilling one.

Stan positioned himself to watch the side of the porch as casually as he could, muscles lax in preparation to move whatever direction he needed to.

It probably wasn't the kids ― they were naturally noisy. So was Soos. The only other person who'd be hanging around the Shack was...

"Who are you?"

Wendy.

The girl really was cool as ice, merely raising a curious brow as Stan explained his plight.

"That's some freaky shit, man." She said finally, dropping onto the couch beside him instead of heading inside. The slacker. "But you've still got your memories, right? You're not just, like, mini-Stan Pines from 1940 or whatever?"

Stan pinned her with an irritated look. "How old do you think I am? You kids have no idea how age works."

"So?"

"And stop swearing! The kids are around here somewhere."

"They'll hear worse in high school."

"Yeah, but I ain't gonna have them go home talkin' like that and have their parents come up here to murder me."

"Would they even recognize you like that?"

Stan grew quiet, his brow furrowing as he stared into the treeline.

No, they wouldn't.

The last time he'd seen his nephew as himself and not using Ford's name had been back in 1972. Back when he really was seventeen.

Alex had been a baby back then, wailing in his grandmother's arms as Filbrick threw Stan into the street. He'd never known an uncle aside from Ford.

Or, at least, the man he thought was Ford. Alex had visited once when the Shack was still the Murder Hut. They'd spent the month fishing and riding the backroads through town, Stan teaching the kid how to drive and use bad pickup lines on girls.

It'd been the highlight of his thirties. He'd hoped it would be the same when the twins came down to visit.

It was turning out to just be weird.

"I'm sorry, man." Wendy said suddenly, drawing Stan out of his memories about a freckle faced kid with too many freckles to count.

"It's fine, kid." He sighed, rising to his feet and sliding on his jacket. "Go on and get to work. We've got customers to rip off."

Wendy hummed in agreement, her eyes sharp beneath their lazy lids. She held her tongue, though, and he was grateful for that much.

Mabel was missing from the couch when they came in, a nest of blankets the only indication that she'd ever been there.

"Kids?" He called, moving into the parlor. "Where'd you― GAH!!"

By some miracle, Stanford was standing in front of him. The twins and Soos crowded him, only that familiar face visible over the kids’ heads and grinning at him.

Which was weird.

Even when Ford smiled, he never looked like that. And he certainly wouldn't smile at Stanley.

"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel cheered, dripping glitter onto the hardwood. "What do you think of my masterpiece? I thought about recreating this new, young you ― but that would have been pretty confusing for the customers. Like a waxy twin!"

A waxy twin.

That's all it was.

Ford was still trapped on the other side of the portal, likely hurt and resenting Stan.

"Grunkle Stan? Are you... alright?"

Dipper crouched down next to him, brow furrowed in concern. 

Stan sucked in a deep breath, vaguely acknowledging that he'd stopped breathing at the sight of what he'd thought was his brother. It wasn't Ford. Just a wax figure.

And the twins were looking at him strangely now. Time to redirect.

"Can a teenager have a heart attack?" He asked seriously before pasting on a cheesy grin. "Because that hunk is making my heart do flips!"

The twins laughed, the tension breaking as Soos helped Stan back up. It was strange how easily the handyman could lift him now, like he weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes. And he handled him so gently. Like a child!

Stan remembered when Soos was the child, all chubby cheeks and wide eyes as he followed him around the Shack. Like a little baby duck.

He'd been a pretty cute kid, honestly. 

Ugh. Being young again was turning him into a sap. 

He needed to change the subject and Wax Stan had just given him the perfect idea.

"Kids," he grinned eagerly as he drew them near. Mabel had a light shining in her eye, apparently on the same wavelength as him. Dipper looked more skeptical. "The Wax Museum is back in business!”

[fel-09]

The Mystery of the Painting "A Feast Where Only the Devil Is Not Hungry" Part 1

The winter air hung heavily, the breath of the world stilled, as though it feared disturbing the darkness that pervaded the land. The sky, suffocated beneath layers of cloud, offered no warmth, no light. Instead, the earth lay beneath a thick blanket of snow, pure in appearance but cold and lifeless. It was the perfect setting, for the cruelty that would unfold was one that could only be understood in this stillness, where nothing moved except the slowly dying world.

The Reader stood alone in the snow, her silhouette barely distinguishable from the blackness of the surrounding forest.Her hands were red with the color of blood , moved delicately over the body of the woman at her feet. She was not so much performing a killing as she was crafting. The woman’s body lay in a grotesque, unnatural pose. Her stomach, split open as though the body itself was nothing more than a shell, revealed the entrails spilling out like some macabre sculpture—organs twisted and twisted further still as they spilled into the snow. Her hands, lifeless and pale, clutched at the unborn lamb in her grasp, a twisted symbol of purity, dying before it could breathe.

The scene was a grotesque masterpiece. The lamb, innocent, its skin still soft with the potential of new life, would not see the world. This was no ordinary sacrifice; the Reader was not just killing a body—she was sacrificing a soul. The blood spilled not only to paint the earth beneath her feet but to give life to something darker, more ancient than what was born. The innocence of the lamb was, in a sense, never meant to belong to this world. It was merely a tool to create the greater work—the work that was the body itself, mutilated and twisted beyond recognition. In this dark artistry, flesh and blood became instruments of creation, the artist merging with the act of violence, until there was no separation between the two.

As she worked, her movements were careful, almost tender, as though she were aware that what she was doing had purpose beyond the suffering that accompanied it. Her eyes were focused, but not on the woman before her. No, her gaze was fixed somewhere else, deeper, as if she were seeing beyond the body and the blood into something far more profound. It was a ritualistic process, one she had performed countless times before, but each time felt different—each time, she was creating something new, something that transcended the boundaries of her own understanding.

But in the midst of this, she became aware of him. Hannibal Lecter, standing on the periphery of her creation, watching with quiet fascination. He was a figure shrouded in the same dark mystery as the world around them. His presence was not a disturbance but a reminder of a certain inevitability—of fate, of the role he played in the grand narrative of darkness that surrounded them both.

The scene was an enigma, a moment suspended in time as Hannibal Lecter watched in silent awe. The woman before him, covered in blood, worked with an almost reverent precision, her hands stained but steady as she crafted a grotesque beauty from the suffering around her. The body before her was nothing more than a tool, a sacrifice, a vessel through which something far darker would come to life. The lamb, innocent, yet fated for an end that no one would mourn, save for the creator herself.

But it was not just the body that held his attention. No, it was the way in which she moved, the precision in her actions, the detached calm with which she did the unspeakable. He felt the pull of her artistry, and it was not unlike the first time he saw her

He remembered the museum, the cold walls of history that held masterpieces of human creation, but none so moving as the one before him now. The guide—his annoyance palpable He was not competent in understanding the art in front of him and it was with such difficulty that he explained to him what was before him, his ignorance even more so—tried his best to convey meaning, but there was only one thing that truly mattered: the painting titled „The Feast, Where Only the Devil Is Hungry.“

The painting depicted where a man on the one side of the table ate everything in front of him, his side was full of delicacies, even human remains, he could even bite his fingers ,on the other side, a demon , he half of the table was empty on his plate only 1 pea that he had to eat an ironic case.

Hannibal’s mind had been consumed by the piece ever since he’d first laid eyes on it. At first, it had been unsettling, a thing of pure dissonance. The table, the vast array of food, the grotesque presence of the human form—mutilated, twisted, and devoured by its own appetite. The figures at the table were not feasting, but feeding from the very essence of their destruction. The faces twisted in agony, yet the hunger remained, an insatiable, unrelenting force.

But it was not just the imagery that haunted him. It was the underlying message, the unspoken truth hidden within each brushstroke. The feast was not just a physical act—it was a metaphor for the darkness that consumed every human soul. The insatiable hunger for power, for control, for satisfaction at any cost. The very soul of humanity devouring itself, with no regard for the consequences. It was a grim truth, a truth that felt... familiar.

And then, the guide’s voice intruded, his words empty, his analysis shallow. He could not see the meaning behind the madness, the symbolism beneath the surface. He could not fathom the purpose of such a creation, a purpose that only Hannibal understood. The guide’s incompetence irritated him, as did his lack of insight into the artwork before them. He could not see what Hannibal saw, nor could he comprehend the artist’s vision.

And then the conversation turned, as the guide began to argue with a woman who had joined the discussion. She was charming, yes, but there was something more beneath that beauty. A sharpness, a darkness hidden in the delicate curve of her smile. She argued that the painting was not for deep contemplation, but for enjoyment for eye. It was a visual experience, not one to be overanalyzed. Her words, however, held a deeper meaning than she let on.

Hannibal watched with rapt attention, his gaze narrowing as he examined her. Her presence was magnetic, but there was something in her eyes, something that betrayed her attempt to hide her true self. She was not just an admirer of the art; she was its creator. He knew it instinctively. The moment she spoke, he could feel the pulse of recognition—a recognition that sent a shiver down his spine.

She was the artist. She was the one who had birthed this grotesque beauty. The „Feast, Where Only the Devil Is Hungry“ had been born of her hands, her mind, her soul. And yet, she tried to hide it. She tried to divert his attention, to feign ignorance. But Hannibal could see through the veil. He could see the truth in her eyes. She had created this masterpiece, and now she was standing before him, attempting to distance herself from her own creation.

The realization was a sharp one, cutting deep. He had heard of the artist—of her disturbing, grotesque works, of the way she used blood and flesh to create art. And now, here she was, in front of him, trying to mask her identity. She did not want him to know. But she had underestimated him.

As the conversation continued, Hannibal’s thoughts grew darker, more focused. He was no longer merely admiring the painting; he was consumed by the artist herself. She was an enigma, a puzzle that only he could solve. And he would. He would have her, as he had claimed so many other things in his life. She would not escape his grasp.

But for now, he watched. He watched as she tried to hide, tried to pretend, tried to convince herself that she could outrun the truth. She would not. Not from him. Not from the darkness that she had so expertly conjured.

And the feast, where only the devil was hungry, would continue—its creator waiting for the moment when she could finally embrace her own hunger.

____________________________________

It was very hard on my part to write this fanfic because I was very tired first of all and secondly I wrote it through Dictionary some places because I didn't know some words

the part 2

[mybeingthere]

Mary Delany (1700 - 1788), an English artist known for her "paper-mosaics" and her lively correspondence, created 950 works of botanical decoupage.

"With the plant specimen set before her she cut minute particles of coloured paper to represent the petals, stamens, calyx, leaves, veins, stalk and other parts of the plant, and, using lighter and darker paper to form the shading, she stuck them on a black background. By placing one piece of paper upon another she sometimes built up several layers and in a complete picture there might be hundreds of pieces to form one plant. It is thought she first dissected each plant so that she might examine it carefully for accurate portrayal..."

- from Mrs. Delany: her Life and her Flowers, by Ruth Hayden, 1980/2000. (The author was a descendant of Delany's sister Anne.)

Born the daughter of Colonel Bernard Granville, she was a niece of George Granville, 1st Baron Lansdowne. She was coerced into an unhappy marriage with the sixty-year-old Tory MP Alexander Pendarves when she was still only seventeen; her husband died in his sleep seven years later, making her a widow at the age of twenty-four. With little means and no home of her own, she spent time living with various relatives and friends. But having the social freedom allowed by her widowhood, she was able to indulge her artistic and scientific interests.

At the age of forty-three, she married again, to Dr. Patrick Delany, an Irish clergyman. A year later they moved to Dublin, where Dr. Delany had a home. Both husband and wife were very interested in botany and gardening. After twenty-five years of marriage, most of it spent in Ireland, her husband died, leaving her a widow again at the sixty-eight. She had always been an artist, but during her second marriage she had had the time to hone her skills, not only as a gardener, but with her needlework, drawing, and painting.

It was only in her second widowhood, though, when she was in her early seventies, that she began to assemble detailed and botanically accurate depictions of plants in decoupage, using tissue paper and hand coloration. She created nine-hundred and eighty-five of these works, calling them her "Paper Mosaics." She continued making them until her sight began to fail in the last year of her life. She died a month before her eighty-eighth birthday. The ten volumes of her Flora Delanica were eventually bequeathed to the British Museum.

(From the blog of artist and writer Stephen O’Donnell. He is married to writer and graphic designer Gigi Little, with whom he sometimes performs. Their book, The Untold Gaze – a collection of Stephen’s paintings paired with short fiction by 33 authors – was published in October of 2018.)

[dontforgetukraine]

Nestor Bilous was born in 1889 in the village of Lebiazhe, Kharkiv region. He completed three grades of the church-parish school and participated in World War I. He began keeping a diary in 1911, but his most detailed entries describe the beginning of the Civil War, the mass man-made famine of 1921-1923, and the Holodomor of 1932-1933. Bilous essentially became a chronicler of the Soviet government’s destruction of Ukrainian villages. In 1937, Nestor Bilous,who was then the manager of the collective farm “Chervonyi Kolos,” was arrested by the NKVD for “discontent with party policies.” During the search, the NKVD confiscated a notebook with his notes, that became the main evidence of his “counter-revolutionary activities.” Bilous spent six years in forced labour camps and only returned home a year after Stalin’s death. Here are just a few entries from his diary: —Holodomor Museum

---

April 30, 1933 It rains often, and it’s cold. Sowing is progressing very poorly because there is no grain, no horses, and even if someone has a horse, it’s too weak to work a full day in the field. So, this year there will be even less sown. People are constantly dying, and they bury six in one grave because there’s no one to dig individual graves. On April 27, Mykola Fedorovych Butenko died, a young man, 22 years old, a real guard, tall and handsome. He had to die of starvation just because the village council didn’t give him a certificate, as the son of a dekulakized father. Without it, no one would hire him. And in the spring, when he was already too weak, there was work, but he couldn’t do it, and he died of starvation.

---

May 13, 1933 The warm weather started on May 8, and all the crops are sprouting. Beetroot and seedlings are being eaten by beetles and fleas. We need rain, but there isn't any. The collective farms keep sowing; they will probably be sowing until St. Peter's Day. People are still dying of hunger. On May 12,Paraska Chorna,an activist and party candidate,died of famine. When people were being sold out for not meeting the grain requisition quotas, she danced in the school out of joy in the evening,and now she has died of hunger, like a dog.

---

May 20, 1933 Every day, people die of famine. The village council has appointed a sanitary commission to collect the bodies and bury them because there is no one to do the burials. Now, the village council drives people out to dig a large grave for about ten people, and then they bury them. Many adults and children, and when you look at them, they are living corpses.

---

Since the beginning of the invasion of 2022, Bilous' native village Lebiazhe was in the grey zone for a long time, suffering from Russian shelling. The crimes continue... —Holodomor Museum

[malarkgirlypop]

Epilogue MEDIC!

Hi friends, sorry I've been so absent I have the worst writing block at the moment and nothing seems to be coming to me. But I wrote this epilogue soon after I had finished the last chapter of MEDIC, but I forgot about it completely cause I was going to post it a little later. Well it's a little later (the next year) and here is the small ending to my favourite story ever! I miss you all hopefully I can get back to writing soon.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut, @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92, @lucyfromtheoldhouse, @blueberry-ovaries, @next-autopsy, @saintmalosunsets, @anaso12 anyone else please let me know.

“I am the matchmaker of the year!” Izzy boasted. I rolled my eyes but a laugh left my mouth before I could stop it. 

“You are not, we went on two dates!” I lied, we had spent days together. I had found him again, he was the same as the one I had known but he was born during the same time as me. But he shared the same soul, the same laugh, the same love as Don. 

There was no comparison between the two, this was my Don but born anew. He never knew our history but it didn’t mean he couldn’t feel it. We were drawn to each other from the moment we had met. 

“He already told you he loved you!” Izzy pointed out. On our second date we had gone out to dinner and then the date lasted three more days. He came home with me and never left. When we decided we should probably part ways and go to our jobs he had blurted out that he loved me. I didn’t hesitate to say it back. 

“Listen! When you know you know!” I blushed thinking of the man I loved. 

“When you know, you know what?” His voice sounded through the hallway. 

“Don!” Izzy and I both turned our heads in surprise. “I’m not finishing my shift for another 20 minutes!” But that didn’t stop from entering the nurses office and sitting beside me. 

“If the nurse in charge catches me.” I whispered, peering around the room to make sure Maria wasn’t here. 

“Don’t worry I already bribed her.” Don sent me a cheeky wink before pressing a kiss to my cheek. “I came to whisk you away for a magical getaway.” 

“But I have work tomorrow.” I was concerned he hadn’t thought this through. 

“Maria!” Don called, the older nurse poked her head from the office. “Does Em have work tomorrow?” 

“No, she booked in for annual leave for a week.” Maria smiled looking pleased with herself. 

“What?!” I glanced between the two. “How did- How?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head.” His lips found my forehead. I smiled up at him, and my heart swelled. 

—--------------------------------------------------

“I’m nervous.” I whispered as Izzy, Lyla and Ellie led me through the empty foyer. 

“Why on earth are you nervous?” Ellie asked, we had formed a tight friend group.

They were the girls I held dear, each of them took up a space in my heart. We have been friends now for three years. I knew all of them well, like the back of my hand. 

“Cause you’re all acting suspicious.” I noted as they all shared a knowing smile. “What are you hiding from me?” 

“Nothing, stop fussing.” Lyla smoothed down my dress at the back. They had insisted we all dressed up fancy for dinner, we never dressed up, or went anywhere fancy. We were always too tired from work and enjoyed staying at home in our pj’s and ordering in, so this was out of the ordinary. 

The group led me through the empty building, the museum Don and I had been to so many times for our dates. We just enjoyed getting lost and settling into a corner, watching the world pass by. 

Flower petals scattered the floor as the girls urged me forward but didn’t follow. 

“Keep going.” They ushered me away. 

A swell of music sounded as I walked closer and the petals still scattered the floor. I gasped as I stepped into my favourite room, the stained glass window was lit by candles and at the centre of it all was Don. He smiled nervously at me as I approached. 

“What is all this?” I asked as I came closer. My heart leapt into my throat as I watched him take a knee. 

“Emily Lane. I have never believed in love at first sight but you proved me wrong. From the moment I set my sights on you, you have captured my attention. Your wit, your beauty, your kindness, those are only a few of the things that have a hold on me. I believe your soul was made for mine, I have never known another person like you, and I never wish to know anyone again. You are all I need and more. Would you make me the happiest man on this earth and marry me?” Don spoke as he pulled out a small velvet box from his pocket. 

Tears spilled from my eyes as I nodded my head frantically. “Yes! A thousand times yes!” I lunged into him causing him to lose his footing and we crashed to the floor. I peppered his face with a million kisses as we both cried and laughed. 

“Let me put the ring on!” He said as we righted ourselves. Sitting on the floor in our favourite place he slid on the most beautiful silver ring onto my finger. 

“Do you like it?” Don asked, peering down at the jewellery. 

“Like it? I love it!” I tackled him again into my arms. The squeals of delight pulled us from our celebration. The girls clattered around the corner as well as his family and our shared friends. I had never been happier in my life.  

—------------------------------------    

“I hope to find you in every lifetime, now and forever.” Don read his vows as I cried. He didn’t even know the significance of the words he spoke, but I did. I knew we were made for each other and that the vow he had made would be upheld, even if we didn’t realise it. 

“Do you, Donald George Malarkey, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” The officiant asked Don. 

“I do!” He nodded eagerly as I laughed. 

“Do you, Emily Marlena Lane, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The officiant turned to me. 

“I do!” I smiled brightly at the love of my life, as our friends and family watched. But it didn’t matter who was here, as long as we were together I knew everything was perfect. 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” We couldn’t even wait for the man to finish, our lips collided as we shared our first kiss as a married couple. As husband and wife. The crowd cheered and clapped, but they faded into the background. All I could see was him. 

—------------------------------------------

The hot summer sun beat down as we rocked in our chairs. Our hands were intertwined as we watched our grandchildren and grown children frolic in the long grass. 

“I think we did pretty good. Huh, Em?” Don squeezed my hand. I glanced over to my aged husband, we had made all of our dreams come true, I got to grow old with the man I loved. 

“We did.” I lent over to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.” 

“I love you, Em.” Don whispered softly. 

“Not as much as I love you.” I sighed in content.

[khush-chronicles]

My own grandfather was a freedom fighter. But that is his achievement, in his lifetime. What right do I have to benefit from that? Even my dad wasn't born at that time.

My grandfather used to work as a police officer for a Nawab in a palace (which is now used as a museum) in Dhaka before the liberation war. My grandmother was the beloved handmaid of the wife of the Nawab. the 8 siblings of my mother were born and raised in the palace.

My grandfather was courageous. But he had 8 children and a wife. So during the massacre of 25th March, he left the city. My grandmother still says how she had to step over and on dead bodies, and walk to her village from the city all the way. How the river she had to cross through a boat was filled with fresh dead bodies, how vultures were eating the flesh by the morning of 26th March. She says that was the last she ever saw a vulture in her life. Vultures are nearly extinct in our country today. She is an 87-year-old woman, who often forgets her grandchildren's names. She can still clearly describe the horrors she saw.

After coming back, my grandfather started a grocery store. But his spirit to fight remained. He used to refuse any Pakistani who came across him. No service at all. He used to sell Milk tea with cream. Which my grandmother made at home. Pakistanis apparently loved the cream, but he always refused. He used to give shelter to the young freedom fighters in his home. Wrap them up in mats and make them stand beside cupboards so it'd look like it is just a rolled-up mat. My grandmother used to feed them like her own children, even though she was younger than a lot of them. Such were their spirits, such was their love, such was their will to serve.

The Pakistanis my grandfather used to turn away, came with military officers, beat him up in front of his own shop, thought he died, and threw his "body" in the river. His "body" was brought home to my grandmother, who didn't cry. She stood firm. My grandfather laughed, that supposed dead man laughed and said, "Fooled them".

This happened again. But he pretended to drown to save himself again. Then the man proceeded to drown 3 wooden boats full of military men in the same hour. He came back and went straight to the freedom fighter camp, collected weapons, and disappeared. Came back as a victor, a proud Bangladeshi, a warrior, a free man, and paralyzed.

He received a pension from his previous police job. But never collected the Freedom Fighter certificate. He didn't see any point in dragging his paralyzed body to a few villages away just for a piece of paper that said freedom fighter. He kept the rifle though. My grandmother now threatens people with it. Badass couple.

When asked, why he did not collect it, he used to say, "Are you free? Are you alive? Are your family members being killed? Am I alive? Are we looking at the green and red flags? Then we're liberated. We are fighters. Our freedom is our certificate."

Where is that freedom now, Nanu? Why are we dying again? Why is that piece of paper more important than our safety and lives? Are you watching from the sky? The sky was painted red yesterday, did you see? Do you know it is the blood of our brothers and sisters? The grandchildren you gave so much up for?